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simpsiren · 4 years

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coffee or me?

na jaemin x reader

description: you thought your life was getting boring when all you did was worked as a barista at your father’s coffee shop, that is until you met the med student na jaemin who keeps ordering an unhealthy amount of coffee everyday.

genre: barista!fem reader, med student! jaemin FLUFF!!

warnings: none

word count: 5,105

a/n: so i saw this post on instagram by @/pandawithnojams and decided to write a fanfic on jaemin hehe enjoy :D

your life was a little different from others. instead of further studying your interest, which was architecture after high school, your father immediately asks you to work at his 24 hour coffee shop, Anders, just beside a college. to make you feel worse, the college that was beside Anders was one of the colleges you thought of attending before being told to work.

althought you were not too happy with your father’s decision, you accepted it willingly. your father is the only family member you have left after your mother passed away 3 years ago and you wanted to help your father as much as possible so as to lighten his burden of taking care of himself and you.

“help me clear the tables, princess!” your father shouted from the back of the shop as you moved out of the counter to clear the empty cups on the tables. to be honest, you were starting to like working with your father. you worked as a cashier while you father would be at the back making the drinks, well that is during the day shifts. your father had the idea of you taking on the night shift as well so that you can practice making drinks while not getting stressed over the huge flow of orders that the shop would usually get during the day. you agreed to the idea as you thought of how your father would be able to rest during the night so that he would get plenty of rest for his aging body.

you shook your head with a soft smile as heard your father calling you princess. you were embarrassed that your father kept calling you that but you started finding it cute and you felt the care in his voice everytime he calls you that.

it was 7pm and your father was getting ready to get off his shift before you start your night shift at 7:30. you rushed to your father at the back with the stack of cups in your arms, being cautious of not dropping them. “let me help you clean up.” you said as you saw your father packing up his things. “i can do this myself, please. you dont have to worry.”

you placed the cups in the large sunk and walked over to your father and jerked his side with your elbow. “make sure you rest once you get home alright?” you started to pick up his items on the table, snatching your father’s bag from his hands and putting the items in. you felt his hand resting on your head. you looked up to see his wide and happy grin. “thank you for helping me, elizebeth.” he grabbed you by your shoulders to turn your body to face his before landing a loving kiss on your forehead. you smiled and hugged him tightly. you and your father stayed there away, fully embracing each other’s love. you pulled away shortly after, handing him his bag. he waved you goodbye one last time and you see him off.

you took your phone out of your pocket and one quick look at it and it told you that it was 7:45. you heard the bell on top of the door ringing and immediately went out from the back to attend to the customers.

you have been working till 3am now. it became less and less busy as time went on and you now only had two customers in the shop who were chilling and doing their own thing. fortunately, it finally gave you time to take a break. you pulled a wooden stool beside you and took a seat. you stretched your arms up, interlocking your fingers while doing so and stretching your back in the process, letting out a soft groan. you sighed as you let your arms fall onto your lap and slouched your body.

you leaned forward and rested your head on the palm of your hand, with your elbow on the counter. without you realising, you have drifted off to sleep. well, it was only a short nap. you were able to get some shut eye for about 20 minutes when you heard the ringing of the bell once more. you fluttered your eyes open and turned your attention from the counter top to the door, your eyes were only half open as you watch a figure walking towards the counter.

you heard the footsteps of the person coming closer and finally stopped. “what may i get you?” you asked in a lazy tone, not even bothering to sound like a happy and cheerful cashier at this point as you were not fully awake. you looked at the person standing across the counter, who was looking up at the menu board above the counter. he had round glasses and beautiful blonde hair that was very messy and edgy. a stack of papers were in his arms along with a laptop below it. he wore a large brown cardigan with a white turtle neck, and he looked about your age. with all the observations you made, it was no doubt that the guy was a collage student, and you guessed that he was from the collage nearby.

“can i please get a venti size iced black coffee with 4 shots of espresso? dont add the water, just ice.” his voice sounded as if he was sleepy or exhausted. you clicked your tongue and batted your eyes as you keyed in the order into the machine. you glazed your eyes over the order and sat up straight, tilting your head up to properly look at the man. “woah are you sure that is safe? its going to be very strong.” you warned the person. you have never known anyone who would order something this strong and intense of a coffee ever.

“its fine. i can handle it.” you told him the price and waited for him to give you the money. you placed the money you were given into the cash register and as you were about to give him the change and receipt, he snatches the receipt out of your hand. “keep the change.” with that, he walked away. you raised an eyebrow at him in awe and shrugged, watching him take a seat near the window and placing his stack of papers and laptop on the table.

you took one deep breathe before standing up and going to the back to get his drink ready. it didn’t take you long to make the drink since you were practically an expert in making black coffee, and since he didn’t ask for anything more, you were able to whip it up in a matter of 4 minutes. you poured the drink into a cup along with settling it on top of a small plate before walking out to serve it to him.

you went out and as you were walking towards the table the man was at, you gaped your mouth with shock and tried your best not to spill his drink. the table was scattered and covered with tons of papers and his laptop was placed in front of him, with his fingers typing away from the keyboard. you gulped as you reached there. “your drink.” you said, trying to sound polite as you waited for him to take the drink. you would have placed it down for him but you did not see the slightest bit of space that was not covered with papers. “oh sorry about the mess” he said in a quirky tone.

it took him awhile to realise you were standing there before he reacted though. you eyes were glued to his fingers for that short moment since you were impressed by how fast his typing was. he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and ruffled his hair before quickly running his arm over the table to push some of the papers aside. you placed the cup on the table and said a soft “enjoy your drink.” before going back to take your seat behind the counter.

you went back to the same position you were before, but this time, you were awake and wasnt able to sleep. you looked around the shop and realised that there were cups lying around due to the two customers who were in just now. you didn’t even realise they left you were that tired. you whined to yourself, realising that you have to get back up again to do work just when you took your seat.

you gathered up the strength you have left to stand up once more to clean up the tables. as you were picking up the cup and wiping the table clean with the cloth that was slung over your shoulder, you looked over at the one customer who was still here.

he was writing something on what looks like a worksheet, or perhaps notes. you couldn’t exactly decipher what major he was in based on the sheets of paper laying around the table. you were impressed that he could even fit that many stuff on a small table. he ruffled his hair and scratched his head, tugging on his turtle neck as he stretched his neck from left to right.

it made you chuckle softly in amusement. college really does seem stressful, but maybe he took a major that was difficult. from what your friends told you who did went to college unlike you, there are some majors that are more tiring and energy draining than others.

once you were done cleaning up the tables, you went to the back to clean all the excess dishes that was in the sink, which piled up to quite a height. after awhile, you were finally done with cleaning the dishes and you smiled softly as you thought of how you could finally rest, not entirely but it was still something.

you went back out to take a seat behind the counter and as you were about to close your eyes, you felt the presence of someone standing in front of you. you sighed and looked up to see who it was. “its you again?” you yawned as you took your phone out to check the time. 4am?! and he’s still here? “can i get the same thing i ordered just now?” you furrowed your eyebrows and rubbed your temples. “could’ve told me that before i cleaned all the dishes..” you murmured under your breathe, unaware that he was completely able to hear what you said since it was just you and him in the huge coffee shop.

“im sorry if its troubling you then its fine. although its a 24 hour coffee shop, to which there should always be somebody working.” you heard him say in a sleepy voice, you took this chance to look at his face once more, he looked cute to your surprise. you thought about all the guys that your friends met during college, partying in their dorms and shit. you wished you could experience that. although it sounds depressing, you were living a peaceful content life, not the stressful one that you see his customer experiencing. “um hello?” he asked as you shake your mind out of your thoughts and to reality, realising that you were probably staring at his face like a weird.

“shit sorry sorry ill get your drink ready.” as you were walking to the back, you turned around to see if he was still there, since you completely forgot about asking him to pay. instead, you saw him walking back to the table. you looked down to the counter and saw that there was money on it. you shrugged, assuming that he allowed you the keep the change just like his previous order.

you got his drink ready and went to his table. you saw him laying his head on the keyboard of his laptop, which his arms covering his face completely. you tilted your head as you thought about what to do. should you wake him up? just the drink on the table. you weren’t exactly sure. you let out a soft ‘uh’ as you reached out a finger to poke his shoulder to get him to wake up. “excuse me? your drink is here” you leaned forward slightly and whispered.

you watch the guy lifting his head up and licking his lips, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes. he looked at his surroundings before looking up to see you with his drink in hand. he didn’t say anything to you and just took the cup out of the hand. you scoffed and went back to the back of the counter. you played with your phone for awhile, realising it was getting pretty late and yet you see the same person typing away on his laptop and resumed working diligently. you let out a sigh and waited for him to get out the shop.

it was about 5am when you finally see him packing up his things, stacking the pieces of paper and laptop, along with packing his stationery into his white tote bag. he doesn’t look back and went straight to the exit, opening the door and left in the blink of an eye. you took this time to shut your eyes just until your father came and resumed working just like any other day.

a few days have passed now and you realised that it was the same guy who keeps coming in during your night shift to do his work till 5am. and everyday, he would order the same thing. tonight was no different.

“black coff-“

“black coffee with 4 shots of espresso. i know.” you simply said. “and you can pay me once i add your order of the same thing later when you get out.”

you wouldn’t consider him a regular customer but since he has only been coming in for a few days, but you felt that it would be easier if you just remembered his drink, to make it easy on the both of you. so, you head to the back to whip up the drink that you have already memorised and have it embedded into your mind.

you got out with the drink in hand, walking over to the same table that he always sat at everyday. “dont you think i should know your name if your going to be coming in here everyday?” you realised that he made an empty spot that wasnt covered with papers on the table, placing the cup down and folding your arms with your weight placed on your right leg.

“its jaemin.. na jaemin.” he gazes his eyes up to you while taking the cup of coffee and taking a sip, maintaining eye contact with you. you hummed and nodded your head. “well im elizebeth. elizebeth riza.” the man who you now know as jaemin nodded his head in response. he twirled his pen around his fingers before placing it down. jaemin ran his hand through his hair before resting his chin on top of his fingers interlocked together, with his elbows on the table. “im majoring in the medical field. if that’s what you’re wondering.” he said, gesturing his head to the papers scattered on the table. you looked at the papers, leaning in to get a closer look, and indeed, it was all related to the medical industry, which was not in your interest at all.

“i also go to the college just next beside the shop, if that’s also what your wondering.” jaemin emphasised on the ‘also’.

“you’re so... observant.” you looked out to the window behind jaemin. you saw the college being dimly light. you looked back down, only to see jaemin tilting his head down and writing something on his paper. “i need to be. its a requirement for my major afterall.” jaemin shrugged as he responded to you, not looking up at all. instead of walking back to your chair behind the counter, you took a seat in front of jaemin. the action made jaemin look up at you with a raised brow, clearly in confusion. “why are you sitting here?” jaemin mumbled as he pushed his round glasses up his nose and typed something into his laptop.

“well i dont really have to work. since you’re the only customer here at this hour.” you simply replied, slouching into the chair as you folded on leg over the other. “wont youre boss be mad or something?” he asked as he scratched the back of his head with his pen. you shrugged and chuckled softly, folding your arms. “my father doesnt mind.” jaemin nodded his head slowly as he was able to catch up quick to know that your father is your boss. “anyways im guessing you’re going to be a regular customer here since you’ve been coming for a few days now and i always take the liberty to know the regular customers of the shop.” you stated

that fact was wrong, clearly. you wanted to get to know him just so maybe you could get someone he knows form the college who majors in architecture to teach you about it. well, it may be because he was cute too, but you focus more on the other objective. despite what you just said, jaemin doesn’t respond. he continued working with full concentration. you hummed as you watch him work, wondering if you should even continue talking to him. you continued watching him work, occasionally scrolling through your phone and looking at the door once in awhile to check if any customers came.

you heard him took a sip of his drink and wrote something down. “your coffee tastes good by the way.” he complimented, again not looking up at you. although it didnt really sound like a compliment since his voice was very monotone and lazy, probably from the tiredness of working. “i used to go to another 24 hour coffee shop that wasnt so popular, but it closed down. so i headed here instead.” you put your phone faced down on the table and looked up to face him. this time however, his eyes were off his work and glued to you. you bit your lip and nodded your head. “that’s nice to hear. but why cant you work in your dorm or at the campus somewhere?” you were curious as to why he would want to come to a place like this rather than having an actually learning facility to do his work at.”

“my roommate always has someone over at my dorm so i cant really concentrate. its just something about coffee shops, you know? like the smell of the place helps to keep me awake, and the coffee of course.” he looked out to the window, admiring the night sky and the dimly lighted city. you did the same as well, but you also admired the person in front of you. he really was good looking and you couldn’t help but stare at his perfect features. “you really do have the same mindset as my father.” you whispered, peering over to the cup to see that it was empty. jaemin saw your. eyes and coughed lightly to get your attention. “can i get another cup?” he asked. you could tell he was draining of exhaustion and looked like he was trying his best to stay awake by breathing in the smell of coffee that was all over the place.

“sure. but im added only 2 shots of espresso thid time. you know its very dangerous for you to be drinking that strong of a coffee. more than 1 cup even. aren’t you a medical student? shouldnt you know this is bad?” you pushed the chair back and stood up, walking over to his side to take the cup. “i used to drink 6 cups a day when i went to the previous coffee shop. dont underestimate my tolerance.” you gaped your mouth in shock. “6 cups?! who the hell is that psychotic to pump that much coffee into their blood!” you furrowed your eyebrows as you looked down at jaemin, who seemed calm and had an innocent looking face despite your reaction. “medical students, dear.” jaemin said sarcastically in a sing song tone, you saw him rolled his eyes as well. you let out a soft ‘tch’ and left to do his drink.

“as promised. 2 shots of- jaemin?” you weren’t surprised to see him falling asleep in the shop once more. you stood beside him, realising that you see a post it note on his now black screened laptop that. you leaned forward, now getting closer to jaemin so as to read the note. dont wake me up. thanks.

you tilted your head and raised an eyebrow. dont wake him up? is he going to sleep here till dawn? why cant he just sleep at his dorm? you scratched your head as you think of what to do. you never had someone sleep overnight at the shop before. you know its open 24 hour but does it mean that you allow people to full on sleep here? you checked the time on your phone and realised that your father should be here any minute now. you shrugged and walked to sit behind the counter, thinking that you can just ask him once he’s here.

you waited for awhile till you see your father coming through the door. you immediately stood up and waited for your father to go to the counter to greet you. “morning, princess!” you father greeted with a smile and walked to the back. you greeted and followed your father. “father im not sure if its allowed but one of the customers who came to the shop at night id currently sleeping.” you said in an unquestionable tone. your father stopped walking and turns around to face you. “i would allow it if there arent many customers so if its gets crowded just wake him up alright?” your father replied to you with a soft smile. he’s always kind, and maybe too kind, but that’s what you love about your father. you gave a quick smile and rushed to the front when you heard customers starting to flow in since it was morning.

it was 9am and your father allowed you to take a break for awhile. you took this chance to sit in front on jaemin, who still had his head resting on his arms and his hoodie over his head. he looked like he was wrapped in a cocoon or something. you giggled softly. you picked up one of his pens that you saw scattered around and took off his hood and poking his hair with the pen.

you hear a soft groan as jaemin lifts his head up, yawning as his eyes fluttered open to look at you. “what time is it?” you blinked when you heard his voice. you keep seeing on the internet about how guys’ “morning voices” sound hot and wow did you experience it the first time when you heard jaemin, not gonna lie, he sounded hot. “uh its 9am. i think you should just sleep at your dorm.” you answered, trying to keep your cool. jaemin sat up straight and ran his hand through his blonde hair a few time before looking at you. “alright. thanks, for letting me sleep here.” he stood up and looked around. the both of you realising that there were a lot of customers. he quickly stood up to gather his things. bit by bit, you helped him stack up his papers and such.

“will i see you again tonight?” you asked as you handed him the stack of papers. he pushes his glasses and smiled softly. “sure.” was all he said before he walked past you and headed out the door.

weeks turn into months of jaemin coming to Anders and you began talking to him more. slowly but surely, you were getting pretty close to him and you felt like close friends. you would occasionally go out to dinner with him when he wants to take a break from work. by dinner you meant a random 24 hour food restaurant. it didn’t have to be all that fancy since every time you spend with jaemin, he was able to fill your time with smiles and laughs. you got to know him a lot more and well, the friendship just blossomed between you two.

“guess what?! its our 1 year friendship anniversary!” you shouted as you twirled your way to jaemin who seemed stress with his work. you frowned as you took a seat in front of him. “hey you good?” you questioned him with concern in your tone. “i have an exam next week. just a lil stress.” jeamin knocked his pen against his head a few times before writing something down. “anything i can help with? this is the most stressed ive seen you, its worrying me.” you leaned forward, pushing aside the laptop to see his face. jaemin looked up to you, pouting cutely. “6 cups of coffee?” you giggled as you stood up walking over to him and running your hand through his hair before flicking his forehead with your middle finger. “in your dreams, jae. im making you regular black coffee.” jaemin whined. you raised an eyebrow and gave him a disgusted look. “dont look at me like that. regular black coffee, just a lil bit strong alright?” jaemin nodded in approval. you smiled at him and made his drink.

you placed the coffee down on the table and sat down across jaemin. you yawned as you placed your chin on the table and watched jaemin drink his coffee. “how the fuck can you stay up everyday to do work? i can never.” you closed your eyes for a moment. “its what i need to do, love.” you always thought that the nicknames jaemin called you like ‘love’ or ‘dear’ felt as though the two of you were in a relationship but you tried to only think of it in a friendly manner.

“yeah well im gonna take a nap. if any customer comes in just wake me up alright?” jaemin hums and watches you fall asleep. he admired your sleeping state for awhile, feeling his heart flutter for a moment before resuming with his work. after about 30 minutes, jaemin sighed in satisfaction. at least he was able to complete almost half of his work. he realised that you were still sleeping. jaemin smiled gently and reaches his hand out to pat your head, running his hand over your head a few times. he rested his chin on his free hand, admiring you once more.

“jae?” jaemin jerked back a little when he saw your opened your eyes, gazing up at him. blood rushed to his cheeks. he felt his face getting hot, out of nervousness he chuckled sheepishly. “your hair felt soft.” he blurted out. you laughed as you sat up straight and rubbed your eyes. “sure it is, jae. yours is way softer.” you rolled your eyes and glanced at the table before making eye contact with jaemin. “are you done with your work?” you leaned forward a little. “hm? i can take a break.” jaemin said as he yawned while covering his mouth.

“hey el? come here for a sec.” you raised your eyebrow in suspicion, blinking at him a few times before standing up and walking over to his side of the table. you stood there, looking down at him for at least 30 seconds. “jae what do you wa-“

you let out a soft gasp when jaemin grabbed you by your waist, making you fall down onto him, your body pressed against his. you lay your hands on his shoulders as you widened your eyes at him. “i never got to tell you this. maybe its my tiredness, or maybe i cant hold it in anymore...” your body froze when he places his head on your neck, feeling his breathe against your skin as you shivered at his touch. you felt his hand that wasnt around your waist slowly creeping up to your chin, holding it gently as he guides your face to meet his.

“but i like you, so much, for so long.” you slowly but surely placed yourself on top of jaemin, sitting on his lap with your hand remaining still on his shoulders. “jae..” you whispered, intentionally going close to his ear. his head moves away from your neck and up to face you. “you think i didnt know that?” you giggled softly as your hands slide down from his shoulder to his chest, making him flinch slightly. “all the times we hung out and spent time together, all the cuddles and shit. it’s very obvious we like each other, jae. i was just waiting for you to make a move.” your murmured.

“shall i make a move now then?” you see the side of jaemin’s mouth curving up slightly. you tilted your head and batted your eyelashes at him teasingly. “technically you already did by pulling me to you but another move wouldn’t hurt.” you teased and waited for a moment. jaemin leaned his face close to yours, his grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you in closer. he looked at your eyes before looking down to your lips. you didn’t move an inch, but you were

so nervous. it was nerve wrecking. you’ve cuddled with jaemin plenty of times as friends, physical touch wasnt new in your friendship. but this, this felt so different. it was intense.

jaemin slowly connected his lips with yours. he brings his hand up to the back on your head and through your hair. you kissed his back slowly as you closed your eyes in satisfaction. feeling his soft lips on yours. although you thought that he wouldn’t be comfortable with kissing you since your lips were pretty chapped, you felt that the way his kisses you was gentle and filled with love.

you made out with him for awhile. his hands roaming around your back while you wrapped your arms around his neck and through his hair. the two of you pulled away at the same time, a string of saliva appeared as you two gasped for air.

“can i have coffee?” jaemin breathed out. you made a thinking face to tease him as you watch him pouting cutely. “coffee or me, na jaemin?” you laughed and swiped all your hair to the front. “you make me choose? how rude.” immediately jaemin pulled you in for another long kiss.

#nct ff #nct fluff #nct dream #nct #nct scenarios #nct jaemin #na jaemin #na jaemin x reader #nct jaemin x reader #jaemin #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct na jaemin #jaemin x reader

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heoneyology · 4 years

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fateful coincidence [1] | l.jh

A/N: does anyone even read my stuff anymore...? anyway, I jokingly told rani (who I can’t even tag anymore or don’t know what blog to tag-) that I should just write my jooheon dreams as fanfics, because then I would at least be writing something instead of being on hiatus. and she took it seriously and said yes. so here we are.

Word Count: 7148

Genre: chaebol/heir!au, slice of life, soft angst, humor? (am I even funny?), romance (slow burn)

Pairing: reader (fem) x lee jooheon (monsta x)

Warnings: mature themes/suggestive, language, there will be... sugar daddy themes... later... but not like sexually idk if this is a warning???

