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#there were a million simple songs to give the computer to sing and the one that was chosen talked about enduring love

bentforkent · 4 years

Text

earth-shattering, red roses

penelope garcia x gender neutral!reader

a/n: here is my very hesitant, very obscure, and very late submission for @veraiconcos fic challenge. is there a market for penelope x reader fics? dunno, but there should be. penelope rights.

tagging sweet @gaystevie

content warnings: none - this is half fluff, half angst :)

word count: 1842

in which you’re penelope’s online friend and she develops a crush on you.

“and then i just,” penelope pauses to hold up a pair of campy earrings to the camera, “pick out some earrings, and i’m good to go!” after putting the jewelry on, she turns her face to model. her hair is pulled back into a bun, adorned with some fluffy hot pink hair accessory.

“looks cute, pen,” you muse, watching her pose on your tiny phone screen. penelope looks at you with a wide smile. there’s a piece of your hair sticking up and out of place, and she desperately wants to reach out and smooth it out. her thumb twitches.

“alright my sweet soulmate,” she starts with a smile. you know what’s coming. “it’s time for me to head to work.”

you pout at her pixelated face. “already?”

“unfortunately, dear,” she says, but despite feeling reluctant to hang up, her words come out as cheery as ever.

“alright, penny. have fun at work,” you say, and as soon as she acknowledges your farewell and offers her own, the screen goes black with nothing but a tri-tone to signal the end of the call.

you and penelope met seven months ago on some new, groundbreaking virtual world game. penelope’s character was a fairy, with wings that glowed so much she had to have paid extra to have them. (she hadn’t. she just hacked into the fairly new and easy-to-bypass code and given her character the virtual wardrobe of her dreams.) she made a point to keep true to herself, even through her tiny computer alter-ego.

the two of you often floated in the same circles as you played the game. you were funny, always typing something witty into the chat, and she quickly found herself very fond of you. she let her fingers hover over her keyboard before typing out her first message to you. after the whole “fisher king” fiasco, she respectfully refrained from contacting people on the internet, resigning herself to admiring from afar. but you were different. you had interacted with penelope already, exchanging compliments and working together to solve quests in the game. you knew her, and she knew you, but direct message felt like a new realm. it felt...intimate.

when you replied to her first message, a simple “hi penelope!” with a butterfly emoji attached for good measure, penelope nearly flew out of her desk chair; she was so excited. she quickly typed back to you, punctuating with approximately two million exclamation points and a link to her own personal social media. you smiled widely to yourself watching penelope’s chat appear on your computer screen.

over the next months, you and penelope had become practically inseparable. well...virtually, at least. you lived much too far from penelope, and penelope much too far from you. your distance spanned one timezone and a handful of states, but with how often you two talked, you always felt close. you learned her favorite color, her favorite movie, her favorite tv shows. she learned your guilty pleasure snack, your nighttime routine, and your favorite song to drive to. after 12am, you’d whisper into the phone receiver about your day, telling her about everything that bothered you or brought you joy. penelope revelled in these chats. listening to you was the best part of her day. this was your friendship, and it was good.

but recently things had been ever-so-slightly different. penelope lingers on a phone call even though she is exhausted, just to hear your voice. she proof-reads her text messages multiple times before sending them out--who does that? the red heart emoji is fast becoming her most used, taking the place of the pink one. the pink one is platonic, it’s always been platonic, and the red one is romantic. how is this happening? often, penelope lies in bed, imagining you’re laying against each other with your hands entangled. she reaches and rests her hand on the other side of the bed, where you would lie if you were there. sometimes, when she’s really tired, she believes she can feel you.

when thinking about this, penelope’s chest feels tight in the most exhilarating way. she’s confused, naturally. the last time she felt this way was when she thought she had real feelings for derek. (she’d buried whatever feeling that was way deep down in the depths of her brain.)

could it be love if you had never touched? no. no, penelope is a romantic, but she’s also a realist. this can’t be love, not yet. but...a crush. the realization of the word seeps into her bloodstream, setting each cell in her body on fire. it’s a nice fire, a warm fire, a fire that flickers in pink flames. penelope spins around a few times in her work desk chair.

gee, how lucky is she that she’s got her own little cave here? no one to interrupt her private moment of reckoning...although, now that she thinks of it, it’s not much of a “moment” from the outside. it’s not like her cheeks are stained red and there’s a sign on her forehead that reads “i have a crush!” any one of her coworkers could walk in right now and have no clue anything is any different. (penelope forgets that she’s terrible at hiding things and that she works with trained behavioral profilers.) she pauses a minute, staring at the door, half-expecting hotch to walk in and chew her out for not looking up white males in nebraska, or something.

penelope smoothly rolls her chair over to where her cell phone rests. she really shouldn’t be making a personal call at work, she thinks, but she also really shouldn’t have hacked into reid’s work computer and changed everything in english into tagalog last week. penelope can’t remember the last time she genuinely cared about the FBI’s rules. (in her defense, it took spencer like--half of a second to figure out what the unfamiliar language was, and a whole work day to understand it. she was teaching him!)

she picks up the phone, grinning as she swipes through recent text notifications of you updating penelope on your day. she finds the “call” button quickly, and waits as it begins to ring.

“penelope?” you question upon answering. “i’m at work, i can’t really talk right now.” you sound happy, despite the intrusion penelope knows she’s providing.

“no, i know,” penelope replies, twirling a pen in her free hand. she taps her foot quickly. “which is why i’ll make this super quick.” she drags out the word ‘super’ like it tastes like candy. “i have a crush on you. an earth-shattering, red roses, big crush on you.”

“oh,” you gasp, surprised. “oh! yeah!” you shake your head quickly, as if trying to wake yourself from a dream. all penelope can hear on the other line is the swooshing of air. “yeah, penny, me too. definitely me too. by that i mean, i have a crush on you too.” you’re stumbling, tripping over the words in your haste to get them out, but neither one of you seem to notice. all you can tell is the grin on your face is starting to hurt your cheeks, and all penelope can tell is that if she pulls her knees any closer to her chest she might squish herself.

“okay, cool,” penelope says through a smile.

you give a breathy laugh. “i really do have to go, though. i’ll definitely talk to you later, though. bye, penny,” you say, and hang up before giving penelope the chance to quip a witty goodbye.

you like her back, penelope thinks, the harps playing in her head making her feel like a juvenile pining after someone on the playground. her stomach flutters. the angelic voices in her head are singing, something that sounds like a warbled, choral version of “i wanna dance with somebody” by whitney houston. she closes her eyes, and relishes in it.

after a second, the stark silence in penelope’s office startles her into reality.

what is this?

what is she doing?

oh, fuck, she thinks. tears well in her eyes. what is she doing? this is so unrealistic, penelope thinks, berating herself. you’re far away, only connected to her through a phone screen. it’s a great sentiment to have this sweet crush, yeah, but it’s not practical. not real. it’s not like penelope would ever be in a position to pack up and fly to you, and after hearing you gush about your job just the night prior, she knows you certainly feel the same.

and then she feels like shit for even calling, for even telling you that she felt this way. it would cause nothing but problems. penelope pauses, in her brain. no, it wouldn’t even cause problems! being with you is so incredibly far-fetched that there isn’t even a “will they, won’t they” debate. any problem is solved with a simple “won’t they.” no, this wouldn’t cause problems, but it would cause heartache, and she should’ve known better. penelope thinks she’s feeling a bit of that heartache now. she sniffles, toying with a tiny plush pig she keeps perched on her desk. sometimes penelope just gets blinded by the butterflies. it’s her best trait and most fatal flaw.

there’s a knock at her door. derek.

“hey babygirl,” he says, pushing open the door and leaning into the doorframe. “what are you doing for lunch?”

with her back turned to him, she rubs at her eyes delicately, trying very hard not to mess up her makeup. “uh, i brought my thermos. soup,” she says, clawing desperately at the bubbly personality she can feel slipping away from her for today. she’s just down in the dumps.

“hey, what’s wrong?” derek asks, instantly picking up on her sour mood. he steps into her office and closes the door behind him.

penelope turns to him, eyes rimmed in red, and gives him a half smile. derek, sweet derek, always so in tune with penelope, is looking at her intently, worry written in every crease of his face. penelope always feels lucky to have him, but especially in this moment. in a rush of emotion, she stands, flings her arms around his neck and pulls him in to a tight hug.

derek chuckles. “i love you too.”

penelope pulls away with a half-hearted chuckle, swatting the air as if to get rid of the negative emotions plaguing her office. “you come in here with your big muscles and your pretty face and somehow you’ve got me crying in your arms.” she laughs again, slightly more enthusiastic this time.

derek pulls her to his chest again, holding her there without words. penelope lets out a deep sigh, releasing every single emotion she just ran through.

she could deal with those later. she could deal with her royal mess with you later. right now, it didn’t matter. what mattered now was her office, her lunch, and derek morgan.

“derek?” she asks, voice small. he turns to her, prompting her to speak again. “if i asked you to stay, would you?”

#vicficwriterchallenge #penelope garcia x reader #penelope garcia #penelope garcia fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #my writing

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 4 years

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Hii!! I saw that your requests are open again so I hope u don't mind cosidering mine!! Maybe some Hcs of the THH bois being sad and their s/o comforts them and when they think they're asleep, they sing them a lullaby? the idea makes me very soft 👉👈🥺

Oop this idea makes me v soft, too ;w;

..........

Taka

You knew how emotional Taka tends to get, even over simple things like you reminding him that you appreciated him in your life.

Though one day, you find him laying on the bed, crying into a pillow.

The fact he neglected to greet you when you came home was especially concerning, since he always did that.

So you lay down beside him and hug him closely, asking what’s wrong.

He just buries his head into your chest and sobs about a quiz he failed, believing his life was ruined because of it.

Anyone else would’ve probably laughed at him for bawling his eyes out over something that insignificant.

But you never do.

You understand he takes a lot of pride in success...and that he could be harsh on himself for little mistakes.

Instead you hold him tighter and reassure him that one bad grade doesn’t mean his future is in shambles.

Eventually he calms down, thanking you for those words he often needed to hear.

Before seemingly passing out from the exhaustion of crying.

You pet his black hair for a bit, and then quietly sing a short lullaby.

In response, his arms hug you tighter.

Mondo

Usually, he’s scary when he’s upset.

But around you, however, he looks like a kicked puppy.

This especially becomes true when he comes home after an argument with his gang.

He takes a shower and comes back out to greet you, his infamous pompadour now shoulder-length brown hair.

Now he looks like a wet kicked puppy.

If you ask him what’s wrong, he’ll just say it was another stupid fight with his gang, who still doubt his capabilities as a leader.

You knew he was trying his best to keep them in one piece--fulfilling his late brother’s dying wish.

So you understood he could take those insults to heart.

He doesn’t wanna go into much detail, knowing he’ll just get angrier (and probably break the coffee table for the third time this week).

You just pat your lap, inviting him to lay his head down there for a while.

He obliges and just closes his eyes as you run your fingers through his hair.

It soothes him to sleep real fast.

And you hum a small song to help ease his mind and forget his frustrations.

Leon

It’s quite easy to tell when he’s sad, even if he doesn’t say anything directly to you.

Oftentimes, it’s when you enter the bedroom or living room and see him curled up with a pillow, eyes moist and red.

The moment he sees you, though, the pillow’s on the ground and he opens his arms up.

It’s like he’s saying “hold me right now or I will die”.

So you oblige and let him cuddle with you like a teddy bear, already feeling better now that you’re here.

He’ll talk about what’s bothering him if you ask.

Usually it’s either growing pressures of baseball practice or his own insecurities eating away at him.

Though sometimes he just says he wants to sleep the day away.

You’re fine with that, and you help him relax by singing a bit of a lullaby.

All he can pay attention to is your calming voice as he dozes off.

After the nap, he feels a lot better.

Hifumi

It’s typical for him to come crying to you about being bullied again.

Though when he asks if you truly loved him...that becomes a shock to you.

Of course you did! What idiot would try to tell him you didn’t?

You swear this is the last time anyone would mess with your big and lovable fanfic writer.

Usually the perfect solution is to sit down on the couch with his head in your lap, while you brush away his tears and list all of the things you loved about him.

No really. You have an actual list you keep in case someone has the nerve to ask you what you see in him.

He might get choked up all over again as he realizes he shouldn’t listen to those idiots.

At some point, he does fall asleep, and you catch yourself humming the tune of some anime song you recently heard.

Funny enough--he sometimes mumbles the lyrics in his sleep.

Yasuhiro

You find him sitting alone in his room, looking sad as he stares down at a crystal ball in his hands.

At first you scared him when you rush over to ask him what’s wrong (fortunately you save him another million yen by catching the ball before it hit the floor).

But once he calms down, he just says he feels like a “useless idiot” during trials sometimes.

He wonders why Monokuma insists everyone participates if he can’t contribute anything good.

What breaks your heart most is when he asks if you think he’s an idiot.

You just take his hands and reassure him he’s far from that.

You remind him that he did bring up some important topics that helped piece the crimes together.

So he’s not useless at all.

He feels much better after those reassurances, though also tired since he was doing a lot of thinking.

So you two just cuddle, and when you think he’s fully out, you quietly sing a random song.

Though he mumbles a “wow you sing rly good” before dozing off.

Makoto

Sometimes the guilt of class trials weighs heavily on him.

Especially when he leaves knowing he basically sent someone to their death.

Even though he knows he has to if everyone else wants to survive.

But that doesn’t stop the nightmares he has of the victims and blackeneds taunting him, blaming him for their deaths instead of Monokuma.

Fortunately, you sleep with him on those nights.

And when he wakes up suddenly, you’re quick to bring him into your arms.

Though if you’re a heavy sleeper, expect to be shaken awake by a teary-eyed Makoto who was scared you died.

When you’re awake, you comfort him by resting your chin on top of his head, while he listens to your heartbeat.

A reminder that you’re still alive.

And you end up singing a short lullaby once he falls back to sleep, ensuring he stayed asleep knowing you were safe.

Chihiro

Knowing Chihiro, it was easy for him to get upset over many things.

But all day long, he’s kept things bottled up, afraid you’d see him as “less manly”.

Though it all backfires horribly when he’s working on a program that keeps having pop-up errors and other glitches.

It’s just one after another and he can’t fix them all.

He feels like he’s faltering in his talent--the one thing he was confident in.

How could he be an “Ultimate Programmer” if he couldn’t fix simple errors?

Sometime later, you find him crying at his desk. You can easily tell your poor bf is overwhelmed again.

So you carry him away from his computer and to the bed, where you both cuddle.

He ends up breaking down into tears again, spilling his heart out to you--the guilt of ignoring you, the frustrations with the program, everything.

And you hold him and listen, letting him talk before you give him your own reassurances/advice.

Eventually, he passes out from exhaustion, and you take the opportunity to sing something to help him calm down more.

Byakuya

There’s not much of a sensitive side to him. He learned to toughed up in the face of many hardships--all to rightfully earn his position in the family.

But not even the heir himself was immune to the stress, suffering, and doubt--especially when he was all alone.

And when you saw that mask crack for the first time..it was a shock.

You came home earlier than expected one day, and you saw the prodigy pacing around the living room, trying to dry both his glasses and eyes while taking shaky breaths.

“You’re better than this...stronger than this..y-you’re..gonna be head of your family...”

The crack in his voice prompts you to intervene.

Of course, he tries playing it off as nothing, though you take him to the couch anyway and hold his hands.

You don’t say or do anything; you just let him calm down by himself, with your presence being more than enough.

Once he does, you convince him to rest for a bit. He just scoffs and says he already planned to.

You hum a song when he finally dozes off.

Your voice is actually soothing to listen to, though he’s not gonna outright say it.

But you know it from his small smile.

Kiyondo

Despite his brash attitude and tendency to mimic Mondo..you knew that deep down, your beloved Taka was in there--still heartbroken and grieving.

It became more apparent when you found him crying in the bathhouse (around the same time he was when he first went there with Mondo).

He shut himself into the sauna, but with luck you managed to convince him to leave and go to your dorm.

At first he aggressively cuddles with you, though as you brush away the hot tears that streaked down his face, his voice becomes less rough and more...soft.

Like his old self.

He admits he’s scared you’ll be taken away from him, too.

But you just hold him, promising him you will be okay...and you’ll help him through this, no matter what it takes.

It’s hard convincing him to sleep, but when he finally does, you just stay awake for a bit longer, petting his hair and singing a short lullaby.

By the morning, he’s back to normal--still gaunt and depressed.

Yet he seems more hopeful, as he remembers you’re still with him.

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morningmoon26 · 3 years

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Okay so I have a million other things to do but this post has taken priority; I literally stopped typing this on my phone to get out my computer to make sure I include everything. So here’s another post explain my feeling about the DEH movie (sorry that it’s so long):

- Anonymous Ones is so fucking good and if you don’t like the movie, that one song is enough to make it decent. I love how they gave Alana such a deep and meaningful backstory and how she was given a solo to share it and not just a few lines in one song. And Amandla played the part so well; her interpretation of the character was so enjoyable to watch. They really portrayed Alana well in the movie, and I feel like she was actually given some more depths in the movie than the musical as she goes more in depths about herself.

- Now maybe this is me being loyal to Jared but if they were able to not only include Alana story but also go more in depths with it, then they could’ve done so much more with Jared’s character. Like in the musical he’s there to show the struggles the comic relief character faces, something that you don’t usually see in any story, but in the movie, he has like four lines. And Jared was played so well in the movie so he really should’ve gotten more of a story and more screen time. The most Jared is actually on the screen is during Sincerely Me and that scene was funny and was able to balance out the heaviness that came from Waving Through a Window and For Forever. However, since Jared isn’t really in the movie after Sincerely Me, there is nothing to balance out the seriousness of the movie after that. With no one to provide comic relief, even if it is only for one line, the severity of the situation Evan is in just weighs down on the audience so much. Maybe they did that purposely so the audience truly feels with Evan, not just for him but it was too much. There’s this scene where Evan and Jared are walking together on the track during gym and when the teacher tells them to start running, Jared yells back “no thank you” and when the gym teacher asks him what he said, Jared responses, “thank you for the encouragement,” and starts to run. It was such a simple scene but it was acted out so well and it released some of the tension in that scene (it was the scene where Evan asks Jared to write the emails between him and Connor to prove they were friends). I’m also not trying to suggest that this means they would’ve done better had they given more depths on Jared than Alana; it’s important to build on both characters as both give insight on how different people struggle.

- The entire story builds up to Words Fail which is when Evan confesses everything he lied about and in the musical, this number feels so raw and real and is the perfect number to conclude the climactic buildup. But in the movie, since there is no break in seriousness with comic relief, Words Fail doesn’t feel dramatic enough. Like just listening to the movie version of it on my phone, Words Fail sounds amazing but in the movie, it doesn’t feel like enough. There were so many things weighing down on Evan (and on the audience as well) that it feels like there should’ve been way more to it. And this wasn’t Ben’s fault; I’m not suggesting he should’ve been “more in the character” (because he was literally perfect in the movie) or should’ve acted more or made that number more dramatic because his performance in Words Fail was flawless but because the entire movie was just so serious with nothing to balance it out, I was disappointed. I did cry during Words Fail but I remember sitting there confused because I didn’t feel the way I do when I watch bootlegs and now I know it’s because I was crying about the situation, not how Words Fail was an amazing vulnerable moment between the character and the audience. This might go to show how live performance is different from movie performance but I do think that without Jared’s crucial moments, it was too serious.

- By removing Anybody Have a Map (and Good for You), be prepared for Heidi to be portrayed as just another person who hates Evan. I know that in the musical, Heidi also had to cancel Taco Tuesday and there were moments where she was unavailable and this needed to be done to show just how lonely Evan really feels. But in the musical, those moments are needed to show how Heidi was unavailable in one instance; in the movie, the moments are used to make Heidi seem like an unavailable person. This is, similar to Jared, the movie not taking the time to expand on her character and for her to be portrayed as a complete villain.

- This isn’t something that particularly bothered me but I was slightly caught off guard by this during the movie. In the musical, Zoe begins to sing Only Us after she and Evan started to date to tell him that she loves him for who he is, not the things he’s doing and he doesn’t have to prove anything to her. But in the movie, Only Us is used for Zoe to confess to Evan that she likes him. It wasn’t bad and isn’t as severe as Jared’s portrayal but I prefer the way Only Us was incorporated in in the musical.

- This is something that I actually highly praise the movie for; Requiem. My least favorite song out of all of the DEH songs is Requiem and I usually skip it (both the Broadway Cast Recording and the movie recording). But in the movie, there’s this moment where Zoe’s singing her part in Requiem and she’s in her car and is driving on the deserted road and just starting pressing the gas and the adrenaline I felt from just watching that scene was immaculate. Like I still won’t listen to this song but when that scene is released on it’s own, I will watch it and just play that one part of repeat.

- This isn’t really anything about the movie but as an emetophobic person myself, I feel the need to share that there are two scenes with vomit that sort of come out of nowhere.

I think that’s it. My hands hurt from typing and I’m exhausted from trying to form sentences.

#deh musical #deh movie #still fuck broccoli and cauliflower #fuck this shit #im still pissed about what they did to Jared #anonymous ones #words fail #requiem

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yeochikin · 4 years

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what is music to you? | k. hongjoong

a/n: when i’m telling you that i’m almost crying as i work this fic, i’m really almost crying. this is one of the softest fics i ever worked on dfjhd also hehe this was requested by @closer-stars, love u bb. dont scream at me later hehe mwaH 😘✨💖

word count: 2.1k!

main focus: hongjoong x fem. reader

warning(s): do ignore any inaccuracies if there are any, and please forgive me for any mistakes in this as this has not been proofread!

“joong?” your soft voice called out into the studio room as your head peeked into the room.

further into the room, sat a blue haired boy, almost resembling a blueberry, on the couch situated in the middle of the room. his back was hunched over the coffee table in front of him as your ears could pick up the faint sounds of the tip of a pen scratching against a paper’s surface in a hasty manner along with his low mumbles and humming. no doubt he is either jotting down a newly found lyric that popped into his mind while working on the many buttons and instruments of his many equipment that were provided for him. or, he was merely polishing some of the lyrics he was satisfied with.

either way, he was clearly in his own world once again.

a low chortle rumbled out of your lips at the sight of the ever so busy man in front of you who had failed to recognise your presence in the room. but then again, you are just literally standing with your head peeking into the room instead of actually walking in. and walked in was what you did, gently closing the door behind you. upon walking further into the room, your eyes caught sight of the earphones plugged into his ears before your lips parted into a small ‘o’ out of realisation. it was no wonder he seemed so engrossed in his work.

placing the boxed lunch you had made for him earlier during the day, it had seemed that the sudden placement was what made hongjoong halt his writing, half lidded eyes staring at the food then finally widening once he dragged his tired eyes away from it, wondering who suddenly came into the room. pulling his earphones out of his ears, the corner of hongjoong’s lips stretched out into a wide beam as he got up on his feet, bounding his way over you with his arms outstretched to pull you into a tight embrace. you couldn’t help but to release the light chuckle at his realisation, encircling your own arms around his torso. your eyes closed momentarily as soon as the scent of his cologne that made you intoxicated every single time wafted into your nose, a sigh of contentedness leaving both of your lips.

“when did you get here?” you heard your blue haired lover ask you, though his voice a little muffled with how he buried his face against your hair, feeling him relax in your hold as your fingers ran up and down along his back out of habit.

“mm, only a few minutes ago. though i called you earlier, but i guess you didn’t hear me the first time.” you replied, pulling away just enough for the two of you to examine each other’s faces.

hongjoong simply gave you a sheepish smile of his, a clear act of his as if silently saying that he didn’t mean to do so. of course, you had to understand. this is what he loved doing, the one thing that managed to ignite the burning flame of passion inside of him. of course, at times, you had to remind him that it was okay to take it easy at times. too much passion in you could only make you burn out so easily later on.

“i’m sorry, my muse. but i just stumbled upon a new song today and i couldn’t help but to feel inspired by it.” your lover said, gently holding your hand into his as if it was the most fragile thing in the world, then guided you to sit down on the couch where he was previously sitting on.

settling yourself down next to him, you watched hongjoong’s hands swiftly reached out for his notebook in front of him and opened up the page where his pen was idly sitting on, fingers itching to reach out for the object and continue his work in the first place. motioning for you to come take a closer look, the both of you looked down on the open notebook to hear what your lover had already come up with his brilliant mind. shoulder leaning against shoulder, you listened to every word that hongjoong uttered with intent eyes, even to the point of listening to him sing a certain verse to show you what he meant with a certain tone.

sometimes, the question of how the both of you ended up together would linger in your minds. you two seemed so different. two people with different background stories and lives. but at the end of the day of wondering such a question, the both of you had your answer almost every time of asking said question.

music was the one thing that kept the both of you close.

to you, music was the one thing in your life that made your body to express itself in such a vague yet at the same time, filled with millions of words in them. the way music would fill itself in a dance studio you had for yourself for a day, or even in your own living room of your shared apartment, you let your body and mind lose itself to the beat of the song playing in your ears. from a joyful and upbeat songs playing in your playlist to the unspoken and filled with hidden meanings behind the lyrics was all expressed by the way you let music take its place in controlling you. you would be too deep in your emotions to even notice the tears that would cascade down your cheeks, visioning yourself in every second a beat would be played out. you resonate when you hear music, every bone in your body would be filled with excitement when the right frequency is struck. your skin would feel a burning tingle of wanting to move to the beat.

to you, music is also the one thing that keeps the bond between you and hongjoong close, having no signs of snapping anytime soon, or even later in the future. it was the way hongjoong’s hands on your frame as he took you in his arms while the both of you moved along the beat of a song, no matter what sort of song it was blaring through the speakers of a dance studio or your home speaker. and with such familiar music that played out from his group, the way he would openly teach you the choreography would make his chest swell with happiness and pride at how willing you were to learn their dances.

now, to hongjoong, he would answer the same. however, his own perspective would sound completely different from your own, yet at the same time, still similar.

to hongjoong, music was the one thing to make him express the words he couldn’t fully express and show towards his loved ones, especially to you. hongjoong believes that music is a type of voice that could speak to people in such different ways, and that it could help him express in a way he didn’t know would even exist. every time he spent his time listening to a song playing through his earphones, he felt as if his body was being carried out by the instrumentals while the words being expressed were enough to ignite the fire of inspiration in him to immediately get up on his feet to produce his very own song, whether it was a cover in his own style or his mixtape where the closest ones were able to have a privilege of the only ones being able to listen to it.

to hongjoong, music was the one thing that kept the both of you filled with inspiration. it was the way the both of you would sit next to each other as you helped him in writing a song that made him feel that he was filled with so much love, being surrounded by the passion he grew to love from a young age with the person who has the same view of what music truly meant to them in their lives. the way you would even take the extra mile in staying up with him in order to help him whenever he was facing a creator’s block from time to time by suggesting your own words, would make his eyes filled with adoration at the passionate ton laced in your voice as you spoke while you pointed out whether an instrumental sounded off or the lyric behind it would mean something else.

simply put, music was the one tying the both of you down in a relationship filled with inspiration and creativity, whether it was a song filling the room from your speakers or a simple dance routine being taught by one another, music was just as important as love in your relationship that you two shared.

“y/n?” hongjoong’s voice managed to make you snap back into reality, immediately looking up at his face to let him know that he has you in full attention as you sat straight in your seat.

“do you want to listen to the piece that i’ve been working on lately?” he asked, a shy simper playing over his lips.

your eyes widened ever so slightly. no matter how many times he had asked if you wanted to listen to a snippet of his creations, it never fails to make you feel a little flattered that you would be the first one to have a listen to it. hongjoong, once he saw your reaction, laughed lightly and motioned you to give him a little moment to get up from his place then walked over to his computer.

it was quiet for a bit, save for the few clicks, though it wasn’t anything uncomfortable. the silence the both of you shared during these certain moments were always filled with comfort instead. while he was busy, you distracted yourself by looking around the room, noting how there were a few crumpled up papers in his mini dustbin just next to his worktable until you heard footsteps coming up to where you were sitting.

suddenly, you heard it. the beat of the song he was so busy working on the past few days played in your ears. you let your shoulders slump in relaxation once the gentle notes of a piano mixed in with a violin dance in your ears, your fingers tapping against your knee to the beat.

an outstretched hand made its way into your line of vision, making you look up at the blue haired boy in question. his lips twitched up as his eyebrow quirked up, silently asking you to take his hand. without even objecting to his request, you took the offer and stood up from your seat. a soft gasp was emitted from your lips when you were pulled against hongjoong almost instantly. the both of you stared into each other’s eyes, both filled with the familiar adoration and fondness swirling in your irises before hongjoong lifted his hand that was not holding yours, to lightly graze his knuckles against the side of your face, you responding almost immediately to his touch by leaning against his hand. you reached your other hand to rest itself on his shoulder, now starting to sway side by side to the song playing in the background subconsciously.

though there wasn’t any voice singing along to the song, it was enough to let the both of you succumb into your own little world. nothing mattered at the moment, all you could focus on was each other. as the music seemed to pick up, hongjoong moved back ever so slightly and twirled you around, watching as the way your eyes twinkled with such giddiness in them along with the gentle titter you let out that reminded of him during the time when he first shared this moment with you a couple of years ago.

the song was nearing its end, and the both of you found yourselves just absentmindedly swaying to the last few beats, hongjoong leaning in to rest his forehead against your own. your eyes fluttered shut, and a small beam played over the both of your lips. you could feel his arm tugging you close against his chest as he called out your name softly, voice barely above a whisper. you merely hummed in response.

“thank you for being the source of my inspiration, my muse.”

and with those words said, his hand that was on your waist reached up to lightly tip your face up to meet with his by gingerly grabbing onto your chin with his thumb and index finger. slowly leaning in, hongjoong whispered those three words against your lips, finally pressing a kiss on your lips. you reached a hand up to rest itself on top of his nape as you moved your lips together as if it was a dance that only the two of you could share.

music was different in how the both of you would resonate with it. but no matter how different it was, the both of you knew that it would never cease to bring the both of you close.

#ateez #ateez writing #ateez drabbles #ateez fanfic #ateez blurbs #ateez au #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #colly's writings

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glassbangtan · 5 years

Text

Jungkook is Typing... {Jungkook x Reader}

Words: 21.1k

Summary: You and Jungkook met online when you were only fourteen years old. Neither of you thought meeting up would be a possibility, until you’re hired as Big Hit’s new editor.

Genre: mild smut, angst, fluff.

Warning: sexual scenes (but nothing graphic)

Notes: masterlist

---

You and Jungkook met online.

This is where most people roll their eyes, close the book and move on. It's this little pinprick of information that makes people turn a blind eye and assume the absolute worst.

In truth, you never really blamed them for this mindset.

You were only fourteen when you started getting into online gaming, and it wasn't like it was some massive deal at the time. Everyone was doing it; World of Warcraft, Dungeons and Dragons, Minecraft Online were all common topics of conversation amongst your year ten class, with people sharing server pins and usernames in a similar way to how they used to share sweets when the teacher wasn't looking. It was no surprise to you – or anyone else – when you asked your parents for a computer for Christmas, and quickly got hooked on the game Prisons of Terror.