Summary: Lee Jooheon is a well-known heir to a global hotel conglomerate, and is next in line to take over the family business. You’re a journalist aspiring for more, but barely managing to pay your own bills at the end of the month. The two of you are from entirely different worlds, yet fate somehow tangles your threads, and Jooheon seems to know an intriguing amount more about you than he lets on.

“You mean to tell me they just dropped out? Randomly at the last minute like that?”

The voices of your coworkers had been floating around overhead for many minutes longer than you would’ve liked, by now. Why they couldn’t gossip over their coffee delivery somewhere else was beyond you. Why they had to do it at all was further unfathomable. Attempting to push their voices out of your head and concentrate on your work, you rub your temple, squinting at the computer screen in front of you.

“Apparently the journalist got sick and they had no one else to cover from that company. So they called us,” your friend and coworker, Yoo Kihyun, answers the other speaking in his usual matter-of-fact tone.

“It’s tomorrow, though!” The original speaker complains, pressing forward further, “And we’re such a small publication! How can they expect us to take place for the other last minute like this?”

You’re not sure which is louder in your mind, at this point: The complaining of your coworkers—specifically the female senior whose name you’d forgotten—or your typing. With each passing word they utter of annoyance or disbelief, mixed with Kihyun’s logical explanations, the clacking of your fingers against the keyboard beneath your hands quickens, intensifying, before you finally let out a harsh sigh and push yourself away from your desk in frustration. There’s no way for you to concentrate if they’re all going to stand around and gossip like high schoolers.

“Isn’t this good for us, though?” You speak up suddenly, causing the small group to glance over at you in surprise. Typically, you weren’t one to bother with their idle chit-chat breaks. The fact that you were doing so now took them by surprise. Even Kihyun quirks a curious brow at you.

Before you speak up again, you roll your shoulders and give a small stretch. Between their nonsensical worried rambling and your own pile of work, you could physically feel the stress building up in your body. “That they invited us, I mean? As such a small publication?”

In your mind, it made more sense to be excited over being a small publication, taking a larger publication’s place, to any event. Even if it was simply as a fill-in due to a last minute call out—and even if it was a lone instance that may never happen again.

“None of us know anything about the content of the story—how the heck are we supposed to write on it?” The female senior who had been whining up until this point whines once more, and your eyebrows shoot up on your forehead in surprise. Even Kihyun, who is standing next to her, quirks his curiously raised eyebrow back at her instead of you.

Before you can think of the words that pop into your mind, and process them, you blurt out, “And you went to school for journalism?”

As soon as the question falls past your lips, immediately landing heavily into the air of the room, you tense your jaw—realizing just what it was that you said to your senior. But really, how could you go to school for something and refuse to write about it simply because you were unfamiliar with the content?

Next to her, the rest of your coworkers share curious glances. Kihyun presses his lips into a hard line to keep from snickering. Thankfully, rather than say anything, she simply scoffs and stalks off back to her desk. You watch, holding back a grimace by biting down on your lower lip, embarrassed over the slip of your own tongue.

With yet another sigh, you plop back down into your seat. As you do so, the group disperse their coffee gossiping, and you prop your arms on your desk and drop your face into your hands, fingers rubbing your forehead. There was a pounding just beyond your forehead, a mix of stress from work and the unnecessary blabbering that had been filling the workroom just moments ago. But, now, there was an added tension due to a fixation of worry over your lack of filter.

Beside you, the noise of the chair at the desk next to you shifts, signifying Kihyun’s return. At the sound of ice cubes clattering against each other, you lift your face from your hands to see Kihyun giving you a sideways glance, setting an extra cup of coffee on your desk. When you make eye contact with him, he quirks a brow at you, and there’s a sudden urge to smack his eyebrows straight off his face. They’re going to get stuck like that, someday.

“What?”

“You really don’t think before you speak, do you?” He muses, leaning back in his chair and scooting it back to his own work space.

“Tell me something we both don’t know already,” you grumble, reaching for the coffee. Giving the cup a small shake, you watch the ice cubes swirl around within the confines of the plastic amidst the milky brown liquid. “But seriously, how can you go to school for this and then decide just because you don’t know something, you won’t report on it? That defeats the purpose of both the job and the degree…”

“Not everyone has the work ethic you do,” Kihyun replies simply, glancing at you. “Drink the coffee. It should subside the headache. You’re overworking and stressing yourself.”

Surprised, you give Kihyun a dumbfounded blink. “How—?” You start, before cutting yourself off with a small shake of your head. Kihyun was observant, and after years of knowing him, as much as you wanted to ask him how he knew you had a headache and were stressed, it was better not to. It would only lead to him chastising you, anyway. Following his instruction, you lift the straw to your lips and take a sip of the coffee.

Satisfied, you set the coffee back down. It’s your turn to rant, now, similarly to your senior journalist. “Seriously, though, how hard can it be? Isn’t this just an event for the global opening of some hotel? The press probably won’t have any time to ask personalized questions, they typically don’t during those kinds of events.”

Kihyun pulls his gaze away from his work at his own computer, turning back to you. However, before he can answer he blanches. Curious, you glance at him, before glancing over your shoulder to see what exactly he’s staring at. As you turn, a white envelope is simultaneously stuck in your face, and you startle in surprise, practically jumping out of your chair.

“Sh-shit! Team leader!”

Minhyuk, towering above you, gives the envelope a little wave and smirks. “Since you seem so confident about this story, here’s your invite to the event.” Before you have a chance to react, Minhyuk loosens his grip on the envelope, allowing it to fall from his grasp to your lap. You scramble, attempting to catch it as it falls, watching his back as he walks towards his desk. “It’s a black tie event, by the way.”

You feel the color drain from your face, mouth dropping open. “Black… tie…?”

“Is there a problem?” Minhyuk asks, glancing up at you from where he sits at his desk across the room. You clench your jaw, sharing a glance with Kihyun before shaking your head. “Then I expect this to be your best article yet.”

By this point, your jaw is clenched so tight your teeth are grinding together. Letting out a silent sigh through your nose, you turn back to your computer. Slowly, you can feel yourself slump down in your seat further, in defeat.

You really don’t think before you speak, do you? Kihyun’s words echo in your mind, taunting, as you set back to work—heavy with more stress than before.

—

Hours later, you find yourself with your cheek resting against the cool glass of the bus window, blankly staring out at the scenery passing by in a blur. You close your eyes, the movement and slight jostling of the bus making the ache of your head worse. Your head pain hadn’t eased up for the rest of the day, much to your displeasure, and the turmoil of thoughts running through your head hadn’t helped to ease it up in any way, either. You’d ended up straining both your eyes and your mind further by trying to push past the migraine in order to focus on your work, which you suppose had made everything all that much worse.

“I’m too poor for this…” you mumble, dejected. A freaking black tie event that you had no money for. Now, you felt the need to complain as all your coworkers had—except for completely opposite reasons.

“Shouldn’t have opened your mouth.” Next to you, Kihyun is quick to answer.

You lift your head off the cool glass of the window, scowling at Kihyun where he sits next to you, browsing on his phone. “Are you a broken record?”

Lowering his phone, Kihyun lifts his gaze to you before offering a shrug, and you sigh in exasperation. You let your head fall back to the pane of the window with a lack of control, knocking against it, further jostling the pain throbbing in your head.

“Is your headache gone?” Kihyun asks.

“No.”

“And you just—” This time, Kihyun is the one who sighs in exasperation. “Look, I know financially it’s not the best thing to happen to you, but this could be good for your name. And for our company, like you said.”

“I don’t have money to go out and spend on fancy clothing, Kihyun,” you grumble, squinting out the window. The light is starting to hurt.

“It’s not prom season. Just buy a dress and then return it after you wear it.”

As the bus begins to slow, a bus stop nearing ahead, you lift your head off the glass of the window again. You give your head a small shake, pursing your lips. “My moral compass is disappointed in you, but not surprised, that you’d say something like that.”

He chuckles as the bus completely stops, and you gather your bag and stand, squeezing past your legs he tucks in. “Good luck. Text me when you get home.”

You scoff, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why should I text the good for nothing best friend that won’t even go dress shopping with me?”

Though you say this, you both know you’ll text him. Your relationship with Kihyun tended to be a bit of a push and pull, but he was easily the one person you could rely on for anything. And as much as you would quip your words at him, neither of you took it to heart. Kihyun had already made prior plans before this had come about, anyway, and you couldn’t fault him for that.

When you exit the bus, you turn to watch it pull away. Unsurprisingly, Kihyun has scooted toward the window you’d just been occupying, and you give him a small wave before he and the bus are out of sight.

Your head is still pounding, and as you walk up the street a ways in the direction of the mall, you decide it’s probably best to make quick work of this shopping spree considering how the pain hasn’t eased up all day. Neither coffee nor food had helped, and though you knew it was caused by stress—there wasn’t much you could think of that might lessen the stress and ease the headache. You just hoped you’d be able to sleep that night.

Just find a simple dress and go. Anything that will pass for the event, you don’t need to look good.

Of course, that’s much easier said than done. You’re on your fifth store before you find anything that might pass for the type of event you’re headed to. With each store, you watch the prices of the clothing increase. The time of the year means no sales, and because the type of clothing you’re looking for is so specific, it also means that what you’re looking for is bound to be more expensive than usual. Or, rather, at the very least—way out of your budget for the month.

You pull away from a few racks, adding another dress over the small stack draped across your arm. Resigned to your fate, you turn to find a dressing room to sort through the stack you’ve collected. From your peripheral, you realize as you turn someone is walking down the aisle, and you both shift to make room for the other. Without regarding the person, you mumble out an, “excuse me,” out of courtesy as you pass—that is, until a mysterious force of momentum works against you and you don’t pass at all, but rather find yourself stumbling backwards.

Simultaneously, you and the stranger both let out an almost-strangled sound of surprise, and you feel your grip on your clothing articles slip from your grasp, falling to the floor with the hangers clattering against the tile underfoot. Before you join the clothing in your fall, you feel a hand instantly reach out to grab hold of your elbow and steady you. For a brief moment, you glance down at the clothes, before lifting your gaze to the stranger who’d kept you from falling.

In the process of lifting your gaze up to the stranger’s face, you catch sight of the cause of all this—one of the clothing hangers in his arm is linked with one of your dress hangers that had been so abruptly ripped from your grasp. You let out a small exhale of amusement from your nose, before meeting the curious eyes of the man who you’d gotten caught by—or rather, literally caught on.

He quirks a brow at you, clearly having heard your soft laugh.

“S-sorry, I wasn’t—” You stammer out, straightening yourself up and giving a nod towards his arm. “I just thought that was funny.”

“Hm?” The sound stems from the back of his throat, confused, before he blinks down at his arm and breathes out, “Oh… oh—” and then he’s glancing up at you, his round and curiously lit brown eyes suddenly sparkling with a sort of panic. “I’m sorry!”

A chuckle escapes past your lips, more audible than your tiny snort of air from earlier, now amused by his reaction. “It’s fine, it was an accident,” you reply, crouching down to collect the fallen dresses. As you do so, he reaches to his arm to unhook the dress. Before handing it back to you, he eyes it for a moment, gaze flickering briefly to the stack you’d recollected.

“Going to a big event?” He inquires, mild curiosity in his voice. If not for the events that had just transpired, you would have thought him to be prying.

“Thanks,” you murmur, accepting the dress. “Yeah. Technically, it’s for work, but it’s formal and I don’t have anything… fancy or nice.”

The man nods at the dress he’d just given back to you. “That one’s the fanciest, if you ask me. If you’re wanting to spoil yourself a little bit, even though it’s for work.”

While the opinion of a stranger means nothing in particular to you, you still find yourself eyeing the dress he’d returned. It was fancy, you had to agree—but more in a simple, stunning beauty sort of way. With a plunging neckline, the black dress was simple yet elegant. And definitely not something you’d consider your style.

Rather than say that, though, you just give a small smile. “It’s also the most expensive one. I’ve got a budget and this party wasn’t in it until about seven hours ago…” You drape the dress back over your arm, giving the stranger a smile. “Anyway, thanks for your input and thanks for not letting me fall when we got snagged.”

Instantly, he returns your smile, and you’re almost surprised at the deep dimples that break out on his cheeks. “Have a good night. Be careful not to run into anyone else.”

You don’t think anything of the stranger and his dress recommendation until you’re in the dressing room, cycling through the different dresses you’ve chosen and trying them all on. Despite your better judgement, you keep ending up back on that one—the black floor-length dress with the plunging neckline that you thought you’d never be able to pull off, yet somehow hugs the curves of our body almost perfectly. Each time you try it on, you end up grimacing into the mirror and returning to one of the other dresses. It’s not your style. It’s not what you usually wear. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be…

None of the other dresses seem to fit you just as perfectly, and none of them tug on your heartstrings the way that simple black gown does. While you’d already resigned yourself to the fate of going way over budget for the month because of this whole endeavor and your giant mouth speaking out of turn, it takes you almost thirty whole minutes of groaning and grumbling the dressing room, physically pained by the dent this is going to leave in your bank account—before you find yourself at the register checking out, having chosen the black dress anyway.

“Oh,” the girl at the checkout breathes out as you’re busy fumbling through your purse for your wallet. You pay her exclamation no mind, until you hear the next words, “You must be who he was talking about.”

He? Who’s he?

“Huh?” Again, your mouth allows for a dumb reaction to fall past your lips without first thinking it through. You pull your gaze up from your purse to stare at the cashier.

“There was a handsome dimpled man who was here buying a suit earlier, said he ran into a girl who seemed stressed over buying a dress, and that he wanted to pay it forward…”

A moment of silence suspends between the two of you, before you blanch. “Pay it forward?!” You blurt out, voice raising an octave in panic. The girl at the cashier startles in surprise, and you immediately snap your mouth closed and swallow, attempting to calm your panicked heartbeat. “Sorry I just—what?”

Who the hell pays anything forward these days? Let alone for a ball gown? In your chest, you can feel your heartbeat quickening back into a panicked state, and somehow it seems to fall into sync with the throbbing of your headache that you’d almost forgotten was there. The constant pain had slowly fallen into something akin to a static white noise you’d pushed down.

The cashier can’t do anything but shrug at your confusion, fumbling as she works to fold the dress into a box and bag it, pushing it across the counter towards you. She seems to want to be done with you—and honestly, you can’t blame her, after your sudden outburst.

“There’s a gift receipt in the bag if you need to return it.”

You forget to text Kihyun you’ve made it home when you do, too distracted on the bus ride back to remember to do so.

—

You’re relieved, the next day, that the migraine which had been tormenting you for the majority of the day before is gone. You’re also slightly confused, having been so accustomed to the constant throbbing in your head for days now that you’d just assumed it was some sort of karmic punishment you were receiving, for something you’d clearly done and forgotten about. The throbbing just beyond your forehead and eyes had become such a constant, too, that the lack of pressure almost makes you feel, ironically enough, empty. The last thing you really needed was an excuse to dwell on all your stresses with a clear head.

Of course, that being said, Kihyun’s chastising blaring through the speaker of your cell phone is enough to bring the migraine back—or at least threaten to, anyway. Thankfully, it doesn’t, and you grimace as you hold the phone away from your ear, listening to his scolding from afar.

Because of the event and your migraine from the day before, which had been chronic for almost a week now, you’d skipped work. You figured if your job wasn’t going to take care of the expenses for anything else concerning this event, the least they could do was allow you to take the day off to properly prepare, considering how expensive it had gotten. Both of those reasons had led to you taking the day to sleep in, though, until the late afternoon, when you prepped for the evening and got ready. Kihyun had called you just as your cab ride to the venue—the hotel—had ended, and had proceeded to scold you almost immediately after picking up the phone for not only skipping work and worrying him over that and your health, but also for not telling him you’d gotten home safely.

As much as you appreciated his worry as your best friend, a part of you couldn’t help but feel a small bit of annoyance. If he had been so worried, why wait until almost six in the evening to even bother reaching out? When you’d woken up, and even as you were getting ready—going extra lengths to not only style your hair, but put on makeup—Kihyun hadn’t texted or called.

“Ki, can I call you later? Or tomorrow?” You finally place the phone back at your ear, interrupting his ranting, watching others similarly dressed to the nines mingling about in the hotel lobby. Kihyun’s phone call had come at an inopportune time, right when the ribbon cutting ceremony had begun. Now, with the hotel officially open, people were milling about and exploring.

The streets had been crammed upon your arrival, and you’d asked the taxi driver to drop you off a bit of ways down the block, not wanting to deal with the crowds and traffic. It had ended up working to your advantage, since it also meant taking Kihyun’s phone call away from the noise of everything going on, and the cheering that had ensued. You lift your free hand up, glancing down at the delicate watch encircling your wrist. The press event would be starting soon.

“What?” Kihyun’s voice is a bit harsher than usual. What the heck is wrong with him? He’s being a brat.

“I’m already here at the hotel. Since Minhyuk is going to kill me if this isn’t my, ‘best article yet,’ I should probably focus more on my work at hand, don’t you think?” You explain, glancing around the lobby of the hotel.

It’s grand. Fancier than anything you could ever afford to stay at, with marble floors and vaulted ceilings, decor ranging from colors of golds, black, and deep burgundies, and windows that spanned the entirety of the wall up to the ceiling itself. At that moment, it looked more like the home of a conference than the grand hotel that it was, with tables and posters set up explaining the project this specific hotel chain was aiming for—but the small details stood out to you the most.

Before Kihyun can get a word in edgewise, you continue, “I’m sorry if I upset you by not contacting you last night—but a lot happened yesterday and I wasn’t feeling well. I just wanted to rest. If you were so worried, you should have called before now to check up on me.”

You aren’t entirely sure if it’s you being petty, or him—but you hang up before he can fire back, not wanting to spoil the night ahead. Not that you were here to spoil yourself at all. You had work to do, and while you hadn’t needed to be at the ribbon cutting event, the press conference was something you couldn’t skip out on. Especially because of a whiney Kihyun.

Just as you slip your cell phone into the clutch you’d chosen to match your dress, a voice perks your ears. “Was that your boyfriend?”

Despite the vague familiarity of the voice, you still startle in surprise, spinning around on your heel—you hadn’t expected anyone to be eavesdropping on your conversation.

“You—” The word blurts from your mouth in surprise, though this time you manage to catch your tongue before you say anything you might regret, as you had done in the first place to get yourself to where you currently were.

The man from the mall department store stands in front of you, stunning in a plain black suit and white dress shirt. A simple chain encircles his neck just beneath the collar of the shirt, adding a slightly rougher edge to his sleek, professional appearance. There’s a neutral expression on his face, his eyebrows raised at his question aimed toward you and a small, polite smile at the edges of his lips. Despite that, though, his eyes hold a hint of curiosity—something you’d noticed the day before, as well. Maybe it was simply the shape of his eyes, or perhaps the color, but they seemed to be constantly sparkling, alight with unconveyed feelings and expressions of their own.

“No, that wasn’t my boyfriend.” You aren’t entirely sure why you answer him in earnest, especially after he’d gone and bought such an expensive dress for you—a complete stranger. Shouldn’t that typically be a warning sign to head the other way?

“I see you chose the dress, after all,” the man muses, as though reading your mind. Suddenly, his polite smile is broadening into something a little brighter, dimples indenting his cheeks. The sight of the deep impressions causes your heart to pull in your chest. He looks so boyish, you think.

But that’s all the dimples provide to his demeanor, aware of the way his eyes suddenly trail down your form. You become hyper-aware of the way the satin clings to you, and subconsciously scramble to lift your half-open clutch to cover the deep v-neck of the dress. He seems to take the hint of your self-conscious change in demeanor, bringing his eyes back up to meet your gaze—though pausing halfway when he notices that which you had been trading your phone for in your purse.

The way he steps forward, invading your personal bubble, has you tensing—a stark contrast to the comfortable yet shy trade you’d had the day before. His hand reaches up to gingerly trail up the lanyard dangling from your hand, which had fallen from the purse, before tracing over the face of the ID card attached at the end.

“You’re press?” He wonders, before he reads your ID aloud. The way his name falls from your lips causes your heart to lurch into your throat, his voice smooth and honey-like. He lifts his gaze to yours, his dimpled smile broadening. “I’m Jooheon, nice to meet you.”

Jooheon… The name lingers in your mind for a moment, just as he allows his hand to fall from your ID and he steps back. Why does that name sound familiar?

“You should probably head to the conference room, before you’re late.”

“Oh, shit!” His words suddenly spur you out of your thoughts, and the distraction of him in of itself, and you scramble to close your clutch. You had just been annoyed at Kihyun about the possibility of being late to the press conference, and now you were allowing yourself to be distracted by this clearly rich and overly handsome dimpled boy. “I need to go, I’m sorry to rush off like this! Thank you so much for the dress!”

You had wanted to discuss how to pay him back, somehow, but at that moment you find yourself rushing off away from him, instead, pushing yourself through the small clusters of people who block your way. Briefly, in your haste, the thought of if you’ll see him again passes through your mind. What if you didn’t? What if you couldn’t repay him for the dress? Inwardly, you groan, wondering how everything in the span of the last twenty-four hours had become such a confusing mess.

Trying to clear your mind of that specific worry and focus on the task at hand. You flash your press ID at the door before entering the conference hall, trading the lanyard out once more for your phone as you fumble to open a recording app, taking a seat. It happens to be just in time for the first speaker to enter the room, introducing himself as the hotel’s manager. As you listen to the gentleman speak, you idly flip through a pamphlet that had been handed to you on your way in—skimming over the details of the hotel itself, the history of the owners and shareholders and their other hotels, and the overall goal for this specific hotel line as a luxury eco-friendly brand, and more. Having done no specific research before going into this mess, none of the words particularly stick with you in understanding.

“Now, I’d like for you all to give a round of applause for the heir of the line and next CEO, Lee Jooheon—”

Lee Jooheon…

Jooheon…

Your ears instantly perk up, and just as your head snaps up in surprise, the familiar name doing cartwheels in your head, you catch sight of the dress man entering the conference hall with an even more familiar dimpled smile.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” you breathe out.

As he takes center stage, he gives a bow that is met with a round of applause, before he introduces himself. “Thank you all so much for joining me tonight for this event. My father put this project in my hands, and while it’s been challenging at times, it’s also revealed to me the hard work that he’s done through the years to get our hotels to where they are today. Tonight, I’m going to share with you our next global chain of hotels and introduce you to my ideas and the business plan from here onward…”

Jooheon continues to speak, and your phone records idly where you hold it between numb fingers. Similarly, your mind feels almost as numb as your grip does—turning over everything that had happened to you in the last day. You’d told yourself that you wouldn’t spend time thinking about these events, that you had work to focus on. But somehow, the events and your work had intertwined and tangled, and now you weren’t sure what it all meant. Surely, at this point, it wasn’t karma any longer? Right? But you also didn’t believe in weird twists of fate… so how the heck had this domino effect transpired?

You barely pay attention to the press conference, forget to engage and ask your own questions, and find yourself slumped at the hotel’s bar when everything is said and done.

When the bartender steps up to you, you barely lift your head from where it rests in your hand, sudden exhaustion overtaking you. “I need something stronger than that free champagne they’re passing out, please. A rum and coke will do. But make it heavy on the rum.”

“Sure thing.”

“You can put it on my tab,” a sudden familiar voice adds in, and immediately the exhaustion is replaced with a shot of panic straight through your system. You immediately straighten yourself up.

“No,” your voice is firm, and you glance over your shoulder—this time unsurprised by Jooheon’s sudden appearance, hands casually tucked in his suit pockets making his stance reveal just how broad he is. It almost distracts you, before you set your jaw. “We are not putting it on your tab, you’ve already done enough.”

“Does this mean you’re taking back your gratitude for the dress?” Jooheon wonders, stepping forward to claim the seat at the bar next to you. “Did you not like it after all?”

When the bartender sets the glass down in front of you, you’re quick to lift it to your lips and take a drink, wrinkling your nose very slightly at the taste of the rum burning down your throat, before turning to Jooheon.

“No, I’m very grateful for the dress—although my conscience is telling me I shouldn’t be,” you scowl at him. “Why would you even buy this expensive dress for me? For someone you don’t even know? And now you want to pay for my drinks?”

Jooheon frowns, only turning away from you briefly to accept a drink the bartender has set on the countertop for him, before giving you a thoughtful expression. “Is this not how you flirt with someone you find attractive?”

Dumbfounded, you blink at him, trying to process his words. Attractive? It was definitely just the dress… no, that doesn’t make sense, he’s the one who bought the dress before even seeing me in it… You shake your head, taking another drink. Two swigs, and the small glass of rum and coke is gone. You motion to the bartender for another.

“You should slow down a bit.”

Despite his warning, you have no intentions of doing so—especially as an instruction coming from a stranger somehow intent on concerning himself in your affairs. “I need this. I’ve had a hard…” Day? Week? Month? All of the above, really, though the past twenty-four hours have really hit you the hardest.

“Life,” you settle on.

“I can drink to that.” Jooheon raises his glass as another rum and coke is placed in front of you. Though you don’t toast him back in return, you both drink at the same time.

As you lower your glass from your lips, swallowing, you let out a small sigh. “This isn’t how you flirt with anyone.” Although his question has long since passed, you finally give him an answer, turning to look at him. You feel your heart skip in your chest, taking note of the fact that he’s already staring at you intently—as though, since sitting down, he hadn’t taken his eyes off you in the first place. Your next words have him frowning.

“In fact, you shouldn’t even be flirting with me in the first place. I’m just here for my job, nothing more.”

“Is this because you found out who I am?”

Your answer comes quicker than either of you expect, a sharp, “Yes,” exiting your mouth without hesitation. Jooheon raises his brows in surprise, and you purse your lips, staring hard at your drink before deciding you need more of the alcohol in your system, between your stresses of life and the current awkward reality of the situation at hand, lifting the glass to your lips again.

“So you’re telling me, just because I’m a chaebol, just because I’m rich, and just because you’re a journalist—I’m not allowed to flirt with you, or pay for things for you?” Jooheon asks. “Although, I will admit, maybe the dress was a bit out of line. But you seemed stressed and I was feeling generous, I just wanted to help someone. You or otherwise, it could have been anyone yesterday I did that for.”

“That is exactly what I’m saying. But, also, you don’t just go and spend money on random people without knowing them. It’s not common, and can be taken the wrong way.”

Jooheon shrugs. “I don’t really care how people take it.”

The luxuries of being rich, you want to blurt aloud in retaliation. If only you had enough money to splurge and spend on people you knew and didn’t know, otherwise, just because you were simply feeling generous as he was.

“I’m not a charity case,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, pursing your lips and glaring down at your drink.

“You never minded this before,” Jooheon retorts, just as softly, the tone of his voice sulkier than it had been.

Surprised, you blink, glancing up from your drink to stare at him. A small episode of panic has seemed to settle over him, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise—as though he hadn’t meant to say those words aloud. For once in your life, you’re glad it’s not you who has blurted something without thinking, one of your most common traits. But you don’t allow yourself to be too thankful, instead replaying his words in your mind.

You never minded this before. What?

Before you can ask him what he means, Jooheon’s phone rings. Saved by the sound, he mutters out a hasty, “excuse me,” and pulls his phone from his inner jacket pocket, stepping away from the bar to take the call.

Hasty yourself, you take another drink, downing the rest of the rum and coke and waving for another. As the bartender takes your glass away, you turn on the stool to peer at Jooheon, watching his back curiously as he speaks on the phone. His frame has straightened, his broad shoulders taking on a more tense position than they had been while next to you. In fact, sitting at the bar with you, he’d almost seemed comfortable—more than just confident in his surroundings, but rather it was as though he were sitting and sharing a drink with an old friend.

Your mind is reeling thanks to his words. Do you already know each other? Or had you met before? Or perhaps this was a situation that had happened before? No, surely I’d remember a random rich guy splurging some money on me… no, not even surely, you’d definitely remember something like that. As more thoughts swirl in your mind, trying to make sense of the words he’d uttered, you also find yourself beginning to wonder if something is seriously wrong with you. Kihyun had been badgering you to go to a doctor about your constant migraines, the ones that could almost be considered chronic by now—you’d written it off as just stress, telling him it was standard for the job and standard for the unlucky turn of events you were experiencing in life. Perhaps, though, it was actually more?

When Jooheon returns to the bar, phone slipping back into his jacket, you don’t even have a chance to inquire about what he’d said. In fact, you can’t even think of how to formulate the question correctly before he’s snatching the glass in your hand away from you and setting it aside.

“Hey, seriously. Slow down.” When he purses his lips, a faint hint of his dimples appear, and you can’t help but think back to your earlier thought from the night: He looks so boyish. It’s kind of cute.

“Shit,” you blurt aloud, the realization of the thought you’d just had dawning on you. Jooheon’s pursed lips quickly turn into a frown.

“What?”

“I think I’m drunk.” Why you were admitting this to him, of all people—someone you still considered a stranger, someone who was too curious about you, and someone who seemed to know something you didn’t—was beyond you.

Jooheon snorts out a small laugh. “No shit. That’s why I was telling you to slow down. Stress drinking is as bad as drinking with a broken heart, you know.”

You roll your eyes, giving your head a small shake and pushing yourself off the bar stool. You aren’t aware of the toll the alcohol has taken on you, a warmth spreading through your veins like a wildfire, overtaking you—until you find yourself unable to get a decent foothold when you stand. It becomes apparent to you, then, just how much you’d had to drink amidst your bantering with Jooheon. You fully expect to fall face first onto the floor, but instead, you’re surprised to find that Jooheon’s quick reflexes immediately have his arms snaking out to steady you, a hand grabbing at your elbow and another carefully curving around your waist.

The action brings you closer to him, pulled halfway against his chest. You blink, allowing the vertigo that has dizzied your mind in a very airy manner, one that has you feeling warm and content, to settle. Then, you glance up at him, hiccuping in surprise when you realize his proximity and just how close him and his bright brown eyes are. Something in your heart, and stomach, both stir, causing a small burst of adrenaline to push past the surface of the cloudy haze the alcohol has created and make you push him away.

“H-Hey,” he stammers in surprise, keeping an arm on your elbow firmly, refusing to let go in case you lose your balance again. “Be careful. Are you okay?”

“Fine. I’m fine… I just…” Just what? Got nervous? Were you drunk, or did you really have feelings suddenly stirring up for this handsome stranger? If he was even that—a stranger. Nothing made sense, and it made even less sense while fuddled by alcohol. “Jooheon, do I know you?”

Jooheon blinks, meeting your gaze. But besides that simple acknowledgement of your question, he doesn’t react any further. Or rather, he doesn’t turn it into a dramatic like you had expected, mainly at him getting caught uttering those words earlier. Does this mean he’d meant for you to hear that? You’re too out of it to notice the way his eyes briefly flash, before, a half-smile more akin to a smirk pulls at one corner of his lips.

You practically freeze when Jooheon leans forward, your heart stopping in your chest. The vibrating buzz of the alcohol seems to suddenly cease, stilling to silence as Jooheon places his lips to your ear, his breath hot as he whispers, “Rather than that, the question should be—do you really not remember me?”

As he pulls away, his lips find the side of your face—your cheek—pressing a chaste kiss there before he straightens back to his full height. Your heart, suddenly, remembers how to work again and goes into overdrive. If not for his firm hand at your elbow, you’re almost certain your legs would have buckled beneath you.

Jooheon turns away from you then, and you barely register the words he speaks to someone in the distance. “Hoseok, can you take her home?”

When Jooheon turns back to you, he pulls a little white card out of his suit jacket. As he lets go of your elbow, he takes both your hands in his, folding fingers down over the white card he places in your palms and giving your hands a small squeeze. “Tell me when Hoseok gets you home safe, okay?”

You’re too dumbfounded to reply, heart beating rapidly in your chest and echoing loudly in your ears. You’re not even sure you register his words—and, unfortunately, he receives the same treatment as Kihyun the day before—you don’t remember to get the phone number off the business card and text him you made it home, or tell him to thank his bodyguard for helping you all the way up the stairs to your apartment.

Instead, the card buries itself somewhere to the bottom of your clutch, which is discarded immediately as you cross the threshold and mindlessly find your bed, a distant reminder of the events of the night that doesn’t rear its head until two weeks later.

#jooheon fanfix #monsta x fanfic #mx fanfic #jooheon scenario #jooheon imagine #m.writes

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writingismyhappytime · 4 years

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Escaping Grace

A/N: So I wrote this fanfic over 4 years ago when Blackveilbridesfanfiction.com was still a thing, and there's been a lot change with the band since then. It's one of my first fics to ever write --- actually, it IS THE FIRST fan fiction I ever wrote.I'm going to do some editing to it before it's posted here from its original content since my style is a little different, so it's doubtful there'll be as many chapters, but I still hope you enjoy it! (And please don't judge, I was just a wee babe when I started out. Or judge gently. Well, I actually I judged it pretty hard when reading back through it.)I've rewrote it significantly so much that the plot has changed here and there, as I didn't like the previous at all. It was terrible, I'm going to be honest. I'm going to include in each chapter references for lyrics used from other bands, as I'm absolutely no musical artist and not clever enough to come up with my own for Escape From Grace to use in their music, so look for that at the end of each posted chapter should it come up.

A sound of immense excitement escapes my lips before I can stop it as I stare at our manager; he's barely made it halfway through his sentence but he has my full attention. I clasp my hands together as I straighten, grinning from ear to ear as I bite my lip.

This is the best news I've ever had. In my entire life.

Well, second best, getting signed on as a band was a pretty big memory to me, and all the people in the room as well. Coming from a nowhere town and being a nobody, working all those bars and gigs trying to get attention --- how we got so lucky, I'm not sure, but I'm thankful. We would still be struggling to make it if it wasn't for our manager, so I'm pretty grateful to him.Even more so now that he just gave this announcement.

I'm so getting him some donuts for our next meeting.

"Well, I'm glad you're taking the news so well," our manager says after a moment with raised brows, and I can feel my cheeks start to heat as everyone looks at me. I give him a sheepish look of apology, leaning back in my chair and trying to contain my excitement.

Still, he had to know I would be excited about this! Sure, we're a signed band, for a record label, but it's still a struggle. Even signed we still have a lot of work to do, and it would be too easy to fall into obscurity or be a one hit wonder, which isn't something that I want. This is going to be the rest of my life, it's what I want more than anything, and I'm not going to let this opportunity slip past me.

We're just getting our footing as a band, trying so hard to break out into a scene already full of so many talented people. Sometimes it's overwhelming and I feel like we've hit a brick wall, like we're never going to climb any higher. No one makes it quick big in this business, I guess, which is another reason why I'm so excited, why this is so important --- it could be our big break!We've been mostly openers for other bands in the last year, with one small tour through a few cities that gave us a lot of publicity, but nothing like this! Per our lovely manager, we're going to be opening for Black Veil Brides on several different occasions on their upcoming tour! They're one of my favorite bands, their songs feature themselves on all my playlists, and the fact we're going to meet them!

Oh, I can't stand it.

Is it suddenly really hot in this room?

I squirm in my seat, chewing my lower lip thoughtfully as Craig continues with the announcement. He was just going over the usual bits, we have a meeting pretty frequently about our lined up gigs and to be on better behavior than the last few. Some, or rather one of us, likes to get tipsy and flirt with fangirls, and despite his occupation as a drummer, still makes the boyfriends fairly upset.

My eyes flick to the blonde drummer not paying any of us a bit of attention, looking at his phone and swiping left or right occasionally. He looks exhausted, black rings under his eyes; I'm surprised he even managed to make the meeting today.

"When's the first show?" Clarke, our bassist, asks, his feet propped in my lap as he leans his chair back, teetering precariously on the back legs. He doesn't seem near as excited as I am about this, but he's never really been that into the type of music that we're playing. He was more into the hardcore, metalish type, which as hard as I might try, my voice just wasn't cut out for. I'm always waiting for the day he's going to drop the bomb that he's ditching us for something more his speed, but I wouldn't blame him.

Take an opportunity where you can get it.

"Three weeks," Craig replies, checking his watch. He's always kind of in a rush when it comes to us, we're not exactly his biggest moneymakers, but I like to think we're not at the bottom either. I mean, it would be nice to actually meet in an official space and not the breakroom of the record label, but I have the feeling maybe Craig doesn't exactly have a ton of pull and probably doesn't have his own office to see us in.

Still, he's been good to us, and I appreciate it. The fluorescent lights above dim a little before getting brighter, reflecting off his shiny bald head. He has thick old man eyebrows that are seriously in need of a trim, and absolutely no facial hair to speak of, which you'd think he'd want to balance out the baldness, but I digress. He's not a thin or tall man, and he has a thing for chunky watches and outdated t-shirts that makes him look like a suburban dad instead of any sort of manager.

"That's coming up pretty quick, don't ya think? We have some stuff already booked, don't we?" Vale looks nervous, shifting in the blue plastic chair beside me. Her gray-painted eyes flick to me, but I give her a bright, reassuring smile she reluctantly returns after a moment. She's my lead guitarist, my backup vocalist, my roommate, and my best friend. She holds many titles very dear to me, in fact. Without her, there's no telling where I would be right now. "And why us, exactly?"

"Well," our manager rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat and pretending to study the notes jotted down on Subway napkins in front of him. "Another band was going to open for them, but their lead singer has to have his tonsils removed. So, I pulled some favors, and got you guys signed instead!" He grins at us, looking very pleased with himself as he shoots us some obnoxious finger guns.

Vale rolls her eyes as she leans back in her chair, giving him an unimpressed look. She tugs on the end of her long black hair thoughtfully. "Well, you're certainly not letting us fade into obscurity, I'll give you points for that."

Craig looks satisfied with the response.

I glance around the round table we all sit at. Vale to my left who is now focusing on fixing her black eyeliner in a compact, and her brother Clarke where he's casually chatting with Craig as if he's actually interested in the gig. Our drummer, Nate, has finally passed out against the whiteboard behind him, and I'm pretty sure that's a sheen of drool on his chin.

I'm the lead vocalist, the frontperson of our band, and I also play keyboard when it's called for. I've always been close with Clarke and Vale, we grew up together as neighbors. It was their idea to form a band and get out of our old town, and when Nate joined us, it seemed like we might actually have a shot. It still blows my mind that we've made it this far without something breaking us up.

I've never had a lot of good luck, but maybe it's all been building up for this.

"Sooo --- do we get to meet the band beforehand?" I ask Craig, trying not to sound as eager as I feel but probably failing. I wanted to meet them, every single one of them, gawk at them like a fangirl meeting their idol, and wholeheartedly embarrass myself. "Where's the venue? When do the shows start? Are we going to get a bus this time or are you going to make us ride in your minivan again like a gothic soccer mom? Y'know that's not really going to give us the badass impression we're going for."

Vale snorts, biting her lip to hold back a laugh as Craig sighs heavily.

"Just be lucky I had a van to get you all to that show, alright?" He grumbles, but the experience had been mortifying. Just getting started, our actual ride breaks down, and suddenly Craig rolls up in a blue minivan with proud parent stickers on the back glass and yells at us to get in. Never again.

"But yes, you do get to meet the guys beforehand." Craig states, rubbing his jaw. "The lead singer, whathisname, wants to meet you guys before the first show. He's probably going to measure you up and make sure you're up for opening for his band. You guys need to make a good impression," he warns us, as if I'm not already planning on murdering whoever embarrasses us first; only I get to feel humiliated, no one else gets to do it for me!

He glances at Nate where he snoozes, and I know the warning is more for him then anything, but he's sleeping, so it's not really having any effect.

I feel like some tween girl meeting her boyband idol for the first time, being presented with front row tickets to his show. I rub my hands nervously against my thighs, ignoring the dampness my nerves are causing.

I'm the youngest in the band. I've known Vale and Clarke since I was twelve, and without them I doubt I would have made it through my teenage years. Or any years, if I really wanted to admit it to myself. I owed them a lot, more than I could ever pay back, but I'm hoping with our success that'll be enough.

"I heard he was an asshole when Asking Annie opened for them in Vegas." Clarke says, not looking at all thrilled. I frown at him, and shove his legs out of my lap for such a crappy comment. He knows I love that band! He ignores me, letting them drop easily to the floor before straightening in his chair; he better be glad I didn't tip him over!

"To be fair, Alex, their lead singer, is totally dopey and he can only perform while high, so," Vale closes her compact with a snap, the lights glinting off her dark nailpolish. "I would've been an asshole to him too. This is really good for us, guys. This could be it, y'know? None of us are going to screw this up by being rude or listening to rumors. I don't even care if they're true; the publicity this is going to bring us is worth it."

Well, she makes a good point, and Clarke concedes; that or he just decides ignoring his younger sister is better than arguing and just looks away. I'm sure the microwave in the corner has suddenly become much more interesting than the conversation.

I tap a nail against the table thoughtfully, still having a hard time believing this. We're finally getting a big break, with a band that I know at least two of us like, so that's a good thing! I thought earlier I was going to pass out from how hard my heart was beating, how excited I got at the prospect of meeting them.

"Is this not the best news ever?" I sigh as I look at everyone, unable to contain my glee. "Ever? Like seriously? Do you guys know how great this is?"

"Saying it multiple times doesn't make it true," Clarke mumbles, for some reason intent to find a reason to not be as excited as I am. He's always so serious and cautious, ever the distrustful one. Well, I suppose when you're the oldest in a band that you're younger, reckless sister is in, you sort of have to be the adult and the ringleader; hell, I'm the lead singer, but I listen to him and take his advice to heart.

"It'll give you guys a good amount of exposure," Craig states, folding his arms along the laminated tabletop. "Hopefully it'll kickstart some more sales of the new album you're about to drop."

"And Leah will get to meet the object that she lusts so much after," Vale adds with a chuckle.I send her a horrible look, ignoring the heat burning my cheeks; she doesn't have to mention that in front of everyone.

"Really? Which one?" Craig looks amused, and sometimes I get the feeling he sees us more as his kids than business partners. I mean, I think he does have some teenage girls, or boys maybe, I'm not quite sure, so he probably deals with this all the time. Crushes, heartbreak, the need of a minivan for emergencies.

"The lead singer, Andy. It's the voice I think, the deep drawl and that nice hair ---."

"Vale."

Vale giggles, winking at me as she twists the end of her long hair absently. She's enjoying watching me squirm, but really it's no secret. I mean, I wasn't exactly discussing my interests with Craig in that area, but I suppose it doesn't matter now.

Just makes things a little awkward.

"Andy Biersack? Really?" Our manager doesn't look impressed with my choice of crush. "Why am I surprised over this?"

I sink a little in my chair, merely shrugging my shoulders.

Craig just shakes his head before he starts getting to his feet, grabbing his note napkins and folding them together. He's never very organized, but I like to think it's one of his quirky qualities. He tucks the napkins into his shirt pocket, says goodbye to us, and heads for the archway leading to the hall.

One of these days, maybe we'll actually have a meeting room.

"Oh." Craig's head suddenly pops back into the kitchen, holding the end of a torn napkin. "I forgot to mention. You're meeting the love of your life at Club Rehab tomorrow at eight. Don't be late, dress to impress."

"What!?"

Craig suddenly is one, and I stare after him in horror. "Did he just say we were meeting them tomorrow?"