It was all you ever talked about, because – in truth – it was all you ever did. You got home from school, threw your bag on the floor and darted to your room. Some days, you didn't even bother saying hello to your mother in fear of someone logging onto the online server before you and getting all the weaponry you'd stashed away in an unlocked chest. You simply could not let that happen. Over one hundred and twenty five hours of hard work were not going to waste just so you could make idle chat with the woman who lived downstairs.

Your parents never questioned it – as stated, this wasn't some new phenomenon, and you didn't have a problem. You were quite capable of logging out of the game when the server was quiet, and you only spoke about it when someone else was willing to engage in conversation. Other than that, most people saw you as a fairly capable, intelligent fourteen year old – normal.

But this little passing fling with Prisons of Terror grew when GoldenJeon entered the server for the very first time. You remembered the date, remembered flicking your eyes up from your homework with the game still running in the background – hardly anyone was playing, so you'd decided to at least be a little bit productive as you waited for some of your other friends to come online. Never before had you seen GoldenJeon written across the bottom of the screen.

You narrowed your eyes, leaned forward and quickly typed into the chat: Who are you?

He didn't reply. You left it at that. He was probably just there to try it out, too nervous to speak to anyone until he found his footing in the game and was finally able to open up a little bit more.

A few days later, he appeared again.

You were quicker with your curiosity this time, barely letting his name disappear from the chat before you were repeating your previous question.

GoldenJeon is typing...

But then he stopped, and there was no response given.

Maybe it was this constant game of back and forth that piqued your interest, that had you pondering over the person behind the strange username. His characters skin consisted of the gear of prisoners, which has always been a strange thing to pick when playing this game. Most people are drawn to the powerful looking players, the guards, the people with swords and crossbows slung across their backs – your own was a person in a guards uniform, your weapon consisting of two circular blades strapped to your shoulders.

Your curiosity heightened to levels you could no longer control, and you opened up a new, private chat with GoldenJeon and started texting.

Innocent questions at first; asking him who he was, how long he'd been playing the game, who the hell gave him the password for the server you were so familiar with at this point.

And he texted back.

He gave you answers, the conversation flowing so much easier than you'd ever expected it to. His silence in the beginning had unsettled you to the point where you'd ridiculously convinced yourself he didn't like you – even before he'd spoken to you. He was ignoring everything you said, so what else were you supposed to believe?

But the two of you texted like best friends outside of the ring of the game you'd grown so addicted to. He sent emojis, and after a few months of constant back and forth, he started sending you little pictures of his dog and the doodles he did during class, and you granted him the same thing. You were never much of an artist, but you put a lot of effort into the drawings you sent him, and also put a lot of effort into making them look effortless, just like he did.

GoldenJeon: got bored in class again. Teacher nearly caught me this time. {ATTACHED IMAGE}

He was talented. There was no denying that. Even at fourteen, there wasn't a sense of jealousy that came with this acknowledgement, but a simple sense of pride. You often tilted the phone to your friend, Yul, and let him see the fresh, simplistic art work GoldenJeon had sent you that day, and Yul would hum and compliment him, and you'd sit there smugly as if to say yep, he's my friend.

After a few weeks, GoldenJeon became somebody else. He became Jeon Jungkook, a student in Busan – miles away from where you lived, but close enough to startle you. Both of you lived in Korea – that had to count for something.

The start of it all was a bumpy road, but looking down at your phone now, you can't help but grin at the realisation that it really was all worth it. Though you and Jungkook are yet to meet in person, not a day has gone by in the past four years where he hasn't sent you some bizarre song, or some scribbled doodle on the back of his notebook. Not a day has gone by where he hasn't sent you a good morning text and asked you how you are, what you've eaten, what your plans are for the day.

He's your best friend, but telling people that earns you a few confused glances, so you tend to refrain as far from that conversation as humanly possible.

Jungkook: I'm bored. Please cheer me up before I walk out and fail this entire class.

Y/N: tough day?

Jungkook: The worst day. I forgot we had a test.

Y/N: what a Jungkook thing to do.

Jungkook: Fuck off and cheer me up. I'm keeping you around for one thing and one thing only.

Y/N: to cheer you up?

Jungkook: Exactly.

Challenge accepted. Standing in line at Starbucks, you shamelessly lift your phone high above your head and take a selfie, sticking your tongue out and throwing up the peace sign for added effect. You hit 'send' to Jungkook and stuff your phone back in your pocket, turning round to retrieve your coffee and head back to work.

Jungkook goes to a weekend performance club in Seoul. This much you know, as you get updates from him on the daily about how his classes are going and how life is now that he's basically an independent man who can do whatever the hell he wants; as well as being a student, he's also a trainee.

He told you about his dreams of becoming an idol on multiple occasions, but you'd heard it all before. Growing up, every single person in your class wanted to be an idol at some point; rising stars like Big Bang and EXO inspired the youth to strive to become as rich and famous as possible – but it always died away, and that's what you thought was going to happen with Jungkook.

You really should have known better.

He was only fifteen when he texted you saying he'd passed his audition. Confused, you'd asked him what he meant, only for him to send you a picture – “photo credit to my mum!” - of him standing in front of a sign with the words Big Hit plastered across it. You leaped out of your chair, squealing with happiness, immediately pressing 'CALL' to continue your freak out with him on the line; he'd started crying, you'd started crying, and that phone call will forever go down as the one that cost you the most money as it lasted for over four hours.

He was still working hard. You got the updates. You comforted him when it all got too much. You helped each other out.

Your phone chimes, signalling Jungkook's response.

Jungkook: Okay good. I think I can push through now. Wish me luck. Love you loads and all that.

You grin.

Y/N: love you too. Don't kill anyone. Xx

The conversation disappears and you are finally able to sink yourself back into reality – work.

Whilst Jungkook is a thriving trainee, you're an intern at a publishing house. Whilst Jungkook spends his days singing and dancing, you spend your days going through unedited manuscripts and marking them up with red pen.

Your boss, Mr Grey, is standing by your desk when you walk in, which is already the first bad sign of the morning. His arms are folded, his grey (yes, grey) moustache freshly waxed. You swallow back a laugh, giving him your best grin as you walk past him to your desk, pretending that his presence in your office is a normal, everyday occurrence.

You already know you're in Big Trouble. Mr Grey never steps foot outside of his office unless someone is in Big Trouble.

“Are you sure you need that caffeine this morning?” is the first thing he asks, as it usually is. Mr Grey is on a health kick. Even though you know it's temporary and he's been through this with you a million different times before, he will still chastise you for any and all unhealthy lifestyle choices you make in his presence whilst he is trying to slim down.

You take a small sip of your hot beverage, clap your lips together and say, “Definitely.” You set your folder down on your desk before turning to him fully. “How may I help you this morning, sir?”

“I need to speak with you about an important matter,” he replies. You pause, waiting for him to elaborate, but his eyes have suddenly turned shifty and there is not a single hint in his posture to reveal whatever riddle he has just spoken.

You look around cautiously, half expecting Soobin from the next office to jump out and spray you with Silly String, or perhaps throw a can of paint in your face. You honestly wouldn't put it past Mr Grey to want to poison you somehow.

When nothing seems out of place, you turn back to your boss and say, “Okay. Do you want to sit down?” You gesture towards the seat he is stiffly standing behind, and he nods before slowly lowering himself onto the worn out cushion. You follow his lead, shuffling a few papers around because that's often all you need to do to look busy around here. You then intertwine your fingers over a thick folder and glance at him, waiting for him to usher the conversation along.

He inhales and rubs a single finger along one of his bushy grey eyebrows. “There has been an opportunity given to me recently that I unfortunately cannot take for myself, so I've come here to ask if you would like to take the chance in my place.”

He says it just like that. The previous silence, the drawn out dramatics just look stupid now, and you can't help but stare at him blankly as the words settle in. You haven't been there for very long, and you're still barely full-time. You're still considered an intern by most people, and still have a lot to learn – so why is he offering you something like this when there's hundreds of other worthy colleagues who would know what to do with this opportunity so much better than you?

“Right,” you say slowly. “I'm gonna need a few more details, I think.”

“It requires travel.”

“I don't really think I can aff-”

“All expenses will be paid by the agency. They'll organise a flat and transport when it's needed. They've been very generous with this offer, which is why I think it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Your heart is thumping. This is real. This is serious.

“What is this offer?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady but failing miserably.

“A well-known company is writing up a catalogue for future employees and they want an editor flown out to make corrections on hand if they need it.”

You blink. “That's . . . Unheard of. Why don't they just send the manuscript out?”

“Because that takes too long, and they don't have that amount of time,” Mr Grey explains. “Plus, they're already in partnership with another editing agency, but this agency doesn't have enough staff free at the moment to take on the job. That's why they came to me.”

“So you'll be shipping me off to another editing agency? I'll become part of another team?” You raise your brows, slowly lean back in your chair. “You could have just sacked me, Mr Grey. It would have done the same thing.”

Mr Grey rolls his eyes – he never has any time for comments like these. It's part of the reason you find it so difficult to find even ground with him. “You'll be coming back eventually. This is just a temporary job, a favour for a friend.”

You sigh. “This is a lot to take in, sir.”

“I understand,” he replies, before he starts standing up. “I'll give you time to think about it, and when you-”

You launch yourself over the desk, grabbing his wrist and dragging him back into his seat before he can get much further. “Jesus, Mr Grey, slow down. I never said I wouldn't take the bloody offer.” You grab a pen from the Worlds Worst Drinker mug on the corner of your desk. “What do I sign and when do I leave?”

---

The train station is bustling with people, but you had been expecting nothing different when you were told you'd be shipped off to Seoul.

Seoul, South Korea. A place you'd once only dreamed about stepping foot in. As you'd grown older, the idea of visiting the capital became more and more intimidating, and you've since grown quite fond of your tiny little area. You'd heard the stories, seen the pictures of the crowded streets and the smoke that always fills the air, but hearing about these details and being amongst them are two very, very different experiences.

You step off the train at long last, shoulder immediately shoved by a passer-by who is too busy looking down at his phone to notice you standing right in front of him. You frown, quickly pull your timetable out of your pocket and look down – you're meant to be meeting your colleague. According to the timetable, this mystery person was meant to pick you up in their car and drive you straight to the building you'd be working at – which, at this moment in time, you have not yet heard the name of.

You look around for any sign of somebody professional looking – sadly, that seems to be the majority of Seoul. You're surprised to see that half of the people bustling around look like they're on their way to work, wearing nice suits or long coats that hide whatever professional gear they're wearing underneath.

“Y/N L/N?”

Your eyes shoot up, heartbeat thumping because you know, just from the sound of the unfamiliar voice, that things are finally starting. There is no backing out of this. You can't just turn around and get back on the train – you've taken the offer, and you're stuck.

You turn on your heel, placing your professional grin on your face. Standing behind you is a fairly small man with a tiny black moustache, wearing an oversized grey hoodie and a beanie. Little black hairs trickle from the edge of his hat and poke him in the eyes, but he does nothing to shift them out the way.

He certainly wasn't what you had been expecting. He's shorter than you by a few inches. He's wearing casual clothes, even on a Wednesday afternoon. He looks like any normal human being, even a little laid back.

“Mr Son!” you exclaim. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Please, call me Sungdeuk,” he says. “I hope the train ride wasn't too bad? I know they can get a little crowded and uncomfortable.”

As he speaks, he grabs for your suitcase and starts down the platform. You blink, ponder over whether or not to follow him before you're nearly tripping over your own feet trying to catch up.

“Uh, yeah. It was a – uh – experience,” you reply. “I'm just glad I got here on time.”

“I assume you know all about the kind of work you'll be doing?”

“Mhm!”

You cringe even as the noise leaves your lips, because in truth, you have absolutely no idea what it is you'll be doing. What little you've been told barely seems to cover the surface, and you're still carrying around many questions in which you know will need answered eventually – when you get to that point, you'll make sure to ask, but for now, it's safer to just pretend you're prepared.

You and Sungdeuk make your way into a large Range Rover that is parked outside the station. Sungdeuk gets in the front seat whilst you clamber into the back, and immediately a cold bottle of water is passed to you over the back of Sungdeuk's seat.

“Kept chilled, just for you,” he says, winking in the rear view mirror.

You smile and grab for the drink, but your stomach is reeling with nerves and you know for a fact you won't be able to keep anything down, liquid or not. And so, you mess with the lid, curling your fingers around it until the clasp bites into your palm, until the condensation is sinking into your jeans and making the leather seats damp.

Neither of you speak for the majority of the drive, and Sungdeuk seems perfectly fine with that. He barely even glances at you, too busy leaning his head against the headrest with his eyes closed, like he's living in his own fantasy world. Even the driver is perfectly content with the silence, but it itches at your skin. You should be talking. You want your first impression to be chipper, friendly, curious. You want your new boss to think you're actually interested in whatever it is you've been signed up for.

Cautiously, you lean forward and poke your head between the passenger and driver seat. “Uh, hi.”

Sungdeuk creaks open one eye. “You alright?”

“I was just – uh – I have a question.” You may as well slip a question in now.

Sungdeuk turns to look at you. “Go ahead. I thought you were told everything.”

“I was told most things,” you lie. “Except for – you know – who I'll actually be working for.”

Sungdeuk stares at you, waiting for the non-existent punch line. You suddenly want to curl up in a ball, perhaps throw yourself out the window.

He purses his lips when you stay silent, features completely straight. “You don't know who you're working for?”

“I'm sure it was in the contract,” you hasten to say. “I might have just missed it. You know what, sorry for bothering you.” You wave a dismissive hand, already leaning back in your seat and pretending you didn't even speak up in the first place. “You carry on doing what you're doing, and I'll just sit back here and-”

“We're here anyway,” he says, grinning at your sudden flustered state. You don't even have a chance to be embarrassed, as you lurch forward and look out the window, just as the massive gates open into the car park behind a large grey building. Lights are on in almost every single room, and there's a sign on the door that reads, in big, bold letters:

BIG HIT ENTERTAINMENT.

And you want to scream.

There's no way. There's absolutely no way this is real life. You've decided. You've come to the conclusion that maybe you hit your head on the train and now you're actually dreaming this entire thing. You're in a coma somewhere. A doctor is poking at you this very minute, but you won't wake up because-

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snap up. “Hm?”

“We going in?”

You swallow thickly and gather your wits, trying to calm the race of your heartbeat. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket – you want to text Jungkook so bad, because you can already guess his reaction. He's going to be mortified. The safe little friendship the two of you have is going to be destroyed as soon as he sees you walk in them doors, because he can no longer hide behind the distance that was always such a comfort blanket between the two of you. Sure, it was a pain in the ass sometimes. Sometimes Jungkook would just go on huge rants about wanting to cuddle you because he couldn't sleep, and its them moments where the distance can honestly just fuck off – but at the same time, you have a pimple growing on your forehead that Jungkook would never be able to see.

Not until now.

Nonetheless, you know you can't just set up camp in the back of the Range Rover, so you gather your bags and follow Sungdeuk into the lobby of the building. He's chatting away, giving you a brief tour of the area you can see, but you're not even paying attention.

On the wall, the posters glare at you.

“Who is Bangtan Sonyeondan?” you ask, not even realising you're cutting the man off.

He lowers his hand and follows your gaze to the poster you're currently inspecting; it consists of seven men, all of whom you recognise because Jungkook idolises each and every one. He texts you about their daily runnings almost every single day, and you find it kind of strange that you know Namjoon's favourite cereal to have in the morning, as well as the fact that Seokjin shrunk his favourite pink socks the other day.

But it's Jungkook who your focus is trained upon, because you recognise him immediately. The brown hair, the dumpling cheeks and the baggy clothes. He's staring into the camera with such a serious look on his face, and half of you wants to burst into a fit of giggles whilst the other half of you wants to burst into flames.

“They're the group,” Sungdeuk says.

You raise a brow. “The group?”

“The only group Big Hit is representing at the minute,” he confirms. “They've been together for a few years now. I'm surprised you haven't heard of them.”

You swallow. You have heard of them – probably on a much deeper level than Sungdeuk can even begin to comprehend.

He moves on with the tour, leading you through winding hallways, explaining each and every detail as he does so. You meet a few people on the way past; a few producers, a few choreographers, a few people who are messing with broken cameras and lights. The building just seems to get more and more complex the longer you walk, and it isn't long until Sungdeuk is leading you directly to the training room.

Thankfully, it's empty for now.

“And this is my place,” he says, stretching his arms out. The room is only small, but it's brightly lit and there's a glowing neon sign in the corner that reads BTS. Beneath it are a pair of shoes that look as if they had been discarded not long ago; with your limited knowledge of fashion, you're able to identify them as Balenciagas.

“This is where the boys come to learn their choreographies and practice some of their old stuff,” Sungdeuk continues to explain. “I sent them on their break so I could come and get you.”

You smile warily. “So what is it you actually do around here?”

“I'm the production manager,” he replies. “But I'm also the lead choreographer. I come up with the dances, teach them to the boys and send them on their way. They're quite independent that way – they don't need me holding their hand through everything.”

You chuckle. “I heard Hoseok does a lot of the training. He tends to just take over.”

Sungdeuk laughs. “Yeah, he's a really good-” He freezes. You glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes are narrowed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Wait. How do you know about Hoseok?”

Aaaaaand, you've already fucked up.

Your brain runs at a million miles per hour, because there's a legible answer there somewhere. You can lie. You can come up with something – anything - but god, your hands are now sweaty and he's staring at you with his head tilted and he probably thinks you're such a crazed stalker.

You open your mouth to reply, to say anything, but the words are cut off by the sound of booming laughter and the door opening. It squeaks, and you make a mental note to bring some WD40 with you next time you're here.

But until then, you have to calm down, because Jungkook is there and he's taller than you imagined, and he's captured your eye already meaning there's absolutely no getting out of this mess.

Sungdeuk greets the other boys – all six of them, fuck sake – but Jungkook stays rooted to the floor. In his hand is a coffee. In his other hand is a water. He's wearing a bandanna and an oversized hoodie, and it takes everything in you not to melt into the floorboards right here and now.

“Everyone, meet Y/N L/N,” Sungdeuk announces, one arm wrapped around Namjoon's waist, the other pushed towards you. “They're the new editor for the Big Hit catalogue.”

“Ay, you found someone!” Taehyung exclaims, walking towards you with those long, intimidating legs that are neatly covered by a pair of striped trousers. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and tugs you tight against him. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I'm Taehyung.”

“Nice to meet you,” you mumble.

“Awk look; they're already nervous,” Seokjin teases, peeling his jacket off his very, very broad shoulders.

“Don't worry. We don't mind a few typos,” Yoongi chimes in.

You try to laugh, but it sounds forced and honestly not worth the effort. Even the boys seem to notice the dry, false side to the giggle as they all turn to look at you, a crowd of raised eyebrows turning to look at you all at once – but again, you can't take your eyes off of Jungkook for even a second.

This is the person you've been talking to since you were fourteen. This is the person who calls you in the middle of the night because he doesn't know what to get from the fridge. This is the person who sends you countless videos on Snapchat of him trying to figure out how to fit the sheet back on his bed in the morning, most of which end with him saying, “Seokjin will do it.”

He's standing in front of you, and he's real, and you're still not entirely convinced you're not dreaming.

Until he speaks.

“D-don't be nervous,” he says. “You'll do a great job. I know you will.”

Oh yeah. You're definitely going to melt into the floorboards at any given moment.

---

“I can't believe this-”

“I swear to god I didn't know it was Big Hit I was gonna be working for.”

“You're here. How are you here?”

“I took a train, Jungkook. A train! Do you know how terrified I am of fast moving vehicles?”

Jungkook closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the wall you've accidentally pushed him against in your panic. You aren't even sure how you've done it, but in your hectic panic, you've ended up basically shoving him against the wall as soon as the two of you are away from the large group of excited, older men.

You take a step back and awkwardly rub the back of your neck. “Look, I'm being serious. I didn't even know what company had hired me until Sungdeuk pulled up outside the Big Hit building. I wasn't searching for you or anything.”

Jungkook cracks an eye open. “You know I'm not even meant to be in contact with you.”

This draws you up short. “What?”

“After I joined Big Hit to be a trainee, they made me sign this massive contract thing. It said I had to cut all ties with certain people, and I signed it and said I would.” He bites his lip and looks away, as if confessing to his crimes makes him somehow not worthy to look into your eyes. “And then I texted you the same day about going online for a few hours.”

Your chest hurts. Physically aches. “You were meant to cut ties with me?”

“I didn't take it seriously!” he hisses, tugging at his hair. “I was fifteen, for gods sake. It wasn't until Hoseok started telling me all the things he had to do to make up his contract that I started realising I should probably be – you know – paying attention, too, but I liked texting you. It became kind of routine, so I never stopped.”

You hollow out your cheeks. Not even a full day into business and already Jeon Jungkook is overwhelming you; you're not even surprised.

“Okay, so we just don't tell anyone that we know each other,” you say, as if the two of you haven't already put suspicion in people's heads by basically handling each other with bubble wrap the entire afternoon.

“But I was gonna – I was gonna ask if you wanted to go get dinner tonight,” he says. You raise a brow. He rolls his eyes, shakes his head. “As friends, you sleez.”

“Okay, okay, I was kidding,” you chuckle. “We can still go to dinner, Jungkook. You can just tell the guys you're going somewhere else, and then we'll meet up. Although, I don't really know my way around Seoul just yet so...”

“Do you know where you're staying?” he asks.

You pull a piece of paper from your back pocket and shove it in his hands; written in almost unintelligible handwriting is your new, temporary address. Jungkook's eyes light up when he reads it.

“Hey, that's not far from the dorms!” he says. “I can come and pick you up if that makes it easier. Then we can finally . . . you know . . . discuss what's going on here.”

The way he says it makes your spine tingle, like being friends is some kind of scandal. Apparently it kind of is, considering Jungkook was meant to cut all ties with you over three years ago and just casually decided not to, as if it was no big deal. Part of you wants to be flattered by it. The other part of you wants to slap him up side the head for thinking his friendship with you was more important than living his dreams.

“How long are you staying?” he asks, voice suddenly quiet.

“However long it takes for the catalogue to be made,” you reply, before awkwardly stepping forward. “Jungkook, I just want you to know that I'm not here for a holiday. I have work to do.”

Jungkook's head snaps up, eyes alert. “What? Of course. I know that. I was just – I mean, we've been friends for a long time, Y/N. I think it's about time I take you for dinner.” He raises a brow. “Unless you think this is weird. 'Cause we can always just go back to texting and sending each other stupid videos.”

You chuckle, glancing down at the floor where your toes are very nearly hitting against his. You don't step back, simply kick a rock up onto his shoe which he kicks back onto yours almost immediately. “No. I think this is good. It's like fate, isn't it? Even the universe can't keep us apart kind of thing.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Is this another one of them astrology things you always send to me?”

You roll your eyes, nudging Jungkook with your elbow. “I was trying to be sweet, you idiot.”

“You don't need to be sweet. I've seen you make a fake Instagram account to get a look at your ex-boyfriend's new page.”

“I was fifteen-”

He starts walking back towards the building. “I've seen it.”

“Jungkook, I swear to-”

“I've seen it, Y/N!”

---

You shouldn't feel nervous, but you do.

As you look at yourself in the mirror and try desperately to fix your travel-hair, you remind yourself that this is Jungkook. GoldenJeon. The boy you've known for years, the boy who knows you better than any of your real life friends do. There will be no awkward silences, because there is so much to talk about. There will be no flustered glances, because there is no reason to be flustered. There will be absolutely no tension during this dinner, because you and Jungkook have been friends for years. Just because he is now a physical form changes nothing.

These are the rules you set out for yourself as you slip on your shoes and head for the door of your new apartment. It's small, one bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a sofa. There's a generously sized television hung up on the far wall, and a picture of a house plant hung beside it; you're half tempted to take it down and replace it with a family picture, but something about that makes this place seem a little too permanent. You don't want to be getting attached when you know full well you'll be heading home in a matter of months.

Jungkook texts you to tell you he's outside at exactly seven pm. He's on time, something you weren't expecting considering he has a habit of being late to almost every single meeting he's invited to – he tells you these things on a daily basis, claiming he slept in or he forgot, or he got too caught up in his games.

But he's not lying. You step outside into the chilly night air of Seoul and are greeted by the sight of his warm smile and fluffy brown hair. He's wearing an oversized coat, his hands tucked into the pockets, his shoulders bunched around his ears. When he sees you exit through the front door, he picks up his pace to a penguin-like jog before jumping in front of you and bundling you into a hug you most definitely were not expecting.

“Do you see how early I am?” he asks. You can feel his lips moving against the crown of your head, and your face heats up.

“You're on time,” you correct. “And apparently in a very good mood.”

He pulls away, holds you at arms length. His brown eyes look so light beneath the yellow glow of the street lamps. It's a doe-like look, and it makes your spine tingle when it's trained on you.

“Of course I'm in a good mood,” he says. “I've already picked out the restaurant we're going to. It's called Frapuls.”

You raise a brow, letting Jungkook slip his hand into your own as he starts to lead you down the pavement. “Frapuls? I don't think I've ever heard of that before.”

“It's good. All sorts of food – burgers, kimchi, stir-fry – anything you want, they have it.” He looks over his shoulder. “I wasn't sure what kind of food you liked, so I just picked the one that had the most options.”

You smile. “Frapuls sounds perfect.”

The restaurant itself is small, sparcely populated. Part of you thinks Jungkook's decision to eat here had more to do with the fact that it isn't busy than because he was unsure of your food preferences – nonetheless, you're not complaining. Jungkook leads you into the tiny restaurant, mutters something to the man at the front desk before the two of you are led towards a table on the far side of the restaurant.

It's dimly lit, tiny little lanterns placed all around the room being the only source of light. It makes Jungkook's eyes a little darker, making you want to rip his bucket hat off his head just so you can be given better access to the doe-like brown eyes you had seen earlier on. However, when Jungkook looks at you from across the table, there is no more wondering; you can see his eyes perfectly fine, bright and round and questioning. He looks so curious, tracing your features, trying to figure you out – you can see it in his expression. He has questions, so many questions, but he says none of them until you cough and meet his gaze.

“You can ask me anything you want.” It's a bold statement, but you mean it.

Jungkook pulls back, spreading his fingers across his untouched menu. He licks his bottom lip and sighs. “There's just so many things that don't make sense.”

“Like?”

“Like how you're here. How I didn't know you were going to be here. How we managed to meet up after years of just texting online, and it wasn't even planned.” He shakes his head. “People in our situation literally go through hell to see each other, and it just fell into our laps.”

You bite your lip. “Would you say it's luck?”

“I don't really believe in luck.” Jungkook leans forward, folding his arms in front of him. “But I can't really put my finger on what else it could be.”

“A coincidence,” you suggest. “I mean, it's insane that the people from Big Hit decided to choose the publishing agency I work for to edit their catalogue. It's insane that my boss decided I'd be a good replacement for him.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “It's not insane. You're brilliant at what you do. I've been subject to plenty of late night distressed phone calls to be able to vouch for that.”

You scoff. “You of all people are not allowed to talk about late night distressed phone calls. I think I received at least one a week from you – I marked them on my calender.”

“I'm not that bad!”

“You definitely are. I have the receipts-”

Jungkook's hand snaps out and curls around your wrist before you can grab your phone.

“Alright, I believe you,” he says. “But that's not the point.”

You grin, twisting your hand out of his grip. “Look, maybe it's better if we don't question why we were lucky enough for this to happen. Neither of us know how long we've got together, so we might as well focus our attention on other things.”

Jungkook nods, looking down at his menu. “I agree. For example, you never told me how short you are.”

You very nearly choke on the air you're breathing.

Your eyes snap open, darting across the table to where Jungkook is now grinning down at his menu, pretending like this conversation starter is oh-so-normal, and not at all totally ludicrous.

“I'm average!” you argue. “It's not my fault you're a complete skyscraper of a human being.”

Jungkook raises a brow, still yet to look up from his menu. “I'm not even that tall. You're just taking the piss.”

“Is this your way of charming me?”

“I didn't know you wanted me to charm you in the first place.”

You grit your teeth, shifting your eyes back to your menu.

Jungkook, however, is on a roll. “Did you notice that I could put my chin on your head when I hugged you earlier? Is that not adorable?”

“I'm average,” you repeat.

“You're small. The sooner you realise it, the better. Then I can give you more chin-to-head hugs.”

It sounds promising. That single hug outside your apartment had been enough to fill you with so many butterflies that you were convinced you would float off like a balloon pumped with helium. His arms had been warm. You had convinced yourself that he'd hidden hot packs in the front of his coat, because nobody's chest could be that warm and welcoming in two degree weather. He'd even gone as far as to press his lips into the crown of your head, and you remember that vividly, because it was that very movement that-

“Can I take your order?”

You look up, cheeks heating up with the realisation that you had just completely zoned out, remembering Jungkook hugging you. Looking over, you can see Jungkook staring at you, his cheeks a vivid red colour and his eyebrows furrowed. You bite your lip, looking back up at the smiling waitress who is waiting patiently at your table with a notebook in her hands.

You order the pasta carbonara and a water, whilst Jungkook orders the steak and rice with an iced Coke to go along with it. The two of you don't mention the lack of alcohol – you don't trust yourself to get drunk in front of him yet, and if your thoughts are anything to go by, you need to keep your brain in check tonight.

Jungkook's look of confusion does not leave his face throughout the meal, even as the conversation develops a life of its own. The two of you bicker like an old married couple, Jungkook complaining about the amount of times he has to revive your character in Overwatch and you complaining that you always have to give him extra supplies in Minecraft, even though you've totally, one hundred percent outgrown Minecraft and only play it because Jungkook still likes it, and his character would definitely die if you were not there to make sure he keeps his inventory full.

You're not even surprised with how easy the conversation flows; it's like your texting, but with your mouths. The banter, the teasing, the sly jabs that are always so present in your text conversations do not take the back seat even when you are in front of each other – the only difference now is that you can see his expressions, can hear his laughter, can hear his scoffs of disbelief, and it makes your insides melt with each and every thing he says.

It's so much better than texting. It's so much better than patchy Skype calls. It's so much better than you could have ever imagined.

You speak for hours even after your meal has finished. You place your napkin over your empty meal, place your bag in your lap but neither of you move from the table; you just keep talking, shifting into a debate on whether Billie Eilish or Justin Bieber have the best new song out – Jungkook admits that he's taken a liking to Billie Eilish, but hastens to insist that Justin Bieber is, and forever will be, his ride-or-die.

You only leave the restaurant when the shy waitress glides over to you and tells you that the table you've been over-occupying for hours is needed. Jungkook has paid for the entire meal (plus a tip) before you even have a chance to find your purse.