"Mmm." Vale looks thoughtful. "Dress to impress, like don't we always?" she snorts, cutting her eyes at her brother. "Don't be an ass, and yes you're coming. Wake up Nate so we can fill him in."Clarke frowns, glancing at the snoozing drummer, his lips parted as his head lolls back and forth; he's getting marker all in his freshly dyed blonde hair.

"I suppose we don't need to look like losers when we meet them." I mumble as I prop my chin on my hand, watching as Clarke kicks Nate's chair easily with his long legs, causing Nate to wake in a panic, sputtering. He looks around wild-eyed for a few moments before he realizes he's not under attack, then sends Clarke a scowl.

"What was that for!?"

"Rise and shine, Snow White. You slept through the meeting but we have news."

"I wasn't asleep," Nate mutters, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand, blue eyes bloodshot. "I didn't miss anything."

"Were you out late again partying?" Vale looks annoyed with him, her full lips drawing into a frown. She's one of the prettiest people I've ever met, I sort of envy how she always looks so put together and confident. She's tall, but the right kind of tall that's not too tall, and slim, able to wear whatever she wants and she never has problems finding her clothes in the store.I'm much shorter, and I might as well shop in the toddler section to find jeans that aren't too long for me.

"No," our drummer retorts, running his hands down his face. Yeah, sure bud, those black circles under your eyes say something different. Nate was a partier, he was even before he joined us, we knew that. He knew all the best places to have a good time, and I'm fairly sure he doesn't usually get out of bed until noon or he has to meet us. Sometimes you could still smell the cheap perfume and booze off the wrinkled shirt he doesn't change. I like him well enough, but some people shouldn't have fame or too much money, it isn't such a good thing.

Be famous responsibly.

Clarke quickly explains what Nate's missed during his impromptu nap, and our drummers eyes light up. He likes the other bands drummer, admires his techniques, and even his sleepy head knows this is a big deal for us.

Momentous, really.

"When do we meet them?" he asks eagerly, rubbing his arm.

"Tomorrow, and don't come smelling like a bar." Vale replies, staring him down beneath thick black lashes; she has a fierce glare, I'll give her that. She gets to her feet, stretching her arms in front of her. She nudges her chair under the table, and we all sort of follow suit as we get to our feet. Nate mocks her slightly before taking a sniff of himself, only to grimace.

Everything is going to go great tomorrow, that's what I'm going to keep telling myself. We're going to make a fantastic impression, we'll be charming and humorous and they'll want us to open every show! Or, actually, we'll be so famous they'll be opening for us by the time it's over with.

I can dream.

Just.... oh my god.

What exactly am I going to wear?

I look at Vale in utter panic. She could wear a paper bag and look fantastic, but it's not that easy for me.

What if I go in there wearing something horribly mismatched, or that doesn't work at all? What if I look like some Avril Lavigne, pop princess rip off and they don't want us opening? I could say something stupid, insult one of them accidentally, what do we even know about them?

"Why are you making that face?" Nate asks warily as we step out into the hall together. "If you're gonna be sick, aim that way."

"I'm just thinking about tomorrow, don't be a dick." I wait for Vale to catch up with me, seeing she's focused on her phone. "Vale?"

"Mmm?"

"We need to go shopping."

"Shopping?" She sends me an amused look as we fall into step, the worn carpet of the hallway pillowing our footsteps. "Why?"

"Because we need to find something to wear tomorrow."

"You realize whatever you buy you won't wear, and you'll have buyers remorse like you do every time."

"Vale." Now she's starting to stress me!

"Oh, fine, don't freak out. We'll go after we grab some lunch, find something to aww the boys with." she looks amused, and her arm twines with me as we walk. "But don't worry so much, it's just another business meeting. Think of it more like that."

"Is that how you think about every meeting we have?"

"Well, no, I imagine Craig in his underwear and it sort of ruins any intimidation I might feel."

"Well that's a mental image I didn't need."

Vale grins down at me, squeezing my arm as we reach the front desk and give the harried looking secretary a smile as we leave.

I'm worried about tomorrow, but I do tend to worry and be anxious about everything. I might be excited now, but tomorrow I know I'll be an explosion of nerves.I just want everything to go well so badly.

#bvb #blackveilbrides #blackveilbridesfanfiction #andrewbiersack #andyblack #andybiersaxoc #andybiersackfanfiction #escapinggrace #kellyrages

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yzssie · 5 years

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FANFIC GONE... GOOD? Pt. 1

Characters: Tom Hiddleston x reader

Chapters: 1/3

Warnings: (College) Teacher x student, smut.

Words: 2.8k

A/N: Ok so I thought of posting this yesterday since we had a birthday boy ❤ But I was out all day so I couldn’t proof-read. I had to split this fanfic in two parts because I wrote over 5k words, Jesus Christ I WAS EXCITED. Therefore, the first chapter has no smut and is just explaining our situation /evil Loki creepy smirk/ Without further ado, action!

*part 3 is out, check Masterlist*

English literature was a course you always loved but surprisingly, things could get even better than you thought.

Your original teacher moved away and the college was obliged to hire someone new since the other teachers were already busy. You weren’t expecting that the nice old lady who made you love literature more than you already did, was going to be replaced with the most handsome male you have ever seen before your eyes.

Mr. Tom Hiddleston. Now, you don’t want to sound desperate but, the truth has to be spoken. The fact that he is an English literature teacher makes him twice as hot as he already is.

The first time you saw him entering the classroom you couldn’t help but stare, and you weren’t the only one. His tall lean figure was graciously walking to his desk. His white shirts, God bless his outfits choices, was perfectly wrapping his burly chest, so you could almost see his delicious abs through the thin material. His long legs were taking slow but long steps, swaying his hips in the most tenacious, yet manly, intimidating style. His pants were molded on his round ass in a way that made your fists clench at the thought of running your fingers along his back muscles, down to his spine and finally grabbing those delectable asscheeks. His eyebrows were furrowed, cheekbones popping out, his strong jawline covered with a trace of a copper beard, and as soon as his shiny blue eyes moved to scan the whole room, his lips broke into a charming smile before as he introduced himself. If his tantalizing face wasn’t enough, his voice was so deep and husky, you swore your lower part trembled in arousal. Studying your professor, instead of studying his actual notes, you observed he has a habit of running his long fingers through his brown curls and of licking his lips when he concentrates on an answer. During the class, he is usually rolling up his sleeves to the elbow, showing up his veiny and muscular arms.

That’s what got you here now, typing silently on your laptop while darting your eyes on the enticing teacher. You have this secret Tumblr blog you’re running, writing smutty content in order to relieve yourself from the sexual frustration you’ve built up all these years while not finding the right time to enter in a relationship. You had a considerable amount of followers who are always excited about every new story you post. You would have never done this at school, but Mr. Hiddleston right here doesn’t help your current state too much and you couldn’t handle yourself. Thoughts flow continuously as he’s teaching his course, your fresh new teacher x student piece of work is extremely appreciated. You are almost in the last row of seats, the row behind you is empty. The perfect place for nobody to pay attention to what you are doing besides your best friend seated next to you, rolling her pen while concentrating on your teacher’s remarks. The third chapter is getting a good start until a little bump in your sides startles you and when you look up at your teacher you find him staring directly at you.

“Miss Y/N, have you been listening to what I was saying?”

Panic envelops your whole mind. Shit, we're talking about Othello, aren’t we? You steal a glance at your best friend’s laptop and read her last phrase. Your answer is more a question than an answer and he narrows his eyes.

“Are you asking me or are you answering me?”

“Answering,” you try to sound more confident but you’re pretty sure he saw your eyes flash to your friend’s notes.

“Indeed we were,” his lips tighten as he glances at the clock. “Please send me your essay on our last analyzed work now and then you’re free,” he tells to the class after throwing another short judging look to your presence.

You admit that you are extremely embarrassed right now, so you quickly close both of your fanfiction and essay and attach the document on your desktop to the email before sending it to Mr. Hiddleston. You get up quickly and mutter a “goodbye” while your friend storms out after you.

“I have told you that you need to get a grip of yourself!” she states while she’s struggling with her bag.

“I know,” you sigh taking a seat on the closest free bench you find. “I love literature and I am usually paying attention, but… look at him!... It’s like… like he’s sculpted by the Gods,” you roll your eyes and your friend chuckles.

“You and every other girl drooling over our literature teacher.”

“I am pretty sure you'd do the same if you didn’t have a boyfriend,” you peer at her as you’re starting your laptop again.

“Your new fanfiction is really good though,” she grins at you and you smirk back.

“That’s why I was a little bit absent. It… gets better if I write it while I have the inspiration in front of me,” you crack your hands before opening your fanfic folder and your breath hitches.

“What?”

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck, why isn’t it here?” you curse and go back to the desktop to open the document saved there.

“Oh my God,” your whole body freezes as the file named “Document” which was supposed to be the essay was actually the third part of your newest fanfiction. You were in such a hurry that you forgot to rename the fanfiction file and switch to the specific folder for fanfiction. The actual essay file was in your documents folder, where you saved it last night at 4 am. You were too tired to review it and you just lazily saved it as it was, without a name or a specific location. You were actually planning to read it again and make the final touches during class but you were caught up in the fanfic and forgot to do it and then Mr. Hiddleston flustered you and… you’ve just ruined your life.

“Earth to Y/N, what happened?” your friend shakes you and your face contorts in regret.

“I have sent… I… the file… my fanfic….” you were stammering with your words.

“You sent Mr. Hiddleston the fanfic you wrote about him?!” she whispers and you nearly scream at her.

“INSPIRED!” you nearly yelled at her before pausing, “Inspired by him,” your voice lowers and you feel your whole existence crumbling away.

“Shit. Just… send him another email with the right document and tell him that you mistakenly attached a different file.”

Your fingers were shaking on the keyboard while browsing through the Gmail again.

“What if he opens it?”

“I don’t know… write something like “please ignore it?” “

“That’s exactly the wrong thing to say. He might get more curious.”

“Then just send it by saying you got the wrong essay and done.”

“I have to erase that email,” you shudder after you successfully sending the right file.

“Sure, what are you going to do? Break into his office?”

You turn your head at your friend and she frowns.

“No… no no no. Are you crazy? This might get you expelled!”

“The fanfiction itself will get me expelled!”

“Maybe he won’t read it. C’mon, you gave him another file. Why would he bother?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I… I guess so. But he’s a teacher.”

“So what, you think teachers have no curiosity?”

“Y/N, breathe, relax. You can’t break in anyways, the cameras will see you. And how are you supposed to open an unlocked door? You may have been watching Supernatural but your bobby pin skills are shit.”

“I can… I can just wait for him to exit his office and quickly get inside and and…”

“Who doesn’t lock their office while they’re out?”

“Even for a bathroom break?” you realize that you sound stupid but right now, you couldn’t allow that man to have that piece of work in his fucking email inbox.

“Let’s say he does. What will happen when you’re seen on camera?”

“Teacher offices don’t have cameras inside.”

“And the hallway one?”

“Do you think they actually pay attention to all of them?”

“I don’t know.”

“In that case… I will enter, delete what I have to delete fast and then get out and wait at the door for him. If someone actually checks the cameras, I can say that I wanted to talk with him and I didn’t find him inside so I left his office and waited.”

“You will enter his fucking office! And stay for like at least two minutes. It only takes a quick glance inside to see that he’s absent!” your friend’s arms raise in the air exasperatedly.

“I’ll just say that I stormed in without thinking and I knocked over something in his office and picked it up to put it back in place and then...”

“You’re stupid,” she finally concludes. “Do not do that,” she stands up and heads for the next class. “Coming?”

I look at her with pleading eyes and she shakes her head. “I’m not getting into this. And neither you are. Now be a good girl and go to your next class without causing trouble.”

You had two different courses from your friend, the optional ones which were split into two groups because of the large number of students who applied for them. Unfortunately, you were in the last group because of your last name’s first letter and your friend was in the first one. You considered it bad luck before, but now you were happy that you would be separated from your friend for 4 hours so you could get away with your idiotic plan.

“Ok,” you mutter and feign to have lost all the interest in whatever mission you planed.

“Good.”

Ok. Breathe. You can do this, somehow.

You lean on the wall, watching from the end of the hallway the door of Mr. Hiddleston's office. Classes already started so it means he has no courses for now. Perfect. It's near lunch break so he might actually get out to grab something while he still has free time. And indeed he does, only that he locks the door. You hide behind the corner as he turns around and heads for somewhere.

Maybe she was right… Who would leave their office door unlocked? Your concentration draws back to Mr. Hiddleston's gracious form entering back into his office, carrying some papers. Damn. This will be harder than you have expected. You really hoped that there's going to be an opening but two hours pass and you're still there. He leaves from the office two more times by the third hour, each time locking the door. When you almost give up, another door cracking sound gets your attention and your teacher leaves his office WITHOUT unlocking the door. Your mouth drops for a few seconds, then run to the room you have been watching. Your heart pounds like crazy when you get in and quickly head for his computer. You click on the Gmail icon and your chest stings. He is not logged in. Why??? A low groan escapes your throat and right at that moment the door flings open, displaying Mr. Hiddleston in full grace. Your eyes widen and hands start to tremble on the desk while he actually doesn’t seem that surprised by your presence.

“You’d better have an extraordinarily believable excuse for this situation Miss Y/N. Or this is going to get a lot worse than it already is.”

Your breath is caught in your throat, chest clenching in panic. You would find this exciting if you were living in your damn fanfiction, but this is real life and the chances of being expelled are now very high.

“I'm… I… Mr. Hiddleston,” your eyes are fixed on his strong gaze, burning holes into your flushed face.

“See Miss Y/N, you're not very subtle at spying someone. And I want to believe you're more than just a cheating student, which I actually doubt it since you have been ranked top of this course for quite some time.”

“I AM SO SORRY. I… I WAS WRITING SOMETHING ELSE DURING TODAY'S CLASS BECAUSE I READ ALL THE NOTES YOU GAVE, NOT JUST THE INTRODUCTION THAT YOU ASSIGNED SO I MADE THE BAD CHOICE TO CONTINUE WORKING ON THAT… SOMETHING ELSE BUT I PANICKED WHEN YOU SAW ME AND INSTEAD OF HOMEWORK I HAVE SENT YOU THE DOCUMENT I WAS WRITING AND IT IS VERY PERSONAL THEREFORE I WANTED TO DELETE IT BEFORE YOU COULD SEE IT!” your voice becomes higher and shaky as you speak.

“And why didn't you just send the correct file afterward?”

“I did but... I was afraid that you might still check the first one.”

Mr. Hiddleston scoffs, “What do you take me for? I have no interest in other than the essay I asked for.”

“I… knew… it.”

“But you still thought it was a good idea to sneak into my office?”

“Just in case you might accidentally…”

“Enough!” his stern voice startles you and you yelp.

“This is a very serious situation. However I do not have time to deal with it now,” his presence moves next to yours and you back up from the desk. He types something, the silence between you two killing you. He motions to move closer and you do so.

“Is this the wrong one?” he points.

You nod, afraid to make another sound which might upset him further. He presses the delete button and you would have enjoyed this accomplishment if it weren’t for the given situation. You want to melt into the ground.

“Now get out!” his tone was calmer this time although you can still sense the annoyance. With your head slightly bowed, you apologize again and storm out the door.

He couldn't just believe his eyes. You actually had the audacity to break into a teacher’s office. Was that wrong document even the real reason? Or was it a lie for some sabotage? His mind was going wild with scenarios, and he couldn't handle himself. Curiosity? At first, he might not have opened both files but after you have just risked getting expelled for some stupid document, he admits that it stirred some curiosity. But now he could cover it up with the fact that he has to make sure this whole situation happened truly because of that personal thing.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and seats on his leather chair, his hand involuntarily retrieving your email from the Bin Folder. He opens it and a single-page story pops out on the computer screen. He scans the writing and can’t figure what exactly that is. It’s a story for sure... with a teacher? At the end of the file, there’s a link and he almost has second thoughts but clicks on it anyways and a Tumblr page opens in his browser. What is he doing? He knows that this kind of site has, different things and here he is: a grown ass adult checking a student personal material. Now, he probably would have stopped if it weren’t for you breaking into his office, so he throws away any guilt and starts reading whatever popped on the site. And then his mouth drops. This is a written fantasy of yours with… a teacher. He shakes his head and closes his eyes for a moment. This is an actually pleasingly written piece of work, though it’s all, adult content. He shifts in his seat, already feeling a little bit turned on by the amazingly details given. However, he’s soon hard enough when he reads the description of the teacher and becomes aware of the similarities between him and the character…He shakes his head, maybe it’s just his imagination, but then, a specific comment catches his attention.

Tumblr user comment: This is so good! Can you tell us which celebrity do you portray as the teacher?

Your comment: Oh! I actually do not have one. I could say I am inspired by someone real /wink/, but can’t reveal more. I don’t want to get kicked out because I daydream of my teacher hahaha

Tumbler user comment: Omg, author has a hot teacher! Keep up with the good work!

You have been writing your sexual fantasies about him, during his own class. He is struck by your boldness and can’t admit this doesn’t thrill him. Of course, he is aware he has a specific presence, students might swoon over him and it was possible that some might even daydream about different scenarios. The fact that you are one of the most down to Earth and most talented students he has ever meet, has some stirring effect to his own self. He would have never imagined this kind of scandalous relationship even if he’s a college teacher for master degree courses and the given situation isn’t exactly illegal or forbidden. He always sees his students as just his students. He groans and closes the page quickly.

This won’t do it. Just erase everything you read from your mind and act as if this never happened, Tom.

Taglist opened(please mention which one do you want):

Loki/ Tom Hiddleston taglist: @drakesfiance , @cutiepotpie177 , @brokenthelovely , @ultrailoveharrystylesblog, @mooncrow123 , @heart-shaped-hell

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fic #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki #loki laufeyson #loki fic #loki fanfiction #marvel

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minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 5 years

Text

Sweet Dreams Chapter Nine (Final)

Lucid dreaming: The process of being aware that one is dreaming. Some researchers believe that in lucid dreaming, the individual may be able to change the outcome of the dream or control their degree of participation in the imaginary (dream) environment.

Description: Lee Eunbyul has been plagued with hellish nightmares since she was a child. Not the sort of nightmares you may be familiar with. There are no monsters to evade, no serial killers to outrun, no auditoriums of classmates in front of whom to stand naked. Instead there is just…darkness. Endless darkness. With professional help, the dreams come less frequently. But after moving away from home to live with her sister, Eunbyul’s nightmare returns, only this time it’s different. This time…she’s not alone.

What would you do if you had the chance to change the outcome of not only your dreams, but your life?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn

Pairing: Namjoon x (f) OC

Word Count: 8.2k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Producer!Namjoon, Bookstore Clerk!Seokjin, Potter!Jimin, Producer!Yoongi, Dancer!Hoseok

Warnings: Frequent mentions of mental illness, infrequent swearing and mentions of alcohol

A/N: This is it, fellas! It’s been really fun and rewarding to write this story, but I’m excited to get started on my next long-term project! It’s going to be a member x member fanfic, so please let me know if you want me to post it here! I’m posting it on AO3, but I was questioning if you guys would be interested in it too so let me know! Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

Eunbyul

I lurched awake, heart racing, eyes watering like I may cry. It had been a while since a dream had made me feel that way. Frantic. Panicky. It had been a while since I’d had a dream I could remember in the first place. Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair and placed my glasses on the bridge of my nose, glancing at the clock. 4:02.

“What the fuck…,” I whispered, rubbing my temples. Of course, it was always 4:02. Always these days.

I touched the tender skin beneath my eyes, pursing my lips. Unshed tears, but my face was hot. There was in my chest a deep, harrowing empty feeling that I couldn’t place. Not sadness really, something else.

Loss…?

I shook my head and stood to my feet. No getting back to sleep now, not with this unsettling feeling in my body. I sighed and padded barefoot out into the living room. I’d expected darkness, but instead I was greeted by light and the hum of music turned down low. I rubbed my eyes, disrupting my glasses, and furrowed my brow, squinting against the low light.

“Gaeul?” I asked as I approached where she sat at the table, legs crossed, dressed in pajamas, hair a mess of waves. Her eyes bored into the inky screen of her computer, and the bags beneath them were deep purple. “How long have you been up?”

“An hour,” she said without looking at me.

I stiffened. “But you went to bed at like midnight,” I said, eyeing her.

She nodded, typing furiously. “Mhm. Got a report I forgot to finish.”

“Oh…”

Gaeul sighed and pinched her nose bridge, turning to look at me. “You keep getting up early these days,” she said, cocking a brow and pulling one knee up to her chest.

I shrugged and sat in the chair beside her. “Happenstance,” I said absently, running my finger along the edge of the table. “Not like you. Your work ethic is something else.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing special. Just trying to get my shit done before my shift,” she said with a sigh. “Anyway, you’re the one you should be impressed with.”

I glanced at her, brows raised. “Hm? How so?”

“These days…well…,” she began, waving her hands for emphasis. She settled for a sigh, resting her palms on her laptop keyboard. “I dunno, like alive. Working hard.”

I blinked at her. “Alive?”

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug.

I smiled privately to myself as Gaeul began typing again. “I…I guess I’ve become a bit more confident,” I said with a nod.

“I’ll say.”

“When…when I finish my first piece of pottery, I wanna give it to you, okay?” I asked, and I felt shy like a child once again, timid.

She turned to me with a wide grin, face ruddy. “Really?” she asked, and the eagerness in her tone disarmed me a little.

I stiffened, scratching my arm. “Don’t expect too much,” I said. I glanced to the side toward the mural wall and found it nearly finished. I raised my brows and almost made a comment, but paused.