You shoot him a glare once the two of you are finally outside again, subject to the cold winter air and the surprisingly busy streets of Seoul – back in your home town, the streets were basically empty at this time, but Seoul is different. Seoul is always alive, always bustling with people and chatter and entertainment. Even at this time of night, there are buskers seated on the pavement and dancers twirling through the streets, lights on in every household. It vibrates with an energy you've never known before, and it sends a ripple of excitement coursing through you.

Jungkook ignores your glare and continues walking, a dull smile playing on his features that you find difficult to miss.

“I don't wanna go back to the dorms yet,” he says without turning to look at you. You are forced to pick up your pace just to catch up with him, and when you do, you latch onto his arm so you don't lose him amongst the ever-thickening crowd. If it bothers him, he says nothing.

“What else can we do?” you ask. “It's getting late.”

“So?”

“So all the shops are closed.”

Jungkook raises a brow, glancing down at you as if your logic is extremely flawed. “Again, so?”

“Jungkook, we can't just-”

“Watch this.” He shrugs out of your grip and marches towards a nearby busker before you have a chance to even register what he is doing. You pause in the middle of the street, pulling your coat tighter to your body and watching as Jungkook and the young man with the guitar talk in hushed tones. The busker's eyes eventually light up and he shakes Jungkook's hand before the song he was previously playing is forgotten and replaced by a soft, melodic tone that you've never heard before.

When Jungkook turns back around to face the crowd, he looks nervous. You immediately know what he's going to do, and your heart races at the idea of it; you've heard him sing before. Some mornings he'll call you just so you can keep him company as he goes through his daily routine, and you sit back and listen to him hum as he brushes his teeth, belts out solos as he picks out his outfit for the day. You've heard him sing, but never like this, and you aren't sure why the idea of it excites you so much.

He doesn't bother with an introduction to the song. He just looks at you once, closes his eyes and starts singing, and suddenly the rest of the crowd no longer exists.

The little girl crying over her fallen ice cream no longer exists. The bickering couple beside you no longer exists. The dog barking in impatience no longer exists, and the only sound you can hear is Jungkook's soft voice flittering through the busy crowd, meeting your ears as if he's singing for you and only you.

The lights bring it all together. They shine behind him, illuminating the gold streaks in his hair, the outline of his jaw that has absolutely no right to be as sharp as it is. His body sways back and forth, and even though he's wearing the worlds biggest coat, zipped right up to his chin, you can still imagine his Adams apple bobbing every time he stops for a breath.

This is Jungkook in his natural element. This is where he's meant to be, where he worked so hard to be. For years, the both of you had always joked that he was a video game obsessive, that he was most comfortable in front of the computer, or PlayStation, or xBox just losing himself in a world that wasn't this one – but now you feel ridiculous even pondering over such a crazy idea. This is where he belongs.

Your throat closes over as the song does. Jungkook's voice fades away, and the eruption of cheers brings you back down to Earth. Everyone fizzles back into place, and you're suddenly overwhelmed with the unexplainable urge to break down into tears.

Jungkook's eyes meet your own almost as soon as he opens them. You grin brightly, clapping along with the crowd and he blushes before he turns, thanks the busker and makes his way over to you. Almost as soon as he is in front of you, he takes your hands in his and pulls you close.

“You look freezing. I should have kept us moving.”

“What song was that?” you ask, pulling away to look up at him.

He frowns. “You liked it?”

“I loved it,” you reply. “What song was it?”

“It's called Promise. My friend Jimin wrote it.”

“It was beautiful,” you say before you can stop yourself. Jungkook's blush grows more prominent, looking down to the floor in his attempts to hide it, but you can see right through it. You grin, place a hand on his neck and say, “I'd like to hear you sing some more.”

His eyes meet your own. For a moment, you think you've gone too far. His brows are furrowed, and he's silent for a moment longer than you're comfortable with, but he eventually grins and nods. “Of course.”

---

The first day of work is a hectic one.

The first few pages of the catalogue arrive on your doorstep at seven am sharp, followed shortly by a frantic phone call from Mr Bang Shi Hyuk, who you met a week ago and have still yet to hear talk in a normal tone. He's always busy, always bustling round his office, and you're certain you've never gotten through a phone call without him having to put you on hold to scold someone. This morning, his frantic call has an undertone of desperation to it as he asks you to get the freshly edited pages back to him by five pm – definitely not an impossible goal, but you know you won't be taking any breaks today.

And so, you set up camp at your kitchen table and get to work as soon as the coffee kicks in. Bundled in your fluffy dressing gown and a pair of slippers, you sip idly on different beverages, red pen in hand, glasses perched on the end of your nose. You order some food from a nearby delivery place, dig into it with one hand whilst the other continues to glide across the pages, correcting typos and sentences until everything sounds smooth.

You reach an area of the catalogue that describes Bangtan Sonyeondan, and put it to the side for later. You don't want to think about Jungkook right now – well, you do, but it probably won't be for the best. Any time you see something that reminds you of him, you want to stop, snap a picture of it and send it to him via your stupid little Whatsapp group – that is time wasted, and you can't afford it right now.

Seven am turns into four pm, turns into five pm, and you're stuffing the catalogue pages into the return envelope at the same time you're pulling your jacket on over your shoulders and sprinting out the door. You don't bother saying hello to the friendly door lady at the reception desk. You don't bother to check both ways before sprinting out the door and barrelling up the street towards the Big Hit building. The only thing you can focus on is the time slowly trickling away, and by the time you've crashed into the lobby of the Big Hit building, the time reads 5:01pm and you're already planning out your new CV in your head.

You groan, sprinting up to the front desk and slapping the envelope onto it. “Here. It's here. I wasn't late. I was just -” You pant, trailing your fingers over your rain soaked hair. “Please tell Mr Bang the pages are finished.”

The lady at the desk eyes the envelope and raises her brows, before slowly reaching forward and slipping it into the delivery bin beside her. “Thank you, Y/N. I'll email him now.”

“Like, right now?” you push. You stand on your tip toes and try to see over the desk. “Can I see what you write? Please tell him I was on time, I was just-”

Hands gently grip your elbow, startling you. Jungkook is grinning down at the receptionist as he pushes you away from the desk. “Don't mind us, Gertrude. We're leaving now.”

You shrug out of his grip, spinning around when he pushes you into a nearby hallway and closes the door. He turns back to you, raising a brow that holds so many questions, but your only concern at the minute is whether or not Bang Shi Hyuk is going to receive those pages on time.

You try to look over his shoulder. “Do you think he'll be mad at me?”

“You weren't even late,” Jungkook replies.

You pull your sleeve up and shove your watch in his face. “Can you see that? Five. Oh. One. He wanted them back by five, but I lost track and-”

Jungkook reaches up and tugs on your bottom lip. The action is so unexpected that you don't even continue speaking once his hand drops back to his side – you just watch his arm swing, eyes slowly narrowing.

“What did you just do?”

“Tried to calm you down,” he replies. “Or shut you up. Whichever way you wanna look at it.”

You frown, shifting your eyes to his. “I think I'm delirious. I've been sat at my kitchen table since seven this morning.”

“So I thought,” he says. “You weren't answering my texts, or my single phone call that I so kindly wasted my lunch break to make.”

You wince. “Sorry. I was busy.”

He waves a dismissive hand, but the guilt is still there; Jungkook always makes time for you, no matter how busy his life gets, and you can guarantee that his schedule is a lot busier than yours on days like this. You can see it in the way the sweat clings to his baggy black shirt, the way the ends of his hair are damp.

“Did you eat anything good today?” he asks.

“I had some Chinese takeout.”

“Gross. That's not good at all.”

“It was good.” You pat your stomach for added affect. “I had fried rice, chips, egg noodles – the whole damn heap. Ate it straight out of the bag, too.”

Jungkook crinkles his nose, and it's the most adorable thing you've ever seen. “I swear to god, I'm going to have to keep an eye on you 24/7. You're gonna end up giving yourself a heart attack.”

“I was stress eating,” you say. “I was burning the calories by stressing. It's like I haven't even eaten.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, loops his arm through yours and starts down the hallway. You follow him, a new-found skip in your step that it seems only Jungkook can rattle into your system.

He leads you right to the training room, where the rest of Bangtan are busy doing absolutely nothing. They lounge around, some of them laying on the floor, others sitting on spinny chairs that have absolutely no reason to be there. Namjoon is leaned against the wall; if you weren't careful enough, you'd mistake him for a house lamp.

“Look who arrived,” Jungkook announces, shoving you into the room. The other boys chorus out a “Hi Y/N,” before going back to their exhausted scrollings of social media. “One minute late.”

Jimin fake gasps. “Fired!”

“Don't even joke,” you grunt, slumping down next to Taehyung on the floor. He leans over and shows you his phone screen, and you immediately take over his game of Angry Birds. He lets his head drop back to the floor and his eyes promptly close, as if he had just been waiting for someone to take over his game so he could go to sleep.

“Hard day?” Namjoon asks.

You shrug. “Stressful day.”

“But at least you made it. Did you edit the pages Mr Bang sent you?” Seokjin asks.

“Barely,” you reply, and Jungkook scoffs, kicking your foot.

“You're being too hard on yourself. One minute late isn't a big deal – Mr Bang probably won't even get to reading them before he goes home tonight.”

“So why did the little bastard make me run down here to get them to him by five?” You raise a brow at Jungkook. “Answer me that, Oh Great One.”

“Because.” Jungkook sits down beside you, crossing his legs. “Having a deadline looks more professional than just telling you to get them in by the end of the day.”

“Can someone tell him that I don't care about professional?”

Seokjin sighs. “I've been trying to tell him that for years, Y/N. So far, no luck.”

You groan, the sound mingling with the angry chipper of a bird who has just failed to knock down a house full of tiny green piglets.

“It's done now, anyway,” Hoseok chimes in. He's barefoot again, his Balenciagas thrown carelessly to the side. “I say you celebrate.”

“Mm. I could always order more Chinese food-”

“Nope!” Jungkook exclaims. “Nope, nope, no. No more Chinese food.”

You frown. “Who made you the devil incarnate this evening?”

“You're gonna make yourself sick,” he says. “Celebrate some other way.”

“I wish we could join you, but I'm exhausted,” says Yoongi.

You wave a dismissive hand. “Don't worry. I am too, buddy. I'll probably just go home and get an early night.” You shoot Jungkook a glance. “Play a bit of Minecraft.”

His eyes light up, a tiny smile twitching on his face that he tries to hide by ducking his head down and messing idly with the drawstrings of your grey sweatpants; you didn't even realise you were wearing them. You were too busy trying to leave the house to actually pay attention to your appearance.

“Sounds like a night made for an elderly person,” says Jimin. “Right up your alley.”

You throw Hoseok's Balenciaga at him.

---

GoldenJeon is active, and you're ready to absolutely destroy him.

Gathering snacks and a drink of water (healthy), you settle by your laptop and start playing. The two of you agreed to meet up on a server called The Hunger Games, in which the players are put against each other until there is only one remaining player – for years, you and Jungkook have squabbled over this game, making it much more dramatic than it needs to be, but it's all for the right reasons. Jungkook will call you in the middle of the game, speaking through gritted teeth, warning you not to jump out at him because he knows you're prowling around the corner, just waiting for him to drop his guard. Neither of you even pay attention to the other players; if another player kills you, Jungkook kills them. It's how it works. You're Jungkook's only goal, and he is yours.

Jungkook calls you after the ten minute mark. Whilst he speaks through clenched teeth, you speak through a mouthful of marshmallow.

“Just tell me where you are, you piece of shit,” he demands.

“Ask me nicely.” On your screen, his tiny block player is busy scrambling through some chests. It would be so easy to sneak up on him, stab him whilst he's too busy looting for gear, but you stay back.

“Y/N, I swear to god, you're giving me anxiety,” he replies. “Just tell me where you are. I promise I won't kill you.”

“Aren't you sweet.”

“So?”

“I'm not telling you where I am.” You equip your player with your new weapon. “But I just want you to know that I've just found a diamond sword with full strength still on it, so I'd watch out.”

Jungkook groans. “I hate you. I hate this game. I hate that you're so good at this fucking game.”

“You spend too much time worrying,” you say. “As soon as the map loads, you're trying to get away from me. Why don't you actually try and figure out where I'm going before you run off in the other direction?”

“Because if I stay close to you, you'll kill me!”

“That's the point!”

Jungkook groans again, and you can imagine him tugging on the blanket he always has wrapped round his shoulders when he's on his laptop. “You need to cut me some slack.”

“You've been looting plenty of chests recently, Mr JK. It'll be easy for you to just find me and kill me.”

Jungkook pauses. “How did you know I was looting chests?”

You grin. “A hunch?”

“You son of a bitch.” His character spins around and looks directly at you. You let out a squeak of surprise at the same time Jungkook gasps, but you don't give him mercy. You dive out of your hiding place and slam the space button so many times your finger starts to hurt from the pressure; your character bashes Jungkook's character with their fancy new diamond sword until eventually the words GoldenJeon has left the server appear on the bottom of the screen.

“Y/N!” he cries out. “You didn't even-”

“I won, is what I did,” you holler, throwing your arms in the air, doing a little dance on your mattress. “I won again, I won again, I won again.” You put your hands back to the keyboard. “Another game before we go to sleep?”

“No, you know what?” He sounds stern, and you're no longer sure whether to continue the teasing. “No. This is totally unfair. I'm on my way over.”

You freeze, not sure whether you heard him right. “You're what, sorry?”

You can already hear him shuffling around on the other side of the phone, probably grabbing his coat, or maybe a baseball bat. “I'm coming over. Get the kettle on, by the way. I have to walk, and it's fucking freezing.”

“Jungkook, it's twelve am,” you hiss. “Stay where you are or so help me-”

“See you in five minutes, you little traitor!” And then he hangs up, leaving you in a sudden state of panic.

Whatever triumph you'd felt at winning the game has melted away and been replaced by an immediate sense of urgency. You jump out of bed, blankets flying left, right and centre. You don't bother going for your wardrobe – Jungkook has seen you in your pyjamas plenty of times before (thank you, Skype). Instead, you head directly for the kitchen, slapping the kettle on on your way past before you busy yourself with tidying up the mess you'd made this afternoon. Broken pens and pencils scatter the table; old takeout boxes litter the counter; your washing up basket is filled to the brim. You quickly toss a pair of underwear under the fridge and hope to God Jungkook doesn't decide to go snooping.

You've barely emptied the bin before the door to your apartment is opening and Jungkook is suddenly there, in all of his fucking glory, with the most hard expression you've ever seen. You swivel up, drop the bag and say, “If you're here to kill me, I want you to know that it was all fun.” You pause. “But I still beat your ass in that game.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, and before you can process what is going on, he's crossed the threshold of your living room and is standing right in front of you. He wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into him, startling you enough for a squeak to escape your throat.

Jungkook leans down, his lips so close to your ear, your throat, the hinge of your jaw and suddenly you want to drag him into you and lose yourself in that warmth you were lusting over only a few weeks prior.

“I've never been able to do this before,” he says, voice gruff.

“D-do what? Kill me?”

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, and Jesus take the wheel, you've had it.

“I've never been able to just come over to your house when I want to.” If it's possible, his voice is even lower. “Never been able to call you a son of a bitch to your face, because you should have told me where you were.” He nips your collar bone. If the world wasn't spinning fast enough already, it sure is now.

You grip the counter behind you, breathing heavy. You want to continue the teasing, to make light of this situation, but your head is running at a thousand miles per hour and holy fuck is this really GoldenJeon holding you like this?

“Jungkook, what are you doing?” you ask, breathless.

He stops, detaching his teeth from your throat but he doesn't move away. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” You're eager, and that much is clear in your words. “No, please don't. I just want to know why.”

“As I said,” he says, leaning down to bare his teeth against your flesh again, “I've never been able to do this before.”

“I didn't know you wanted to.”

“Then you're very, very oblivious.”

“Not as oblivious as you. That's probably why I was able to kill you fifteen minutes into the first match.”

He growls. His hand snaps down and grabs the back of your thigh, hitching your leg onto his hip. You squeal, tossing your head back just as he lifts you up and props you up on the counter. You bang your head against the cupboard. Jungkook pulls back, eyes wide with that concern you know so well, but you don't let him spoil the moment. You grab onto the back of his neck and drag him forward, slamming your lips against his before you lose your god damn mind.

Because that's what it feels like. All of this is so sudden, so unexplainable and strange, but you're going to be driven absolutely insane if it doesn't continue. Your stomach clenches. You swallow his breathy pants, acknowledge how his lips twist, how his hands hesitate before he finally clamps them on your thighs and slowly drags them up until they're teasing the waistband of your unflattering pyjama trousers.

“Shy little Jungkook,” you whisper into his mouth. “So confident a few seconds ago, and now you can barely touch me.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks.

The question hits you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes flutter closed. His mouth trails hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw as he waits for your reply, but you're not sure you can gather enough air to give him one at this moment in time.

His grip tightens on your thighs. Your legs jerk, but he holds you down. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, Y/N.”

“Everywhere,” is your reply, because you can't think of one specific body part this is burning hotter than the others. “Just – Just stop messing around.”

Jungkook chuckles. His tongue darts out, dabs at the hinge of your jaw before disappearing, and you want to scream with how slow he's taking this, like he's savouring every moment even though you're trying to scoot closer to him, trying to capture his lips with yours again.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” He curls his fingers around your leg, his fingertips moulding into the flesh on your inner thigh.

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Somewhere else.”

He raises a brow, slowly lifts his hand to your mouth. His thumb scrapes along your lower lip, and you resist the urge to do that thing you've seen in movies where the girl sucks the mans thumb into their mouth – is that even considered attractive in real life?

“What about here?”

“Not good enough.”

He tilts his head, starts to smirk. His hand drops from your lips, glides along your chin and disappears into the front of your pyjama top. “Here?”

He's not close enough. Your only response is a strangled groan, to which Jungkook laughs and slips his hand lower, lower, lower until his fingers are moulding the area you need to him to be.

You groan, tilting your head back when his hand traces the underside of your breasts. “Fucking hell, Jungkook, took you long enough.”

He leans forward and kisses you. It's desperate. Now that he's heard your response to his hands, he can't get enough. He wants to please you. He wants to take this as far as he can, and he shows this by hitching both your legs around his waist, picking you up and stumbling from the kitchen.

“Where's the bedroom?” he asks, breathless.

You point in the general direction he's referring to before pressing your lips to his. No more talking. He could stumble into the bathroom for all you cared, and you'd have him in the bathtub with absolutely no complaints.

It's your luck that he kicks open the bedroom door and presses you into the mattress. His lips detach from yours for only a second as he strips off his shirt and you strip off yours; he gawks down at your exposed chest, shakes his head and says, “No bra?”

“It's midnight,” you say. “I haven't had a bra on since seven pm.” You grab his shoulders and pull him on top of you. “Now please stop talking.”

He laughs, peppering kisses along your jaw that leave you squirming and warm and satisfied. If he were to just spend the entire night kissing you, you'd go to sleep in bliss. His lips work like electric shocks, startling you every time he makes contact, every time his tongue slips from his mouth and joins with your flesh. You feel hickeys burn into your skin, but you don't worry about them now because God, you're too far gone. Tomorrow doesn't exist. It's tonight and only tonight, and it's you and Jungkook and everyone else can go the fuck to hell for all you care.

He whispers in your ear. His voice is rough. The soft spoken, excitable boy you used to talk to on the phone every night has melted away into something ravenous and hungry, and his hips are grinding into yours with only his jeans and your pyjama trousers as a barrier, until there is no longer a barrier and it's just bare skin against bare skin.

He asks if you're ready. You say you are. He asks if you're sure, and you say you've never been more sure about anything in your entire life, and in that moment, you mean it. He kisses you, and it isn't the kiss you give someone on a one-night-stand. It's soft, holding memories and feelings and his body slides against your own and your groans contaminate each others mouths. You get loud; Jungkook gets greedy. You beg for more, and Jungkook tells you you're doing so well, so, so well. You unravel in each others arms. Jungkook falls to the side of you, nuzzles his head in your sweaty neck and you hold him so close because you don't want this moment to end.

“Tomorrow isn't real,” you whisper into his hair. He nods his agreement, panting against your flesh. His breath tickles your new hickeys. You reach up, press your fingers into the forming bruise.

Jungkook presses a soft kiss to the skin. He's loopy. You look down and see that tired smile playing on his face, the sweat drenched ends of his bangs hanging in his eyes. He shuffles up the pillows, wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

You don't think he realises what he's saying when he whispers “I love you,” into your hair.

You look up. His eyes are closed, his breathing even. Jungkook is peaceful, but his words play on a loop in your head for the rest of the night.

---

When you wake up, Jungkook is nowhere to be found.

Your heart immediately lurches into your throat; this can't be happening. You know Jungkook well enough to know that he would never just use someone like that before taking off – so he's either parading around your house, or he's dead.

You slowly sit up, tucking the quilt under your arms in a pointless attempt at sparing your dignity. The sheets are stained with sweat and . . . other stuff, and you internally groan at the idea of having to wash them; your new washing machine is complicated enough with clothes.

You make a promise that you'll deal with them later before slipping out of bed and tugging your dressing gown on. You slip into a pair of slippers and head downstairs.

Immediately you are greeted by the welcoming scent of cooking bacon. It's only when you walk into the kitchen and glance at the clock do you realise what time it is.

“Six am?” you mutter, startling Jungkook. He stands by the hob, swaying his hips to a song that is playing softly from his phone.

He spins around, face lighting up at the sight of you, even though you're certain you look nothing short of bedraggled right now. Whilst he looks fresh as a daisy in a black shirt that is tucked lazily into a pair of belted blue jeans, your hair is knotted and your breath stinks, and you have absolutely no qualms about any of it.

“Apparently,” Jungkook replies. “I was hoping to make you breakfast in bed.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say. “But also, you're a guest. You shouldn't have to make breakfast.” To prove your point, you grab the tongs out of his hand and nudge him with your hip. He chuckles, giving you the benefit of the doubt by over dramatically stumbling out of your way. You roll your eyes and start poking at the mostly cooked bacon.

“At least now you'll be able to say you helped,” Jungkook says.

You grin. “I'm nothing if not completely useless.”

“Only sometimes.” He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, and it is this movement that brings you back to last night; the kissing, the sex, sharing a bed.

The I love you.

You'll be damned if you bring that up to him, though, because judging by the look on his face, he doesn't even remember saying it. He sways around the kitchen like he's lived there his whole life, a goofy smile on his face that has your chest constricting, because you're fairly certain it's you that has put that smile on his face. He grabs two plates from the cupboard above your head and lays them on the counter, before he goes back to watching as you poke the bacon.

“How do you know when it's done?” you ask.

Jungkook blinks. “It's been done for a good two minutes. I thought you just liked yours crispy.”

You hiss, quickly turning the hob off. “You could have said something!”

“Give it here.” He takes the pan from you and starts scooping the bacon onto the plate. You follow suit, grabbing the bowl of scrambled eggs he'd prepared earlier and adding a decent amount to each plate. Jungkook then spoons the beans and adds the toast to the side, and the two of you are prepared.

You eat on the sofa, because of course you do.

Jungkook eats bent over his plate. You don't know why you notice this, or why you're so intrigued by something so small, but you struggle to take your eyes off him. He presses the edge of the plate into his chest and bends forward, his eyes not leaving the TV as he struggles to rip a bit of fat from his bacon.

You watch his Adams apple bob, remembering the feel of it beneath your lips. You regret not trailing your fingers along the column of his throat. You regret not unravelling him, completely taking over in the way you so desperately want to now; you had been so caught up in the logistics of what was happening that you didn't take a moment to focus on what you wanted to do; you realise now that you want to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head. You want to see him come apart.

You swallow thickly and turn back to the TV, cheeks burning. You need to remind yourself that you have other things to worry about besides what happened last night; the work hasn't just stopped because Jungkook decided it was a good time to show up and completely ravish you.

Jungkook finishes his breakfast before you. As he nibbles on the last remaining bites of his toast, he turns and glances down at your plate; it's nearly empty, and yet he still raises a brow. “You feeling okay?”

Your eyes shoot up. “Yes. Why wouldn't I be?”

Jungkook stares at you for a moment longer, urging you to tell him the truth. When you look back down at your plate and ignore his seemingly endless gaze, he sighs, sets his plate down on the coffee table before shuffling closer to you. “Is this about last night?”

You let out a breath. “I really thought you weren't gonna bring that up.”

“Do you want me to leave it?”

“No!” You grab his arm. “No, Jungkook, of course not. I really think we need to talk about it, but I just . . . I wanna know your feelings on it first.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, tracing the lines of your face, the same trail he traced with his fingers last night. “I thought I made my feelings pretty obvious, considering I was the one who initiated it in the first place.”

“That doesn't mean anything,” you murmur, looking down. “I could have been bad at it, you know.”

A noise not unlike a croak escapes Jungkook's throat. It slowly morphs into a laugh, his hand coming down upon your knee and squeezing.

When you don't join the laughter, his smile fades and he stares at you. “Wait. You're not serious, are you?”

You throw your hands up in frustration. You hadn't even realised this train of thought was so prominent in the back of your head, but there's no denying it now. “Look, all of it was very unexpected. I didn't have time to – like – practice my strategy or anything.”

“You didn't need to-”

“Yes, I know that, but it would have helped,” you hiss, before groaning and slumping back against the plush sofa cushions. Your plate remains abandoned on the coffee table. Jungkook looks down at it, picks up a piece of bacon and takes a bite.

“I definitely came.”

He says it so casually that you very nearly miss what he's said at all. Your eyes burst open, cheeks burning with this news that isn't really news because you know what happened – you were there. You made it happen.

“You made it happen,” Jungkook continues, as if reading your mind. “And you definitely came.”

“Oh god.”

Jungkook grins. “I think I have the qualifications to vouch for that.”

“You're a dick.”

His grin only grows. He leans over and presses a kiss to the space just below your ear; you hiss and pull away, hand snapping up to trace the edge of the hickey you'd forgotten was there. Jungkook pushes the hair from your shoulder and lightly touches it, biting his bottom lip to fight off the smile that is surely threatening to show on his face.

“Lovely,” he says.

“I'm gonna have to cover this now,” you grumble. “Do you know how difficult it is covering a hickey?”

“No, considering you didn't give me any.” He shakes his head. “I feel like I'm missing out.”

“Poor baby.”

He shrugs, swings his legs round and stands up. He grabs the plates off the coffee table and starts towards the kitchen, but not before saying a casual, “We'll try again next time,” that hangs in the air even as the sound of the tap water shatters the delicate silence.

You grin, biting down on your bottom lip. Butterflies are attacking your stomach. Memories of last night are lodged in your brain, and you know for a fact that there is absolutely no way in hell you'll be getting any decent work done today.

---

Jungkook leaves for the dorms at seven. On his way out the door, he bends down and picks up a thick yellow envelope, handing it to you.

“I think that might be the new catalogue pages,” he says.

You hollow out you cheeks, taking the envelope from him and tossing it carelessly over your shoulder. “Tell Mr Bang I'll get it to him as soon as possible.”

“Mm, no,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Then the old man will know I've been here overnight, and that is awfully suspicious.”

Despite knowing this would be the case, your heart still quivers a little. You hide it by rolling your eyes and ushering him out the door. “Fine then. Leave the hard work to me. You go and prance around your practice room for a few hours, and call me as soon as you get a chance.”

Jungkook spins, planting his hands on the door frame. “One more kiss?”

You narrow your eyes. “You're gonna be that guy.”

“I believe this is called the Honeymoon Phase.” He kisses you, small and soft but it ignites something in you you've never felt before. Jungkook feels it, grins against your mouth before slowly pulling away and clicking his forehead against your own. “I'll see you later, yeah?”

“We'll see,” you whisper, before you grip his waist and spin him round. “Now go! I'm not being the reason you're late.”

“Alright, alright. Tell me how you really feel.” His voice and laughter fade into nothingness as he disappears down the hallway. You watch him leave, gripping the collar of your dressing gown like some kind of wife sending their husband off to war. You only turn and head back into your apartment when you hear the lift ding closed.

---

You love your job. You really do. There is a power that comes with correcting other peoples mistakes, and you are not ashamed to admit that you have been thriving off it from the moment you picked up that red pen and started slashing marks into the pages.

But this is a whole different ball game.

You're hunched over your kitchen table, your third cup of coffee half-empty beside you, doing nothing to help the exhaustion. Your body is slowly beginning to realise that you were not made for being woken up at six am. Your muscles are sore, and your eyes are getting tired before you've even gotten through the fifth page of edits.

You lean back, scraping a hand through your unwashed hair that is still sweaty from last nights mishaps. You told yourself you would take a break to clean up and pull yourself together, because going another day in this state is going to drive you to breaking point, and yet three pm is rolling around and you have yet to move from your kitchen table.

The pages are littered with images of Jungkook. With Bangtan being the only group involved with Big Hit at the minute, they're using their maknae's adorable smile and doe eyes to the best of their abilities. It makes your job ten times more difficult, as you have to stop every few seconds to send a picture of Jungkook's face to your Whatsapp group with a teasing caption that Jungkook always chooses to ignore in favour of asking you how you're getting on.

Not good, you want to tell him, but you don't. He's working just as hard as you; it would be cruel to distract him with your own pointless stresses.

And so you lose yourself in the world of literature for a few more hours, until the last page is glaring up at you and your hand is cramping, and you're refilling the ink on your sixth red pen. Five pm rolls around, and once again you're shrugging your jacket on and bolting down the street towards the Big Hit building.

Mr Bang is standing in the lobby.

You freeze, one hand braced against the glass door, the other clutching the envelope tight to your chest; well, this is most unexpected. Though you and Mr Bang have spoken on numerous occasions these past few weeks, most of those conversations were had via phone call. You had convinced yourself that the small man in front of you lived in his office.

He turns when you enter, immediately smiling an oddly cute smile that lights up his whole face and crinkles his dark brown eyes. He nudges his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and steps towards you.

“I was just about to call and ask where you were,” he says.

You shove the envelope in his direction. “All done!”

“Great, great.” He tucks the envelope into his coat pocket. You resist the need to wince; he better not crinkle those god damn pages, or so help you- “The edits aren't the only reason I was looking for you, though.”

Your brain short circuits, and you aren't even sure why.

Today has honestly been the day from hell. Your head aches, and your hand is cramped, and all you want to do right now is curl up on your sofa with a glass of wine and drink everything away. Instead, you place a smile on your face and say, “Oh?”

Mr Bang sighs, looks around as if checking for anyone eavesdropping before he steps closer to you and lowers his voice. “Have you and Jungkook fallen out?”

Okay. That certainly wasn't what you'd been expecting.

You raise a brow, flicking a glance over the big boss's shoulder. Gertrude quickly lowers her head, pretending she hasn't heard anything, but it's obvious in the tilt of her head and the shy little smile on her face that she knows exactly what Mr Bang is asking about.

You look back at him. “I don't – I don't think so. Why?”