Because, after all, that was Gaeul.

Persistent and courageous, willing to try even if she failed.

I smiled and pressed my lips thin. “I’m looking forward to it, okay? You gotta do it for real now, okay?” she asked, eyeing me.

I laughed, waving a hand. “Sure, sure.”

She sighed, watching be, and nodded once. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this.”

I glanced her way, silhouetted against the rising sun and the pastel blue early morning sky outside the window. She smiled. “Yeah,” I said with a nod.

“You know…there’s a lot I want to apologize to you for,” she said, resting her forehead in her palm, rubbing. “Like…a whole lot.”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for,” I said.

She shook her head, sighing. “There is. I…I should’ve kept a better eye on you back then in the woods. I let you out of my sight and then…you were gone.”

“Gaeul,” I began, taking her hand. I shook my head. “It wasn’t your fault,” I said, then chuckled. “And besides, I was anxious even before everything happened. There’s no reason for you to carry that guilt.”

She met my eyes, and in her gaze I saw vulnerability unguarded. She inhaled sharply. “Even if you say that, I…”

I shook my head and reached out, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. And even though the embrace was awkward by virtue of our sitting positions, neither of us broke it. I shut my eyes, leaning against her shoulder, and she wrapped one free arm around my waist, nodding against my arm.

“You wouldn’t have talked about all this before,” she remarked.

I nodded. “I know.”

“I’m proud of you,” she said.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and nodded. “I know.”

“Hey Jimin?” I asked, timid, standing behind him as he dipped his porcelain cups in glaze.

He eyed me sidelong and cocked a brow. “What?”

I laced my fingers, chewing on my lip, and hummed a little. “I was just wondering…,” I started, then let the sentence trail into silence.

He sighed and stopped dipping, turning to me fully with two dripping cups in his hands. Impatient, he raised how brows. “You’re gonna have to speak up. I can’t hear you.”

I stiffened, swallowing hard and looked away, avoiding his eyes. “Well…”

He wiggled a little, whining. “Spit it out. I really need to finish this.”

“Could I maybe…practice at the wheel today?” I asked, voice a whisper. “Just with the cheap clay!” I said, waving my hands.

He stared at me slack jawed for a long moment, eyes dull. “That was it?”

“Yeah…”

He sighed. “Of course you can do that, Eunbyul,” he said, rolling his eyes as he returned to his work. “Go set it up yourself.”

I grinned, turning on my heel and running toward the doorway to the shop. I turned over my shoulder to thank him, but paused when I saw him smiling fondly at the unglazed cups, shaking his head a little. Even though he put on such an annoyed facade, he was happy.

He was proud too, huh?

I smiled, nodded once, and walked out into the shop, settling down at the wheel to begin practicing. For once, the thought didn’t send anxiety rattling through me. I sighed, comfortable, and began planning what I’d try to make.

The bookstore was quieter than usual. Fewer patrons milling about. And somehow the greenery looked more alive, vibrant. It hung in the planter baskets and clung to the gaps in the brick walls. I sipped on my coffee, flipping through a fun fantasy novel, and felt a small smile settle on my lips.

Despite my reservations, my practice had gone pretty well at Jimin’s. The final piece — a soup bowl — was still a little lumpy in areas, unrefined, but Jimin had insisted it was fine. He said I could sand it tomorrow so it was smooth and I could paint my own decorations. I wasn’t sure how good I’d be at something like that, but nonetheless for the first time in a long time…

I wanted to try.

“Lost in thought?” asked Seokjin from across the table, helping himself to the empty seat there.

I glanced up at him and smiled. “Just wondering when we’re gonna go out drinking again,” I teased with a smirk.

He stiffened. “Never,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re a demon when you drink.”

I laughed and nodded, shutting the book and sliding it to the side. I met his warm eyes once more. “Do you ever do any work?” I asked.

He clutched his chest and feigned offense, staring at me with wide eyes and parted lips. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I’m doing work right now!” he said, then smiled. “This is called customer service.”

I laughed. “I see.”

“You seem to be in a good mood today,” he remarked, leaning back in his seat.

I smiled a little, shrugging. “I guess so.”

“Good day at the pottery shop?” he asked.

My eyes went wide. “How’d you guess?”

He hummed, examining his palm, and shrugged. “Genius.”

“Hm…”

“Ah, that reminds me! How’s your boss?” he asked.

I furrowed my brow. “Jimin’s the same as always,” I said, then crossed my arms. “Why are you so interested in him anyway?”

He chuckled, raising one brow, and met my eyes. “I mean…I’m interested because…jeez, do I have to spell this out?” he asked, and judging by the way his expression brightened into a smile he definitely did need to spell it out. He rolled his eyes. “I’m interested in him because I’m interested in him, Eunbyul,” he said, meeting my eyes expectantly.

I blinked a few times, mouth agape, before gasping. “Wait, you like him?” I asked, stunned.

He laughed boisterously. “Well let’s not go that far! I said I’m interested, alright? Just that,” he said, waving his hand. “Casually.”

“Wait…so that dating app you have on your phone…?” I asked, piecing it all together.

He laughed again, this time clutching his stomach with the force of it. “So you did peek!” he exclaimed through laughter, causing the few other patrons milling about to glance at him, concerned. He wiped beneath his eyes and fished his cell phone from his pocket. “I can’t believe you looked,” he said, sliding the phone to me.

I glanced down at the app once more, and this time it all made perfect sense.

BoysDate.

I nodded. “Ah…,” I said, glancing at him.

He was still in stitches, nearly crying from laughter, pounding his fist on the table much to the dismay of the other patrons nearby who kept looking at me as if I was responsible for him. I guess I was, in a certain respect. I quietly slid the phone back to him and he didn’t even stop laughing as he took it back and placed it neatly in his pocket.

“Jesus Christ, I haven’t had a laugh this good in years,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Ah, man. You’re gonna have to excuse me. I’ll get in trouble if I keep laughing like this out here,” he said, but nonetheless continued laughing like a windshield wiper.

I cracked a smile too, nodding. “Sorry,” I said, laughing a little too.

He shook his head and stood to his feet. “Ah man,” he said, pointing at me with a grin and barely contained laughter. “You gotta put in a good word for me, okay? Promise?”

I nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be flattered,” I said, chuckling as Jin nodded and waved, covering his mouth with his hand as he staggered into the staff lounge.

I washed my hands, chancing a glance at my reflection in the mirror with raised brows. To my surprise, I found the person staring back at me looking…quite lucid. Clear eyes, tired looking but sharp. Even my hair was behaving. Something in the air, maybe. I wiped my hands with a paper towel and tossed it in the trash bin, turning on my heel.

And, on impulse, I bent at the waist to peer beneath the bathroom stalls. Once my eyes landed on a familiar pair of tennis shoes, I felt my chest crumple a little. What was she doing in here anyway? Part of me was frustrated, but not at her. At the situation, for forcing me to put my money where my mouth was. I’d grown a bit lately, right? I’d gotten a bit better lately, right?

Prove it.

I inhaled sharply and nodded, straightening up and bracing myself for rejection. If she got mad, I’d be fine. A bad experience and nothing more. Nothing debilitating. Something to talk about in therapy in passing and then forget.

That’s all it was.

Nonetheless, my fist was shaking just a little as I raised it to rasp against the stall’s door. I waited with bated breath in the silence that ensued, wondering quietly if perhaps she’d fallen asleep or otherwise decided to ignore me entirely. I could have turned around then, could have spun on my heels and made a beeline for the exit.

But I stayed.

And I knocked again.

“Hey,” I said softly to the door, as if perhaps in speaking tenderly my words would reach her. “I know it’s not my place, and I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, but…I’ve been a bit worried about you for a while. You seem to come here a lot. I guess…I just…want you to know that if there’s a way I can help you with whatever you’re going through, I’d like to.”

The girl on the other side was quiet, but I heard her shuffling. “Toilet paper girl?” she asked, voice low.

I stiffened, face hot, and glanced away even though she couldn’t see me. “Uh…yeah, that’s me…I guess…”

And, surprisingly, she laughed. Heartily. It was a comforting, warm sound and vaguely familiar. I took half a step back from the stall, my fingertips still lingering on the door, and watched the floor intently. She was still laughing with her chest, but I saw her feet disappear as she stood to her feet. Slowly, I heard her shuffle toward me and, after agonizing seconds that felt like time suspended, she stall door clicked unlocked and gave way beneath my fingertips.

And, standing before me was a girl a few years my senior with bloodshot eyes and a dimpled half-smile. She eyed me like I was foreign, like she could’t figure me out. And, to be fair, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I was like something foreign to her.

She was beautiful, to be sure, with kind, almond-shaped eyes and dark hair, tanned skin and a strong frame. She looked like someone, but I couldn't really place it. Instead, I simply bowed my head and waited for her to relieve me. To tell me it was okay to stand up, to tell me it was okay in general.

But again, instead of speaking she laughed and again my brain ran in frantic circles trying to figure out just where I’d heard that laugh before. I took the laughter as an acceptance of my gesture and stood up straight again, meeting her eyes from half a head below her.

She exuded a sort of confidence that was hard to define, something that felt inherent about her. About even the way she stood, even the way she examined me with intelligent eyes.

“Are…are you okay?” I asked, taking the chance.

Her smile faltered and she took a deep, steadying breath. It seemed the time for laughter was coming to an end. She smoothed her hands against her thighs, shrugging. “Sorry for worrying you,” she said, and her voice was softer now, subdued, docile.

I shook my head, waving my hands. “Don’t be sorry! I just…is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.

She wiped beneath her eyes. Even without makeup, she was pretty. The kind of girl I’d have looked up to as a kid. She crossed her arms and let her gaze fall to the tiled floor. “No,” she said, then sighed. “It’s just…when things get to be too much, I kind of just found myself coming here I guess. Someplace quiet. Far away from people.”

I swallowed hard. “I…get that,” I said with a nod, stepping back to offer her more space in the small restroom.

She met my eyes at last and raised her brows. “Hm?”

I shrugged. “I mean…we all have our safe, comfortable spaces, right?”

She gave me the ghost of a smile and nodded. “Yeah,” she said, wringing her hands. “Anyway, sorry to have worried you.”

She turned and stepped to the side as if preparing to depart and, without thinking, I placed myself in her path, trapping her at the end of the rows of stalls. Her eyes went wide and her lips parted, but she said nothing.

I stuttered out a string of syllables that didn’t add to much of a sentence and shook my head, lowering my arms. “I…um…h-how often do things become too much?” I asked, desperate to keep her here. If my hunch was right, my invading her safe space made it no longer safe. I’d likely never see her again if I let her leave like this, as she’d probably never come back.

That’s what I’d have done anyway…

She stiffened as if she’d been shocked and blinked down at me with round eyes. “Um…,” she began, then her expression relaxed into something more vulnerable, unguarded. “I guess…pretty often.”

Despite my better judgement, I spoke again. “Why?” I asked. Forget social convention. I could tell from the glassy look in her eye that she needed someone.

She sniffled and rubbed her upper arm with her opposite hand. “I just…have some trouble at home I guess. It’s not a big deal…”

“I’m sorry to be like this, but…if you’re in here crying so often I think it might be a pretty big deal,” I said, shaking my head. She met my eyes and I offered a somber smile. “It’s okay.”

She wiped her eyes again, and it looked like she was fighting tears when she responded. “I’m living with my boyfriend and…at first things were good, but he’s gotten really controlling these past few years and it’s…I dunno, he makes me feel…kinda worthless.”

I felt a chill creep through me. “He’s…abusive?” I asked, trying to be as delicate as possible.

Her eyes went wide. “Oh no! No, not like that. He doesn’t, like…hit me or anything, just…”

“Emotional abuse is…still abuse,” I said carefully, watching her for any change in her expression.

She nodded. “I know,” she said, and a single tear trailed resiliently down her cheek. “He doesn’t like me seeing my family or friends, and since I don’t drive he has to drop me off and pick me up everywhere. I’m lucky he even lets me come here in the first place,” she said, then sighed, raking her fingers through her hair. “It’s stupid, you know? Someone like me in a relationship like this…it makes no sense.”

“Do you…wanna leave?”

She sighed and nodded. “I’ve never really admitted it to anyone…but yeah, I guess. I don’t wanna be a…kept woman, you know?” she said, a few more plump tears falling to the floor below. “I just don’t know how to get out of it. Our lives are so integrated. If I go to my family, he’ll just try and come get me from my mom’s place. Cause trouble for her. And if I tell him directly…he’ll just shout at me until I agree to stay.”

“Are you…safe?” I asked.

Her eyes flashed toward me and there was no small margin of fear there. He hadn’t been physically abusive yet. But this man sounded volatile and emotionally compromised. If she stood up to him…who knew how he’d react?

“Stay with me,” I said too fast. She stared at me straight on like I had three heads. “J-Just for today. You said he’d know how to find you if you went to family right away, but if you stay with me for today while you sort things out…”

She shook her head. “That’s really sweet of you, but I’m fine. Really,” she said with a sad smile and a nod. She reached out and took my shoulder in her hand, squeezing once. “I’ll be fine.”

I furrowed my brow. “I…really don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but…someone who spends hours crying in the bathroom of a local bookstore is probably not…fine, you know?”

She was quiet a moment, still touching my shoulder gently, before she heaved a heavy sigh and shut her swollen eyes, rubbing them with her free hand. “God…,” she breathed out as more tears fell.

I shook my head and, without thinking, stepped forward to give her a hug. She startled a little at my unexpected embrace, but after a moment she eased into it and hugged me back.

I patted her shoulder blade, nodding. “It’ll be okay,” I said.

She sniffled a little. “I know.” She pulled back and examined me for a moment before smiling gently. “I’ll…come with you, if that’s alright.”

Gaeul’s eyes were glittering with tears as the girl detailed her story to her. How she’d met her boyfriend in high school and they’d been together so long they didn’t know really how to be apart. How he was a pretty good boyfriend at first, but became jealous and unstable as time went on. How he began to regulate her activities, her relationships, her finances. How before she even knew it, her life was so entangled with his that she couldn’t really break free. She explained how he’d berate her, call her names and demean her when she tried to break things off. How she started to believe him…

“I’m…so sorry,” said Gaeul, shaking her head.

The girl smiled softly and waved her hands. “Don’t be. I’m…it’s scary, but I’m glad to finally untangle myself, you know? It’ll be okay. I’ll call the police tonight and see about setting up a restraining order. And I’ll call my family,” she said, smiling. “I’ll have my mom wire me some money and I’ll stay in a hotel for a day or two until I have things figured out. I’m just…really glad that your sister stopped me today.”

I stiffened, furrowing my brow. “No, no. You don’t need to go to a hotel. You can stay here,” I said, quickly turning to Gaeul where she sat beside me at the table and raised my brows, expectant.

She jumped. “Oh! Yeah, yeah for sure. You can stay here as long as you need,” she said, nodding.

The girl shook her head. “I couldn’t-,”

“Please,” I said, taking her hand with a smile. “I really want you to. You can take my room tonight.”

She glanced at me with round eyes. “That’s okay-,”

I shook my head. “It’s getting late anyway,” I said, glancing out the window at the evening encroaching on the horizon. “It’ll be safer here anyway.”

She swallowed hard and glanced at her phone which had been lighting up like crazy the whole time she’d been in our care. She rubbed the back of her neck. “Jeez…,” she mumbled. “You’re not gonna take no for an answer are you?”

“No,” said Gaeul, shaking her head with shut eyes.

The girl smiled a little, flipped her phone over, and turned to face Gaeul and me. “Then…I may as well stay, huh?” she said with a chuckle. “Been a while since I’ve had a girls’ night anyway.”

I laughed. “We can braid each others’ hair.”

She smirked. “Yours is too short,” she said with a laugh.

Gaeul stood, smiling at our guest. “If you’re looking for a good longevity activity, I suggest helping me with my mural,” she said, gesturing toward the wall.

The girl nodded and stood to her feet. “I’d love to help,” she said with a laugh. “Makes me feel useful.”

I hummed, standing as well and padding toward the couch with them. “I’ll leave the both of you to that.”

The girl chuckled as Gaeul began preparing her painting station. “Lazy,” she joked before jumping a little. “Ah!” she said, snapping her fingers like she just remembered something. “I didn’t even get your names.”

“Oh! I’m Eunbyul and this is my sister Gaeul,” I said, gesturing toward her.

The girl bowed at each of us, smiling softly. “Nice to meet you,” she said, meeting my eyes once more. “I’m Somi.”

My footsteps were loud and clumsy on the underbrush as I struggled to keep up with Gaeul’s rapidly retreating silhouette. The trees were casting long, eerie shadows on the earth below, and I found myself caught in those shadows with every stumbling step forward as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Night was approaching from every direction, and Gaeul’s back became harder and harder to see the darker the forest became. My heart was a wavering drum beat that couldn’t seem to stay to one tempo and my palms were sweaty. I picked at the skin around my nails, calling out to Gaeul.

“Wait up!” I shouted, but by then she was too far ahead.

The woods had no trail leading directly to Auntie’s shop. You just had to…sort of know the way intuitively. And I didn’t. Gaeul had always been the fearless navigator, and in her excitement she’d gone too far ahead too fast and I couldn’t keep up with her relentless pace on my two short legs. Distantly, I heard the sound of the familiar stream cutting a line through the trees. Perhaps if I waited there for Gaeul to return, she’d find me.

But in the moment it took me to consider the option, Gaeul had disappeared entirely from view, obscured by distance and the unrelenting tree line. My chest constricted and fear seized me. I stood still, paralyzed, and began to wail, shouting for my sister to come back, shouting for someone to find me. But as moments ticked on in the twilight darkness, a horrible thought occurred to me.

If I made too much noise, who was to say Gaeul would be the one to find me?

Were there bears out here in these woods?

I didn’t know. And not knowing made it worse.

I stumbled toward the stream bed and, sobbing, collapsed beside it. I dug my hands into the mud, clenching as I cried and cried. My face was hot, body contorted uncomfortably as I sat immobile in the dirt, watching the stream flow on before me, moving forward while I stayed stagnant, too terrified to even move forward an inch.

And there I stayed until evening bled into pitch dark night.

The day felt endless. I was too frightened to venture far from the stream, thinking that if nothing else I had some water to drink even though I didn’t dare drink it. My family had to be looking for me. They had to be searching. The woods were big and it was difficult to find your way around, so maybe they were just having trouble finding me. Gaeul had been in the lead, so if she just retraced her steps they could have found me. Maybe.

I didn’t sleep. Too restless with the nighttime air and the animals skittering around in the overgrowth. But in the warm afternoon light, sitting beside the flowing stream all alone, I found sleep like a siren song and could fight it no longer. I curled up beneath one of the many trees along the stream bed and shut my tired, swollen eyes.

It was night. I knew that much. And after napping during the day, I couldn’t force myself to sleep again. Was this it for me? Had my parents really forgotten about me? Left me out here to die? I contained my tears, tromping away from the stream and into the woods, never too far to see the water over my shoulder. I didn’t know what else to do, and I’d heard somewhere that when you’re lost you’re supposed to stay in one place and wait to be found.

But it had been a full day and now a full night. I glanced up at the sky, the endless stars, the treetops swaying. It was starting to get lighter, navy blue now and lilac around the edges. Dawn was coming and still I was lost. My throat constricted. Of course, I’d known the danger the entire time I’d been lost out here, but suddenly it felt real, tangible in my dirty, grubby fingertips as they gripped rough tree trunks or pushed aside hip-high shrubbery. My skin was getting really dirty, turning from sandy tan to nearly brown with mud. I wanted to shower, to sleep in my bed, to cry to my mom, to leave the woods.

Wind howled through the trees, whistling around corners as it chilled me to the bone. Beside me, the bushes rustled and I screamed, unable to contain it. I watched in horror as the bush continued moving until after a few seconds it stilled. Likely a small animal, but I was too terrified to think logically.

All I knew was primal fear.

“There’s no end…,” I said to myself, fighting back tears. If I cried, I wouldn’t be able to see properly and then what would I do? What if a bear came along? Or a wolf?

“Yes there is,” replied a voice.

I screamed, this time a guttural screech, and fell to my knees, cowering behind my arms. But the voice didn’t continue, leaving me shaking in silence as I slowly lowered my hands and glanced up toward the source. Backlit against the bright dawn moon was a young boy with skin like honey and curious dark eyes. He blinked down at me, brows raised, and scratched at a scab on his knee, exposed by the hem of his shorts.

“You okay?” he asked, casual.

I sniffled and, without thinking, leapt to my feet and scrambled across the scrubby foliage toward him, throwing my arms around his waist and collapsing into sobs. The force of my wailing shook both of our bodies, but I couldn’t help it as tears streamed down my face, dirtying the boy’s nice polo shirt. I clawed at him, desperate to prove he was real, and shook my head, sobbing. He was surprised at first, but slowly he reached around and patted my back.

“It’s okay,” he said softly.

I backed away and looked up at him, a proper look. He did the same, and once examining me he furrowed his brow and took a half step back. “What’re you doing out here so late?” he asked, consulting his wrist watch. His eyes went wide. “Look at the time.”

He held out his wrist for me to examine.

4:02 AM.

I stiffened. “I…,” I began, but fear seized my voice and I stopped midway, shaking my head.

He scanned me, pursing his lips. “Are you lost?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Ah…,” he said with a sigh. “So am I.” He shrugged. “But there’s a way out.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Huh?” I asked, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

He raised his brows and pouted. “Hm…,” he said, gently removing my glasses and pressing the nose pads with his fingers, forcing them closer together. “Were they always this loose?” he asked.

I said nothing.

He replaced them on my nose and bent a little to stare at his work before nodding once. “Let’s find a way out, okay?” he said, holding out his hand for me to take.

I felt hot and tired and terrified, but somehow as I slipped my small, cold hand into his warm one something in me settled down. I wasn’t alone anymore. He was here too. I could rely on him.

That’s the feeling he gave me.

It was a feeling I never forgot, even as an adult. A feeling I tried and failed to find in other people.

He cleared his throat as we walked toward the stream and glanced at me frequently over his shoulder, like he was keeping an eye on me. “Um…,” he began, coughing a little. I wiped my eyes with the back of my free hand and glanced at him. “So…since the stream runs north and south, and the street runs east and west, if we follow the river then we’ll get out, alright?”

I sniffled. “Mhm.”

“So don’t cry anymore, okay?” he asked, pausing along the stream bed with knitted brows.

I nodded. “Okay,” I said, still watching the ground as he tugged me along behind him.

The walk was long, and by the time we finally reached the street the sun had nearly risen and the sky was lightening into pastel shades of purple and blue. The fresh morning felt cold on my skin, but holding the boy’s hand kept me from floating away. Watching his back made my heart settle down. Not once did I worry if perhaps he didn’t know as much as he claimed. Not once did I worry that he’d fail to find a way out.

He was the sort of person you want to believe in.

And when we finally broke through the tree line and emerged on the pavement beside the road, the boy turned to me with a wide, dimpled grin. “We did it!” he said, excitedly bouncing from foot to foot. He still held my hand.

We?

I flushed, staring up at him, and blinked. “Y-Yeah…”

He sighed, glancing over his shoulder down the street. “There’s a convenience store. I bet we could use their phone to call the police,” he said with a nod. “I’m sure your family’s looking for you.” He turned halfway to smile down at me.

I swallowed hard. “What about your family?” I asked quietly.

He raised his brows, mouth agape, before laughing and waving his hand. “Anyway, let’s go there and get help, okay?” he said, smiling.

But in that moment something changed. The memory felt less like a memory and more like…

Real life.

I furrowed my brow, glanced down at our interlocked hands, and inhaled sharply. “I…know you…,” I said, voice fatigued as if I were fighting through a thick fog. That’s how it felt, anyway.

I turned to meet his eyes and all at once he changed. Tall, broad-shouldered with dyed hair and the same dimpled smile. And there it was, there he was, there we were…

I released his hand to cup my mouth, eyes wide. “Namjoon,” I whispered, and I could hear that my voice had aged. I glanced down, noticing at once that I was wearing the same pajamas I’d worn when I’d fallen asleep on the couch.

His expression mirrored mine: eyebrows knit, eyes glassy and filled with tears, lips parted, silently staring down at me. It was so obvious now, so precisely correct. All along, he’d been the one. The one I’d compared Seokjin to. The one I’d credited with my safe return. The one I’d idolized.

The one who’d saved me.

“Byul, I-,” he began, but before he could continue, that same tugging sensation from every night returned and I yelled out in surprise.

“No!” I shouted, and finally the tears fell hot and plump down my cheeks. I shook my head, swinging my arms out to reach Namjoon.

He reached out to, both of us holding on to one another by the forearms. He met my eyes, and his own tears were falling. He shook his head. “I can’t fight it,” he said with strain, face flushed and eyes swollen.

I nodded. “I know,” I said, but the pull was getting stronger. We were waking up. I met his eyes, heartbroken, and sniffled as the tears came faster.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, and without even a second’s pause I responded.

“I love you, too,” I said, nodding once.

And just like that, the dream was over.

“I called my brother to come get me.”

It was all I had in me to turn my head a few inches to the side to see Somi standing in the doorway of my bedroom, dressed in Gaeul’s pajamas. She met my eyes and I tried to force a tight smile, but even that was impossible. All I managed was half a nod.

“No rush,” said Gaeul from where she stood in front of her mural. It was nearly done now, just a few details left to finish. Somi had worked hard.

I rolled onto my side, pulling the blanket up beneath my chin, and shut my hot, swelling eyes. I’d awoken crying and out of breath, and since then…

Well, it was taking a lot for me to even stay awake.

Somi smiled at me and maneuvered around the coffee table to join Gaeul, footsteps crinkling on the plastic tarp. “Hey,” she said quietly, the two of them standing close. “Is she okay?” she asked.

Gaeul glanced at me over her shoulder and responded in a whisper. “I…don’t really know,” she said.

I was sure they meant no harm, as Gaeul had been tossing looks at me over her shoulder since she woke up an hour earlier. But in that moment, I wished for nothing more than to just…be alone.

At about ten there was a frantic knock at the door. Still lying on my stomach on the couch, I didn’t even have the energy to lift my head, leaving Gaeul to answer the door. I heard her breeze past me and opened one eye to watch her feet pad be the side of the couch. Somi stood up from where she sat by my feet and joined Gaeul by the door. I rested my head on the pillow once more, shutting my eyes.

I heard the door open, and footsteps shuffle in, then the sound of bodies colliding, clothing shifting. They were hugging, probably. I felt more settled knowing Somi had someone reliable to help her out in the longterm. I wasn’t so sure I’d get to see her again. And, as much as I’d liked to have given her a proper send-off, if I opened my eyes too long or looked around too much, my throat would constrict and I’d cry.

Why was that?

“Jesus, Somi,” said a deep, rumbling male voice.

Huh.

Kind of familiar.

Somi sighed. “I know, I know. Save the scolding for the bus ride home,” she said, and from her tone I imagined her waving her hand, flippant.

“Thank you so much for taking care of her for the night,” said the man, and I furrowed my brow, unable to ignore it.

Gaeul chuckled. “It was really no big deal, honestly.”

Somi sighed. “I’m really grateful to Eunbyul for helping me at the bookstore.”

“Eunbyul…?” asked the man, like he knew me.

My heart rate kicked up and my eyes flashed open, staring at the floor. I could feel him looking at me. “Ah, yeah. My sister,” said Gaeul. “Sorry she’s…not feeling well.”

The man was quiet for a moment. “Ah, no worries. I…hope she feels better,” he said, and I felt again like I was standing on a precipice, about to fall over the edge.

Only now, I wasn’t so scared of falling.

I sat upright and turned to see the man’s back was facing me now, one hand on Somi’s slender shoulder as he rattled off scoldings. And I recognized him at once.

The guy from the pottery shop.

Small world.

I felt some of my energy return and gave Somi a proper smile as she glanced my way. “Ah! You’re awake!” she called, but before the stranger could turn to look my way, Somi snapped her fingers. “Shoot, I bet you wanna sleep in your bed. Let me go change and I’ll get going.”

Gaeul, standing in front of the door, jumped and followed Somi. “Ah, wait! You can change in my room. I’ll give you some spare clothes to take,” she said.

Somi rolled her eyes. “I’ve got plenty of clothes.”

“Yeah, but how’re you gonna get them?” Gaeul responded, cocking a brow.

Somi shut her mouth, clearing her throat. “Well…that is…a fair point,” she conceded with a smile. “Thanks,” she said, patting Gaeul’s shoulder.

The two walked side by side into Gaeul’s room, and both me and the stranger watched them retreat. I stared after them for a moment longer, suddenly self conscious. What were the two of us supposed to talk about on our own?

I cleared my throat and stood to my feet. Just introduce yourself, I thought, Just be normal and don’t make him feel unwelcome. I turned toward him and, slowly, lifted my eyes to meet his.

Handsome with soft features and a polite, dimpled smile, he locked his warm brown eyes on mine, running a hand through his honey blonde hair. Quickly, though, that smile slipped and his eyes went round with knowing. The weight of remembering came upon me hard like a gut punch. I felt my body go numb and, without realizing it, I fell to my knees, eyes welling with tears.

I covered my lips with both hands, tears flowing freely now. Namjoon approached, sliding in front of me, and without a single word exchanged he wrapped both arms around my shoulders. I felt his tears his my back through my thin pajama shirt. Shaking, I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his firm chest. I could really feel him, feel the warmth coming from his body, the fabric of his shirt. I could smell his cologne, feel the muscles of his back contract beneath my fingertips. He was corporeal, he was here.

“You’re real,” I said in a broken whisper, pulling away to look at his face. His eyes were red from crying and I reached out to smooth my hand against his cheek, swiping away his tears. “You’re real.”

He sniffled, nodding. “You’re real,” he whispered back.

I swallowed hard, laughing in disbelief. “I…I’m…”

He nodded. “I know.” He gently threaded his fingers through my hair and I leaned into his touch, shutting my eyes. “Ah,” he said, removing his hand from my head and reaching for the hair tie on his wrist. “You should have this back,” he said with a tearful chuckle. “Better than that rubber one you’ve been wearing.”

I joined him laughing, but as he worked a finger beneath the hair elastic to remove it, I seized his hands in mine and shook my head. “Keep it,” I said softly with a smile.

He smiled back, face red from crying, and nodded, leaning back on his heels. I mimicked his gesture, but our hands were still knotted, intertwined together. “God…,” he said.

“Yeah.”

He watched me, sitting perfectly still save for his fingertips which smoothed along the skin of my hands, and smiled. There was so much fondness in his eyes, so much that it overwhelmed me. I nearly looked away.

“T-Tell me how you’ve been,” I said, choking back a fresh wave of tears.

“Uh,” he sniffled, wiping beneath his eyes, and nodded. “I met with a professional PD yesterday morning with my roommate and he’s interested in me.”

My eyes went wide and I clamped a hand over my mouth. “Your song!” I exclaimed, pointing at him.

He laughed a little, nodding. “Yeah, he…he wants to see more of my work but my roommate says it’s pretty much decided that I’ll work with them,” he said, smiling at his lap like a bashful kid.

I reached out, cupping his face in my hands, and smiled so big it hurt my cheeks. “Namjoon, that’s so great!”

He smiled softly in response and pressed a hand against mine, chuckling. “How about you? What’s new these days?”

I thought a moment, and watched as he laced our fingers together, guiding our hands to rest against my knees. “I’m…working on making some pottery,” I said with a nod.

He raised his brows. “Really? For real?”

I laughed. “No, I’m just messing with you,” I began, then rolled my eyes. “Of course.”

He grinned. “I’m proud of you,” he said, nodding. “You’ve come a long way since we first met.”

I smiled. “You too,” I said, then hummed. “Grown about two feet too.”

He laughed, brushing his thumb against my burning hot cheek. “I can’t believe it.”

“Me either.”

Gently, he leaned forward on his knees and, now towering over me, he closed the distance between us. He pressed soft lips against mine, and I tilted my head to the side to accommodate him. He was warm, nose pressing into my cheek, hand just barely touching my jaw, not demanding, not impatient. I was certain he felt it too. That we had time. All the time we could ever need.

“You guys good out there?” called Gaeul’s voice from inside her bedroom.

Well, maybe not all the time right now.

Namjoon and I parted, but he pressed his forehead against mine. “To be continued,” he said.

I mimed gagging. “What a cliche,” I teased, but I couldn’t fight my smile.

The two of us stood to our feet and, quickly, I grabbed a scrap of paper from Gaeul’s notebook and scribbled down my number sloppily. Namjoon, brows raised, awaited my return with a smirk. I handed him the paper and met his eyes, holding onto his hand as he took my number.

“We won’t lose each other again,” I said, and I had all the conviction in the world in my voice.

Namjoon smiled softly and nodded. “What a cliche,” he responded as he examined the number fondly. He placed it carefully in the back pocket of his shorts and returned to me with a smile.

He reached out and swept me up in a hug, wrapping both arms around my waist. I held tight to his neck. “There’s still so much I wanna ask you about,” I said against his shoulder.

He chuckled, and I felt it against my own chest. He rubbed my sides gently. “We’ve got time.”

I nodded, pulling back just far enough to press a kiss against his lips. He smiled into it, holding me tightly, and pulled away so he could press a kiss into my cheek. I exhaled slowly and took a step back.

“I’ll text you right away,” he said with an eager smile.

I shook my head and glanced over my shoulder at Gaeul’s bedroom door. “Don’t,” I said. “Right now, I think Somi needs you.”

Namjoon nodded. “You’re right.”

I felt a bit guilty, being out here sharing such a profoundly happy moment during such a profoundly heavy time. And as much as I may have wanted to monopolize Namjoon now that we were finally reunited, this moment wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about us.

This moment was about him and his family.

I turned back to him with a smile, wiping the remnants of my tears from my eyes. “Take care of her, okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “I will.” He pressed a hand against my shoulder. “Thank you, Byul. For helping her.”

I shook my head. “I wish I would’ve done it sooner,” I said with a sigh, recalling the many times I’d simply ignored her cries.

Somi and Gaeul emerged from the bedroom, chatting easily. Somi held one of Gaeul’s travel bags over her shoulder, straining from all the clothes trapped inside. I chuckled and raised a brow at Gaeul.

“Oh! How are you feeling?” she asked, quick to come to my side.

I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I said, smiling at Somi. “I’m sorry I was so weird this morning. I’m better now.”

She returned the smile and, wordlessly, opened her arms for me. Laughing, I fell into her embrace and she rocked us steadily back and forth. “Thanks, kid,” she said.

I chuckled. “Don’t thank me.”

She pulled away and gave Namjoon’s shoulder a punch. “Stop looking at her like that,” she scolded and Namjoon’s face went red.

“I wasn’t looking at her,” he said through a pout.

Somi rolled her eyes. “Wipe your drool before saying goodbye,” she teased, laughing as she cast a wave over her shoulder at me and Gaeul.

I smiled, sneaking a sidelong glance at Namjoon who was indeed still looking at me with a soft, tender gaze. I followed the two of them out into the hallway and leaned a hip against the doorframe. Namjoon turned to give me one last look as Somi waved, walking backwards down the hall. He lifted his right hand in a half-wave and I returned it.

As Gaeul locked the door behind them, she gave me a knowing smirk. “So what was that about?” she asked.

I sighed and fell onto the sofa, flicking on the TV. “Nothing,” I said.

She laughed and crossed her arms, incredulous. “Don’t lie to me.”

I shrugged. “We know each other from the pottery shop,” I said, resting my feet on the coffee table. “That’s all.”

“Oh, that’s all, huh?” she teased, hopping over my legs.

I smiled. “Yeah,” I said, mostly to myself as I examined my hands, the feeling of his fingers laced through mine still lingering there. “That’s all.”

She laughed, kicking my thigh with her socked foot. “Come on and help me, if you’re just gonna sit there and lie.”

I raised my eyes to look at her. “Huh?”

“Let’s get rid of all these tarps,” she said, pointing at the ground. “I finally finished the mural.”

I laughed. “No way. You’ve got Somi to thank for that, huh?” I said, standing nonetheless and bending to remove the tape that held the plastic to the floor.

She hummed. “Mhm. I’ll have to call her up and treat her to some dinner here once the place is cleaned up,” she said, then smirked at me. “You can invite her brother.”

I laughed, but couldn’t help but ease into the comfortable feeling of being teased. Because, in the end, I’d found him. After everything, after all the drama and the pain and the fear…

I’d finally found him.

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today-we-will-survive · 5 years

Text

he calls her “sunshine”

Jimin x Reader Y/N

Fluff

Word Count: 2K

A/N: Wrote this while listening to Promise. Also, I own these boots and they may have been the inspiration for this whole fic.

It’s snowing outside and Jimin has chosen a table beside a window because he likes to take a break from beta reading every so often to stare out at it as it falls. The traffic light at the intersection in front of the coffee shop tinges the frigid, foggy air bright green and red. It’s cold outside. Below freezing. But here in the coffee shop, it’s warm, golden, untouched by the icy darkness of winter.

Jimin practically lives in this cafe since it’s so close to his apartment. He comes here most afternoons when he’s not working and usually stays until closing. He used to spend his time working on his fanfic blog on Tumblr, but about a few months ago, he became your beta reader, and you, his. The two of you have been fans of each other’s work for a long time but then he finally got the guts to message you, telling you how inspiring your work is and that you’re one of his favorites and you just about died because HOLY CRAP, YOUR FAVORITE FIC WRITER JUST TOLD YOU THAT YOU’RE HIS FAVORITE AND YOUR BRAIN SHORT CIRCUITED RIGHT THERE AND NOW YOU’RE DEAD ON THE FLOOR HOLY CRAP!!

And the two of you have been talking pretty much nonstop ever since.

“Here’s your latte.”

Jimin tears his eyes away from the snow outside to flash a grateful smile to the barista that just delivered his drink.

“Thanks, Jin,” he says and the barista smiles and gives a nod before returning to his counter.

After taking a quick sip, Jimin turns his attention back to the story on his computer screen. He’s been beta reading for you for a while now and you just sent him the final chapter in a series you’ve been working on. He’s been helping you every step of the way, giving you advice, suggesting alternatives when a scene just doesn’t quite read right. Your readers have noticed and mentioned how much better your writing has become, and the same has been happening for Jimin with his fics. The two of you have become a closely knit team of sorts. Though you’ve never actually met in real life.

Of course, Jimin has wanted to for a while now. You seem like a really cool person. Interesting, sweet, and just a touch bratty, which makes him like you all the more. You’re someone he’s found he can open up to—which is a feat in and of itself since he’s always been a bit of a private person. You’re just so easy to talk to. He’d even go so far as to say that you’ve become his best friend.

The sound of a ceramic cup shattering against the wood floor has Jimin snapping his head up, his attention torn away from his laptop. Sure, it was the sound that made him look but now something else has caught his eye. A pair of feet just three tables away, clad in combat boots, the bright yellow image of a sunflower adorning both heels. His eyes trail up a pair of legs and settle on a curtain of long hair, shrouding the girl’s face from view.

Interesting, he thinks to himself. He’s never seen a pair of shoes like hers. What kind of person would wear sunflowers on their feet in the dead of winter?

She’s sitting by herself at a table in the corner, her own laptop open, the bright screen tinging the edges of her hair silver. Her fingers are flying across the keyboard at such a speed that Jimin can’t help but stare in astonishment. A writer? A student? Who is she?

She doesn’t even look up when the barista delivers her coffee and bagel, the cup disappearing behind her curtain of hair when she finally stops typing long enough to take a drink.

She’s fascinating. And Jimin can’t bring himself to pay attention to the fic he’s supposed to be beta reading for more than a few sentences before he’s looking up at her again. He’s just waiting for her to turn her head. Tuck her hair behind her ear. Get up. Anything. He just wants to see her face. Instead, she crosses her ankles—causing one sunflower to disappear behind the other—and leans in closer to her screen.

With a huff, Jimin sits back in his own chair and crosses his arms. Why does he care so much about this? Why is it bothering him so much that in the last half hour that he’s become aware of her, she hasn’t shown her face? She’s doing a great job at minding her own business, so why can’t he? In fact, she’s still typing. She looks like she’s lost in her own little world. Like she wouldn’t know if everyone’s eyes were on her. Did she even look up when that cup fell on the floor and broke earlier?

Maybe he can do something to get her attention. Jimin sucks in a deep breath then coughs loudly, causing many eyes to dart in his direction, but not the ones he wanted. Her attention stays fixed on her laptop, her fingers never faltering as she continues typing. He lets out a sigh as he closes his eyes and rakes his hands down his face. Maybe he should stop being a creeper and watching her so intently. But when he opens his eyes again, his gaze automatically falls on her table and a gasp escapes.

Somehow in the few seconds that he had his eyes shut, she’s managed to snatch her laptop up and leave, her empty dishes still sitting there.

No way, he thinks as he cranes his neck toward the door catching a glimpse of a sunflower just before she disappears into the night. Who are you?

Y/N: So I think I’m going to post the last chapter next Friday. Do you think you’d be able to get your revisions back to me by Tuesday?

Jimin: sure, I think I can do that. I’m almost done now. I probably really only need like one more night.

Y/N: So…what do you think so far?

Jimin: I think it’s great, Y/N. I barely have any notes. Your writing has seriously improved over the course of this story.

Jimin: not that it wasn’t amazing to begin with 😅

Y/N: haha no worries. I knew what you meant. Same to you. I’d like to think I’ve had something to do with it.

Jimin: Of course you have. You’ve been a huge help.

Y/N: Same

Jimin: So, yeah, I can get it to you by Tuesday. I’m heading out now, actually so if I get it finished this evening, I can get it to you by tonight.

Y/N: That would be awesome. Thanks, Jiminie.

Jimin: No problem ☺️

Jimin is draining the last little bit of his second Americano, when someone walks by him, causing a rush of air to rustle the hair on the back of his head. He glances at the girl for only a second, a beanie pulled down over her hair and a thick scarf wrapped around her neck and the lower half of her head, before looking back down at his laptop screen again.

He’s already getting back into your story when out of the tops of his eyes, he notices a splash of bright yellow, and when his eyes dart up above his screen, he has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from letting out a gasp.

A bright sunflower peers back at him, painted on the heel of those familiar combat boots. Of course, now the owner of the boots is sitting with her back to him so he still can’t see her face as she unwinds the scarf from around her neck.

She’d walked right by him! Jimin can’t help feeling a bit frustrated. He knows it’s silly. She’s just a person. If he really wanted to, he could just walk up to her and introduce himself. But why does the thought terrify him? Why does it make him shrink back in his chair?

Maybe because he still wonders what kind of person wears boots like that? Maybe because he pictures a perfect face with sparkling, summery eyes and golden skin and freckles and a smile brighter than the sun and…maybe he’s being a bit overdramatic. Maybe this winter has been too long and too dark and he needs someone to be his light.

Just then his laptop chimes and he switches screens to view his messages.

Y/N: hey Jiminie

Jimin smiles.

Jimin: Hey Y/N-ie

Jimin: I’m almost done with this chapter :) I’ve got like five hundred words left.

Y/N: ah great! I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on it.

Jimin: you mean “read” my thoughts?