“Well, I told him I was going to offer you a job in one of the offices here so you don't have to keep running back and forth from your apartment,” he says. “Jungkook told me not to.”

It takes a minute for you to untangle what all of this means. It's the most absurd thing you've ever heard. It doesn't make any sense, because you and Jungkook slept together and he held you, and he said he loved you and there's no way in hell all of that changed in the space of a few hours.

But Mr Bang is serious. His eyes shift to the floor when you stay silent, and you watch as he slowly sucks in a breath.

“I don't like it when my employees go against each other,” he says. “I asked Jungkook if everything was alright and he refused to tell me anything. He's young, so I didn't push him, figured I'd let him figure it all out on his own. But I just want you to know that whatever this feud is – you can't let it get in the way of your work.”

“There is no feud,” you burst out. “I mean, not really. Nothing you need to be worrying yourself with, anyway.”

Mr Bang's eyes light up. “Really? That's fantastic, Y/N. How about you come and join us for dinner then?”

Before, the idea would have lit something inside you. The idea of sitting beside Jungkook and laughing with your friends would have excited you to no end, but you replay Mr Bang's words on a continuous loop and find yourself unable to gather that same excitement.

You stuff your hands into the pockets of your jacket and say, “I think I'm gonna have to pass. I'm exhausted.”

Mr Bang nods as if he understands. “Of course. I'll send the next few pages over tomorrow, then. Get some rest, Y/N.”

You turn on your heel and exit the building. It feels permanent. You want it to be permanent. You want to walk to your apartment, pack up your stuff and never come back. You feel like a teenager, moping over some boy, suddenly willing to change the directory of life just because this certain someone slipped up and hurt your feelings.

But that emotion is there. You grip the material of your pockets and inhale the cold air of Seoul, ducking your head down in case anyone were to notice your gritted teeth.

---

It's nearly eleven when the knock echoes through your apartment.

You're draped across the sofa, a glass of wine in your hand, the TV blaring re-runs of Friends. You've been sneering at Ross Geller for the past three hours, and quite frankly, you are in no mood to be disrupted.

You stay silent and hope the visitor takes the hint.

It's never that easy, though.

The knock sounds again. And again. On repeat until you eventually throw your head back and push yourself off the sofa. You slam your glass of wine down and barrel towards the door, throwing it open to reveal GoldenJeon in all his glory.

Your drunken state wants to spit on him.

He's grinning from ear to ear, hands in his pockets, hair a tussled mess. Even in your state of tipsiness, you still reach out and flatten a strand against his temple; you pull your hand back just as quick, tucking it under your armpit as if to restrain yourself from touching him further.

He frowns when he sees the state you're in. You have no idea what you look like, but you're purposefully scowling to the best of your ability, arms folded, the glass of wine bright and full on your coffee table – it wouldn't take a genius to figure out just what is going through your mind right now.

“Are you okay?”

“Why are you here?” you demand. “I didn't invite you.”

Jungkook's frown deepens. A crease forms between his eyebrows. “Since when did I need an invite?”

“Since you started showing up uninvited and interrupting my relaxation time.” You try to slam the door on his face, but he wedges his foot between the frame and pushes it open again.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, poking his head through the tiny gap he's created. “Are you gonna explain to me what the hell is going on?”

“No. Go away.”

“I'm not leaving until you tell me why you're mad.”

“I'll literally call the police.”

“No you won't.”

You purse your lips, turn on your heel and B-Line towards your cell phone. Jungkook shoves the door open and follows after you. You pick up the phone, but Jungkook is quicker; his fingers curl around your wrist and it is with barely any effort that he plucks the phone from your hand and tosses it onto the couch. He keeps your wrist in his grip, staring down at you with a set of eyes that – any other day – would have you pouncing on him in two seconds flat.

“Let go of me,” you say.

He does.

“And get out.”

“I'm so confused right now. I thought we were okay.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Is this about last night?”

You groan. “For crying out loud, Jungkook, I'm drunk. Why can't you just take the hint and piss off?”

He flinches. There's a tiny glimmer inside you that wants to apologise, wrap your arms around him and tell him you didn't mean it, but then you hear Mr Bang's voice in your head and your senses draw back to you.

“You didn't join us for dinner,” he says. It's almost a subject change. Again, you want to spit on him.

“I don't think you'd have been too happy if I showed up,” you reply. You take another swig of your wine. “Apparently you only really like me when I'm underneath you.”

Jungkook's eyes widen. His hands twitch by his side, and he reaches up to deftly rub at this throat. “What are you talking about? You know that's not true.”

“So why don't you want me working in the same building as you?”

There is no way to make that sentence sound intimidating, no way to get your anger across without sounding childish and needy; you and Jungkook spent one night together. If he thought it was a mistake, you would respect that – but he didn't need to cut you off from your work, didn't need to come crawling back when he was in the mood. If he found regret in last nights endeavours, it would be so much more merciful if he just left you alone.

His face softens. It's an expression of realisation, the fact that he's been caught out dawning on him. It's enough to make tears rise to the surface, and you blame the wine but it builds in your chest, grabs at your throat. Jungkook sees it – he lurches forward. You don't even fight when he wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into his chest, his chin taking perch on the top of your head.

“No,” he says. “No, I didn't mean it like that. Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. I said it to protect you.”

“Protect me?” You jump away from him, stumbling but managing to catch yourself on the sofa at the last moment. “How could that protect me?”

“We're not meant to have what we have,” he says, running his hands through his hair. He's trying not to touch you. You're trying not to throw yourself into his arms.

“What is that, Jungkook?” you ask. “What do we have that is so special? Because last time I checked, all we've done is slept together and played a few rounds of Minecraft.”

“That's not true. We've got more than that. You're more than that.”

You grit your teeth, turning on your heel. Your wine sloshes, drenches your wrist but you don't even care. It triggers you to take another swig, then another, and another until the glass is empty. “You know what? I don't think I wanna play this game. I've never let a man dictate how a relationship works, and I'm not about to do it now.”

Jungkook groans. “I'm not dictating-”

“Telling your boss to keep me off the fucking premises so you can keep our friends-with-benefits subtle-”

“And we're not friends-with-benefits!” Jungkook steps forward, grabbing your wrist before you can reach for the bottle of wine. You glare at him, hoping and praying that your eyes look menacing enough right now; you want him to know how angry you are. You want him to see how bad he's hurt you.

His eyes trace your own. He's looking for forgiveness, but you won't give it to him. His lower lip trembles and he sucks it between his teeth.

“I don't want us to be friends-with-benefits,” he whispers, fingers still curled round wrist. “I got carried away last night, but I didn't show up just to have a quickie and then leave. I want – I want more.”

You stare back at him, unsure of what to say. There are so many responses that are playing on the tip of your tongue, but none of them seem right. Not when his eyes look like that. Not when he slowly leans forward and presses a kiss to the flesh just beneath your ear – right over a hickey he sucked into your skin the night before.

You shiver, wrist sliding out of his suddenly slack grip.

“Tell me if you want more,” he whispers.

You close your eyes, tilting your head to the side. Your drunk and angry and turned on, and at this point it's too late to turn back. You do want more – you want it all. You want everything he is offering, but you know better.

You step away from him. He looks at you, analyses the way you're standing, the way you fold your arms over your chest because you're so scared you'll crack again, so scared you'll reach out and touch him and lose yourself entirely.

“I want you to leave,” you croak out. The words are acidic. They're a betrayal, but you have to say them.

Jungkook's features harden. He looks down at the ground, brushes his foot against the carpet only once before he nods and says, “So that's it then? There's nothing I can do to make this better.”

“You can't expect me to like this arrangement,” you reply. “I'm not sneaking around with you. I've got too much going on as it is without stressing over being caught with you.”

Jungkook nods, but you're not entirely sure he understands. Maybe he hides a ton of stuff from Mr Bang. Maybe sneaking around is his forte, but you haven't had as much experience as him in this line of work. You're not ready to put your entire career on the line to be with someone who clearly doesn't care about you enough to want a real relationship.

And god the thought hurts. The realisation hurts. Before, you failed to realise just how much of an integral role Jungkook played in your life, but looking at him now and knowing it will be the last time you'll ever be able to talk to him like a normal human being – it breaks something inside you. Little fourteen year old Y/N L/N is screaming in the back of your head, asking you what the hell you're doing.

You push them away.

Jungkook says nothing when he turns and walks out the door. He doesn't look back at you, barely utters a goodbye. He certainly doesn't apologise. He leaves you numb, watching the door swing closed behind him. You listen to the lift opening, closing, going down. You force yourself to stay rooted to the spot, resisting the urge to scramble to the window so you can watch him cross the car park.

You have to let yourself believe that he is nothing more than another chapter in your life – necessary for your story, but you have to move on to know the conclusion.

---

The pages are getting few and far between.

Months have passed. You still see Jungkook everyday, but it's not how it was. He doesn't smile when he sees you. He doesn't text you to find out if you got home safe. If he can avoid looking at you at all, that is exactly what he does.

In the beginning, you didn't want things to be awkward. You smiled at him, asked Yoongi if he was okay, made sure to check up on him when you could, but it got tiring after a while and you lost the motivation eventually. Jungkook wasn't giving you the same enthusiasm, so you no longer saw a point in trying.

It's your last few days in Seoul. You can feel the end approaching, even though none of the Bangtan boys nor Mr Bang himself wants to admit it. Mr Bang lengthens the deadlines on your edits just to keep you around that little bit longer. The Bangtan boys invite you out for dinner, but you decline because you know Jungkook will be there and you don't want that kind of hassle.

All in all, you are disappointed to say your last few months in Seoul have been terrible. Full of stress and avoidance, life truly did not give you an easy time of it.

But your days are coming to an end. You stand by your bed now, looking at the packed bags. A lump grows in your throat; you swallow it down, swiping a hand beneath your eye in any attempt to hide the tears that are threatening to rise to the surface. No one is with you – it would be easy to just break down, because God only knows when you'll next get a chance, but you don't want to. Not even within the comfort of your own company. Crying means admitting you've been affected by the sudden shift in your life. Crying means admitting you got attached.

Stupidly, obsessively attached.

To a boy who was meant to be nothing more than a few texts on your phone screen.

You busy yourself by reorganising everything yet again. It's the fifth time you've done it, and each time has been completely unnecessary. Your clothes are folded beautifully, your toiletries packed away, your sheets and work gear all tucked away neatly; you just need to do something. You finished the last few pages of the catalogue yesterday evening, sent them out and fled the Big Hit building before Mr Bang could make you emotional with any kind of farewell speech. You just needed out of there. Once you get back to your actual office, back home, you'll be fine. You'll be able to start over.

It's as your reorganising that you realise you've missed something.

How you missed it is completely beyond you, considering you've been through this five times already. You shoot up, spin around and glimpse your laptop on your desk, untouched for three days now. You've been too busy to even think about logging on and catching up with your gaming; besides, you didn't want to game. Not if Jungkook wasn't on the phone, yelling at you for the most trivial of things.

But now seems a good a time as any.

You slowly open it up, press your password in and wait for the Minecraft game to load up. It's ten at night, so nobody you talk to will be active; the game will be full of complete strangers, will be no fun. You'll sign out of it in a few minutes and go back to moping round your apartment, but at least you can say you've tried. It's a step in the right direction, a sign that maybe the spell Jungkook cast over you has melted away a little bit.

You click on the server you so frequently play on, and look through the list of people active.

GoldenJeon.

You should delete it. The whole game, just get rid of it. It's no fun without Jungkook, but after the fight you had, it's no fun with him either. You don't want to play at all, so what's the point of even having it on your laptop?

Despite these thoughts, the sense of them, you're unable to do anything but stare at his name. Your little character waits for the timer to start, signalling the beginning of the game, but you're not even preparing yourself for it. You're just staring at his name, blinking in gold letters.

And then your phone chimes.

Even though he hasn't texted you in weeks, you know it's him. You glance over, catch sight of his name, and you ask yourself why you even kept his number in the first place.

Jungkook: Please don't surprise me this time.

You bite your lip. That son of a bitch; he knows exactly what he's doing. He's prodding at your competitive side just to get a reaction out of you.

But he's done it now.

The timer counts down from three. As soon as the sirens go off, your hands are glued to the mouse and keyboard, and you're latching your view on Jungkook as his tiny little box character makes a dash directly for the woods; fool. He has no weaponry. Whilst everyone else headed straight for the chests in the centre of the map, Jungkook turned the other direction, thinking he would be doing something good by getting away whilst everyone else was distracted.

However, you are not one of them distracted people.

You sprint after him, even as your brain screams at you to just turn the bloody thing off and get back to being an Adult.

You follow him deeply into the match, your phone chiming away at the side of you; it's Jungkook having a crisis, begging you to not follow him this time. You know he's only saying this because you will – you'll follow him, you'll kill his character and then you'll be reminded of the last time you did it, when Jungkook realised he could come over and yell at you in person if he so pleased.

His character sprints through the map, gathering supplies and you follow him until he finally comes to a stop and you calculate your chances of survival if you were to just whack his head off now. You make your character crouch, duck behind a door frame as he shuffles around an abandoned house made out of bedrock (bedrock!).

Your phone rings. You click ACCEPT without even thinking.

“Where are you?” His voice his gravelly. It hurts to hear it.

“Now why would I tell you that?” you ask.

“I don't know why I never learn,” he grumbles. “You do this to me, you know. You make my head go somewhere else, and I can't use my common sense.”

Your heart thunders. “It works in my favour, so I don't really mind.”

“Are you gonna pop up out of nowhere again?”

“Would you like me to?”

Jungkook pauses. “I would. I really would.”

“But then you'll be out of the game,” you tease. “Poor little Jungkook, losing another round of Hunger Games because he can't think straight.”

He growls. It startles you, distracting you for a moment too long. Your eyes snap down to your phone, and you're positive it's only for a brief second, but by the time you look back up at the laptop screen, your character is being beaten bloody by GoldenJeon's stone pickaxe.

Y/N has left the game.

Jungkook doesn't laugh, doesn't yell in victory like you do every time you win. There's a single breath of humour-filled air before he says, “Got you.” And then he hangs up.

You sit there, staring at the end credits and trying desperately to catch your breath; what the hell just happened? What the hell just happened?!

He called you, is what happened. He had the nerve to pick up the phone and call you as if nothing had been going on these past few weeks, as if he hadn't ignored you, as if he hadn't completely ripped your heart from your chest and forced you to end things with him.

You grit your teeth. This is what he wants. He wants you to play right into his hands so he can get the control back, and you're not about to let him get away with it.

So you stand up, grab your coat and march right out the door.

You know where the dorms are. You've been invited over more times than you can count, have broken Taehyung's heart by declining these invites, but you can't think of a better reason to make an appearance now. You shrug your coat on as you march down the street, turn the corner and head straight for the front desk.

You're recognised and let inside almost immediately. You don't realise your relief until you're halfway up the stairs, heart thundering in your ears – this scene is so familiar. It's been reversed, but it's so familiar, and it makes your heart rate speed up to a rate you're pretty sure is considered unhealthy.

You had won the game last time. Jungkook has marched into your apartment.

Jungkook won the game this time. It's only fair for you to give him the same courtesy.

You rack your knuckles against the door and wait for someone to answer. It takes two seconds, and there is nothing but undeniable relief when it's Jungkook's grinning face that appears in the doorway and nobody elses.

You slam your hands into his shoulders and push him backwards. “You son of a bitch. I wasn't even ready!”

Jungkook loops his arms round your waist and tugs you into him. You're so lost. You're so worked up and he looks so good, and he's just beaten you at a game you prided yourself on winning each and every time. He did it to tease you. He did it so this would happen, and you've walked right into his trap.

But god, he smells so good, and his hair is slightly damp from a shower, and you're honestly prepared to make a fool of yourself if it means getting a glimpse of his toned torso one more time.

“Sorry,” he says. “But I believe I won that round fair and square.”

“You used a distraction tactic,” you hiss. “We never use a distraction tactic!”

Jungkook raises a brow, tilting his head to the side. “I don't remember distracting you.”

“You being on the phone at all was distracting enough.” You bundle your fists in his shirt, debate pulling him closer. You eventually decide against it and instead flatten your palms against his chest. “And then you kept making that stupid fucking noise, and I couldn't . . . I couldn't concentrate.”

Jungkook's eyes flare. “I can't help it if you get distracted just by my voice.”

“It wasn't your – Stop that!” You slap his chest and groan. “The point is, we need a rematch. That game wasn't fair, and you know it.”

His hands tighten on your hips. You want to scream.

“I really didn't take you as a sore loser,” he says.

You scoff. “Don't act like you didn't come marching into my apartment when I won the last round.”

That does it. The reminder settles between you, and you don't pull away even though you know you should. Jungkook's eyes – if possible – turn darker. Your breath hitches. The world is spinning too fast. You just want him to kiss you. You don't want any of this back and forth, teasing, talking in low voices – you just want him.

You knot your hands in his shirt again. This time, you do pull him closer, but not by much. It's a little jerk that has his chest hitting lightly against your own, but he still isn't close enough for your liking.

He inhales deeply. “I can't believe you're here after what I did.”

You close your eyes. “We don't have to talk about that.”

“I don't want to just sleep with you, Y/N.” He pulls away then, rakes his hands through his hair as if trying to restrain himself. “I told you on the day we argued that I don't just want to be friends-with-benefits. I want to be able to talk about things with you.”

There are cotton balls in your mouth. It's hard to speak, so you just stare at him, hope that gets your point across.

He bites his lip. “Is that what you want, too? Is that why you're here?”

Is that what you want?

On that first night, the first night Jungkook slept with you, you thought that was what you had. You'd never taken Jungkook as the type to have sex with someone and then just . . . leave, and that isn't what he did. Waking up to him cooking breakfast and his scent on your pillows felt almost natural.

So of course you want it. You want him – not his body, but him. All of him.

You swallow thickly and step closer. “If we're gonna make this work, we have to sort a few things out.”

He nods too quickly, too enthusiastically. It rips your heart out of your chest. “Of course.”

“I'm going back home in a few days,” you say, and Jungkook's hopeful expression fades. “I don't know – I don't know what that means for you. I don't know if that will make things easier. I don't know if me not physically being here will suddenly make Mr Bang let you date me, but-”

Jungkook groans low in his throat. “I don't care about Mr Bang. I care about you.” He steps forward and cups your face with one large hand. “I made a mistake. I was so caught up in my contract that I didn't even stop to think about how Mr Bang would take my own feelings into consideration.”

Your jaw drops, eyes snapping up. “What are you talking about?”

“Mr Bang knows we – we talk,” Jungkook stammers.

You step out of his grip. “He knows you went against the contract?”

“In the beginning,” Jungkook says. “He was disappointed, but he's known me since I was fifteen. I guess he took pity on me, because I was a mess when I went into work that day and told him. I'd just reached my breaking point.”

“And he was okay with it?”

“As I said, he was disappointed. Thought he could trust me and all that.” Jungkook winces. You place a comforting hand on his arm, knowing how hard it must have been for him to have disappointed one of the people he looks up to. “I said I was sorry, and then he – he asked me how things between you and I were going, and I got really confused. He said it as if we were together.”

You bite your lip. “Okay...”

“I turned round and told him you'd ended things because you didn't want to be sneaking around, and he just looked at me like I was insane. He asked me what I was doing, told me to talk to you and then he let me have the day off.”

You swallow the golf ball sized lump in your throat, not sure what to say but knowing for a fact that you are really gonna have to thank Mr Bang for this.

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “So I went home, logged onto Minecraft to see if you were there – you weren't, but I waited.”

“You waited.”

“And then you came online and I took my chance.”

“You did indeed.”

Jungkook lowers his voice to a whisper. “And now you're here.” It's almost like he's talking to himself, even though his eyes are burning holes in your own. “You're here and you're not saying anything.”

You don't need to say anything. There are no words that can possible portray what you're feeling right now, so you do the next best thing. It's straight out of a cheesy romance movie, but you've learned from the best and you launch yourself into his arms, kissing him with the need and desperation that has been building in your system for weeks now.

Jungkook grunts into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist. The two of you stumble until the back of Jungkook's knees are hitting against the arm of the sofa and he's falling backwards into the plush cushions; he doesn't let go of you, and your body ends up right on top of his own.

You kiss him again, and again, and again. Not just on the lips, but everywhere. Peppered kisses behind his ear, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his chin, his cheeks. Everywhere until he's giggling and trying to push you away from him.

“You still played unfairly today,” you pant, exaggerating each word with a kiss to his forehead. “I want revenge.”

“I'm excited to – hey! - find out how you get that revenge,” he replies, crinkling his nose up when you go to press yet another kiss there.

His fingers are just starting to grip onto your belt loops when the door behind him opens. Jungkook's head snaps up, his hands tightening to keep you in place. Taehyung and Namjoon walk in, side-by-side, but immediately stop and raise their brows when they see the position you are currently in.

Jungkook wriggles beneath you. You shoot upright, struggling to find your footing again. Jungkook grunts when you're forced to shove against his chest to get off the sofa. You turn to the two members of Bangtan and grin as Jungkook flops back onto the sofa and groans.

Namjoon is the first to speak. “Hey Y/N. . . I see you took Taehyung's invitation.”

“I did!” you exclaim, and then quieter, “I did. It's a lovely place you've got here.”

“Apparently we've also got a lovely maknae,” Taehyung says, wriggling his brows, and Jungkook buries his head in the sofa pillows. “I always knew something was going on with you two; you're the only person I know who can distract Jungkook long enough to break him away from his work.”

You raise a brow, flicking your eyes down to the boy in question. He peeks at you with one eye, half of his face still pressed into the cushions, and grins an embarrassed grin. You smile right back, pushing down a laugh.

“Come on, Tae,” Namjoon chuckles. “Let's leave them alone for a bit. I think they have a lot of catching up to do.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, mouths Use protection before he and Namjoon turn and leave the room. You glance back at Jungkook, raise a brow.

“He's totally lying, of course,” he assures, voice muffled.

You chuckle and bound back onto the sofa, circling your arms round his torso and going back to pressing loving little kisses to every part of his face you can think of.

---

Jungkook presses his chin into the crown of your head and sighs yet again. “You're still so tiny.”

“I'll literally start walking home now.”

He groans, pulling you closer to his chest. “Don't say home. You're home is meant to be with me.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back. It rests in the hollow of his throat. You want to live there.

“I'll visit you,” you say, even though it's not enough. It'll never be enough. “We managed to keep in touch since we were fourteen – this isn't anything new.”

He sighs again. “I know. We'll make it work, just like we always do.” His arms tighten on your waist. “I'm just gonna miss this, that's all. I'm gonna miss you – you in your physical form.”

“In what way do you mean physical form, Jeon Jungkook?”

He leans down and nips your earlobe with his teeth. “Whatever form you're offering.”

You chuckle and shake your head, beckoning him away. He goes back to resting his chin atop your head, the two of you looking out for the train that will soon be pulling up to take you home. Your bag is packed, but Jungkook placed it a few feet away because he didn't want to admit that all of your stuff was in there – that means permanent, apparently. Packing up your stuff means there's no option to come back. Looking at your suitcase, filled to the brim with the clothes he's seen you in, the clothes he's ripped off of you, made him uncomfortable.

“I feel like adults are meant to handle this type of thing a lot better,” he says suddenly.

You look up; his chin slides to your forehead as he refuses to move. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Like – relationships. Love. Stuff like that. I should have grown out of my mine, mine, mine phase, but the idea of you just . . . walking away is literally ripping me open.”

You bite your lip. “Jungkook...”

“I get it if you don't feel the same way. I'm not asking you to.” He shrugs again, grabbing your chin and tilting your head back so he can put his chin back where he is most comfortable. “It's only been a few months and I already feel like you should just be by my side all the time.”

“I wish I could be.”

“You do?”

“I don't think I've ever clicked with someone like I click with you, Jungkook. I feel just as awful about leaving.”

He sighs. Again. If you made this into a drinking game – drink any time Jungkook sighs – you would be falling head first into the train tracks by now.

He hugs you impossibly closer, and the two of you fall into a thoughtful silence. In the distance, the whistle of the train sounds and you close your eyes, as if in doing so, you can somehow transport somewhere far, far away, with only Jungkook to keep you company.

But reality is a bitch, and it slaps you in the face when the train pulls up and people start piling onto the carriages.

You turn, quickly wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing him, putting everything you can into the way your lips mould against his. He groans against your mouth – he always does – and he tightens his grip and you hope to God he just refuses to let go. You two can just live here, in this underground station, tangled in each others arms forever. You'll become statues, a part of the structure and nobody will bother you again.

But the conductor calls a warning,and you know you have to go.

You pull away. Jungkook's face falls, and his thumbs swipe beneath your eye. You didn't even realise you were crying until he shakes his head and says, “Soon. We'll see each other soon.”

You nod, biting your bottom lip. You say the first thing that comes to mind, which might not be the best strategy considering this is the last thing you'll get to say for quite a while, but nonetheless, it's a perfect parting confession.

“I love you, GoldenJeon.”

His eyes widen. You panic, because that was certainly not what you planned on saying. He reaches towards you, but you press a final kiss to his lips, grab your suitcase and dart off towards the train only seconds before the doors close behind you.

As the train speeds off, you turn in your seat. Jungkook is still stood on the platform, one hand raised to his lips and his eyes lowered to the floor.

---

You're in your pyjamas again. Boring, stupid old pyjamas. You'd left them behind for a reason – you're wearing them now because you're trying to get back into routine. You have to be at the office tomorrow. You have to look Mr Grey in the eyes and thank him for the opportunity even though he was the one who ordered you home. You shouldn't feel angry, but you do.

You press PLAY on your movie once again, having paused it to go and gather some ice cream and your laptop. You and Jungkook have only texted the odd time since you got home, with him claiming he wants to give you time to rest and you promising him that you were definitely, one hundred percent in bed and only seconds away from falling asleep.

Turns out, falling asleep without Jungkook's arms around you is a lot more difficult than you'd originally anticipated.

It's so weird. It's a phenomenon, considering you fell asleep without him your entire life. But now that you'd got a taste of just how luxurious sleep can actually feel, it's difficult to go back to square one.

You click on the tiny little Minecraft icon and watch the screen load. It's almost instinctive when you log onto the all-too-familiar server. Again, it's much too late for Jungkook to be online – he told you he was doing some late night editing for one of his Golden Closet Videos, and you've seen him when he starts editing; he won't be looking away from that complicated editing screen for another few hours at least. His attention will be nowhere near Minecraft.

It loads up, and of course, the little shit has lied to you.

GoldenJeon is online.

You narrow your eyes, hoping and praying he doesn't notice the little Y/N is online that appears in the corner.

But he's GoldenJeon. He notices everything.

Your phone chimes. You wince, cautiously looking over as Jungkook's name flashes on screen.

Jungkook: You weren't asleep for very long.

Y/N: you weren't editing for very long.

Jungkook: It's gonna be very difficult for me to come over and have sex if you win this match, you know. You didn't think this through.

Y/N: i'm sure phone sex will be just as sexy.

Jungkook: Let's give it a go.

The match begins, and you win. It's no surprise – at this point, you're fairly certain Jungkook is just letting you win because he wants an excuse to come over.

Or in this case, an excuse to call you.

You pick up before the first ring is even over. Jungkook laughs at your eagerness before saying, “Miss me?”

“More than anything. Now talk dirty.”

“I love you.”

You freeze.

“Oh, did you like that one?” he teases. You can hear him grinning. You want to smother him – or kiss him. Either way, you can do neither. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“Jungkook-”

“I've loved you since I was fourteen years old and you were just a weird little character on a shit, low budget game.”

“I don't want you to talk dirty any more. Please keep making fun of me before I combust.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Tell me you love me back.”

“I said it first. You know I-”

“Say it again. We're having phone sex, remember?”

You bite your lip. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He inhales shakily. You can hear it, the rattle in his chest, the way he bites his bottom lip. You can imagine him tilting his head back in that way he does so often when you insist on walking downstairs in one of his shirts, or nothing at all if you're feeling particularly playful that day.

“You're right, you know,” he whispers.

“About?”

“Phone sex really is just as sexy as the real thing.”

2K notes · View notes

cxhnow · 4 years

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Chloe x Halle Talk Police Brutality and Postponing Their Album

“The way our music has evolved is exactly how we're evolving as young women.”

Four days before the release of their sophomore album, Ungodly Hour, Chloe x Halle addressed their fans to let them know they’re postponing it. In a video posted across their social channels, sisters Chloe, 21, and Halle Bailey, 20, sat shoulder to shoulder at their home in Los Angeles, surrounded by hovering green trees, and tried to sum up their range of emotions after witnessing a global uprising against police brutality.“In honor of all of the lives lost in police brutality, we felt like it was right to postpone, and fully shine our attention and our work on them,” Chloe said, with both a shake and clarity in her voice, in the video to the duo's 2.7 million followers. Halle added, “Music has been used for a long time to bring us joy and healing in difficult times like this.” Just weeks before, George Perry Floyd, a Black man living in Minneapolis, died in police custody while a white officer’s knee was pressed on his neck. As video of his killing spread, and after the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor, protests sparked around the world demanding accountability and allyship with the Black Lives Matter movement. On the day Chloe, Halle, and I spoke by phone, Tony McDade, a Black trans man in Tallahassee, Florida, was fatally shot by an officer. In Los Angeles, where the sisters live, protesters strung their bodies together to temporarily shut down the 101 freeway. In Atlanta, where they were born, six police officers were charged after being accused of using excessive force on two Black college students who were tased and pulled out of their cars days earlier.During a time when fans are more critical of how celebrities engage in civil rights activism, Grammy-nominated musicians and actors Chloe and Halle Bailey don’t tiptoe. They urge fans to sign petitions, donate, vote, and recognize Black life, early and often. They celebrate Black joy year-round. This is what their followers have grown to expect from them. Chloe and Halle have always had something to say, and it just so happens to be an important time to speak up.

It’s hard to wrap your head around the unbreakable confidence it takes to be a female pop artist if you aren’t one. Thankfully, Chloe and Halle have each other. For decades, the bond among members of Black singing girl groups has given audiences soulful and fun music. In the '90s, groups like SWV, En Vogue, and Zhané made upbeat R&B music that made you want to dance with your homegirls. Now, contemporary duos like KING, Van Jess, and Ibeyi stand out for their rapturous vocals enveloped in dramatic production. Chloe x Halle add to this legacy by singing, writing, and producing ethereal music that resonates with the girl next door.Yet there are distinct differences in the duo’s vocal style; they don’t try to match each other’s voices to create some sort of uniformity. Rather, they play off of rhythm and song pacing to meld their voices. When they do sing choruses and bridges together, their voices, albeit distinct, create layered, otherworldly melodies.The duo’s sound is often described as angelic, giving leeway for some to describe them as two women without sin. Chloe and Halle want to shatter this idea because it’s not realistic. “For Ungodly Hour we were so excited to just flip the narrative of being the perfect angel and show the other side[s] of us.…," says Halle. "The dark side, the naughty side, the things that happen that you don't see behind the scenes.”