He doesn’t know that much about you other than the fact that you both live near Seoul. But Seoul is a huge city with a huge population and even though you may live near him, who’s to say you’d want to actually “hear” his thoughts instead of just read them?

Y/N: right…it would be pretty cool if we could actually like meet up in person and talk.

Jimin rubs the pads of his fingers across the keys as he reads your response. He’s had the same thought before. Several times, actually. But he was always afraid he’d come off as a creeper and that’s the last thing he wants. Finally, he just types out a simple “yeah.”

Y/N: Would it be the creepiest thing ever if I said I want to meet you in person?

Jimin: Um. No.

Jimin: Not even kind of.

Jimin: Would it be creepier if I said I’ve wanted to meet you for a while?

Y/N: yeah maybe a little

Jimin: 😑

Y/N: you know I’m teasing.

Y/N: Let’s do it then.

Y/N: Let’s meet up. What about like tomorrow or something? We could meet at a coffee shop.

Jimin: haha that would be cool. I’m at one now, actually.

Y/N: same :) I started coming to this cafe in Yeoksam a few weeks back. I really like the atmosphere.

Jimin: oh hey, that’s my neighborhood. what’s it called? We could meet up there :)

Y/N: I can’t remember the name right off hand but it has a bright yellow door.

Jimin’s fingers freeze on his keyboard. There’s no way. There are literally thousands of coffee shops in Seoul. What are the odds that you’d be at this one? The only part of his body that hasn’t grown rigid is his head and now he turns it so his eyes land on the sunny colored coffee shop entrance.

Jimin: are you serious?

Y/N: yeah?

Jimin: what are the odds of two different cafes in Yeoksam having a bright yellow door?

Y/N: …no way.

Jimin: yes way…

Jimin’s eyes dart around the room he’s in. There are three other rooms on this floor of the cafe, and two more stories. You could be anywhere.

Jimin: meet me up at the counter.

As soon as he presses enter, Jimin closes his laptop and stands up. Then for the second time in the past two minutes, he freezes, his eyes zeroing in on the girl with the sunflower boots as she jumps to her feet and spins around. She has her own laptop clutched to her chest and her gaze now falls upon him.

The two of you stand in silence for several seconds until at last, you draw in a shaky breath.

“Jiminie?”

It’s as if your words carry their own warmth and he immediately thaws at the sound of your voice.

“Uh hi,” is all he can say. Maybe he’s still too stunned to say anything more, but those two words are enough to make you smile. Jimin feels his knees go a bit weak.

The way the soft, yellow light tinges your skin, the way your smile widens, warming his insides like a summer day, the way your eyes sparkle as they hold his. He was right about you.

In this cold, dark winter, you’re a golden glimpse of sunshine.

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jeanjauthor · 5 years

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Resting Writer’s Face

Just shared a post where black men have days & places where Resting Bitch Face is a thing...and it made me think of the fact that Resting Writer’s Face is also a thing, but I did not want to hijack that thread, because it is too important in tone and content, and this is like, veering away and doing a 270 loop to go off in a different direction.

With that said...

Resting Writer’s Face isn’t quite like Resting Bitch Face.

First off, what is Resting Bitch Face? Urban Dictionary and Wikipedia both list it as essentially the expression on a face (usually a female’s) that appears to a particular viewer to be mean, contemptuous, annoyed, irritated, cold-spirited, etc...when in actuality the person (again, the vast majority being female) is actually not feeling any of those emotions, or any other emotion, really.

It’s most commonly seen in females, because of Culturally Widespread Male Expectations™ that women are supposed to smile whenever a man is near, because females are supposed to be (pressured by culture & society) constantly pleasant and be upbeat and deferential and adoring and *gagging noises*...you get the point.

When a male does not receive this “beautification” of his world, he feels robbed of what he views as the “right way” that a woman should behave in his presence, or “the way that things are supposed to be.” And when he sees a culturally beautiful woman NOT smiling, he doubles-down on how “wrong” this feels...because doesn’t everything we consume in entertainment, media, culture, society, fantasy, etc, etc, all demand that Women Exist To Make The World More Beautiful For All (even the vast majority, and thust very mediocre, of) Men? *more gagging noises*

Resting Writer Face is...a little different.

It’s not really resting, for a start.

It can actually get pretty lively, even.

The “resting” part is still valid in the sense of unconsciously doing what it is doing. Because trust me, we writers aren’t always consciously thinking of what our faces are doing when we are, well, thinking.

Specifically, thinking about plots, characters, action sequences, dialogue, and the all important How Would The Character We’re Thinking About React In Such-&-Such Circumstances.

This. Happens. All. The. Time.

It happens at home oodles and lots (I’ll get to that in a moment), but mostly Resting Writer Face is a thing when it’s done in public. Because it happens when we’re out in public, walking around between one errand and the next, between car and work, work and lunch restaurant, work and car, car and dry cleaners, pet food store, whatever, wherever. And it happens simply because we’re thinking about, as I said, plotlines, character actions & reactions, dialogue, etc.

Talking to yourself in public used to be a shameful thing. Nowadays...not so much. So many people are conducting conversations on bluetooth headsets, into their phone at frikkin way too loud volumes that they’d never use to the person standing three feet away, but they use to the person on the other end of the phone three inches from their mouth, blah blah blah...but talking to yourself isn’t automagically a sign of mental health issues.

Besides, we’re usually talking to our characters, reciting bits of dialogue to test how it sounds out loud before committing it to a story, or we’re talking out our plotlines, or we’re poking at said plotlines or a particular scene to see where the holes are and whether or not we can patch them, or finding that perfect bit of clever dialogue that will goad one of the protagonists into slapping the speaker in outrage...

(My absolute favorite of that particular last one was from an old fanfic of mine, wherein one character goaded the other into slapping him by deliberately making their relationship derogatory by calling it nothing more than “a slap and tickle”...and ohhh boy, did she slap him! He honestly did not want to be horrid to her, but needed to get her to avoid him for a while out of pure plot reasons, so it worked very well. But I digress.)

However, even though it’s no longer publicly shamed, talking in public is still somewhat discouraged. So, a lot of us writers will go about our business thinking through the possible thoughts and dialogues and perfect one-liner quips for that dramatic moment in the story arc. We don’t say anything aloud, but we think it.

And that’s when Resting Writer Face comes into play. Because if we’re really invested in trying to find the perfect response, the perfect, “If ___ happens, then I (my character) would react in ___ way.”

And a lot of the time...our faces show those emotions, the grunts and grimaces, the scowls and grins, all in a mental rehearsal of our characters’ physical and emotional actions, reactions, and efforts...showing up unconsciously or subconsciously, or barely consciously, barely cognizantly, on our faces.

When we’re typing in front of a computer screen and another member of the household drops in on us and sees the Sometimes Very Scary Expressions our faces contort into during the mental gymnastics of feeling and thus recording the emotions we’re writing onto the .doc page (non-writers have no idea just how exhausting writing can be, for all it’s often “purely mental” in effort)...well, the first few times can actually be rather alarming for that other person.

I’ve had housemates and family members and friends all ask me if everything was okay, if I was mad at them, or upset at something they had done, and I”ve had to quickly break off what I was writing, give them a quick polite lighthearted expression, and reassure them, “No no, I’m (everything’s) fine! I’m just writing a really intense bit in my story! (No, really!)”

The first few times this has happened, I apparently looked pretty darn scary, and had to reassure them a few times that my Resting Bitch Face scowl or glare or whatever was actually Resting Writer Face, which is an actively emoting thing. That the emotions on my face weren’t my emotions.

By the fifth or sixth time I was getting interrupted...the other person usually just blinked, thought a moment, and asked “Writing hard?” and that was that, because yes, I was...and I’d usually stop and chat, or say, “Gimme a few moments” as I tried to get the thoughts in my head onto the page...which could sometimes stretch on to several minutes and I’d have to type some keywords to help me remember, or they’d say they’d come back later, and once I got it all out of me, I’d have to go look for them to find out what they wanted.

But that’s at home at the computer...so it’s obvious that I was writing. (clicketyclacking of the keyboard keys, etc, etc...)

When writers are out in public and our minds are busy with Writing Thoughts...we get Resting Writer Face. And by that, I mean Resting in the sense of relaxing our usual vigilance about Conforming To Cultural/Societal Expectations For Facial Expression Matching Publicly Acceptable Moods.

I’ve scared people by having Resting Writer’s Face about some fight scene, verbal or physical, while walking past those poor folks in public. Most of the times when I notice I’m scaring folks, I just quickly assume a more pleasant expression, or even say something along the lines of, “I’m not actually angry; I’m just thinking about something in a story I’m writing.” Which either gets me a “Ohhh, cool!” expression of relief or the Dubious Side-Eye of “Oookaaay, Weirdo” as they move quickly on their way.

...On the bright side, when I’m in dubious surroundings (catcalling males, or dimly lit sidewalks in less than safe areas, mostly), I will adopt a cross between Resting Bitch Face and Resting Writer Face. I will deliberately think about my protagonists being tough and badass and competently dangerous...and let those emotions and facial expressions take over. Not just my face, but the way I walk, the way I stand, the way I carry and present myself in a particular space. (I’ve actually even managed to get men to move out of my path by Doing This One Weird Trick.™ (lol))

I’ve also caught myself doing this to quell anxiety about things, like “What if a car crashes in front of me? How would I react to that?” or “what if someone tries to rob the bank while I’m in it?” or “What if someone at a nearby table in this restaurant starts choking? What is the Heimlich Maneuver again?” so on and so forth. These things are the stuff that isn’t even going to go into a book, but we’re still thinking it through.

Actually, a lot of people do this last one, not just writers...but I’ve found it’s most prevalent as part of what it’s like being a writer. And I’d definitely say the one group of people who are guaranteed todo it far more often than even writers do are actors. Because that’s their job, as actors.

So. Resting Writer Face. What it is, why it happens, how it differs from Resting Bitch Face, etc, etc.

Just remember that most of the time, we writers aren’t even aware that we’re doing it. We’re too caught up in the stories in our heads, both in trying to make them, and in testing how they play out, to see if any changes need to be made. And that’s not a bad thing!

I mean, if we’re working out a troublesome plot point (”How does my male protagonist get the female to ignore him for a month, so that the bad guys don’t try to kill her because of her interest in me? ...ooh, how about he makes her slap him, very publicly??”(or for whatever reason)), then it means we’re trying to make the story better.

And that’s a great thing for our readers...even if we make people a little wary of us at times during the story creation stages. At least, until they get used to the Writer Things™ we do.

...Also, this is why writing isn’t just what we do when we’re physically writing out the story. A lot of writing takes place in our heads before the words ever hit the page.

And because nobody pays us what everyone assumes writers get paid (not even 10% of what people assume, tbh), we usually are stuck doing all this hard mental word whenever we have a moment to spare...which includes when we’re out and about in public, doing our day job, running errands, buying groceries, you name it.

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littlepurinsesu · 6 years

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A Happy Ending

Title: A Happy Ending Fandom: Princess Tutu Characters: Fakir, Ahiru Relationship: Fakir/Ahiru Rating: General Warnings: None

*Read on AO3*

Summary: ‘But what do you want? What is the story that you wish for? Stop thinking only about granting happy endings to others and start thinking about yourself for once. Spin your own story. Create your own world. Write your happy ending.’

Author’s Notes: My re-entry into the world of fanfiction after many, many years. And I'm only posting it now.

I'd stopped writing for pleasure during the final years of high school and somehow never came back to it again... until I finished watching Princess Tutu. This anime inspired me to pick up my pen again (more like place my fingers on the keyboard again) after so many years of neglecting one of my biggest hobbies. I wouldn't say I'm entirely happy with how this story turned out, but it's an important one to me as it marks my first piece of creative writing for myself after being drowned in academic writing for so long. Would I have written some parts differently or done things another way if I approached this now? Probably. But I have no intention of changing anything, and will just let this little piece rest here with my collection of new fanfics. As a record of how my writing was when I rediscovered my long-lost passion, if you may.

I'd thought this fic would never see the light of day, but here it is, in all its rusty glory. A reminder to myself that I came to read, but I stayed to write.

Once upon a time, there was a man who began writing a story.

The man granted happy ending upon happy ending, crafting a world in which all characters could live life as they desired. And when he immersed himself in his bouts of creative labour, she never strayed from his line of vision. The single feather standing upright atop her head and the tiny flutter of her wings were constants in his life that reminded him of why he wrote.

He wrote because of her. She was his muse.

The man had moved on from his inability to spin stories that were not about her, but he held dearly to the loving hope that had emitted from her tiny body the day he had written Drosselmeyer’s story out of its predestined tragic ending. Since that day, he had tucked the feeling of that warm light safely within the depths of his heart, and turned to it for guidance during those dark times when his quill would hover above his parchment, lost and doubtful. The man would have been content to write story after story about the gentle affection he felt whenever she smiled, or the burning desire in his chest whenever he looked into her eyes, but he had a duty to lead the townspeople to the happy endings they yearned for.

He never forgot the decision he made when he tore apart Drosselmeyer’s mechanism, the very device that gave birth to the tragedy that the twisted man so loved. Reducing the godly contraption to nothing but a cluttered pile of gears and wiring, he had vowed to take it upon himself to write the rest of the story by his own hand and give people the wings they needed to live as freely as they pleased.

But when he tried to write of prosperous villages and harmonious townsfolk, his hand would sometimes stray. And before he realised, the ink spilling from the tip of his quill would begin to engrave words evoking the images that would seep into his mind when he allowed it to wander. The playful flick of her hair, the subtle upward curve of her lips, and the bright sparkle that illuminated her eyes. The way her voice would crack a little when she became visibly excited, and the way she landed in a pile of jumbled limbs whenever she tried to move faster than her petite body could carry her. The soothing warmth of her chest pressed against his, the very first time he had written a story about her, called out her name, and caught her in his arms. And the tiny vibrations her body would make whenever she groomed her silky feathers, nestled comfortably in his lap, her tiny frame fitting so easily as if the place were made for her and her only.

These musings had no plot—there was no beginning, no middle, and no end. Only a stream of disconnected memories that he kept locked away in the deepest crevices of his mind. And when the fear of exposure dawned upon him, the man would tear the page out and shred it to pieces.

He was the writer, the spinner of stories, and the incoherent digressions of his heart were only a hindrance—no, a shame—to his duty.

Autor had often complained begrudgingly over the basket of stale bread and bottled milk he brought during his visits. The bespectacled Drosselmeyer enthusiast kept the man from forgetting to eat and sleep, perhaps taking this chance to indirectly exercise some authority over the gift he had missed out on. It was probably more out of a futile attempt at feigning importance in the grand scheme of things (‘Seriously, how would the world go on if I wasn’t here to keep you from starving yourself?’), but the man didn’t mind. Autor was not without his wisdom, and sometimes, he would share this with him in his usual condescending tone.

‘You’ve created a hopeful new world with your powers. You’ve created happy endings for countless people. You’ve created life, but life itself is draining out of your very own soul.’

The man hadn’t bothered to protest; Autor meant well, and was probably right. The prince he had sworn to protect had returned to his story with Rue, Princess Tutu’s mission had ended and she had ceased to appear again in this world. A knight who had long since cast away his sword in favour of his quill now pledged his service to the people of the town. There was no longer an epic crisis which required his hand to bring about salvation, so his duty now was to make sure that the people continued to freely live the happy endings they desired and deserved. And if writing happy endings could give people what they wished for, then the man was willing to devote himself to write for as long as he could.

‘But what do you want?’ Autor had blurted out in exasperation during one of his last visits. ‘What is the story that you wish for?’

‘A story… that I wish for?’

‘Yes. Stop thinking only about granting happy endings to others and start thinking about yourself for once. Spin your own story. Create your own world. Write your happy ending.’

He thought of a tiny bundle of velvety yellow feathers, warm under his touch and quivering with life. Of a clumsy figure bursting with vigour as she bounded from one place to the next, her candid laughter echoing in her wake. Of an elegant dancer, whose every movement spoke of grace, and whose every leap seemed to bring her closer to the glory of the heavens above.

Of her.

And so the man began to write. There would be a beginning when she would resume the guise of a human girl, a middle when they would find each other again, and an ending when…

His quill stopped mid-sentence, ink pooling and seeping into the extra pages beneath.

He tore the piece of parchment from the pile. It had nothing but a vague and disoriented sequence of events and empty descriptions of a world he could not have—futile attempts at allowing himself a happy ending, and they brought him embarrassment at his own selfishness. After all, what kind of closure could he possibly craft for the two of them, when he had thrown away that dream on the day he decided to forbid himself from writing the happy ending he secretly craved?

Perhaps Drosselmeyer’s ghost had heard his thoughts, or maybe some other godly figure of authority with a more skillful set of hands than he, as a gust of wind promptly snatched the page from his hand before he could destroy it. The man grabbed blindly at the air, feet tangling and eyes fixed ahead of him as he watched the parchment land on the surface of the tranquil lake. Water seeped through the parchment, the blurred contours of his senseless imagination mocking him. Air and then water met the soles of his shoe as he unwittingly stepped straight through the surface of the glassy mirror in his blind fumbling, landing with an unceremonious splash. He thought he caught a quick glimpse of blurred yellow and two orbs of crystalline blue turning in his direction before his vision was completely clouded.

The water was frigid, chilling him to the bone as he sank deeper into its shadowy depths. Funny, the lake had seemed almost shimmery and translucent from the safety of his little wooden platform, yet now all he could see were foggy distortions of light and shade. It was pointless to try and retrieve that piece of parchment now. The water had already claimed the ink as its own, and he was left with nothing but the fond visions and memories of her, flapping, changing, swimming…

He searched the haze above for two webbed feet, those that paddled beside him when he wrote by the lake, their soft swishing sound the most comforting music a writer could ask for. But there was mostly just grey, quite a bit of black, an occasional patch of blue where the sunlight could still reach, and there was… white. Somewhere in the distance above him, a glimmering smear of white. Its light was bright enough to make him close his eyes, but it was welcoming, almost beckoning him to reach out and wrap his fingers around it. He extended his hand blindly and caught it in his palm.

The light was as warm as he imagined, yet somehow more firm than he was expecting. There was a gentle tug, followed by a more sturdy pull, and the man opened his eyes to meet a pure white tutu and strawberry blond hair, and eyes as blue as the frosty water around him, but warm enough to tingle in his soul and enliven his senses.

He would have gasped, or even pulled back. But then again, this had to be a dream—a hallucination of his, right? Her pendant—the last heart shard—had been given back to Mytho, who had returned to the world of his own story. She had no necklace now, and the enchanted ballerina looked almost strange without her usual accessory resting against the skin of her chest.

Come to think of it, why wasn’t he thrashing about and struggling for air? It must have been an illusion after all, the final moments when a person’s life flashed before his eyes. The man was staring his death in the face, and his death was absolutely breathtaking. If this was but a mere fantasy, he would be content to die if that meant he could relive these final moments as the happy ending he had once only dared to dream of.

‘Please, won’t you dance with me?’

She never opened her mouth, but her eyes spoke her signature words with the way they softened at the edges, just like the way they did each time she would charm a shard of the prince’s heart into a pas de deux of love and hope.

Right, they had danced together like this before, submerged in the depths of water. It had been in the Lake of Despair, he remembered now, when Drosselmeyer had made his forceful attempt at thrusting his ideal tragedy upon them through the man’s unwilling hands. That time, he had lifted her, spun her round and round, cradled her in his arms, and dipped her into a split. He had looked intently into her eyes and held her gaze tenderly as he assured her that he would stay by her side forever. He had been prepared for the end, and this here was yet another end. Their end. No, his end.

Were their dances always destined to take place when the end was in sight?

But this time was different, wasn’t it? How could he possibly be drowning in despair when he was feeling such warmth rising in his chest, when the figure holding his hand was smiling so lovingly at him? Could he truly say that he was falling into darkness when his heart soared with joy at each movement, each step of the pas de deux they were engaged in now?

Light began to seep into his vision, brightening his surroundings. If dying meant that his ascension to Heaven would be guided by the presence at his side, he would happily welcome death. Maybe he could finally allow himself to be just a little bit selfish, as Autor had indignantly advised, and drown himself in his world. The world he wished for. Yes, this was his happy ending, he decided, as the ballerina lifted his arm and brought him into the blinding light.

He wanted to call out to her, to ask where she would go, to ask if he could ever see her again after this dance ended. But when he opened his mouth, he could only let out a cough, then a splutter, and then he was gasping for oxygen, his back pressed against the warm wood and his head almost touching the leg of the chair he had been sitting on… some time ago. Time had seemed to flow in slow motion, and he had lost all track of it during the timeless moment in which he had encountered the world he wished for, danced with his dream, and held his happy ending in his arms.

‘Fakir!’

When he finally lifted himself onto his elbows and took in the sight of her—wet hair plastered down the side of her face, droplets trickling down her naked body, eyes shining with love and hope—he knew that this was not his happy ending after all. She leapt, arms extended and face split into a wide and toothy grin. And as she landed in his embrace, he understood.

This was only the beginning, and they had an entire future ahead of them to live out as many happy endings as they wished.

#princess tutu #fakiru #fahiru #fakir #ahiru #mine #writing #creative writing #fanfiction #fanfic #prose #can't believe i'm posting this for real #the shame and the embarrassment lmao #crawls into a hole

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nickireadstfc · 7 years

Text

The Raven King, Chapter 4 – Andrew Does Shit No One Expects Him To, Pt. 2

In which Orange Sportsball finally starts to form into something resembling teamwork, the Foxes drag Neil for “I’m fine”, I suggest a quality mascot design, and Neil pulls some sweet stunts, only to be dramatically and jaw-droppingly out-stunted by Andrew ‘Extra’ Minyard.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Raven King.