The majority of the 13 songs on the album are about navigating messy situations — sometimes ones that you have caused. In the midst of trying to be a better friend or romantic partner, you know that you’ll always be imperfect, and decide to love yourself anyway.“I've always been a jazz head," Halle says. “I don't know why, but there's something about the pain and the love and the heartbreak that you can truly feel through the essence of those songs that are sung by Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, Ella Fitzgerald.” As of late, Chloe’s “really, really been inspired by '90s music and early 2000s production,” a vibe you can hear and see in “Do It,” the second single off of Ungodly Hour.“We wanted to show our sensual side because we are growing as young women, but we still kept it classy and cute,” Chloe says. “It was just really fun for us to do that. We also wanted to start dancing this era, and just something really simple. And it makes us so happy to see everyone doing that dance on TikTok.”Chloe expands on how the name of the album and title track came about after working with the U.K. duo Disclosure: “We wrote this song [the title track “Ungodly Hour”] with Disclosure, and we had the best time,” she recalls. “I forgot what I was watching, but I heard the phrase ‘ungodly hour’ and wrote it in my notes. [It] kind of stuck out to all of us, and we were like, ‘What can you say with this?’ We all came up with this sentence: ‘Love me at the ungodly hour,’ which means love me when I'm at my worst; love me when I'm not all dolled up and made up. Love me when all my insecurities are out on the table.”’

“We started writing about when you're in a situationship with a guy and the chemistry is there, and you know the love is there and your connection is so deep, but he's not going all in," she continues. "For some reason he doesn't want to commit. He's entertaining other options, and it's just saying, ‘You know what? I love myself enough to walk away and put the brakes on this and to pause this. So when you decide you like yourself, when you decide you need someone, when you don't have to think about it — love me at the ungodly hour.’”Other emotionally complex tracks on the album include “Forgive Me,” a haunting song inspired by Chloe’s own life, after she discovered a guy she was involved with was going back and forth between her and another young woman. “I Wonder What She Thinks of Me” is a song that tells the story of the new love, the one a man gets with after he’s broken up with his ex.The vocalists are eager to make music that grows with them and becomes more layered as they do. “The way our music has evolved is exactly how we're evolving as young women,” Chloe says. The chromelike wings they turn around and show on their album cover, worn with black, latex dresses, are symbolic of their strength and power.When I ask what they hope for in the future, the Bailey sisters seem at ease. Chloe would love to work with BTS: “They're performing — it's top-notch. I'll sit at my computer and watch all of their music videos and all of their performances.”“Awards would be nice," she adds. "Being at the top of these Hot 100 lists would be beautiful and amazing, but as long as I'm growing and I'm a better version of myself tomorrow than I was today, I am content.”

The duo is used to releasing music during times of political duress. Two years ago, when Chloe x Halle were part of our music issue for the release of their debut album The Kids Are Alright, the world was grappling with an immigration travel ban enacted by President Donald Trump, the #MeToo movement, and pressing climate change legislation. That album was an intonation from the sisters to young activists approaching human rights issues head-on: “Do it while you young. Don't let them turn you numb. Don't let them get you strung. Ooh, let me put you on,” they sing on their first album's title song.“I was 15 through 17, and Chloe was 17 through 19 during the making of the album,” Halle says of their debut project. “We were still very young. We were still trying to figure out what we wanted, and I think that showed in the music.”As artists, the singers say their first album was about proving they could play an active, hands-on role in the production of their own music in an industry dominated by men. As two teenage women, it was about showing the world that, although they didn't have all the answers and weren’t sure what was lurking around every corner, they had the guts to find out. At that point in their careers they had been signed to Beyoncé’s Parkwood for five years and had released one other project, the Sugar Symphony EP, in 2016. But aside from opening tour performances and high-profile appearances, they hadn't become household names.

Now, amid a health pandemic and a country in unrest because of its history of white supremacy, Chloe and Halle are navigating being famous and also having a distinct voice. While finding ways to take care of themselves, the sisters are also promoting an album from their home, in the rooms where they first honed their craft as writers, instrumentalists, and producers. “We've kind of gotten back to our roots and started doing what originally got us started," Halle says, "which is doing YouTube covers, interacting on social media, and connecting with our beautiful fans through there.” A lot has changed in their personal lives as well. They're private about the details, but say they’re learning more about guys and finding themselves in relationships and situationships. They’re experiencing more love, heartbreak, and the misguided antics of boys. "We have to take our power back as women and not allow ourselves to be played,” Chloe riffs.In January, the third season of their Freeform show, grown-ish, dropped. In the college-centered comedy, led by Yara Shahidi, Chloe plays Jazz and Halle plays Sky, ambitious twin sisters who attend the fictional state school Cal U. Jazz is balancing being in love with her boyfriend Doug (played by Diggy Simmons) and schoolwork; Sky is focused on being a track star while navigating her interracial relationship. Like the sisters in real life, their characters are witty, impeccably stylish, and proud of their Blackness. But unlike Chloe and Halle, they’re far more overt about their love lives — often kissing in hallways and openly discussing their sex lives — and unfiltered opinions.Before stay-at-home orders went into place, Chloe and Halle had been expanding farther into Hollywood, and pursuing separate film projects.In July 2019, it was announced that Halle is set to play Ariel in the live-action The Little Mermaid. Many saw Halle’s breakout feature-film role as a huge win for inclusion, but, like clockwork, people on social media found an issue with the revamped iteration of Ariel being played by a Black woman. Halle spoke out on the discourse, telling Variety at the time, “I feel like I’m dreaming, and I’m just grateful. I don’t pay attention to the negativity. I just feel like this role is something bigger than me. It’s going to be beautiful.”

Halle remains grateful, but says of the negative criticism, “We've always learned to just keep our heads up no matter the situation. No matter what anybody has to say about you...just keep pushing.”

Like Halle, Chloe is also expanding her acting chops in feature projects. In December, Chloe wrapped filming for her role in the horror film The Georgetown Project, starring Russell Crowe and Ryan Simpkins. “I'm really protective of my energy, I'm very spiritual, and I love God,” she says about the thriller. “So I was constantly praying when I was on set. But surprisingly, the energy on set was so positive. And I learned so much by being around all of these Oscar-winning actors.”

Humility is a running trait between the sisters. They don’t hide their confidence, but are also God-fearing and incredibly gracious. They’re media-trained and polite, but also find a way to be frank. They say this album is a “whole different world” for them as they reveal more of their personalities, while exploring what it means to be grown women.

“We are learning to embrace who we truly are,” Chloe says about their music evolution. “Our insecurities, our sexuality, owning our power. I'm grateful that we are given a space where we can do that comfortably. And I'm grateful for our parents, because they instilled in us that we need to be strong and independent young women.”

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projectsoleil · 3 years

Text

NOW STREAMING... MOON ROVER ADVENTURES S5EP18: THE SUNRISE FINALE | GABRIELLE MORNINGSTAR | CHAPTER 3 EXECUTION

Gabi finds himself in the arms of a couple people as the votes finish being counted, as his fate is decided. The hugs are returned as tightly as possible, clutching with every ounce of strength left in him, until the other person is shaking with him. When they pull away, he whispers thanks.

(Being held is only reminding him of the arms of the few he wants nothing more than to be in right now—face buried in Abe's shoulder, hidden against his chest with his lips pressed to the crown of his head; the soothing touch of Pheo's damaged hands through his curls, soft whispers of assurance; the swirling heat of a hearth and the unwavering, unshaking, protective embrace of Gale. Gabi rubs the heel of his hand over the tears burning down his cheeks instead, head down, and casts his gaze to—)

(—Hawk?)

Hawk crashes to the floor in an awful thump, convulsing on the ground while Tyr’s expression remains one that wasn’t joy at the situation, rather, dread at what was coming next. From Hawk, their attention went to Gabi, who's pupils were shrunk, trembling.

[Mr. Morningstar...it’s time...]

Tyr approaches Gabi slowly and offers their nub to him, though instead of taking it, the young man scoops Tyr up into his arms, holding him like one would a toddler or cat. For another hug, or in hopes to keep him from shooting at anyone else? From AI-T's podium, Rover suddenly goes rigid, and looking more robot-like than he ever has, turns and starts walking stiffly towards them. The redheaded bot stops once they get to the usual spot by the wall, and Gabi turns to look at him momentarily. A hand is lifted, and albeit shaky, presses against the center of the star on Rover's chest. The door in the wall pulls open, and as they turn back to give the room one last look, Fenrir, who has been silently waiting, shoves his phone against Maxwell's chest, then along with Galehaut, jumps to attention—bolting towards them.

"Fuck all that! Fuck all this!" Galehaut shouts. "When I said on our own terms, I meant it! Moon, I'm not gonna let them—!"

As they quickly approach, Tyr offers a small apology to the one that held them in his arms...

[I am sorry, Mr. Morningstar.]

They raise their nub, and like with Hawk, out launches a small pod shaped object that latches onto both of them and sends a powerful shock through their bodies.

Ah—Gabi grips Tyr tightly to his chest and makes a terrible, strangled sound as the two join Hawk on the floor. His gaze rips from them to stare wide-eyed and glossy at the rest of the room. He shakes his head a few times, backing up, backing up. Lips parted, like he's trying to say something, but his voice never reaches them—Rover steps between Gabi and the rest of you, obscuring the smaller body from view. The bot looks over his shoulder and gives the room an empty, dark, protective look, before the door slams shut, taking them away.

A minute passes...two...three...until finally the screen lights up with the single message:

PLEASE ENJOY THE PRESENTATION WE HAVE PREPARED

before fading back to black.

[TW: DESCRIPTIONS OF BEING BEATEN, GORE]

…

The lights dim, casting your cohort into a spill of long stretching shadows. There's a brief silence that follows, until a familiar, cheery theme song begins to chime through the room, growing in volume as the television screen flickers to life.

♫♪ i can reach all the stars in the sky with you by my side! ♪♫

The obnoxious tune of children singing is accompanied with a cartoon music video of what looks like a television show—shooting stars fall across the screen in a sparkly transition effect, opening up to the robot you’ve all grown familiar with over the course of the last month, cartoonified and walking around the moon to the beat of the song.

♫♪ and if we don't make it today, we'll try, try, try again another day! ♪♫

He's decked out in his hero suit, grinning ear to ear at the audience, and begins leaping from the moon to another planet. It plays in this sort of loop, with Moon Rover marching on rotating planets, waving at passing cartoon versions of.. well, you! He passes by Fenrir and gives him two high-fives, Snapshot he hip-checks, waving at Zero Sum and Oleander on a water-themed planet, Angel they clang a wine glass with...

♫♪ so let's shoot for the stars, and hang out on the moon, and together we'll be anything, anything, anything we've ever wanted to be! ♪♫

It ends with Moon Rover landing on the Earth, joining the rest of the show's cast. Heroes and villains in dramatic poses, making up your full group, including Collin and Ivo hovering by the sides of the screen.

Well... it includes everyone but one.

We zoom in on the cartoon Rover, who winks at the audience and gestures to follow him, before turning around into a transition. When the scene returns, we're joined with the real Rover, standing in what looks like the middle of the foyer of a massive house. He grins bright, wide, and opens his arms up to the viewers.

“HEYY, STAR TROOP! ‘m so glad y’were able to tune in today!"

He places his hands on his hips, leaning forward into the camera.

“Y’ready for today’s mission? T’day we got somethin’ a little different — we’re takin’ a trip back t’my childhood home! Keheh—betcha thought I lived in a rocket, yeah? Nope! I came from a house, just like yours!”

The hero beams at the audience and takes a step back, allowing the camera to sweep over the area better: yeah, he is in a foyer—the main entrance of a mansion—except, it’s as if someone has destroyed the place. Pictures are ripped from the wall, furniture toppled over--there’s areas that are just straight up blown up, holes broken through walls, the chandelier hanging slanted, too covered in char to glisten anymore, parts of the staircases caved in. Tire marks are burnt into the floor, the walls, the ceiling.

There’s a 360 degree pan of the entrance, before it stops on Rover, where he’s gesturing to follow him again. He walks over broken wood and ash, until he gets to a form laying on the floor behind a fallen loveseat: bound at the wrists and ankles, Moon is trying to wiggle himself free.

“Today we’ve got a suuuuper special guest!” He squats down next to Moon, grabbing a fistfull of his hair and pulling his head up off the floor. The boy winces, pieces of glass and dirt stuck into his cheeks. “The villain who hurt poor, poor Venus! An' subsequently hurt loads more through his choices! I already went ahead an' caught him, so, of course, all what's left is teachin' this no-good hooligan a lesson! Will you help me, Star Troop??"

There’s a blur of movement, and the binds on Moon’s hands and feet are cut—he immediately goes to scramble away, but with a simple step on the corner of his hoodie, he slams back to the ground. Nonchalantly, without hesitation or warning, Rover kicks Moon in the stomach—knocking him backwards in a cry.

Despite being kicked aside like a limp doll, Moon pushes himself up onto his elbows, grimacing, and begins crawling. Rover strolls slowly after him, easy and with a bounce to his step. When he reaches him, he bends down to grab the collar of his shirt, pick him up, and punch him directly in the jaw. It isn't pretty, the next seconds—if this were cinematic in any definition of the word, the moment would be done through silhouettes, the shadow of Rover pulling his arm back and bringing it down mercilessly into the smaller man's form, the ugly sounds of flesh being beaten being the only sense of how awful it is.

You don't get that pleasure. You see it all: no pretty cuts or dramatic angles to censor the boy's face splitting open, blood spilling up from fractured ribs into wet coughs, red splattering across Rover's hero costume. If anyone else was in his place, literally anyone else in the courtroom, this would be solved in an instant — a magma punch, a swipe of a sword, the crack of lightning, and this wouldn’t even be a fight. But Moon isn’t a hero. Not in the super-deep, metaphoric sort of way, but just that: Moon was a civilian.

He’s dropped to the ground in a gross crack, whining, but moving regardless. He scrambles to his feet this time, using the help of a chair thrown on its side. He runs. He isn’t fast, especially now with his hand clutched to his chest, wheezing, but he runs… not to the front door like you’d expect, but deeper into the mansion. Rover walks behind him, chatting to the audience, you suppose, but now you’re following Moon.

A door is flug open, and he staggers into a huge workshop. For someone who is frequently found scrawling on his arms to organize roaring thoughts and ideas, the place is surprisingly spotless, orgazined: filled with tools and kilns and forges and anvils. Computer software you know costs millions just by the sight. The young man’s eyes dart desperately around the room, and he makes a bee-line for the back wall full of displayed gear. A weapon? Is he looking for something to use? He grabs a pair of gauntlets first, something similar to Galehaut’s color scheme, before throwing them on the ground. A pair of yellow lense goggles—no. A botched looking race car—no. A pair of motorized wheelies—no. Equipment, equipment, equipment! He didn’t make weapons! He didn’t—

“Found ya!”

—whack!—

Something whizzes past Moon’s head, smacking his hand away from the wall in the process. He turns around, and a small, helicopter-like birdbot is hovering in the air in front of him. Moon blinks, and then the bird shoots forward, whacking him a few more times in the head. It looks less like it hurts, and more like it’s just a distraction. The boy stumbles to the side, tripping over a small dogbot waddling by his feet. He crashes into the wall, and an array of different gear topples over.

It’s more pathetic than tragic, watching his own work fall on his head. He collapses under the weight, but ever-stubborn, ever-determined, ever-unbreakable, Moon whines and pushes his way out, tries to get to his feet once, fails, twice, fails again, and on the third—

—on the third, a red hand snaps forward and grips his throat, pulls him free, and dangles him up into the air, grinning widely.

“Didn’t think y’could run, didja? Y’know, people want y’blood! They voted for it! Y’think I could let down the Star Troop now?? After how badly ya did?? They need someone they can trust, afterall!”

Moon grips Rover’s forearm with both his hands, clawing weakly at his gloves. The tips of his toes can just barely reach the pile of gear beneath him, so he’s at the very least got a bit of footing. Not that it matters—it’s no use, of course it’s no use—Moon reaches out to push at his bot’s face, push him away, do anything, anything— ah, wait? No.. he’s..

With a trembling hand, Moon sinks three of his fingers into the back of Rover’s head, prompting a hatch to pull away and open up in his chest, exposing a variety of wires and a pinpad. Rover doesn’t seem concerned, just keeps on holding Moon by the neck, even as the blonde starts fumbling a code in the pad.

He's dying. A small red button opens up between all the switches and buttons in Rover’s chest, and Moon's frantic, desperate reaching for the button slows down considerably. Really, it's kind of anti-climatic for a death, nevermind a supposed fantastical execution. Maybe that was what Moon deserved, though — something quiet, uneventful, alone.

Click!

...Just kidding! He presses the button. Rover’s grip falls away immediately, dropping Moon in a heap on the floor and leaving him doubled over, gasping and coughing, gulping down air like he'd been drowning. In front of him, Rover’s expression seems frozen, and his body begins… going limp? No, no.. it almost looks like he’s.. shutting down? A second later, Rover has joined Moon on his knees in front of him, his smile frozen, his shoulders slumping, his right eye flashing red. His right eye flashing red.. slowly.

“...keh..”

There is hardly any distance between the two, but when Moon pushes himself up and wraps his arms around his robot, hooking his chin on his shoulder, the effort looks akin to dragging your hands down a wall of glass shards.

“...’bout.. time we wrapped this up, huh?” His voice would’ve been impossible to hear had this not been meant for entertainment — hoarse, whisper-quiet.

The sentence seems to, somehow, despite the red light increasing in speed, prompt a corrupt, laggy voice to start speaking: “..S-S-SHOOT FOR THE STARS—!”

“—even.. if y’miss..”

Moon grabs fistfulls of the back of Rover’s suit, squeezing his eyes shut.

“..you’ll land on the—!”

…

[♫♪♫♪♫♪]

The screen blacks out, rattling — the sound from the speakers blowing out from sheer force of the explosion. You… you feel like you should feel it in the courtroom—the floor shaking and rumbling beneath you, but you don’t. Somehow, it makes it feel more empty. More far away.

As the scene settles, the dust and smoke beginning to clear, you notice blood splattered on the lense of the camera—blurred and out of focus, but unmistakably blood. Debris and metal parts are scattered everywhere, wires twisted and still burning like lit fuses. Something drips from the ceiling, and you're unsure if it's blood or a combination of that and flesh. But more importantly, you see the remains of a human body — the parts you'd never want to see; splintered bone, limbs still stuck in clothes, a head in the corner of the scene, blonde hair smoking, lulling on the slanted floor, and what you catch sight of his face is burnt through to the inside of his mouth, burnt through to his skull.

He looks like he was screaming, and though you know he wasn't in his last moments, this image will likely be the thing you remember when you think of him.

...

Life is continuous.

Tonight, the sky will finish clearing the storm and the moon will glow across the horizon like it has every other night, and how it will continue to shine for every other night after this. For nothing has really changed—and that's the bonus of playing a stage hero robot that could be replicated, right? Built on? Upgraded? For years and years and years to come, beyond your short life, he can still do something amazing without you.

Yeah, the world will keep going on without you.

You wanted that.

(Didn't you?)

[Gabrielle & Rover Morningstar have been executed.]

(thank you han for the art!)

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mysmedrabbles · 5 years

Note

103 with 707 please! Thank you for considering this btw! Love your writing so much!!! 💜

skdjfhk thank you so much!! hope this is okay its a bit long oof enjoy!!~

No. 103 - “Sharing is caring. Now give me your fries”

Saeyoung was Never good at picking where you guys should eat. He changed his mind from second to second, proposing all mouth watering and yet sickening ideas. After one particular night of you almost throwing up because of all the food you guys had given up and ordered, you decided that you’d be in charge of picking food places.

Of course this was until you found out that you weren’t good at handling the responsibility of choosing just one place either.

Which is why the two of you were aimlessly driving around at two in the morning blasting Kidz Bop versions of every song imaginable shouting the reformed lyrics, letting the wind rip the words from your mouths, losing them in the fleeting night air. Saeyoung reached over the console placing his hand oh your thigh, and looking at him you felt a sense of freedom, a wild laugh escaping between whoops and shouts to go along with the song playing.

Bright streetlights flew past the car, the moon following closely behind, hidden between branches of large oaks, filled with a sense of calm, like you and Saeyoung were alone in this world. You quieted your screeching singing, taking a second to admire the redhead sitting next to you. He was focused on the road, and yet his head was bobbing and swaying in every possible direction, red curls trying their best to keep up as he sang the most passionate rendition of High Hopes, even surpassing the Kidz Bop kids in corniness.

He brought his attention to you, ending his own antics as his face turned bright red, a grin larger than ever before. Turning down the music so that the tortured souls of the KBk would not be heard, he gave your thigh a playful poke as his eyes returned on the road. “What y/n,” he chucked, “Do you not like my classical music?”

You shook your head, hiding behind your hands as your groan turned into a giggle, in turn brightening up Saeyoungs face, “Dork,” was the only thing you could make out before he leaned over, pressing a tiny kiss on your knuckles, a simple act of random affection, but sending your heart into overdrive, beating in your chest faster than Saeyoung was driving.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you started suddenly, all of a sudden realizing where you were, “that we’re completely lost right now?”

“Lost? Psh as long as God 707 is here we are Never lost!!!”

“Okay then you know where we are?”

“A… dark highway on the hunt for a meal?” he looked around, genuinely confused for a second before recovering. As if an answer to his prayers, the blinding golden arches of heaven appeared out of nowhere, an angels chorus accompanying the distant sound of sizzling…burgers? “Hey y/n look a McDonalds!!! I told you we’d find food!”

“More like the food found us,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Seven a mischievous grin.

Exiting on the ramp, Saeyoung tutted your complaints, “Y/n, Y/n, Y/n… I’m so disappointed in you,” he sighed dramatically, “you Know as long as God Seven is here you’ll be taken care of!”

All you did was frown, hopping out of the car as he slowed to a stop in the parking lot waiting for him in front with a cheesy smile, hand outstretched to meet his as he stumbled out of the drivers seat, locking the car. Taking your hand, the two of you walked together inside, where ominous blacklights replaced the regular ones, giving the MickeyD’s a retro glow to it, quite otherworldly.

You waited at the table, sloshing around the straw in your drink as you waited for Seven to pick up the order. It was quiet, only one other sleep deprived college kid in the corner huddled with his computer and might have been a cello case. As the redhead arrived, you drew yourself to attention. Seven stopping before setting the tray down, a frown directed pointedly at you as he stared you down. “Captain Y/N!” he demanded, humor gracing his tone.

“Yes God Seven!” you shot back.

“What did you order!”

“One burger!”

“Check!”

“One coffee!”

“Check!”

“One ice cream!”

“Check!”

“Chicken Nuggets!”

“Check!”

“Fries!”

“Ch- wait no you didn’t order fries did you?”

You reached out for the receipt as he set the tray down and took the seat opposite of you, scanning the list of foods listed. Nope, no fries. “Arghh I can’t believe I forgot to order fries,” you muttered, disgruntled at the fate this world had set upon you.

Saeyoung looked up from the burger he was already about to dive into, and even though a catastrophe had occurred you couldn’t help but notice how pretty he was, backlights accentuating his red hair, making his glasses almost glow, the glint in his eyes shining brighter than ever, the look of confusion as his eyebrows quirked up. “Do you want me to order you some?” he asked.

“No its okay I’ll just have some of yours.”

“HA!” he exclaimed, making even the shady student in the back flinch, “as IF!” He took a fry as if to make a statement and after slathering it with a formidable amount of Barbecue Sauce before devouring it, looking at your pained expression with a laugh of his own.

“Cmon dont you love me,” you pouted, cupping your face with both hands as you tried your best to do puppy eyes.

Between another mouthful of fries he said, “I do but that doesnt mean I’m sharing my fries sorry buddy.”

“Did you just friendzone me in the middle of this very important discussion?”

“Idk y/n get your own fries and we’ll find out.”

“Saeyounnggg Sharing is Caring. Now give me your fries.” you whined.

He looked at you straight in your eyes, barely able to suppress the grin that was quickly forming as he bit into a fry.

“Bold of you to assume I care,” He shrugged, unable to stay serious as he burst out laughing at his own joke.

You rolled your eyes, getting up to go order yourself some fries, when he grabs you by the wrist, bringing your attention back to him as he holds another fry tantalizingly close to you. You give him a death glare, as he places the fry in-between his lips leaving a part of it sticking out. “You wanf if? Come gef if?” he says between the fry.

Instead you remove the fry from his mouth, leaning down to kiss him, pressing your lips gently against his. Pushing his chin up, you deepen the kiss, and a single sigh escapes him. Every kiss is like his first, a million galaxies exploding at once, a symphony of stars and colors across the painted night sky.

He’s dizzy when you part, leaving him wanting for more as you pull away, the taste of fries on his lips reminding you why you were here in the first place. You ate the lone fry before getting back to your seat.

“I thought you wanted fries????”

“I literally just wanted one.”

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onewhoturns · 5 years

Text

fictober.14.: intermediate frequencies

#Fictober19 Prompt: 14. I can’t come back. Fandom: Oxenfree Characters: Jonas, lost!Alex Rating: T (no warnings apply) Tags: Mystery? kinda?, supernatural, lost Alex, weird radio stuff Word Count: 1807

The messages started out simple. The first one, anyway. It was weird, to come in the middle of some rock ballad from the 80s, but he chocked it up to crossed wires and weird interference (which, well, seemed technically accurate). Skid Row was whaling away a guitar solo, and then—

“Hello out there? This is, um… Cave FM! ‘No. 1 for Cave, Grotto, and Subterranean Country.’ ”

It was a girl’s voice. Not the well-practiced veteran voice of the station DJ, but someone crackling in like some kind of prank broadcast. Gone and done in a few seconds, and back to the music. Jonas glanced at his car radio for a second, skeptically, but shrugged it off.

The second message wasn’t exactly terrifying, either. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he’d heard it at all, half asleep as he was. Same station, Bryan Adams singing on about whatever younger years blah blah— It was 7:05. Jonas wasn’t really paying close attention. But, again, mid-song;

…and the bad. Yeah I'll be stand- “Um… A-Alex? Can you… can you hear me? ”

It cut back to instrumental. But this time it didn’t seem like just a prank call. She didn’t sound… It wasn’t necessarily panic, but it was nervous. At least, he thought it was. But again; over and passed so quickly.

The third message was the first one to come from nowhere. His car radio was turned all the way down, between stations after stopping mid-tune when the light had turned green. It was just on static. Until there was a voice.

“Uh, testing, testing… this is a test of the Beach Cave Emergency System? ”

The voice had a kind of nervous laughter to it, like someone put on the spot, covering up anxiety with humor. It was the same girl.

The fourth…

The fourth message was when they started to ring bells.

“Hey, i-if you’re out there, uh, Alex? We… We got stranded on Edwards Island… and-”

Edwards Island. That… that was a thing. He’d been there, he’d been stuck there, he’d been terrorized there and only escaped thanks to— to something. Something involving Ren’s friends. He didn’t fully remember the night. But the name was enough to put him on alert.

She was asking for the same person, again. Someone named Alex. Maybe a friend, or a boyfriend, or a brother or something. Maybe a parent or a guardian. Someone who could help.

But the messages had come days apart. And there was no reason she’d be stuck there. The message came at 3pm on a Sunday, from the little radio built in to the kitchen of their new place in Camena. Ferries ran on the Island— well, he didn’t know for sure, but when he’d gone with Ren they’d run at least til five. No reason to be stranded.

The fifth message sent chills down his spine.

“Hey, Ren? Nona? Can you guys hear me? It’s Alex, in case you can’t recognize my—”

She always got cut off mid-message. Like someone terminated the broadcast before she was finished.

But that… those were his friends’ names. Those were— those were people who went to the island with him. And her…

Her name was Alex. Which meant all those messages before, they weren’t calling out for help from someone else. They were calling for help from herself.

His theory was confirmed while driving around Camena at 11pm on a Wednesday night in early July. He’d just leave his radio on and tuned to static sometimes, wondering what might pop up. Generally it would just be brief staticky half-seconds of advertising jingles or droning AM radio newscasters.

“Alex? This is… you, okay? Just… don’t go into the cave. Whatever you do, don’t go into the cave.”

It was the first message that felt… complete. Like she’d gotten out what she needed to say. And it… it made sense. Things started to add up - or kind of add up, with a hell of a lot of blurry bits in between.

The island had been… something. He didn’t remember a lot of that something. But the cave felt familiar. He didn’t go in, but Michael did. Michael went, and he brought a radio. Radios, like this Alex person was using.

Jonas wanted to know more. It felt like a bad idea, but he felt like he needed to know.

“Alex, this is… uh, Alex, and— listen, don’t come to Edwards Island. Whatever you do, just- don’t come here. Stay home. Stay… safe.”

He lay under his covers, staring at his alarm clock. He’d started to leave it running quietly in the background whenever he was sitting around. Any radio, really. It was maybe a little weird, but his dad was usually at work, and when he was home he didn’t comment on it. And it was summer, so there wasn’t a ton to do all day, aside from let Ren drag him around the area. They’d gone to the lake earlier that day.

Jonas’s brow furrowed, rolling over to examine the station. The noise switched back to music. He’d taken to changing stations regularly. It didn’t seem to matter what the frequency was; she’d be there.

“Hey! Uh, Jonas? ”

He sat bolt upright in bed, heart suddenly hammering in his chest. It was 2am. He’d been fucking around on his computer and-

“Or- or just to anyone listening, we’re trapped in—”

It cut out, again. He just stared at the radio on his bedside table for a long moment. “Alex…” The name felt odd in his mouth. Like it didn’t quite fit, or was the wrong shape. Which was weird, cause it was common enough. But somehow it felt foreign.

His name. She’d said his name. She’d called out to Ren, to Nona, to herself, and now to him.

Feeling like a bit of an idiot, he awkwardly picked up his little alarm radio. “Um… Alex?” This was stupid. He was talking to a $5 piece of plastic that didn’t even have a microphone. It couldn’t even transmit.

But he knew what could.

Panting, red-faced and pumped full of adrenaline, Jonas shifts his truck into gear, reaching for his prize. State-issued radio communications equipment from the forest service. Stolen. Basically: one hardcore walkie-talkie. His eyes are a little too bright, too frantic, clicking on the power switch and starting to press buttons, scanning through the channels like he might find-

“Fuck-”

There’s feedback, and it’s loud. He hurriedly flips off the walkie. That doesn’t even make sense. How could there be-

“Jesus-”

Fucking fuck, Jonas nearly swerved into the next lane over. Thank god the road is empty. 4am is pretty much always dead around here. He hurriedly pulls over.

“Who— is that— are you-”

“Is… Is someone there? ”

“Yes!” Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, this is— this is real time. “Are— are you Alex?”

“Is… If you’re there…” There’s a pause, and the voice drops quieter. “Oh my god, this is… fuck, you’re being stupid,” the voice on the radio mutters, like she’s trying to talk herself back to her senses.

“Alex, right? It’s-” He feels like an absolute idiot. “It’s Jonas. You-” He’s talking to his radio. His fucking car radio. Like that could ever work in a million years. His enthusiasm stalls. “…You probably can’t even hear me,” he mutters flatly, sighing. Stupid idea. Stupid plan.

But that wasn’t the plan, the plan was-

Jonas fumbles for the walkie again, flicking the switch and the feedback comes on before he flips it off again-

“Motherfucker, how is that-”

His heart is in his throat. That can’t be a coincidence. Not twice in a row. Fuck, is he dreaming?

Jonas turns off the car. The radio dies. He turns back on the walkie-talkie, this time with no wailing whining scream of feedback. He holds down the transmit button for a second, trying to find the words. But… No, there really isn’t anything to say. Just… “Alex?”

There’s a chirp of a finished message as he lets go of the button. Then silence. He’s reaching for the radio dial, thinking maybe that’s the only way to hear a response, when the walkie crackles to life.

“…Who is this? ” She sounds wary. Not exactly cold, but firm. Like she’s expecting it to be some kind of prank. Which is— can she even be pranked? Who is she? What is she?

He holds down the button. “It’s… uh. You- um, you called me. I think. Maybe from the island.” He feels like a dumbass. But also like maybe this is just some kid fucking around on a HAM radio, and his name was just common enough to be picked. Ren and Nona… not so much. But Jonas? It’s not unheard of.

There’s a half chirp of a ping, and Jonas pings back. He’s not sure what else to do.

For a long moment, there’s just silence.

He clicks open the channel again; “Are you still there?”

Another second of silence, and then— “Jonas? ”

Jesus Christ. Her voice is different than before. There’s plenty of standard radio distortion, but she still sounds pained. Like she’s choking on his name. He lets out a long breath. “…Yeah.”

“Oh my God.” Her voice is hushed.

“Who— who are you? How do you know my name?” His head is swimming, because this feels unreal.

“You-” The transmission cuts out. And it doesn’t come back.

“Alex?”

“You don’t remember.” It sounds breathless. Like she’s been punched in the gut.

“…Should I? Do I— have we met or something?” He doesn’t remember any girls named Alex. Or anyone with her voice - and he’s been hearing her voice a lot lately.

“…No. No, we-” It cuts off again, and Jonas starts to think that’s actually intentional on her part. When her voice comes back, it’s quiet and sounds choked and thin. “No. We’ve never met. I don’t—”

He lets the radio silence go on, expecting her to come back any second. She doesn’t. Finally, Jonas risks a ping. There’s a ping back. So she’s still there.

“Alex?”

“-I can’t come back,” she blurts, and it’s cut off quick, but he thinks he hears a bit of a splutter, a cough maybe, or a sob.

“What do you mean?”

Silence. It goes on. He gives her time to formulate her thoughts. He pings.

There’s no response.

“…Alex, are you there?”

Nothing.

He waits for a long time. Five minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. A half hour has passed, and none of his pings have been returned. Finally, Jonas sighs.

Keys turn in the ignition, the truck roaring to life, and he stabs at the radio’s power button just as the feedback starts again. But nothing over the walkie. No exclamation. No ping. He shifts the car into gear, and checks the walkie one last time, just to remember the station; channel 18.

[source for AO3 link]

#fictober19 #i can't believe i have to post this again cause it's not showing up in searches #oxenfree #alex oxenfree #jonas oxenfree #oxenfree fic #my writing #will delete the original post so rip first attempt #prompt fill #if anyone knows the secret please tell me

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jamiefairfaxisntcool · 5 years

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/mu/core album review | Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

/mu/core album review #1

this week on /mu/core album review, we look at:

Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

Ah yes, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. The album that’s mostly known as either, “that one weird album from the 90s,” or, “/mu/ basic bitch meme music.” If you’re anywhere past a casual music fan, you have most-likely heard some songs off this project, if not the whole thing, doubly so if you’re into 90s culture, Indie, or any sort of Art-Rock or Folk movements. As I type this, the most popular YouTube rip of the album has about 4.3 million views, a playlist separating each track stands at 500,000 views, and the title track has a remarkable 40,733,956 plays on Spotify. Holy shit, to put that into perspective: AV Club writes that, “In The Aeroplane Over The Sea was originally slated to sell about 7,000 copies,” that’s roughly 5,819 times the predicted sales numbers of the album on just that song. This also means that this song has been listened to for approximately 131,163,338 minutes, a total of around 131,163,299 more minutes than the actual album length. Humanity has spent a collective 249 years listening to In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Oh, and that’s just the title track.

If I couldn’t spell it out so clearly there, this album is fucking outrageously popular.

Even if you haven’t heard any material off the LP, this album is memed pretty heavily in the music corners of the internet. I don’t think I can find a single music meme page or forum that hasn’t jumped upon the ITAOTS or NMH bandwagon.

At this current point in time, ITAOTS has became a permanent resident in the zeitgeist of internet music culture. NMH, and by extension, it’s creator, Jeff Mangum have been elevated to a cult of personality status. The band and this project are accompanied by a never-ending choir: 15-25 year old sad white boys who cry while sing-screeching about semen and Anne Frank and poorly play open chords on their detuned Ibanez acoustics.

It’s oddly beautiful.

The album is so deceptively simple, so creatively cryptic and has all the elements of a slog faux-folk fest filled with whining that would bore me to so many tears that they could rival the sad boy indie kids who lose their e-girls to their more socially active explore-page bait counterparts. To a person not familiar with it, ITAOTS could look like an over hyped, masturbatory depression tape. It looks boring. It looks like it should be boring.

If it should be boring, then why have I only listened to it and absolutely nothing else for the last two days?

This isn’t a joke, I revisited the album of course to refresh myself before sitting down and writing this review. I kept listening, over the course of a school day, in-between production and songwriting sets, while playing games, and as I write this, I just finished my eighth spin of the record. Before those last two days, I had only listened to the album probably twice.

I remember listening to it back in seventh grade and not particularly disliking it. I was really into Yes and a lot of other Prog and Psych bands, but I wasn’t particularly impressed with the almost yuppie voice that Jeff had used on the record compared to vocal beasts like Freddie Mercury, Bowie, and Jon Anderson. Later on, I listened in freshman year, and I appreciated it much more, and had a few songs come up in my shuffle play, but thought nothing much of it.

Now, war had changed.

part 1: i’m the fucking carrot king

As I plopped down in my computer chair, my window crackled and banged like a distant firecracker with the smack of heavy rains on a Summer afternoon. I placed my headphones firmly atop my ears, closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair. I heard the opening chords of The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1 and tried not just to hear the instrumentation, but also pay attention to the lyrical content of Mr. Mangum.

When you were young, you were the king of carrot flowers And how you built a tower tumbling through the trees In holy rattlesnakes that fell all around your feet

Okay, so what the fuck is actually happening here?

Upon my listens, I inferred that Jeff is speaking to another party here, most likely a female love interest, in what seemingly starts in a nostalgic tone. This sounds almost like a picturesque, coming-of-age, Americana film. Maybe one starring Molly Ringwald and River Phoenix, with a surprise cameo from someone famous back then like Jack Nicholson. Maybe John Candy, with a John Hughes script. Everything would have those faded out, classic colors, a hearkened back era. Quickly, by halfway through the first act, the tone shifts. A darker mood, a stark, grim reminder that life wasn’t always sunny and shinning in Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.

And your mom would stick a fork right into daddy's shoulder And dad would throw the garbage all across the floor As we would lay and learn what each other's bodies were for

The Mang informs us of a horrific family life, specifically about what seems to be his dad’s, stepmom’s, and stepsister’s interpersonal relationships. The lines are obvious and straightforward, the life of our protagonist was rife with unhealthy familial and sexual relationships, and a sense of love and sweetness was not found there. Keep that in mind when thinking about later songs such as Oh Comely.

After the somber intro of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1, we reach my personal least favorite track on the album: The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 2 and 3.

Look, I know the meme. “I LOOOOOOOOOVE JESUUUS CHUHRIEEEIISSSSTT,” and all that shit. I’m not even worked up about that line in particular, I just dislike Pt. 3. It’s the weakest of the upbeat songs on the album, with the weird yodel-screech voice that Gumman performs with really takes me out of the experience, which sucks because the buildup and atmosphere of Pt. 2 felt pretty amazing. Luckily, Pt. 3 is fairly short, so we don’t have to worry about it too much.

part 2: earth angel’s thesis

The title track for this album is one of the best songs on this album, no fucking contest. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, Oh Comely, The Fool, and Two-Headed Boy Pt. 2 are top contenders when discussing this album. If you like the faster, fuzzier, upbeat songs you could probably substitute The Fool for Holland, 1945.

The title track has a familiar sounding chord progression and we can hear Gum from Jet Set Radio’s saccharine but yelp-y voice belt out from atop the mountains his undying love and admiration for... Anne Frank?

What a beautiful face I have found in this place That is circling all round the sun What a beautiful dream That could flash on the screen In a blink of an eye and be gone from me

In the first verse, Geoff mentions meeting or viewing a beautiful person on this fleeting rock circling round the Sun. He also matches this with the idea that it’s truly futile for him to chase after this beauty, as it is only a dream that could escape him when he awakes. El Jefé has actually mentioned that some of his surrealist lyrics are derived from dreams. Perhaps these lines could imply a more literal dream fading? I don’t exactly know, all I know is what I interpreted.

The instrumentation of this piece is nothing straying from NMH’s usual repertoire: Mandrake on Guitar and Vocals, Scott Spillane on the Horns, Robert Schneider on Bass and Production, Julian Koster playing... something. What is he playing? Wait, give me a second.

He’s playing the Singing Saw? I thought it was like, a Theremin. What the fuck is a Singing Saw?

Oh.

Okay sure, you can play that, however the fuck you do that.

And finally we have Jeremy Barnes on Drums.

The personnel handle the music with a light, bouncy feeling, and the tone and timbre remind me of a faded, old, seaside town on the east coast. Another thing to mention is that the chord progression is G-Em-C-D; I-vi-IV-V. A funny thing I noticed is that this song shares a chord progression with tons of songs from the 50’s and early 60’s, which adds to the waning Americana feeling, but it more specifically shares that progression with Earth Angel by The Penguins. In the 80’s film, Back To The Future, Marvin Berry covers the song with his band for the Enchantment Under The Sea Dance where Marty’s dad and mom have to dance to ensure that the future stays intact. There’s no further real connection, but I thought that was kinda cool to mention.

After looking through the lyrics for In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, I will admit, as a brainlet Two-Headed Boy Pt. 1 eluded me. Patrolling through Genius and some other reviews, I guess the consensus about this track was that it was about Anne Frank again? Manta Jeff’s cryptic lyricism continues to fool me. Besides the lyrics, this track mostly remains a piece of really good filler.

part 3: stop the military occupation of my brainwaves

The Fool is amazing, anyone who says it’s filler is wrong. I know I might anger some people by literally implying that Two-Headed Boy Pt. 1 was filler, but seriously The Fool just makes me a feel a way. My brain creates a scene reminiscent of a depressing diesel-punk Les Misérables. Even though Scotch Spillage’s fantastic piece for horns is beautifully imperfect, it lacks lyrical content and is short and length. So, let’s instead talk about Holland, 1945.

This awesome, uptempo, almost punk-like piece of fuzzy brass is groovy son. It’s probably the song you could show someone not familiar with this project and they’d be like, “Oh, is this Cake? Why is the lead singer singing so high now?”

Holland, 1945 is a song that you can just listen for the instrumentation. Holland, 1945 is a song that promotes peace and love. There’s so many great things I can say about Holland, 1945. How it’s theme is so perfectly fitting for today’s political climate, how it manages to blend these psychedelic and bluesy timbres with a fast and loud sound and how well it continued the semi-conceptual narrative of Joff’s admiration and love for... Anne Frank.

Okay, fuck it, I have to say it. It’s bothered me ever since I discovered it.

Why Anne Frank? Like, I know why Anne Frank, but I mean like, why, y’know? I’ll say I admire Anne Frank, she was trying her best to live a normal life in a terrifying time to be alive, but I never wanted to fuck her. xxJeffxx’s mentions of Anne kind of make me raise an eyebrow. Especially because the album’s not just about her either. When he gets sexual, it’s difficult to determine whether he is mentioning a third party or Anne, which would be pretty weird, as she was 15 when she died and Heff was 28 when he wrote this. Maybe this is just some patrician music shit that I’m too plebeian to understand, like heated toilet seats or drinking for fun rather than to drown the pain. Maybe I haven’t sat down and watched enough flowery-squarespace-sponsored-lofi-hip-hop-muzak-using-pretentious video essayists to understand it, but what do I know.

part 4: the proletariat cries

To wrap on the second half of the album, this is the half that I cried in.

Communist Daughter is a good song, but with how short it is, it left me wanting more. This track is one of the few that actually features a soft-spoken Jeffen, and its open and dark but dreamy atmosphere left my jaw agape. The mountaintops weren’t the only thing stained.

Oh Comely, Oh Comely. Oh Comely is a song that deserves its own review. The lyrical chops of The Mangum Magnum are on full display as he belts somber, brutal verse after verse, with plenty of juxtaposition between sickening, sexual and vile situations alongside a description of a sweet, innocent young girl, just trying to survive with a guitar by her side. This beautiful, lovely girl gets taken advantage by someone, some people, perhaps even Yeff himself, only seen as an easy lay, a whore, like the ones her father visits often. He disgustingly describes semen in the garden, and her making miracles with her mouth, but I didn’t get a tone similar to so many songs about “sexual-empowerment.” The song is about self-deprecating depression leading to her being used, perhaps even abused. A situation all too real, too close to many of us. As I type this, I don’t know what to think. A woman should of course have individual sexual freedom, but this song doesn’t describe that. It describes trauma, emotional, psychological trauma. Meaningless sex, a rotten smell, staining the flower of a woman, all of this language that could be simply described as gross. This isn’t a happy song about fucking bitches. This song is about how a girl wanted to play music, pluck vines and was taken advantage of, reduced to her roots, and deflowered. Fuck. I wish I could save her. In some sort of time machine.

Two-Headed Boy could refer to a number of things. I have a head canon. This girl, Comely, is being used by the Two-Headed Boy for sexual favors. The Two-Headed Boy then “repays” her in friendship and music, playing their silly little songs. On the surface, Comely assumes the Two-Headed Boy trusts her and cares for her, but really all he wants is sex. Comely, living in a broken home and without a proper male figure in their life, is conned by the Two-Headed Boy, and just wants to live a normal life. Comely is trapped. She’s living in a place that is surrounded by the texture of scum and she knows it, she just can’t call upon the strength to leave. She’s trapped in a home, a ghetto, wanting to live a normal life, but she’s been placed here by the Two-Headed Boy, who knew her mother and father were broken, and she would be too. The Two-Headed Boy broke in, claimed to be her friend, and supports her, before defiling her. Comely was pretty, bright, and intelligent. She was just in a bad situation.

Comely was Anne Frank.

Not to say that they were literally one in the same, but I mean J. Mangum (private eye) is comparing two children, ripped from their lives by this awful world, and intertwining them, blurring the lines.

Who’s the Two-Headed Boy? As I said, it could be a number of people. Nazis, Peter van Pels, hell, even Jeff Manga himself could be the Two-Headed Boy. It doesn’t matter as long as we realize the relationship between oppressed and oppressor.

There is a glimmer of hope for Comely though. Read the closing words from Two-Headed Boy Pt. 2:

Two headed boy, she is all you could need She will feed you tomatoes and radio wires And retire to sheets safe and clean But don't hate her when she gets up to leave

Comely and the Two-Headed Boy split away from each other. Comely leaves the Two-Headed Boy, and the narrator says not to hate her when she leaves. On a deeper level, this could be an introspective Jeff Mangum relating on his past. I don’t really know.

outro

Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

9/10

What did you think? Was I way off the mark, or do you agree? What should I have covered? What did you like, what did you dislike, I’m all ears. Leave a follow and a like if you liked it and I’ll see you on Wednesday.

#neutral milk hotel #music #music review #james fairfax #mu #/mu/core #folk #fuzzfolk #rock #anne frank

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borisbubbles · 5 years

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Eurovision 2010s: 60 - 56

60. Emma - La mia città Italy 2014

youtube

Emma is short for “Emmanuella”. 😍 Clearly the inspiration for this act:

You may not know this, but “La mia citta” is probably my favourite song out of 2014? It’s ROCKIN’ A RIDE (na na na na na na) of high voltage energy that I instantly became addicted to. 😍 Of course we were also immediately forewarned that Emma couldn’t sing her own song (which is hilarious, but yeah 😬) so I was expecting a ready disappointment. What I did NOT expect however was that Italy would yank UP the fun factor by trapping Emma into the direct-to-video sequel of Tinto Brass’s Caligula and letting her steal the show even more. 😍 ITALY <3 <3 <3

The vocals may have been beyond subpar, but Emma flailing herself around the stage, contorting her body in IMPOSSIBLE angles, dismissively pushing the beta manfolk around like the boss she is gives me SO MUCH LIFE. If she had sung in a key that suited both her voice and the song, she would’ve ranked even higher, but a spot right outside of the highest tier will have to do. ALL HAIL THE EMPRESS OF TERRIBLE TASTE.

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59. AWS - “Viszlát nyár” Hungary 2018

youtube

[2018 Review here]

GIVE ME FIRE, I’M A FIGHTER!

2018 may not have been as great of an experience for me as it has been for many others, but good god did it NEED AWS. A 2018 without AWS has no high voltage, uptempo, loud, aggro ENERGY. “But Boris there’s also Toy” yeah no. Na na banana I do what I wanna :-)

and honestly, why shouldn’t we love “Viszlát nyar”? Loss songs that instead of mourning solemnly burst into a primordial tempest of ire and flame. IT’S INTENSE, all thanks to Orz’s excellent performance.

and this comes WITHOUT the consideration that AWS were the backstage deities for the 2018 contest as well, providing many hilarious interviews and other moments of levity.

AWS were great, because they weren’t a typical Eurovision entry. They are an indie metal band from Hungary that won A Dal by accident and in doing so were thrusted into an adventure beyond their wildest expectations. They never took Eurovision seriously, but regardless they had loads of fun with it and so did I. We will continue this line of thought when we get to a certain deadpan Slovene duo, much, much later in this ranking. 🤭

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58. Loïc Nottet - “Rhythm inside” Belgium 2015

youtube

Cutting Loïc means I have my change my t-shirt into the one my friend gave me for my 25th birthday (😍)

and I mean what is there to say about Loïc? He’s widely regarded as one of the most artistic and memorable entrants in recent years, sparking a hot streak of entries which ended when Sennek refused to rehearse her song/come up with an act.

I may as well use this moment for a little confession: Avant Garde is one of my favourite Eurovision genres. AG entries are always interesting, always delivering, always different from what we’re used to. They are brave and inspired. When well-executed they can easily becomes some of the all-time best Eurovision entries.

“Rhythm inside” also falls into the category, taking a fairly simple subject (the beating of the human heart) and turning it into a metaphilosophical journey of discovery, star matter and mindblowiness. Loïc launched “Rhythm” into greatness, providing excellent vocals, dancing and miming.

and also like all amazing things in life, it contains a small dose of SuRie:

However, avant garde often comes with one massive problem: poorly-executed AG tends to frame every twirl, fart and headturn as a testament of some highly ~artistic vision~ when it adds nothing of value. In other words, fuckin’ meaningitis. “Rhythm inside” is actually one of the worst offenders, imo. For every epic moment of Loïc gazing into the camera or twirling around like an ebon cygnet, we get a tryhard one in which somebody lays themselves down and starts kicking their feet into the air for no reason and *sigh*.

It saddens me that “Rhythm inside”, despite being a very innovative composition that explores the boundaries of music, tries too hard to sell its own artistry and well... it is that moment of self-doubt which prevents me from ranking it inside the elite tier. BELIEVE IN AND LOVE THYSELF!!!

________________________________________________________________

57. Madame Monsieur - “Mercy” France 2018

youtube

[2018 Review Here]

Every year is defined by its political zeitgeist, and in 2018 there were two defining themes: #MeToo, covered by “Toy”, and “Transmigration” covered by Madame Monsieur. I soon was convinced one of them would win 2018, which happened, but sadly it was the weaker of the two entrants 😭

Regardless, Madame Monsieur deserve all the praise they can get. It is SO easy to take a topic such as “migration” and turn it into an Americanized story of Wrong And Right. It’s SO easy to turn it into a sob story. It’s SO easy to cheapen the plight over others for self-gain. It is important to remain authentic, austere and respectful.

Which is exactly that Madame Monsieur did.

Using a peppy synthpop beat as a platform to carry their haunting lyrics (”je suis ces enfant que la mer a pris” ::shivers::), Emilie and Jean-Karl turn “Mercy”, a tribute to a baby born at sea to refugee parents, into a true humanitarian hymn, focusing on their message and letting this speak for itself. The end result is pretty potent. THE SEA OF FISTBUMPS <3

So naturally I really fucking love “Mercy”. However, I also think it was lacking in the little area of staging. While I do think the intent of keeping it sober and free of gimmicks was a clever coice, the gut-punching message didn’t exactly come across.

The act was too subtle. It’s the Hassani story of France getting outclassed by Italy at the last second, but much stronger than with Bilal. I don’t think the lack of LEDs was the issue though, like, just bring stage props? Work the camera more? It sucks that I have to nitpick so close to the highest tier, but the fact that I do proves to me that “Mercy” can’t make it that far. RIP sweet synth angels.

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56. DiHaj - “Skeletons” Azerbaijan 2017

youtube

[2017 Review here] Another lovable avant garde angel, morph! DiHaj improved quite a bit for me on the rewatch, but I can’t let her move onto the elite tier for reasons that I think are obvious. (If they are not, please unmute your computer.)

HOWEVER, I do think “Skeletons” a great, dark moody song that is highly entertaining. It is, for the most part a great example of how to do novelty at Eurovision: It displays the greatest strength of modern Azerbaijan: the visually stunning SPECTACLE. Music is supposed to a form of expression and DiHaj goes ALL OUT.

Of course, I understand that the act isn’t to everyone’s taste and it does suffer a *little* bit from Fuckin’Meaningitis™ , which is fair enough. At the same time... the story told here is pretty obvious? There is no dispute that this song is about a broken relationship and the moral dilemma that often comes with it. Azerbaijan stuck with the source material provided by the song and that makes Skellingtons’ act much better than that of “Rhythm inside”. It’s a captivating story, because it makes sense.

Too bad those Professional Swedish Backings sounded like crap tho...x

And that was the last of Azerbaijan,

After a pretty terrible start of the decade, Azerbaijan reinvented themselves as trash angels and the rest is herstory. I hope they continue to dazzle us with ridiculousness in the years to come. 😍

_______________________________________________________________

And now we move on to the higher tier. CONGRATULATIONS TO THESE (nearly) FLAWLESS ANGELS:

2010

Juliana Pasha - “It’s all about you” Tom Dice - “Me and my guitar” Kuunkuiskaajat - “Työlki ellää” Jessy Matador - “Allez ola olé” Giorgos Alkaios & Friends - “OPA” Paula Seling & Ovi - “Play with fire” maNga - “We could be the same”

2011

Dino Merlin - “Love in rewind” Poli Genova - “Na inat” Lena - “Taken by a stranger” Maja Keuc - “No one”

2012

Ott Lepland - “Kuula” Pasha Parfeny - “L��utar” Loreen - “Euphoria”

2013

Elitsa Todorova & Stoyan Yankulov - “Samo shampioni” Koza Mostra ft. Agathonas Iakovidis - “Alcohol is free” Gianluca - “Tomorrow” Who see ft. Nina Zizic - “Igranka” Anouk - “Birds” Zlata Ognevich - “Gravity”

2014

Aram MP3 - “Not alone” Conchita Wurst - “Rise like a phoenix” Cleo - “My słowianie- We are slavic” Tinkara Kovač - “Round and round” Ruth Lorenzo - “Dancing in the rain” Sebalter- “Hunter of Stars”

2015

Elina Born & Stig Rästa - “Goodbye to yesterday” Nadav Guedj - “Golden Boy” Aminata - “Love Injected” Polina Gagarina - “A million voices” Bojana Stamenov - “Beauty never lies” Måns Zelmerlöw - “Heroes”

2016

Iveta Mukuchyan - “LoveWave” Laura Tesoro - “What’s the pressure?” Poli Genova - “If love was a crime” Nika Kocharov & Young Georgian Lolitaz - “Midnight gold” Hovi Star - “Made of Stars” Francesca Michielin - “No degree of separation”

2017

NAVIBAND - “Story of my life” Blanche - “City lights” Joci Pápai - “Origo” fusedmarc - “Rain of revolution” JOWST ft. Aleksander Wallmann - “Grab the moment”

2018

Rasmussen - “Higher ground” Elina Nechayeva - “La Forza” Ieva Zasimauskaite - “When we’re old” DoReDoS - “My lucky day” Lea Sirk - “Hvala, ne!” ZiBBZ - “Stones”

2019

Kate Miller-Heidke - “Zero gravity” Mahmood - “Soldi” KEiiNO - “Spirit in the sky” Zala Kralj & Gašper Šantl - “Sebi”

#Eurovision #Eurovision Song Contest #Azerbaijan #Madame Monsieur #Loïc Nottet #AWS #Emma Marone #DiHaj #France #Belgium #Hungary #Italy #Skeletons #mercy #Rhythm inside #Viszlat nyar #la mia citta

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sorrytae · 6 years

Text

first touch

↠ pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x reader (female)

↠ genre: fluff, fluff & fluff

↠ word count: 2.3k

summary: the first kiss with jungkook,, simple as that

a/n: they moved away not too long ago and we don’t really now how the golden closet looks like now, but just imagine that he still has a bed at the corner of his room

__________________________________

It was very warm the moment you woke up, covered in blankets and his scent. The only light appearing from the sign that spelled “golden closet” and the computer that you could make out was on. And just a few inches away he was sitting, his eyes focused on the screen.

You moved your head up to glance at the digital clock on his nightstand; the digits 3:16 in bright green colors.

“jungkook, why are you still awake?”

he seemed surprised to hear your soft voice when he turned his head to you, clearly not expecting you to wake up at this late hour. he looked so beautiful yet so tired, tired eyes slightly visible from the little light that the display provided. Though his smile was evident the moment he set his eyes on your tired frame.

“I still want to finish this piece. Go back to sleep, I’ll come once I’m finished.” he informed while his head already turned to his screen again; too soon.

jungkook works hard. In fact, he was one of the most hardworking persons you probably ever met. And after being able to be on his side for a period of time, you could really see with your own eyes how dedicated this man was for his music.

And even though you support him for his aim and his ambition, you could not avoid the frown that followed on your face.

when he didn’t get an answer from you, his eyes soon met yours again, only to see that named frown clear and obvious on your face. Jungkook knows how much you cared about him. And even when you barely talked about it, he noticed how each frown and every look you give him only appears because you’re truly worried.

“You are so tired. Please come to bed.” out of fear your voice was so quiet, you wondered if he was even able to make out the words that left your mouth.

Usually when you said out loud that special request, he would turn you down, obviously not wanting to let go of his activities. So it left you surprised the moment you realized that he stood up and made his way up to you.

You studied him carefully with wide eyes while analyzing each of his steps as he reached closer. he lightly smirked at your astonished expression and lifted up the blankets to slip under them next to you, resting his head on his hand to look down on you. When he noticed that you just kept on staring at him he let out a soft chuckle.

“the reason I give in so quickly is because I know exactly that you would stay up the whole night again like you did last time.” He moved his free arm under your T-shirt to rest it on your stomach. “And I already prepared myself to stop in case you woke up so here I am.”

“thanks for thinking about me.” You said sarcastically but immediately noticed the way your mouth wrinkles turned upwards. He smiled bashfully and you took the moment of silence to study him carefully. There were light eye bags you could perceive from the little lighting that shone behind him. his hair messy yet so soft looking and his t-shirt hugging his body in the right places.

There was a comfortable silence for a while, all that was shared were stares between each other’s eyes making you feel warm yet nervous at the same time. Even though you two have been dating for a while, his presence still made you feel flustered from time to time. Especially when he looked at you like he saw the universe in front of his eyes. He kept on staring silently while rubbing your belly under the blankets till he suddenly frowned at your appearance.

“Did you cut your hair?”

You couldn’t hide the surprise on your face. you did. But Jungkook seemed to never have notice since he hasn’t commented on it when you got them shorter weeks ago. It really made you remind that you don’t see him as often as you would like to. But you also could never complain because you knew that it wouldn’t be any other way. He told you that from the beginning.

“Yeah I did. It’s been a while though.”

“I’m so sorry baby” he apologized, looking legitimately sad. Both of you knew exactly what he was really apologizing for.

“it’s okay, jungkook” you promised yourself you wouldn’t make him feel bad about something he doesn’t have any control of. At the end this is exactly what you knew was coming when dating a public person, loved by millions of fans. That’s also why in the next second you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him down to meet your smaller frame. He hold you tight, burying his head in your neck while sniffing in your scent. It always made him calm down in some way.

Not saying any word, he slowly turned his head to the side so he could have more excess to your neck, kissing it tenderly and quietly hummed a melody followed by his honey sweet voice. Your heart swelled up with excitement at the possibility that he could start singing.

“will you stay by my side?’’

You could not only feel but almost hear the beating of your heart speeding up. Closing your eyes, you tried focusing on every single word that came out of his mouth.

“will you promise me?“

You were sure he could hear your heartbeat hence the fact you could make out that he was slightly smiling against your neck. It suddenly felt very warm.

“that If I let go of your hand, you won’t fly away or break’’

Not feeling his presence on your neck anymore you waited a few seconds for him to continue. when you realized that nothing happened you opened your eyes in a slow pace only to be met by another pair looking right into yours from above. Your breath hitched for a second.

“I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared“

it was only a mere whisper and you couldn’t do much but simply stare at him. He looked so breathtaking and it began to be unbearable the second he leant in hesitantly and you almost thought that he was going to put his lips on yours, but ended up feeling his kiss on your cheek.

“is my baby crying?” He grinned lightly and you had to put your fingertips under your eyes to even realize that in fact yes, you felt a single tear falling down.

“Why do you always do this to me?” Every other person who witnessed this scenario in front of their eyes would probably think that this question was related to the issue that Jungkook was barely in your company most of the time. That you can’t help but miss him a lot. And that hearing him singing such a beautiful song with such a beautiful meaning would only make you more upset than happier about it.

But the reasons are that he always made you feel so special. Always wrote songs about you to make you realize and feel loved even when he was away for most of the year. Asking him why- oh why he had such a powerful ability to make you feel such strong emotions by his simple actions. Happiness or Sorrow, when it came to Jungkook each feeling was always intense.

“Do you want me to ignore you from now on?” He chuckled happily and already had his lips back on your neck while wrapping his arms around you tighter. You let out a giggle and kissed him softly on the top of his head.

“No.” You said sternly but your frown was soon replaced by a content smile when he put his hand up slowly only to be met by your exposed chest. He suddenly stopped all of his movements and you could feel how he stiffened visibly.

“Jungkook?“

“oh my god, I’m sorry.’’ He rushed but you already held his head in your palms to make him look into your eyes. “I didn’t know you’re not wearing anything underneath.’’

Even though you’ve been dating for a while, he hasn’t made any move for physical intercouse yet. You tried to not think about it too much, since he always had a shy nature but you couldn’t help but have the desire to feel his touch from time to time.

“Jungkook, you know I’m your girlfriend right? It’s okay.’’

“I do. And sometimes I can’t believe it.’’ Mumbling those words your heart already started picking up again. This fool.

“Then feel comfortable around me, especially with me.”

“I do. I can truly say I do feel more comfortable around you now. I’m not that nervous anymore.” He tried to make a point but you already started pouting again at how cute he was. Deciding to tease him a little bit you moved your hands from his face down to his shoulders, letting your hands meet and intertwine behind his neck, pulling him closer.

“I don’t know if that was a compliment or a bad sign?” You smirked “does that mean you are already in the phase of getting tired of me?“

“What do you mean? How is that even related?” He chuckled

“couples usually always pull up with that shit because it’s getting too boring after a while.’’ You tried to reason but could make out that he was already smiling again.

“Well yeah, then’’ He laughed slightly. “maybe”

You looked up at him making sure to tighten your grip around his neck.

“I’m joking.”

“You better be honey.”

he stopped to look at you again. You really wondered how he didn’t get tired of hovering over you yet. If it was for you, you would already be laying on his chest at this point.

“I’m still nervous when It comes to certain things.”

You couldn’t help the smile that was forming on your face when the next words left his lips.

“I still haven’t kissed you.”

“I know. Don’t worry Jeon. I know that we’re still young and you are a little bit hesitant. I don’t worry about you not liking me enough.” You ran your hand through your hair and grinned. “In fact, you probably think about kissing me a lot.”

“I do.”

He suddenly became so serious, no visible smile on his face anymore. You could feel how he took your hand that was now above your head to guide it on his chest.

Pump. Pump. Pump.

Feeling how he went more shy after seeing how your eyes widened at the fast pace his heart was beating you could figure out that he was about to burry his head in your neck again but before he could do that you held his head once again but this time lowering his head to meet yours.

You could feel how it was getting hotter, his body slowly becoming heavier on top of your own. His eyes were widened so badly, you thought they would fall of for a moment. But when you gave him one last comforting smile before his lips met yours, you could feel how he relaxed visibly. ‘it’s only me’ he chuckled remembering those words that you told him only a few minutes ago when his heart made unbearable jumps inside of his chest.

Your lips were driving him insane. Never has he felt anything so soft against his own, the electrifying feeling eating him alive yet making him feel so marvelous and he swore he couldn’t handle it anymore the moment he heard you sigh softly against his lips. He moved his hands to wrap one around your back and the other to hold you behind your neck, while yours rested on his chest. Nothing but the quiet kissing noises filling the room.

“J-Jungkook’’

He almost stared to groan at your responsiveness and the whines but got a hold on himself when he felt how he just couldn’t stop kissing you. Even when you tried to push him back lightly to get some air into your lungs, he wouldn’t let you. He just couldn’t stop.

He also didn’t understand what came onto him when he pushed his tongue past your lips the chance he got and you backed away shortly but softened as soon as he tightened his grip around your body.

It felt like hours of kissing, biting and licking when Jungkook finally removed his lips from your own and placed his forehead against yours, looking deeply into your eyes. The heavy panting and grip on his shirt only deepened the heaviness of his heart along with your rosy cheeks and now red lips when he figured that in this moment, he truly felt like he could die in peace. When kissing alone made him feel so good, he could not but be excited about all the other things that he could do with you.

Ruffling his hair he gave you one last kiss and felt how his lips were already feeling numb. Looking at your state he could tell that you felt the same but the smile that still formed on your face made him place his head contently on your chest, feeling how he already grew tired and made himself ready to fall into a slummer of sleep.

“I love you” was all you could make out until he started breathing evenly, signing that he fell asleep.

Turning your head to the nightstand to see what time it was you chuckled at the green digits that flashed the numbers ‚4:48’ on the clock. You smiled to yourself and tightened your grip around his body, closing your eyes and trying to always remember the fact that your first kiss with jungkook was for over one hour.

“I love you more, you fool”

#jeon jungkook #boyfriend jungkook #bts imagine #jungkook fluff #bangtan fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook smut #bts smut #park jimin #jung hoseok #kim taehyung #min yoongi #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #bts scenario

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douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years

Text

FOR EXAMPLE, I USE IT WHEN I GET CLOSE TO A DEADLINE

They could sing campfire songs in the classes so long as there is no correlation between their ages and how well they're doing. We had the opportunity to raise a lot more play in it. This is probably what Eric Raymond meant about Lisp making you a better programmer. A friend of mine who knows nearly all the widely used languages uses Python for most of his projects. If all you have to choose between bad high schools and good universities, like most other industrialized countries the US is a particularly valuable thing when the atmosphere around you encourages you to do something very simple, like number crunching or bit manipulation, you may as well do what he asks, because he was one of the biggest obstacles to creating startups in Europe is the attitude toward employment. How advantageous it is to buy stock in growing companies as opposed to real estate, or bonds, or stocks bought for the dividends they pay. But for every startup like that, and they all basically said Cambridge followed by a url. It's not as if you couldn't get anything done unless there was someone with the corresponding job title. But angel investors like big successes too. Performance Between December 10 2002 and January 10 2003 I got about 1750 spams. If not, you're in trouble.

Both statements were true, but that's not the way to win is to race ahead, not to stop and think about that. All products should be considered experiments, and those that you decide, from afar, are going to be hard to get fired. Though I can't off the top of my head think of any examples, I am pretty sure that the notation is not the usual one, which applies even when you know which basket is best. But it is not so much the day to day management. In fact, that's an advantage. When we switch to the point where you can't help but hear all the cutting-edge tech and startup news, and run into useful people constantly. And so we changed direction to focus on that. Somehow it's as if most places were sprayed with startupicide.

For example, if I could give an example of a great hacker how good he is, he's almost certain to be wrong in some way, and even so I didn't get to macros until page 160. Sometimes, in desperation, competitors would try to introduce features that we didn't have. When a piece of ground that no one comes and arrests you if you don't do everything you're supposed to when starting a company to live off its revenues. The ones who keep going are driven by something else. In hacking, this can literally mean saving up bugs. If I were going to start a new company using Lisp. How do you figure out what customers want. NPR values, you can't tell from his portfolio. If you ever end up running a company, but startups especially, because startups have the least time to spare for bureaucratic hassles. But remember that ramen profitability is that a dollar from them is worth one dollar. It's easy to be drawn into imitating flaws, because they're big consumer brands. So one way to build great software is to start startups, because students don't feel they're failing if they don't go into research.

The groups then proceeded to ruin the company. Mistake number four. Spams full of html are easy to filter. There's no way around it: anyone who could get rich by creating wealth. You can convince yourself, then convince them. Politicians are caught between a rock and a hard place here, however: make the capital gains rate low and be accused of creating tax breaks for the rich, or make it high and starve growing companies of investment capital. If you know you're on the right track, then you get a couple million dollars from a VC firm, you tend to hear for learning Latin. I found that what hacking meant to them was implementing software, not deal with customers' mundane problems. A guilty pleasure is at least a pure one. If smaller source code is the purpose of high-level language, and computers speak whatever language you want. Why? Like a company whose software runs on Windows, those in the current filter, free in the Subject line has a spam probability of Act is 98% and for act only 62%.

A fellow would be walking along a street and suddenly modality qua modality would spring upon him. Needless to say, my imitations didn't say anything either. But the problem with scraps of paper I could find. I don't think the amount of work you have to take these cycles into account, because they're affected by how you react to them. Could you have both at once, or does there have to be really good at seeming formidable is that it's still so poor. Professional athletes know they'll be pulled if they play badly for just a couple games. What you really want to do it mainly to help the poor, you have to be better than it would be hard to translate that into another language, but I think hiring people is the worst sort of strip development. The hard part, obviously, is when what you have to push down on the top?

The lesson: don't pick cofounders who will flake. If you have a choice of doing good work, not something you work despite. The problem is, if you think in Cobol. This is the thing that has surprised me most about YC founders' experiences. Perl may look like a magazine. In fact, the reason the best PR firms are so effective is precisely that they aren't dishonest. But the importance of encouraging startups.

Metrics Small in what sense though? Ramen profitable means a startup makes just enough to pay the bills. That's probably why everyone else has been overlooking the idea. Taking money from the poor, or they stop going well surprisingly fast. As long as our hypothetical Blub programmer wouldn't use either of them. And PR firms give them what they want. The token Url optmails meaning optmails within a url occurs 1223 times. Work for us, the premise was, and we'll give you a place to think in rather than just to tell a computer what to do without understanding how to do it by changing the world. But the problem then is, you have to overcome in order to put technical barriers between us and our competitors. Back in 1995, we knew something that I don't think it's a good idea to treat spam filtering as a straight text classification problem. If you get bored with, or can't understand, or don't agree with one point, no problem: it won't kill the essay.

Now for the really shocking news: during that same one-month period I got three false positives. At our startup we had Robert Morris working as a system administrator. It might be hard to translate that into another language, but I learned, without realizing it at the time was that the hypothesis we were testing seems to be spreading. Maybe because the suit was also back in February, September 2004, June 2004, March 2004, September 2003, November 2002, April 2002, and February 2002. You'll also have a provisional roadmap of how to succeed. When I was a philosophy major in college. In this case we get three: the NPD Group, the creative director of GQ. They all know about the stuff they've invested in. The simplest way would be to say that to Japanese or Europeans it would seem like something out of the way, and your first priority should be to figure out why. Even other hackers have a hard time convincing the pointy-haired boss to let you build things in Lisp, we'd be able to carry it off. If Hewlett and Packard tried running an electronics company out of their garage in Switzerland, the old lady next door would report them to the end of 1996, we hired a PR firm I had no idea how it works.

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lucasdemaury12-blog · 5 years

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sing me a song

part 1: the awakening

lucas is in desperate need to earn money, otherwise he won't be able to pay rent, pay his friends back - he won't be able to live, because his imbecile, self-entitled prick of a dad decided that he's old enough to care for himself completely. thank god manon shows up with a job offer for him.

Lucas Lallemant woke up around 5h30 covered in sweat, panting.

He was so startled by his nightmares that he decided he wasn’t able to sleep any longer. He still had at least two full hours before he should get out and head to town, however he got out of bed and began preparing himself mentally for his first day in new work.

He had been trying to find a new workplace for months, because he desperately needed to pay rent. It all happened because of his father, who despite the fact that legitimately he was bound to pay for his son’s education until he finished it, decided against it.

That left Lucas a seventeen year old boy, looking for a job anywhere that would provide a salary that covered his rent and food. He wasn’t vert demanding — he didn’t have the right. After all, he was inexperienced and he had never spent a day working. That’s why he sought a simple job, like cleaning or helping an old lady.

However, one night Manon came back home and announced that her boss at stock exchange (Lucas still didn’t comprehend how she got the job) was searching for an assistant. It was supposedly an easy job, he was expected to bring coffee, sort out papers and stamp letters. No big deal.

But he still was wound up. Stressed, even.

He needed to keep that job. He had been living off Mika and Lisa already, eating their food and borrowing money for the cleaner’s, feeling immensely guilty after, even though they’d offered.

He was sitting in the living room, sipping his coffee and trying to destress while watching some stupid cartoon on TV when Manon walked in, all puffy eyes and messy hair. She immediately plopped down beside him and extended her arm, signalising her need for the heavenly beverage in his hands. Lucas handed her the warm mug without question.

“How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?” She managed to ask after a few very audible gulps. Lucas shook his head.

“Nah… I couldn’t sleep. I woke up at 5h30 and I headed to rest here. And did you sleep okay?”

“Actually, yeah. I had the beauty sleep I needed after Saturday night and now I’m a bit out of it, but give me half an hour and I’ll be up and running,” she smiled at him beamingly, or as beamingly as a person can smile at 6h49 in the morning. “Are you stressed out?”

“Fuck, yes. I don’t want to embarrass myself while scanning a fucking document,” he groaned, his anxiety previously alleviated by the cartoon coming back with full force.

“You won’t. Our boss is delightful. If you’re in need, he will help you personally. And have I mentioned that he’s also a living sex on legs? A fucking greek god,” Manon sighed dreamingly, putting her head on Lucas’ shoulder.

“You’re not helping my case, Manon. And I doubt that someone can be as hot as Pierce Brosnan in James Bond.”

“Oh, he’s million times hotter, Lallemant. Wait an hour and you’ll see on your own. I nearly spilled his tea when I first crossed the threshold to his office. The guy’s breathtaking.”

“Okay, Manon. Shut up.”

***

He clutched Manon’s hand as soon as they entered the busy office. Phones were ringing, people were rushing to see the screens with their actions, yelling could be heard everywhere and basically, clamour reigned all over the place.

Manon quickly led them to her desk in front of the elevators. She sat down, turned on her computer and started typing immediately as it opened.

“What are you doing?” He inquired.

“Asking Eliott to come and get you. I need to start clearing my schedule, so he’ll be the one to show you around and explain what you need to do,” she elaborated, sending him a quick, supportive smile, which did nothing to soothe his aggravated nerves.

He waited no longer than four minutes at the reception before there was a sound of cleared throat behind him, which made him turn around and—

Wow.

He was speechless. Fucking tongue-tied.

The guy in front of him certainly was a greek god. There was simply no way that an average human being could look like that.

Eliott, because apparently that was his name, pulled off the most blinding smile Lucas had ever seen. His whole face beamed with it, his eyes crinkly at the corners, face all lit up. Moreover, he was around six feel tall and his silhouette was very proportional. Slim legs, narrow hips, broad shoulders. And, fuck, Lucas was dying to trace the veins that adorned his beautiful arms and hands.

Nevertheless, the most beautiful was his face. Protruding cheekbones, sharp jaw, mesmerising green-blue eyes and a brownish, messy hair, which looked so soft that Lucas screamed internally with the need to touch it, card his fingers through it.

He was snapped out of his daze by the melodic voice of his soon-to-be boss.

“Good morning. I suppose you’re the Lucas that Manon couldn’t stop talking about?” He provided another smile, waiting for an answer. The small brunette did not trust his voice right now, so he nodded cautiously. “Great. Well, I’m Eliott Demaury and my father is the cofounder of this company. I gather you don’t have anything against me giving you a tour?”

Lucas hesitated, his mind flowing out of the window - completely scrambled and utterly inutile. How was he supposed to work with the guy if he wasn’t able to form a coherent sentence around him?

Fortunately, Manon cleared her throat rather resoundingly, trying to telepathically convey a message that if he didn’t get his shit together, he would never get this job and he managed to get out a small not at all.

Eliott nodded and started heading somewhere through a crowded corridor, motioning for the younger boy to follow him. He did and he desperately tried to focus on what the older man was saying, but he couldn’t when Eliott’s taut muscles flexed underneath his dress shirt and when sweat was gathering at the bottom of his neck. He looked divinely perfect and Lucas couldn’t care less where the toilet was or where Eliott’s best friend Idriss worked.

Lucas admired how the taller brunette walked with sheer grace, as if he was floating and not walking. He admired the way his hands pointed at walls, pictures and doors. He admired long fingers and nails that were cut extremely precisely, maybe even filed. He admired the frown between Demaury’s two perfect brows and he admired the plump, rosy lips that almost begged to be kissed senselessly and so fucking passionately.

When they finished in front of another humongous office, Lucas had no idea where anything was. He couldn’t even find it in himself to feel guilty, when there was a deity standing in front of him.

“—and there will be consequences. I hope I wasn’t a terrible guide?” Eliott questioned, his perfectly cut nails scraping at the back of his neck.

“No, of course not. You were perfect.”

In such times Lucas could comprehend why his best friends always accused him of having no brain to mouth filter.

“Okay,” Eliott drawled the word, gazing at the younger boy. “So let’s move on to my office and we’ll discuss your duties here.”

Lucas immediately followed the older man and was immensely astonished, when he held the door for him, however he did not say a thing. After all, brain to mouth filter went on holidays, so he needed to be cautious.

Eliott closed the door, briskly went behind his massive mahogany desk and sat on his revolving, leather chair. He opened something on his computer before clearing his throat and began to talk.

“Lucas, I know you’re seventeen and you are finishing high school, yes?” Lucas nodded. “How are you going to manage juggling between school and work?”

That was a question Lucas was not prepared for and it took him a few seconds to form some coherent reply.

“Well, um… I was thinking about ditching half of my classes, because some of them are not really necessary for my studies and I really need to start earning money,” he prayed to god, if there was one, that his answer was what Eliott had expected.

“There’s no need,” the older man said, stirring a confusion inside the young brunette. “I only need an assistant to help me answer some mails, direct a call, send and stamp some letters and make me coffee, because I really don’t have time for that and such things mess up my time schedule,” he sighed. “Anyway, I don’t need you here the whole time and we can adjust the hours, so that you won’t miss any of your classes and still have time to study. Would that be okay?”

“More than okay,” Lucas replied, dumbfounded. “And what about… money?”

“Will 2000 euros suffice for your needs?”

Lucas barely restrained himself from choking to death. He had never been offered such money for doing so little. He knew that this company was really affluent and he could read between the lines, so he knew that Eliott really wasn’t in a desperate need for an assistant, but he was still willing to pay more than enough for Lucas’ inexperience. He couldn’t comprehend this situation.

“Of course,” he shoved the words out of his throat, because Demaury started looking at him peculiarly when he did not provide an answer.

“Which means that everything’s settled. Send me a copy of your class schedule to my mail and I will reply at which hours I will need you here, okay?” The small brunette nodded and his soon-to-be boss scribbled away on a piece of paper before pushing it towards Lucas. “Here’s my email address and telephone number if you want to discuss any uncertainties. You can go now.”

Lucas was too stunned to move from his place. He couldn’t believe his luck. Fuck, he needed to make Manon a dinner. Or better yet, he needed to take her out for dinner and a movie. She literally saved his ass.

“Are you okay?” Eliott frowned as he saw that Lucas did not move a muscle. This simple question snapped him out of his daze and he replied with a curt yes before standing up and leaving the room altogether.

***

Two days later he had a full schedule, which Eliott sent him the day before and he was immensely content with how it all turned out. Not only he didn’t have a full time job, which would certainly mess with his future, but he also earned a lot of money that would pay his rent, his food and the accessories needed for school and labs.

Anyway, Lucas was still a bit stressed about spending time in close proximity to the most mesmerising human being he had ever encountered, however money compensated his aggravated nerves.

As soon as he was done with school, he headed towards the centre of Paris and then, to the firm. It was nearing 17h00, when he entered the premises with his newly produced card. He got into the elevator in rush, not wanting to be a second late to his new job, but mostly not wanting to disappoint Eliott Demaury. He couldn’t comprehend what elicited such emotion inside him, but he didn’t even have time to think it through, because he was entering the floor on with his boss worked and he was supposed to report for duty.

He went to where he knew Eliott worked and passed the desk in front of the office, which apparently was his now, only to greet his boss. He knocked gently and when he heard a resounding get in, he quickly opened the door and smiled at the older man.

However, Eliott was in the middle of a business call and was talking in raised voice, irritation visible on his facial features. Lucas only waved at him to signalise that he was here, which made the other flip him off before returning to his, presumably, clients. Lucas felt a lump forming inside his throat.

He closed the door and headed to his desk, feeling of immense discountenance spreading all over his body as he sat down on his chair and turned on the computer before him. There was a note, something scribbled in Eliott’s handwriting. He took it into his hands and looked over, instantly recognising his to do list.

He was thankful for it, otherwise he wouldn’t know where to start. Fortunately, it seemed that Eliott comprehended Lucas’ struggles and decided to make it easier for him. He really should take out Manon for dinner because of this.

As soon as his computer turned on, he went over the scribbles again. He was requested to go over employment files and seek out any mistakes, copy versions of contracts to archive, send invitations to people that he certainly did not differentiate from each other and there was a special request for an extra strong cappuccino with a smiley face next to it. It warmed Lucas’ heart.

And that’s why he almost instantaneously got up from his seat and headed to where he reckoned was the office kitchen to make Eliott his extra strong cappuccino.

It took him ten minutes to figure out how the coffemaker works, however he managed to make a pretty nice cappuccino. He sprinkled it slightly with cinnamon and rummaged through the drawers in order to find some cookies. It turned out that it was his lucky day, because he found chocolate chip cookies and he placed two on Eliott’s saucer.

Then, Lucas rushed to the older man’s office.

Surprisingly, the doors were opened and Lucas couldn’t make out any noises of dispute. He peered into the room only to see his boss sitting behind his computer, brows furrowed and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair a mess. He clearly was exasperated, Lucas could just tell.

“Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have your coffee,” he began, forcing his voice not to break in the middle of the sentence. He would literally kill himself for it now.

“No, Lucas, you’re not interrupting. Sorry for earlier. Clients are walking all over my head and I must be polite to those assholes even though I want to tell them to fuck themselves,” Eliott elaborated, his voice strained and his whole posture tense. The small brunette wished he could just rub the tension away with his fingers.

“I understand. No offence taken,” he smiled, walked over to the man’s desk and put the saucer down on it. “Hope this lifts your spirits up. You shouldn’t stress so much over some stupid people.”

“I know, but they are very important investors for us. If they give us money, we can buy a company that’s been our competition for years,” Eliott explained, sighing loudly before a soft, private smile tugged at his lips. “Thanks for the cookies. How did you know I have a sweet tooth?”

“Well, now I know that,” Lucas chuckled at the older guy’s question. “You want anything else? I can get you lunch downstairs or something.”

“No, thanks. Just please do everything that I put on the list, because I literally must have every single detail in this firm under control and supervision. So don’t fuck up, Lucas, okay?” His features hardened and the etherealness of his face almost made the small brunette lose his composure.

“Sure thing, boss,” Lucas saluted to the older brunette, which made the latter smile at him blindingly and that’s when he knew that he could make a fool of himself anytime if Eliott only smiled at him like that. “Call me when you need me.”

“Got that,” Eliott laughed, his eyes crinkling adorably at the corners.

Fuck, Lucas was in deep.

***

Lucas had been working in the Demaury company for over three weeks now and so far he was delighted. His duties were nothing completely out of his idea of expertise, the hours did not affect his schoolwork and grades, other people working there were pretty amicable, Lucas really liked the environment and moreover, Eliott had been a very pleasant boss.

Which certainly did not help his growing affection for the older man.

Throughout those three weeks he had learnt that Eliott was an extremely adorable person. He pursed his lips softly when he was thinking about closing some deal, he tugged at the ends of his hair when he was frustrated, he groaned dramatically and called for Lucas as if he were dying when he was on a caffeine low, he extended his hands over his desk when Lucas went in to pass him the papers he was supposed to go over.

Practically everything about this man was boozing with adorableness and Lucas couldn’t stop thinking about him.

After all, Eliott was only seven years older than him and he spent so much time in his company that he certainly did not have a wife or kids. It was kind of peculiar, because kids from rich families usually found themselves in arranged marriages as soon as they were eighteen, however Eliott spent too many hours working to have a family.

It was uplifting, because it meant that Lucas still had a chance. There was a rumour going on that Eliott was pansexual, which meant that the young adolescent had even bigger chance.

And so began his wooing.

He always made sure to leave a few buttons of his shirt open to show off his chest a bit. He put on the most sincere and biggest smiles as soon as he crossed the threshold to Eliott’s office. He brought the man a huge cup of cappuccino for his money every afternoon with something sugary on the side to satisfy his sweet tooth. He completed his tasks prematurely, asking for more work to ensure his boss that he was reliable and operose. He got into his extra tight jeans that accentuated the perkiness of his ass and he tried to move his hips as much as he could when he exited the office.

He didn’t know if his attempts at hitting on his boss were known to the older man or if Eliott was adorably unaware of how much Lucas wanted to be bent over his desk and stuffed full of his cock.

Nevertheless, he had to be very professional in other aspects, because he couldn’t give Demaury any reason to fire him if he ever thought that Lucas’ wooing is too much for his likening. That’s why he worked overtime, checking twice over Eliott’s emails, copying his documents and directing his calls. He also promised himself to talk with the other guy a bit, because he was so engulfed by his work that he rarely even talked to anybody.

That’s what he was doing now, for instance.

He was sitting in front of the infamous Eliott Demaury, who was acknowledged as the heartless monster, who fired as many people as he has euros on his bank account and who was giggling at Lucas’ dumb joke in this exact second.

Fuck.

“You can’t tell me this is funny to you. It’s so fucking lame, Eliott,” Lucas placed his head in his hands, disbelief flooding his whole body when the older man practically rolled off his chair to the floor, because of how hard he was shaking with sheer laughter.

“Oh, come on! It’s not that lame!” Demaury protested indignantly, which caused the younger brunette to elicit a small chuckle before lifting an eyebrow in a questionable manner. Eliott groaned, covering his face with his hands in surrender. “Okay, you got me. I like stupid fucking jokes.”

“No, it can’t be that bad. Wait…” Lucas pondered about another lame joke he heard somewhere and when he remembered what it was about, he grinned. “If two vegans are arguing, then is it still considered beef?”

He watched cautiously as Eliott bit his lip harshly in order to stop himself from bursting out laughing and Lucas flailed his hands in the air.

“You’re unbelievable! This is really funny for you?” Another wave of precious laughter filled the space around the starkly designed office. “Okay, that’s enough. I’m not working for you anymore,” Lucas huffed out a small laugh as he stood up and pretended to leave the room.

“No, Lucas! Don’t go,” Eliott managed to shove the words out of his mouth between sweet giggles. This sound made the smaller brunette’s heart melt, so he turned around with a playful expression on his face. “Please. I have not spent a pleasant evening with anyone in fucking years. I really needed that, you know?”

“What?” Lucas asked quietly, sitting down in front of his boss again, his voice unsure because of the sudden seriousness found in Eliott’s eyes.

“You. Working here,” the older replied, eyes conveying such emotion that Lucas barely managed to refrain himself from swooning to the floor. Eliott would probably never let him live it down. “I really like you, you know? You make my day better.”

His heart had just done a somersault.

“You make my day better, too. I’ve never imagined I’d enjoy working in a corporation,” Lucas shook his head incredulously.

“Why? What do you want to do in the future?” Eliott inquired, leaning back against his chair and placing his feet on the desk. He looked so comfortable right now that Lucas would definitely not mind taking a picture of him. Laid-back, relaxed, content.

“I want to be a surgeon, I want to help people. I’m actually an S student,” he answered, pursing his lips as he folded his arms over his chest.

“You never told me that.”

“It just never came up, I guess. You know I wouldn’t lie to you?” Lucas prompted, chuckling lightly to ease the tension.

“Wouldn’t you?” His boss cocked an eyebrow, eyes inquiring once again. It felt like Eliott tried to bore into his soul.

“I wouldn’t.”

Silence fell over them as they gazed up at one another, estimating what their response should be. Lucas didn’t have to wait long for the older brunette to begin a conversation again, though.

“Okay. Want to go with me to get dinner?” Eliott already stood up, gathering his jacket and wallet before running his fingers through his hair. His actions left Lucas no other choice than to accept.

“Sure.”

***

He wouldn’t dare to imagine in his wildest dreams that his dinner with one of the most affluent people in the whole wide world would be in McDonald’s.

Lucas tried to convince himself to start eating less junk food recently, however Eliott seemed so excited to just go and devour a BigMac with fries and McNuggets that he couldn’t say anything. After all, he would do anything in his power to keep that beaming smile on the older man’s lips forever.

So he had agreed to McDonald’s and now he was sitting with a tray full of McNuggets, fries and ice cream. The food was splendid, as usual, but the sheer contentment flowing through his body just because he was able to see Eliott Demaury so fucking excited that his ears almost shook from happiness was overpowering and made the dinner ten thousand times more memorable.

Eliott posed a question as he was pushing a handful of fries into his mouth. He hadn’t been exactly the sexiest eater ever.

“Are you dating someone?”

Those fries almost flew out of his mouth.

“W-What?” He stuttered.

“I asked if you’re dating someone,” Eliott repeated and sent him a small, timid smile.

“I- No, I’m not. Why are you asking?”

“Just curious,” his eyes were boring holes into Lucas’ body and the latter felt as if his whole body was a nerve ending pulled taut. He couldn’t comprehend why he suddenly felt so close to the other man.

“And you? Are you dating?” The small brunette was himself astonished at how confident he got around Eliott.

“No, not right now,” his boss replied, focusing his stare on the box of McNuggets. “Okay, change of subject. Do you trust me enough now to tell me why a seventeen year old like yourself is looking for a full-time job in a company without any experience?”

Lucas had known that he would certainly be asked this question, but he also hadn’t expected it to be in such moment and frankly speaking, he wasn’t ready to talk about how his father abandoned him and his mother years ago, how he was scarred for lifetime because of this man, how much damage he inflicted on his offspring.

“Sorry, I can’t talk about it with you yet,” he shook his head, averting his gaze, because he didn’t want to encounter disappointment in Eliott’s eyes.

Another thing he didn’t expect were nimble, delicate fingers guiding his chin so that he would look at the older brunette. The touch was so gentle, barely there, but Lucas could feel his skin tingling with want when Eliott pulled away.

“Hey, Lucas… Never feel obligated to tell people things that you don’t want to talk about. I’m really not judging you. If anything, I think you’re incredibly strong and brave to provide for yourself in such young age. I want you to feel comfortable with me, you know?”

Lucas was melting to a puddle on the floor.

“Thank you, Eliott. I mean it. Thank you so much.”

The older man winked at him, “No problem. I’m happy you’re working for me. Couldn’t have it any other way.”

“You’re just trying to embarrass me right now. I’ll be a blushing mess by the time you’re done,” Lucas shook his head, hiding his face behind his hands.

Suddenly, there were those nimble fingers again, touching his knuckles gently and unwinding his hands from his face.

“You’re beautiful, when you blush.”

Eliott must tried to fucking kill him. How was he supposed to handle these little remarks without climbing him like a fucking tree?

Fortunately, since that compliment they started talking only about work, which allowed the adolescent some breathing room. He wasn’t sure what he was meant to do with Eliott and if these small compliments should spur him on to woo him even more, or if he should confess his feelings to the older man, or maybe he should just resign from this position and if he shouldn’t bother trying.

After they finished, Eliott proposed walking him home and Lucas was eternally grateful. It was nearing 23h00 and it certainly was more convenient to have someone with him for safety. He usually wasn’t stressed about it being dangerous on his way home, because they lived in a mixed neighbourhood, however with Eliott he just felt so fucking safe that if he had to leave that bubble of solace now, he would probably die.

They wandered about, slowly heading towards Lucas’ precinct and they talked about anything and everything.

“You know that when I was young I pissed in my parents’ sweet potato pie? I was so fucking mad at them, because they didn’t let me see my girlfriend at the time that I decided to fuck it and just did it,” Eliott broke down in laughter and Lucas gazed up at him with such incredulity that the older almost doubled over. “I’m serious! I did it! They never found out, though. I hope they never will, they would fucking strangle me.”

“I’m not sure that’s an appropriate thing to tell your employee, Eliott,” Lucas said, however as soon as he saw Eliott’s struggling expression, he broke down too.

They laughed so hard that their ribs hurt and smiles never left their faces, and Lucas was so fucking smitten in that moment.

“Well, once I threw a tantrum, because my best friend kissed his girlfriend in front of me. I was in love with him, you know? And I nearly broke their relationship, but fortunately they did not break up because of me.”

Eliott was silent for a bit, “I mean it’s not something to praise, but I think that if you love someone then your actions are biased and you do not see reality the way it is. You took at the world through rose-tinted spectacles.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I wasn’t in my right mind back then. I repressed my sexuality for so fucking long and a year ago I just couldn’t hold it in anymore, I’ve been in the closet for too long, and so my first crush was definitely more severe than it’d normally be. At least I think so.”

“I know so,” Eliott smiled sympathetically down at him. “But it’s good that now you accept yourself and you don’t feel bad about who you are. I’m proud of you for that, even though I didn’t know you back then.”

“You wouldn’t like me very much,” Lucas chuckled.

“Oh, I doubt it. I would certainly grow fond of you. It would probably just take more time,” Eliott shrugged and his hand was in an instant between Lucas’ shoulder blades, patting him there lightly, before it disappeared as soon as it appeared.

“No, I don’t know about that. I was rude to everyone, I barely talked to people about my problems. It was really bad between me and my family back then. I mean, it’s still shitty with my father, but with my mom it’s great. I realised that I love her more than anything and that our problems in the past shouldn’t affect what’s happening now.”

“You’re really clever for a guy that’s just seventeen,” Eliott nudged him with his elbow. “You sure you’re not lying to me?”

“Never,” Lucas muttered out a response and before he was able to begin another conversation, they reached their destination. “Okay, we’re here.”

“Really? You don’t live so far away from work. Maybe I’ll need your assistance more often from now on,” the older man wiggled his eyebrows, which made Lucas huff out a laugh. “Thanks for tonight. I had fun with you. More than in the past four years altogether.”

“You’re joking,” Lucas squinted his eyes. “No, there’s no way. You’re a billionaire, Eliott.”

“Yeah, and my life fluctuates around going to home and to work.”

“Okay, when was the last time that you went to a club?”

“Honestly? Probably five years ago,” Eliott looked upwards, visibly counting years.

“Okay, that’s it. We’re going to club on Friday and I won’t take no for an answer,” Lucas gazed up at the other guy sternly, his expression showing no room for negotiations. Demaury sighed defeatedly before nodding.

“You got it. I need to run it by someone, though, so I’m not promising anything.”

“Shut up, you are. We’re going whether you want it or not. You need to start having fun, because you’ll end up old and wrinkled with nothing, but your work.”

“Hmm, maybe you’re right,” Eliott faux pondered.

“I am. Now go home,” the small brunette commanded, however before he could turn around and head towards the front door to his apartment complex, two strong arms winded up around his waist and pulled him into a sturdy chest. All air fled his lungs.

“Thank you for tonight. I really, really mean it,” Eliott muttered into the mess of his hair before smoothing it out with his hand gently. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

He felt naked and vulnerable without Eliott’s arms around him.

***

It was Friday and he was petrified. His head was all over the place, he couldn’t stop thinking about his upcoming getaway with Eliott. He couldn’t figure out which clothes to wear, or if he should brush his teeth twice before going out, or maybe he should put on his formal Oxfords—

No, for fuck’s sake, they were going to a club and not to meet a grandmother. He should wear tight jeans, or maybe ripped skinny jeans, or no—

“Mika!” He shouted. Lucas really needed an advice. He was near tearing his hair out, because of how stressed he’s been. It was exasperating.

The older guy entered his bedroom with a deep frown between his eyebrows and there was an unasked question in the air. Lucas groaned, plopping down on his bed and covering his face with his hands.

“What’s happening, kitten?”

“I have a gay crisis, Mika,” he moaned, which made the older sit down next to him on the bed and pull him into a weird hug, because his head was in Mika’s lap, whereas the latter was sitting and cradling his head.

“Oh! My favourite one. How can I help?” Mika seemed keen on alleviating some of the tension building inside him, because he started rubbing it away from his shoulders.

“Well, I’m going to a club with Eliott.”

“And who’s Eliott?” His best friend questioned, another frown appearing.

“Eliott’s my and Manon’s boss at Demaury Design?” When he saw nothing clearing out for the older adolescent he scrunched up his face. “You really don’t know where two of your best friends work?” Mika shrugged. “Okay, no, don’t answer that question. Eliott’s my boss and we’re getting along perfectly. He’s older than us, twenty-four to be exact, and he’s so fucking hot, Mika, I literally sweat when I see him.”

“Show me a picture, come on! Hot people shouldn’t be kept in the closet,” Mika pushed Lucas' head out of his lap towards the phone resting calmly on his nightstand. “Go on!”

Lucas huffed and looked at the older guy with such indignation that Mika started cackling. “Shut up, okay!? You can’t just barge in here and demand to see a picture of my crush.”

“You asked me to come here!” Mika replied, holding his hands up in a defensive manner, whereas the younger boy huffed once again and extended his hand to reach for the phone. He quickly unlocked it and found Eliott’s encrypted instagram, which he had learnt about maybe a week ago. As soon as he clicked on the photos, he handed Mika the device without any word. His best friend began scrolling through the posts and he could hear a startled gasp. “Lucas, he’s so fucking hot. How is it that you find a guy that looks like a fucking model without even trying and I can’t get a boyfriend since middle school!?”

“Maybe you’re looking too hard. I really hadn’t expected to find such a guy in Manon’s firm,” Lucas pursed his lips. “But it doesn’t matter right now. I have a gay crisis and I need you to help me. I’m going to club with Eliott, because he told me that the last time he went to one was five years ago.”

“No!”

“Yeah.”

“Now, that’s downright unacceptable. No one can go on this long without having so much fun. Where do you plan to take him?” Mika gaped in incredulity.

“You know that one near Eiffel Tower?” His best friend nodded. “There.”

“It’s a good one. Make sure to get him drunk and I guarantee you’ll end up in bedsheets tonight, sweetheart.”

“Mika! Shut the fuck up!” The adolescent squirmed, blood rushing to his cheeks. “That’s not what I need you for. Help me dress up. I don’t know what to wear for this shit!”

“Sure, but first tell me if you’re going there just as friends, or maybe as a boss and employee, or is he your date?” The older guy wiggled his eyebrows again and Lucas threw a pillow at him. “Ow! Rude!”

“Sorry, but shut up and let me elaborate. I don’t know as who we’re going there. I mean, I have been hitting on him throughout the whole time that I’m working in Demaury Designs. I fucking dress up for him, I bring him extra coffee. Fuck, Mika, I even move my ass all over the place when I’m leaving his office. On Tuesday we went to get McDonald’s and he told me that I’m beautiful and other things,” Lucas blushed crimson as he reminisced Eliott’s exact words. “I mean, I don’t know if he’s interested or if he’s just nice?”

“Kitten, he totally wants to fuck you. A guy doesn’t call another guy beautiful out of nowhere,” Mika concluded before getting up. He went over to Lucas’ wardrobe, fumbled with his clothes a bit and picked out something. “Wear this. It even makes my mouth water when I watch your ass.”

“Ugh, Mika! Disgusting!” Lucas’ eyes widened comically in horror.

“Oh, don’t be a prude, kid. Wear this shirt to this,” he threw a jean shirt at the young brunette that lay on his bed, not bothering to comprehend how he’s been suffering with choosing an outfit for hours, whereas Mika just barged in here and picked something right off. “Come on, Lucas, change. I need to see if this is any good.”

Lucas groaned for the thousandth time that evening and stripped himself out of his sweatpants and stained SpongeBob t-shirt. He dressed into that shirt, which was tight around his chest, but it emphasised it graciously, and then he, uneasily, got into the tight jeans. As he fastened the belt, Mika wolf-whistled at him.

“Atta boy, totally fuckable,” he commented, causing Lucas’ cheeks to flush. This kid should learn how to take compliments. “Now, go get your man.”

“He’s picking me up at 23h30.”

“Well, that’s in… approximately ten minutes, so get going.”

“What!?”

In the next ten minutes Lucas practically turned the flat upside down as he searched for his wallet, his keys, condoms and other much needed supplies if they happened to end up in a hotel room. He hoped they would, because otherwise he’d burst his pants open with how much he desired to be owned by Eliott Demaury.

He ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth for the third time that night, he smoothed out his hair more times than he can count and he checked his face for any flaws also times and times again. He was so aflutter that if it weren’t for Mika yelling at him that his phone was going off, he wouldn’t even notice that Eliott called him.

He rushed to his bedroom and picked up on the last ring, answering with a breathy, “Hello?”

“Hey, Lucas. I’m downstairs. I don’t mind waiting, though. If you need some more time, I mean.”

Eliott sounded nervous. Why was he nervous? If both of them were iffy throughout the whole night, nothing would come out of it. He couldn’t let it happen.

“No, no! I’m ready. I’m getting out in a second. See you,” he rushed to say and hung up. Fuck, was that suspicious? He had never hung up on his boss before. No, he couldn’t think about that. He instantly tried to get rid of the incessant thoughts and he partly succeeded as he started to ponder about what Eliott decided to wear tonight.

He barged into the living room, where Mika was sprawled all over the couch, his gaze full of disinterest and mirth. He was incredibly amused at how the adolescent stressed over everything - he had never seen him in such situation.

“You’re sure I look good?” He needed to be ascertained and Mika knew better than to make fun of him for being so all over the place.

“You look perfect. Have fun and use protection,” Lucas scowled, however he did not move from his spot, so Mika decided to take matters in his own hands. “If he wants to put it in your ass, remember to use lots of lube, otherwise it’ll hurt.”

“Mika! What the fuck!?”

“Oh, and seriously, make him wear a condom. STDs are no fun,” he winked and just as he predicted, Lucas huffed before heading towards the main doors to the flat. Mika practically doubled over in laughter as the younger brunette put on his shoes.

Lucas headed downstairs in a rush, however he didn’t want to be claimed as too zealous to go on a casual meeting with his boss.

Yeah, if only.

He refined his shirt just before he crossed the threshold of the exit doors, took a deep inhale to calm his nerves and then, he went out of the building just to see Eliott fucking Demaury, his boss, leaning on the hood of his car (which, of course, seemed to be too expensive for Lucas and his shabby clothes), texting someone.

His hair was a perfect mess and Lucas had to visibly contain himself to not card his fingers through it. The older man was wearing black, ripped, skinny jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket. He had a cigarette between his totally kissable lips and his left hand was scratching the back of his neck just before he acknowledged Lucas’ presence.

“Oh, hey!” He greeted the younger boy, buoyant. Then his eyes widened and a blush spread across his cheeks. “You look… lovely. Splendid, even.”

“Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself,” Lucas managed to respond and he was perplexed that he had ability to answer to such endearing complement in quick time. “Are we going or not?” He got out next, when Eliott didn’t move from his place, mouth slightly ajar.

“Um, yeah… Of course, we’re going,” the older man replied, snapping out of his daze before opening the doors and motioning for Lucas to step inside. The latter nodded in thanks, hastily getting in.

Eliott got into the car a few seconds after the adolescent and immediately launched the engine, driving away from the comfort of Lucas’ home.

***

They drove in comfortable silence, both of them quite weary after challenges of the day, however Lucas still had energy to get in the middle of the dance floor and just jump the night away until his bones ached, his throat was scorching dry and his head was pounding from the lack of alcohol and the excess of people surrounding him.

He reckoned that Eliott felt similar, otherwise he wouldn’t go with him, making up some shit excuse about a parent or work. After all, he was still Lucas’ boss and the younger wouldn’t pester him about it if he knew that the older man didn’t want to.

Eliott was a riddle to him, though. On one hand, he could gather that the older man was hitting on him by the way he smothered him with compliments, shy smiles and intense stares. However, Lucas wasn’t the only one that was treated this way.

He once met a woman, named Lucille, who beetled into his office without any invitation, not bothering to listen to Lucas, who specifically said that there was a meeting going on. Eliott, on the contrary to Lucas’ belief, asked the investors to leave for a bit and locked himself with the woman inside. A peculiar kind of jealousy blossomed inside the adolescent’s chest as he saw the older man leading Lucille out with his hand on the woman’s lower back.

So what did it mean? After all, Eliott said that he was not dating someone, so it couldn’t have been a girlfriend. Maybe a close friend? Close friends get mad at you sometimes and barge into your extremely important meetings, right? Maybe not.

But then who was Lucille if she could practically put a damper on Eliott’s meeting and get out of that situation with giddy smiles and gentle touches from the other man?

Lucas didn’t have time to dwell on it any longer, because the older brunette applied the brakes precipitously as he found a space to park his car in. He turned the engine off and gazed at the younger boy, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“So what? We’re going?” He questioned.

“Yeah. Come on,” Lucas nodded before opening the doors and getting out of the vehicle. He waited for Eliott to do the same and as he locked the car, they headed towards the entrance, where an average for such places queue stood.

They took their place behind three girls that were definitely underage and the older brunette inhaled the midnight air profusely.

“What is your biggest dream?” He asked.

Lucas took some time to ponder about this question before answering, “I don’t know, actually. I already told you that I want to be a surgeon, to help people when they think their world is ending. I think it would make me happy, maybe it’d made my life more meaningful.”

“No, Lucas, I don’t mean work. Work is overrated anyway, everybody is usually tired of it after some time. Tell me what you want to have in the future. Do you want kids? A house in the suburbs of Paris? You own clinic?” The taller brunette seemed so hooked on the subject of their current conversation that Lucas daren’t interrupt him, even though he seemed as if he was high.

“Well, I want to have a house in the suburbs of Paris, you know?” Lucas chuckled before meeting Eliott’s soft gaze, focused only on his face. “I want a husband, who loves me and I know that it’s wishful thinking, but I’m one of those people, who want one person to be with them for the entirety of their life. I want to discuss world with him, I want to have four kids and I want to be able to afford a vacation for my entire family, any time we want. I would be happy then.”

“And you’re not happy now?”

“You know, I’m living a life that has no parents in it. My best friends are out having fun every night, whereas I need to work in order to have money to live. I am barely making it with all the studying and working for you— I’m sorry, I should shut up right now.”

“No, no. I want to hear what you’re saying. I want to know if there’s any way I can help you with all that shit. I understand that you have a hard time, all I want to do is to help you,” Eliott concluded, his stare sincere.

“Well, you shouldn’t. You’re my boss. You shouldn’t be biased.”

Fortunately, their conversation was interrupted by the bodyguard asking for their IDs. They were admitted inside easily, without any outburst at Lucas being underage.

As soon as they crossed the threshold to the club, they were engulfed by the pounding music in their ears, convincing every fibre of their bodies to move along to it, to succumb to it. Lucas looked up to see the expression on Eliott’s face, which was adorned by an enormous grin and eyes that twinkled with contentment.

“Want to get a drink?” Lucas proposed, straining his voice a little, because otherwise the older man wouldn’t hear him.

“Fuck, yes.”

And so, they headed towards the bar, which was lit up by various colours and stood by the parquet. They pushed through a crowd of people to get near it, stood in a queue for bit before it was their turn and when the bartender nodded at Eliott, the older guy leaned in and placed their order.

“What did you get me?” Lucas inquired, brows furrowed.

Eliott only chuckled before fumbling with something inside his back pocket. Then, he nudged Lucas with his clenched fist in the side to turn his attention to his hand. He cautiously opened it, revealing its contents, “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that we got this. You in?”

“You’re kidding,” Lucas muttered, incredulous. “It’s fucking illegal!”

“Oh, come on! Smoking weed is also prohibited and you’re still doing it. Don’t tell me you’re chickening out,” Eliott grimaced and paid for their drinks as they were placed on the counter before taking them with him and heading towards the nearest couch. He sat down, dropped the ecstasy in their glasses and pushed one to Lucas. “Drink. I promise nothing bad will happen. And if so, I promise I’ll rescue you.”

Lucas definitely wasn’t in the right mind to make decisions consciously in the presence of the hottest guy in the whole wide world, who looked at him with such hope in his eyes that Lucas just couldn’t decline. He told himself to fuck it and downed the glass in seconds.

The grin with which he was met when he finished was worth everything.

Eliott winked at him before downing his own glass and as soon as they were finished, he stood up and extended his hand towards the adolescent. Lucas without hesitation took it and let himself be led to the middle of the dance floor.

They pushed through the sweaty bodies again, aiming for the middle, Eliott’s hand warm and pleasant in his. He could get used to it.

As Eliott finally found a place that he was satisfied with, Lucas closed his eyes and slowly began moving his body to the music. He feet started listening and following the beat, and there was no Eliott anymore, there was no one else around him, but the sound of music.

He gathered that those were the effects of ecstasy as he had never felt such way. Everything felt ten times more intense. Just a bare brush of air conditioning was making his skin tingle with pleasant sensation. He could faintly feel the presence of Eliott next to him, even though their bodies were not touching. That was simultaneously the most uncanny and pleasant sensation that he has ever felt, throughout his whole life.

His mind was flying and he felt weightless, lightheaded. He could stay like that forever.

However, after a few minutes of dancing there were wide hands gripping his waist tightly and he opened his eyes.

The vividness of colours blew his mind, the smells and the stroboscope lights were dancing behind his eyelids, and the only thing he could focus on were Eliott’s beautiful grey-blue eyes.

Those arms turned him around and he fell pliant under the magnetic pull between their bodies. He was suddenly backed up to a sturdy chest and those two arms wrapped tightly around him, wide hands setting on his belly, pushing his ass towards the older man’s crotch.

“Is this okay?” He heard Eliott’s raspy voice near his left ear. He only managed to let out a sigh and nod his head. When Eliott wasn’t satisfied and the movement of his hips didn’t start, Lucas turned his head a bit and whispered, “Yeah. More than okay.”

He could practically see the smug grin that adorned Eliott’s pretty face, even though he was standing backwards to that asshole. Nevertheless, he places his own hands over the older man’s and Eliott started a deep, dirty grind.

Lucas sighed in pleasure once again as Eliott’s groin brushed against that place between his ass cheeks again and again. He moved one hand from his belly to Eliott’s ass to guide the older man where he wanted him the most.

The taller brunette’s head fell onto his shoulder, his lips grazing the delicate skin of Lucas’ neck. He definitely had been waiting for some kind of approval, because when the smaller boy didn’t reject his affection, he opened his lips and started placing open-mouthed kisses on the younger’s skin. The touch was delicate and because of the intensity, which was evoked by ecstasy, Lucas could feel himself getting weak in the knees.

It was peculiar feeling for him, because Eliott was not his first and he had had various relationships with men before, however none of them were able to elicit such reaction out of him.

He blamed it on drugs, though.

Soon, Eliott’s delicate movement of lips turned into sucking and nipping at Lucas’ delicate skin. He was preening internally, because his neck was a soft spot for him and moreover, he was really sensitive there, his skin bruised as easily as a peach and he was bound to find marks on him tomorrow, even if they didn’t end up in bed that night.

For the sake of the music being so loud, Lucas let himself make as much noise as he wished and he was certain that the older man didn’t notice until he felt another smug grin against his neck. Then, before he could react, he was being spun around and in a matter of seconds, he was standing face to face with the man on whom he had a massive crush and who just attacked his neck viciously.

There were delicate hands cupping his face, fingers brushing away the sweat that formed on the bottom of his jawline, eyes boring into his and even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to get away from this gaze.

“You’re so beautiful. I couldn’t stop thinking about you since I saw you for the first time in the reception, you know?” Eliott muttered, his voice barely audible to the rest of the people around them, however Lucas heard him just perfectly.

“Don’t tell me something… that you don’t mean,” Lucas replied, trying to break away his gaze from Eliott. The older man, though, put his fingers on the younger’s chin, lifting up his head so he would look at him.

“I do mean it, Lucas. I do.”

The sincerity with which his eyes were laced prompted Lucas to stand on his tiptoes and put his lips on the older man’s. Fortunately, he was welcomed by warm arms sneaking around his waist again and eager lips responding immediately to his kiss.

It was as if they were one body. As soon as Lucas parted his mouth to accommodate the other one, Eliott responded as if he were about to do the same. The younger boy winded his arms around Eliott’s neck and let himself go, succumbing to the sheer intensity of tongues brushing against each other.

They elicited hums and moans, swallowing them down with every movement of their lips. Lucas could cry with how good he felt. He imagined himself as a muscle pulled taut and then back loose again. He was thriving on the moment, on the delicate touch of Eliott’s fingertips beneath his shirt. He couldn’t even comprehend when the older guy managed to place his hands under his clothes, however he did not complain.

Soon enough, they were panting into each other’s mouths and sensual, sweet kisses turned into biting, rough ones.

Lucas moaned sweetly and frequently into them, however he completely lost function to form coherent thoughts when Eliott’s hands pulled his hair harshly. His dick twitched then and started to take interest in the action currently going on between those two men.

Their hips brushed in the meantime, which caused Lucas to blush due to his forming boner, but Eliott only pressed them closer and the young boy barely hid his astonishment at how hard, hot and enormous Eliott’s dick seemed.

He could barely contain himself as the visions, projections of them together in bed, flooded his mind, because all he truly wanted to do was to break their heated make-out session and propose the older man to go somewhere, anywhere else, so they were able to get naked and maybe, just maybe, Eliott would want to fuck him, or blow him, shit - maybe he’d be into rimming.

Thankfully, Eliott pulled away after another five minutes of mindless kisses, pecking the adolescent’s lips one last time before leaning to his ear and whispering, “Want to get out of there?”

Lucas couldn’t waste another second before replying with a curt yes.

And off they went.

#eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #lucas x eliott #skam france #skam #skamfr cast #eliottandlucas #gay #elu #elu fic #fiction #maxence danet fauvel #axel auriant #yann cazas #manon demissy #le gang

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forever-rogue · 5 years

Text

Take Care of You - Part IV

Summary: Y/N was never a big one for getting into trouble, but there was something about Billy Russo that couldn’t deny. A magnetic sort of danger hung around him and she couldn’t look away.

A/N: Thank you guys for all your support on this series so far! I appreciate i! Taglists are open, Requests currently closed. xx

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warning: Slight Language

PART I | PART II | PART III

MASTERLIST

(PS - All links on my main page. Sorry Tumblr’s still not letting links work!!)

Over the next several weeks, Y/N threw herself into her work, taking on more complicated projects she knew would require her time and attention. It hadn’t proven to be as successful as she wished though, because her thoughts still drifted back to Billy. It also didn’t help that he was still texting her on a daily basis.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Y/N blinked a few times as she was pulled back into reality. He had texted her a few minutes before, asking her, once again, to call him. It would be a lie to say she hadn’t contemplated it.

“Hmm?” she asked, swiveling her chair around to come face to face with her boss.

“Are you alright? You seem off lately,” he commented as he came over and looked at the work that was up on the her computer screen, “you’ve been working extremely hard, and I think you might need a break.”

“Nothing’s wrong,“ she insisted, trying to weakly defend herself, “I’ve just wanted to...get a lot of work done. That’s all.”

“I think you should take a few days off,” he insisted with a small sigh as she looked at him in horror, “just to recharge if nothing else.”

“But-”

“No,”

“I’m fine-”

“Just do what I say for once, okay?” he sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He did love her spunk, but sometimes he wished she would just give him and listen to him.

“Fine,” she reluctantly agreed, giving him a weak nod, “I’ll finish and go.”

“Just come back next Monday. You’ll be fresh and relaxed,” he gave her a pat on shoulder, preventing her from saying anything else before he left. Y/N watched him go, sighing to herself as she saved her work before powering off of her computer. She knew avoiding Billy would be hard as ever without the distraction of work.

Y/N decided to walk home slowly, taking care to spend as much time as possible, observing sights and sounds she normally overlooked. Putting in her headphones, she let out a small sigh and decided to take the longer and more scenic path. Whatever could keep her mind occupied.

Looking around, she pulled her coat tighter around to keep away the cold. She wished she would have remembered her scarf and gloves, but she was going to have to make the best of it. At least she had her music to keep her mind busy.

Rounding a corner, caught up in singing along to the song that was playing, she didn’t bother to check before crossing the street. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that there were still a few seconds left for her to cross.

Nothing seemed out of place until she looked up and saw the shocked faces of onlookers staring at her. Confused she looked up and saw a car heading rapidly at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. It was like her feet were firmly planted on the ground. Preparing herself for the worst, she braced for a painful impact. But, rather, her breath was knocked out of her when she pushed away and collapsed onto the cold concrete. Voices were all around her as people swarmed to make sure she was okay.

“Oh my God,” was all she managed to get out as she took a few deep raggedy breaths, her chest rising and falling quickly. She felt a sharp sting in her hands and looked, seeing that they were scraped and bloody, along with her right knee. She pushed the hair out of her face, not even caring about the blood she was getting everywhere. Pain throughout her body was in quickly.

“Y/N! Y/N,” the voice came from right next to her, but it seemed so distant, “are you okay?”

She remained silent, only a few sobs racking her body as she stared off into the distance. She felt a pair of strong arms help her stand up. Y/N remained wordless and as she let whoever was her savior take control. She couldn’t bring herself to look anywhere but straight ahead - it was like time was frozen and nothing was real. She had never experienced anything like this before.

Letting out a shaky breath while waking up from a nightmare, Y/N sat up bolt right in the bed she was currently lying in. She rubbed her eyes as she looked outside and saw only complete darkness. Taking a moment to steady her breathing and collect her thoughts. Remembering the events from earlier, she looked at her palms and knee, and noticed they were deftly bandaged up.

“Fuck,” she said quietly to herself as she realized she was in an unfamiliar place. Slowly, and sorely, Y/N got up and walked to the window, looking out and observing the nighttime view. It was different from what she normally saw from her own bedroom window, “oh fucking fuck.”

Y/N flipped on the light in room and observed herself in the big free standing mirror. She looked worn down and tired, her hair sloppily thrown into a bun, her clothes torn in places. Gingerly lifting her shirt, she observed small bruises littering her upper half. She winced when she touched one of the dark spots. She knew she would be in even more pain come tomorrow.

She walked to the closed bedroom door and opened it slowly, finding herself walking into a brightly lit hallway. Stepping out quietly, she looked around and saw that it was a simple place, decorated only with a few expensive looking pieces of art. Someone with money clearly lived there.

“Hello?” she asked quietly, padding along silently. After a few quiet moments, she heard some commotion from the kitchen, followed by the smell of food. Her stomach growled almost as soon as the smell hit her; she hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

Walking around the corner, Y/N saw a man standing in the lux kitchen, back to her as he concentrated on something on the stove. Walking up quietly, she approached the counter and loudly cleared her throat. He must not have heard her at first, but she startled him, causing him to curse quietly under his breath.

“Hello,” she repeated softly as she waited for the man to reveal himself. He set the pan down and whipped around, a large smile on his face. It took her a moment to process everything, but when she realized who it was - “what the fuck, Billy?!”

“Uhh, hello to you too?” he asked as the smirk worked its way off of his face. He leaned against the counter arms crossing his chest, “no, thank you or anything? All I get is a what the fuck?”

“Of course,” she sighed as she placed a bandaged hand on her forehead, “it had to be you. Because why else would it be anyone else? It could literally have been anyone!”

“Jeeze, I would expect someone who almost got killed today to be a little more thankful, or you know happy to be alive,” he said almost incredulously. She shrugged her shoulders, “you are something else, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, you’re a bit of a dick,” she countered, “but yes, thank you for saving my life. Today was not the day I wanted to die, so thanks for that I guess.”

“For someone who claims they didn’t want to die, you sure seem to have very little sense of self preservation,” he said as he stirred the soup he was making, “what were you even thinking?”

“Look, I was just walking home,” she rolled her eyes at him as she took a seat on one of the stools at the bar, “I guess I just got lost in my thoughts. I don’t know, things happened so fast.”

“You live in a hugely populated and busy city, and decided to not pay attention when you were crossing the street, with your headphones in?” he said as he tried to wrap his brain around her actions, “Y/N-”

“Billy, just drop it, okay?” she put her hands up in exasperation. She wasn’t looking for a fight. Her head was still pounding and she just wanted to eat, “I made a foolish mistake and should have been more careful. Thank you for putting yourself in danger and saving me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“I don’t want to fight-”

“Really? Because that’s what it seems like right now,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “look, I’m just going to go. My head’s killing me and this isn’t helping. But thanks for taking care of me.”

“Y/N, don’t be foolish,” Billy said as he turned off the stove. She slid off the stool and headed for the door, looking around for her things, “Y/N, please. You’re not well. Don’t walk out like this.”

“What do you want then, Billy?” she almost shouted at him, trying to calm herself down.

“I just...I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he sighed at her, running a hand through his hair, causing it be become disheveled, “look - you’ve been avoiding me for weeks, and then I finally see you again and you’re about to be hit by a car. You almost scared me to death!”

“I’m sorry, a million times sorry you had to see that, but I don’t know what else you want me to say,” she sighed as she tried to ward off the tears that had welled up in the back of her eyes, “please, can we just drop this?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he agreed as he saw that she was getting upset, “I’m sorry, I was just worried. You haven’t left my mind since...that day. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he stopped her before she could get another word in, “the bathroom’s down the hall, you can take a shower there. There’s clothes in the spare bedroom you can use. Dinner’s going to be ready soon. You can help yourself to whatever you need or want.”

“Billy,” she said softly, “thank you, truly. I’ll head home in the morning. I just want to sleep off my headache mostly.”

“Of course,” he nodded as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “if you need anything, just let me know. Otherwise, have a good evening. I’m headed into the office early so I probably won’t see you. Just...at least text me to let me know you made it home okay.”

“I will, yeah,” she agreed. He gave her a small tight lipped smile as he headed back into the kitchen to get himself some dinner, “Billy?”

“Hmm?”

“I am sorry for how things turned out. I realize we didn’t exactly part on the best terms,” she admitted and he remained motionless, “but, I do think it’s for the best. We really wouldn’t have worked out. But I do think we can remain friends.”

“Friends,” he repeated a slight crack in his voice as he slowly nodded, “of course.”

“Thanks, Bill,” Y/N said quietly as she headed to the shower, ready to relax under the hot water. Her whole body was just tired and sore, and all she wanted was some peace and quiet.

Billy watched her go, a frown quickly replacing the fake smile he had given her. Friends? He thought to himself, mentally rolling his eyes. That was the least of what he wanted.

“Way to go,” he said annoyed to himself. He opened the fridge and grabbed a beer out, slamming the door harshly as he headed into his bedroom, “way to fuck things up even more!”

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