GUESS WHO’S FCKNG BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have risen from the ashes of my shattered laptop, finally ready to once again bring you the foxy shitpost content you love and deserve. I’m writing this from a Dell brick that probably came out while I was still in elementary school and weighs as much as a small child, but I don’t care. It has a keyboard and a screen and Microsoft Word, and that’s all that matters.

Back not with a fizzle, but with a bang: I bring you an event filled with drama, shade and Extra, brimming with excitement and recklessness –

The first actually epic Exy game of this series: Palmetto State vs Belmonte University.

(This is a tad longer to make up for lost time, so strap yourselves in.)

They were driving back after the game instead of checking into a hotel for the night. (…) They could have just hired a driver like most schools did, but Wymack was almost as leery of dealing with outsiders as his Foxes were. It was apparently better to be uncomfortable but safe than to trust a stranger with his fractured team.

This is ya friendly reminder that Wymack is a badass protective mother hen and deserves everything good in this world. My dude :’)))))))))) #dicksoutforwymack

They stopped for gas and a bathroom break, stopped again for a quick dinner, and crossed a time zone on their way to Nashville.

And this is ya friendly reminder that American is large as hell. DIFFERENT TIMEZONES. IN THE SAME COUNTRY. How is this a real place.

They arrive at the stadium and Neil is once again faced with his worst enemy (besides new clothes):

Communal showers.

The only reason the Foxes had private stalls on the men’s room was because Wymack specifically commissioned them. Neil forcibly focused back on the task at hand. First he had to survive the game, then he could worry about the showers.

I initially wanted to make fun of the fact that this is a real sentence, but actually I kind of understand what it’s like to not want to show parts of your body to everyone, so. He gets a pass.

Also, the idea of trans!Neil just does not leave my head. I want a billion pieces of fanart/fanfic now.

It’s almost game time!

Neil didn’t see the Vixens, the Foxes’ all-girls cheerleading squad, or their mascot Rocky Foxy.

The have a fucking mascot??? Oh my actual God. What is it, an oversized Fox? Complete with a jersey, a black eye and a big FUCK YOU spelled on its forehead to match the team?

Why have we never heard of this before, this is the best thing ever.

[Belmonte’s Terrapin mascot] stopped a safe distance back from their benches to make a couple crude thrusts at them. Nicky was happy to return it until Wymack swatted him upside his head.

Oh Nicky, never change. <3

Kevin pulled one of his racquets free, fingered the strings like they might have come loose on the drive, and went over to the court walls. He didn’t spare the crowd a single look; all he cared about was right in front of him.

And if you look to your left, you’ll see Kevin being his usual Exy-obsessed, stoic and mighty self.

Also ahehehehe… Fingered. Hi, I’m 12.

As they are getting ready, Neil gets some sweet advice from Kevin – basically, only do boring ass gameplay until the second half and then go so hard you and I both bust a nut, also Andrew should realistically collapse field from withdrawal but he’ll probably hold up through sheer ego alone.

Sounds legit and like there could be nothing going wrong with it, at all.

We also briefly meet Katelyn, Aaron’s crush and – as I’m guessing – probably his date for the banquet thingy they’ve got coming up soon.

(You think I forgot about that, didn’t you. I never forget about opportunities for Fox banter, dress-up and hilarious social situations.)

However it’s not entirely a fun encounter as it’s time for another episode of our popular show What The Actual Fuck, Andrew?:

“Oh.” Andrew slapped his fist into his palm as if the answer had just occurred to him. He flashed Matt a wicked grin but answered in German. “Maybe he’s afraid she’ll die on him like the last woman he really loved.”

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, ANDREW. Also, what the actual fuck, backstory. I need it now.

No time to ponder on it, it’s game time, fuckers!

We’re kicking things off a bit unusual – literally:

Neil listened for a serve that didn’t come. For a second he was afraid Allison would lock up and refuse to move. He was halfway to Herrera before he heard the distinctive thump of a ball against Andrew’s oversized racquet. Allison had served it back to him, and Andrew smashed it up the court toward the strikers.

Have I mentioned how much I love functioning teamwork amongst my children? Because fuck, yeah.

Have I mentioned what I also love? Some good ass Kevin/Neil Exy action.

The only bright point was realizing his lessons with Kevin were paying off. (…) Passing wasn’t what Neil wanted to do in this game, but he could already see how he was improving. His shots were harder and more accurate, and it took him less time to figure out where to throw.

My beb :) improving :) being taught by Kevin because Kevin sees the heaps of potential in this boy and wants to make him the best he can :) I’m fine :)

Wymack (…) send out his substitutes. Neil wasn’t between Kevin and the door, but Kevin detoured past him anyway on his way out.

“Destroy him”, he said.

Neil felt like he’d been waiting for this all his life. “Yeah.”

Fuck yEAH :’)))))))))))

(Again, reminding you all that I am passionate multishipper who gets into p much any ship if dynamics present themselves unto her, unless they are super problematic. If I make any comments about ships you don’t like – cool, we all have our own tastes but please don’t send me rude comments about it.)

From that point on, my friends, the game finally catches me and holds my attention way more than the first game did. It’s on, you guys. Passes are flying left and right and our faves are working together, I really cannot stress enough how much I love functioning teamwork.

And then, of course, Neil pulls This Shit™:

He knew Herrera was right behind him for a body check. If he got crushed between the wall and Herrera, he’d lose the ball in the fight. Neil caught the ball right off the wall but didn’t try to protect it. Instead, he gave the butt of his racquet a hard pop with one fist. It sent the ball flying straight up out of the net. He dropped to his knees in the same breath.

He almost wasn’t fast enough. Herrera crashed into him at full speed a half-second later, but Neil wasn’t where Herrera was expecting him to be. He tripped over Neil’s body and (…) crashed into the wall head-first. (…)

Neil scooped the ball up and took off for goal. (…) He looked only at the goalkeeper and knew he was going to score. He put all of his first-half frustration behind his swing. The goalkeeper swatted at it and missed. The wall lit up red to confirm the point.

FFFUCKKK YEAHHH. This is the most badass shit he’s done since The Talk Show Incident™ (although nothing tops that ofc) and I am way proud of my son.

Also, Neil dealt with that backliner how I deal with my responsibilities: Letting them come at me full-speed and then swiftly ducking out of their reach.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Not before long, the first half is over and they’re at an even score! Amazing, wonderful, 100/10 proud mama right here.

Neil couldn’t feel his feet, but he assumed they were down there somewhere. The shoulder he’d hurt in the first half was still throbbing thanks to the well-aimed blows of his new backliner mark.

What a fucking asshole move. Oh, you’re already injured there? Let me hit you a couple extra times, just for good measure, just to really fuck you up.

Remember that thing about Andrew staying off his meds, and how it’s going totally well? Yeah.

Andrew stood a silent stone in their midst, looking a thousand miles away from all of this. He was a vacuum his teammates rowdy cheer couldn’t touch.

“Stop it.” (…)

Andrew slid a bored look Neil’s way. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Exactly,” Neil wanted to say, but he knew it was a senseless argument. He didn’t have the right words for that gnawing feeling in his stomach.

Ah yes :)))

Wymack shows up and scolds them for not pushing harder earlier, yadda yadda, team talk. And then, I present to you the genuinely funniest thing to happen this chapter:

Abby came to Neil last and stayed with him, feeling the line of his shoulder armour through his jersey. “How are you doing?” (…)

“I’m fine.”

Nicky fist-pumped in triumph. “Thank you for being so predictable, Neil. You just scored me ten bucks with two words.”

Matt look up. “Are you serious? Who the hell bet against you?”

Nicky jerked a thumb at Kevin. “There’s a sucker born every minute.”

I am hOWLING. I cannot believe they bet on his “I’m fine” oh my god this is the bEST.

DRAG. HIM.

The running gag of Neil “I’m fine” Josten will never not make my day. Neither will the Foxes’ obsession with betting on everything. I LOVE IT.

Kevin, never able to be anything but serious, drags him even more, but not in a fun way:

“You’re an idiot. Do you see this?” he brandished his left hand at Neil. (…) “Injuries are not a joke. They are not something to gloss over. (…) If you ever say ‘I’m fine’ about your health again, I will make you rue the day you were born.”

Yikes.

Abby eyed Neil. “I’ll ask again, then. Are you okay?”

“I’m –“ It was too automatic a response. (…) “It’s just sore. So long as I can keep my mark off my right side I’ll be – okay.”

Matt laughed at the near-miss. “I don’t see this experiment ending well, Neil.”

“Some people are just hardwired to be stupid,” Wymack said.

I’m literally loving every single thing about this.

Fun times over, they go back on the field for second half, where Neil sits out on the sidelines at first and uses this opportunity to talk about his favourite subject: Andrew.

“Why does Andrew do this?” Neil asked, unable to stay quiet any longer. “If he doesn’t care about Exy, what’s the point of going through this every Friday?”

“Would you want to be crazy high every day of your life?” Matt asked.

No, but in my opinion, that still doesn’t add up. He could have probably picked any day to go meds-free, Wymack would have taken him anyways – I don’t know, pick every Sunday or every Monday or every Wednesday after lunch, it doesn’t matter. Why Exy?

The only logical reason to pick Exy days over other days is the possibility that – shocking! – Andrew does care about this dumb sport after all.

Excited for the final explanation of this. I have a hunch there’s still more to it.

In other news – my feelings:

The Foxes were notorious for their shoddy teamwork, so most people forgot they were a Class I school. (…) If the Foxes could get over their differences and learn to compromise every once in a while, they’d be a formidable force. (…)

Neil wanted to be part of this evolution. He wanted to feel the team click into perfect synchrony, even if it lasted only a moment.

Give me all that good teamwork, and give it to me now.

The Terrapins came as hard as they could, but the Foxes shoved back with a ferocity the home team wasn’t expecting. They were exhausted, but Matt rallied the defense around him and Neil had permission to run himself ragged on the offense. (…) Every minute on the court brought him one minute closer to saying goodbye to Exy forever. He didn’t want to miss a single second.

As always, angst is the best motivator.

They’re all getting fired up and playing their hearts out when we near the most dramatic part of the game – the Foxes in the lead by one point, sixty seconds left on the clock. And then –

Eight seconds from the end a terrapin striker got the ball. Aaron ran after him, but he was too exhausted to close the gap. The striker’s ten steps took him all the way to the foul line for his shot.

Oh shit.

The goal was too wide and Andrew too small; there was no way Andrew could stop a shot this close-range. (…) Even if Andrew could get there fast enough, the ball was too low to the ground for him to swing his massive racquet.

Oh. Shit.

Except Andrew was moving before the striker finished taking his shot, as if he already knew where the striker was going to aim, and he didn’t even try to swing. He threw himself at the ground as far over as he could and slammed his racquet down between the ball and the goals so hard Neil heard wood crack all the way across the court. He was just fast enough; the ball hit the taut strings of his racquet and bounced off.

OH SHITTTTTTTTT!!!!! BOI!!!!!! THE FUCK!!!!!! IM YELLING!!!!

This is exactly the sort of Extra and Dramatic Shit™ I was missing.

HOLY SHIT, WHAT A SAVE.

And with that, the game is over, FUCK YEAH.

Andrew, of course, is now completely done.

Kevin didn’t have to ask what was going on. He’d lied to cameras for years and knew how to buy Andrew time. (…)

Andrew let go with one hand and gestured. Kevin gestured back as if having an actual conversation. The only sound either of them made was the desperate gasp of air through clenched teeth as Andrew tried not to get sick in front of the crowd.

Cool move, actually. They seem to have done this before? I continue being beyond intrigued by their dynamic.

The rest of the team fell in around them, bringing the celebration to their strikers and forming an impromptu barricade around their fallen goalkeeper.

Team <333

Protect that smol sick bastard, he just saved all your asses.

They get Andrew off the court safely, and with that, it’s good things all around.

Neil had never seen Wymack smile like this. It was small but fierce, as angry as it was proud. “That’s more like it. Draw sticks and figure out who’s helping me fend off the press. The rest of you get your sticky, stinky asses to the showers.”

What a DAD. Love him.

“Renee and I will handle it,” Dan said as they headed to the locker room. “Neil, you can use the girls’ showers while we’re busy.”

Neil stared at her. “What?”

Dan frowned at him, so Matt explained. “There aren’t stalls here.”

LET ME FUCKING LOVE YOU. I cannot get over this move, what the hell, that is so sweet.

Foxes being there for each other :’) I’m fine :’)))))))))))))

Neil had noticed, but he hadn’t thought his teammates would. That they had, and that they were doing something about it, knocked the wind out of him. He tried to answer, but he didn’t know what to say. The best he managed was, “Is that really okay?”

“Kid, you’re killing me,” Nicky said. “Why do you always get that deer-in-the-headlights look when someone does something nice for you?”

Yet another installment in our popular series Neil Doesn’t Realize People Actually Care About Him, episode 4 of a billion!

Before we finally leave this long-ass trip of a chapter, Andrew briefly joins Wymack, Andrew, and Andrew’s new best friend Johnnie Walker Blue for a chat:

“Why did you pay for stalls, Coach?”

Wymack lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe I knew you’d need them one day.”

Andrew smiled around the mouth of his bottle. “Neil is a walking tragedy.”

“You’re a pretty pathetic sob story yourself,” Wymack said.

Smol beans :’) bonding over how fucked up they are :’) love em.

Also #dicksoutforwymack, all day, every day. Maybe I knew you’d need them one day, holy shit, please have my platonic babies.

Andrew headed for the door, but Neil put a hand in his path. “How did you do it? How did you know where to go?”

“Coach said Watts always takes his penalty shots to the bottom corner. With the game riding on him he was bound to do the same.”

Neil stared at him, startled and disbelieving. (…) It’d been an off-the-cuff remark amidst a lot of other information. Neil hadn’t thought Andrew was even paying attention to Wymack’s spiel.

Well, my dude, seems like someone gives more fucks than we all were starting to think. OF FUCKING COURSE. I’m still grinning my face off writing this.

And with that, they’re off, back on the bus home, and we’re letting this chapter ring out but some good ol’ Neil “Oh shit, what’s this, good feelings, get them away from me” Josten.

As he listened to them, Neil realized he was happy. It was such an unexpected and unfamiliar feeling that he lost track of the conversation for a minute. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this included or safe. It was nice but dangerous.

Someone with a past like his, whose very survival depended on secrecy and lies, couldn’t afford to let his guard down. But as Nicky laughed and leaned closer to talk about one of Neil’s goals, Neil thought maybe he’d be okay for just one night.

:’))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Nicki out.

If you like what I do here and you want to help me continue writing, please consider buying me a coffee (or two)! Thank you so much <3

#trk #the raven king #aftg #all for the game #nora sakavic #nicki reads tfc #dicksoutforwymack #GUESS WHOS BACK BACK AGAIN #I MISSED YALL WHAT IS UP

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behindthespotlightfic · 7 years

Text

chapter 13

(Behold, the longest -and longest to write- chapter of this fanfiction! Apologies for taking so much time to get this done, end of school year was hard but here we are, and hopefully I’ll have more time from now on. There are lots of references to Be my getaway, another RHCP fanfic I’m sure you know by now. Enjoy!)

Tulsa, Oklahoma. January 14, 2017, 8pm.

I’m in the dressing room, putting on some jeans and a comfy tee. The sky of the city is getting darker, and the show begins in an hour and a half. To everyone waiting outside the arena, it may seem a lot of time, but inside, the ones who will be delivering the concert are already warming up and getting ready, because we all know time flies by and in the blink of an eye we’ll be onstage.

But someone seems to have forgotten that. Finn opens the door without a hint of shame, and smiles when he sees me.

“Perfect”, he starts, “I was fearing Jane would still be here, but it seems I was wrong.”

“Yes, she left about ten minutes ago.”

“Right.”

He doesn’t say anything else; he’s suddenly lost for words, not something usual. I try to help.

“So, why are you here?”

Finn lowers his gaze. He’s not in his usual playful mood, but he’s not sad or frustrated or angry, he’s moving and talking in a kind of… tender way. He caresses my cheek with the back of his hand, slowly holding me in his arms.

“I just wanted to see you. I know this isn’t the ideal moment to meet, not exactly, but I feel like haven’t been with you in a long time, besides spending our nights together.”

“That’s something”, I smile.

“Yeah, it’s something. But we spend so many time apart from each other during the day, because you’re with your friends and I’m with mine and I just…”

“Join us, Finn!” I say then. “Two days ago we were having lunch at a Japanese and I missed you, I really thought it would be great to have you there.”

“Yes, but…” He reaches out to kiss me. “I prefer being the two of us alone. It’s more intimate.”

“Uh… right.” He’s taken me by surprise, and he sees it.

“I… I just ask for a few more dates, Amy. I need more time with you.” He hasn’t lost his smile, but it’s soft and subtle. And there’s a hint of sadness.

I wrap him in a hug, and whisper in his ear.

“Hey.” I search for his eyes, those hazel eyes that melt me every single time. “Look at me.”

He looks up, and I join our lips in a kiss that, hopefully, says it all about both of us. It’s a kiss that says: “I will do anything for you. I don’t want you to feel any kind of distance between us.”

“How about tonight?” I suggest, when we break apart.

“And tomorrow morning” he adds.

“...And tomorrow morning.”

We smile, our faces almost touching, and, running my hand through his hair, we leave the dressing room.

And then we go live.

___

It feels good, to have this routine. It feels good because it’s something I can always rely on; it’s a safe, special universe I return to again and again, and it never stops being as magical as the first day. In some kind of way, each and every concert is different. It doesn’t matter if they always play Californication, Give It Away, Go Robot… it’s always a new experience.

Tonight, it’s a classic setlist of this tour: Right now, the camera is focused on Josh, who’s playing a solo in Wet Sand. Such a great song, Wet Sand. Many people don’t really like Stadium Arcadium, but I think it’s one of their greatest albums… or maybe it’s just that I’m partial to it because it was the one that allowed me to meet them. Back in 2007, when the Chilis were about to start their last half of the Stadium Arcadium tour, with a few backing musicians (that’s when Josh started playing with them as well), I met their long-time drum tech, Chris, who went on to be the man behind their synths and keyboards as well. He worked for a few months in England with the band I was with, an up-and-coming indie formation named Florence + The Machine (who actually ended up being really successful, but I didn’t stay for long), and he invited me to attend one of the Red Hot Chili Peppers shows. I didn’t even go backstage or anything, he just gave me a ticket, and that was all. It remained a thing of the past until 2011, when I got to know he had told them about me, and the team offered me the job I’m in now. The rest is history, but that concert made me curious and I checked out a few of their albums. Stadium Arcadium, obviously, was the one that stuck up with me the most, as I remembered some of their songs, and it still is. They don’t play many songs from that album though, apart from Snow and Dani California, so when it’s time for one it makes me happy.

Two songs go by, and the climax of Californication gives me that rush I love again. When I’m working, I feel like both a part of the audience and a part of the band. That movement I know so well, those little gestures I’m so familiar with, it all reminds me of the time we spend together, far from the stage, but at the same time, the wave of energy they project into people strikes me as it strikes the people standing on the first lines. Everything synchronizes: Finn back there on the soundboard, Steve next to me, the band making magic with every single note they send into space, the images I’m filming dripping with color up there on the giant LED screen behind the musicians… and seeing so many things working out at the same time multiplies the feeling of joy.

The show comes to an end, and with the usual encores (Goodbye Angels, which is sometimes swapped for Dreams of a Samurai, and Give It Away), we finish our work for the night. I change clothes (I’d like to have my high-heel Doc Martens here, but let’s settle for some sneakers) and we go out for a drink with the guys.

While the two taxis we catched take us to a night bar in the area of Ranch Acres, I remember something. I get out my phone and save John Frusciante’s contact details.

“hey!” I text him. “i wanted to thank you for not getting upset at flea and me the other day :)”

“You talking to someone?” Finn asks distracted, looking out the window.

“Uh… yes”, I answer, faltering a bit. “I was… asking Clara how was she doing.”

I don’t know why I just lied. Maybe because I prefer not to worry Anthony, who’s in the front seat, in our taxi as well, with things about John. I know he feels bad about the fact that he’s the most detached of the four Chilis, and to know that John talks to a camera operator before him would probably sadden him a bit. Maybe I’ll tell Finn when we’re in our room.

Suddenly, John texts back.

“oh, i got very upset. don’t you dare come near me ever again, understood?”

I can’t hide a nimble smirk. He’s the sarcastic type, then.

“hahahah” I answer. “and thank you for walking me back to the hotel as well!”

“no problem. was nice meeting you”

“so was meeting you!”

The conversation quickly comes to an end, with -fortunately- no trace of awkwardness, almost exactly when the taxis drop us all off. For a first conversation, it went pretty well. I’ll talk to him again, but in another moment, not right now. I breathe in the city breeze, and get inside The Colony, holding Finn’s hand.

The bar is pretty great, although not especially huge, but that’s kind of an advantage. There’s a tiny stage where what seems like a soul or funk band is warming up. They look promising, so we sit around a low coffee table, barely illuminated by a light bulb not covered by anything, and resume our chatting, scattered conversations between all of us.

“So”, I say to Josh’s girlfriend, Zara. “Tell me again how did you convince him to take that picture at the Guggenheim… not one but two times!”

She’s calm but joyful, and so lovely, she sometimes leaves me speechless. Not only in a physical way, although she’s definitely very pretty, but in an… emotional way, I guess? She’s not perfect, obviously, as I know from talking to her a few times, but she can’t help being strikingly genuine and open-hearted, and I really admire her for this. She’s by no means as close to me as Clara, for instance -I don’t know her as much-, but it looks like she’s a great woman, and the fact Josh loves her as much as he does (and especially knowing all the history they’ve been through) only proves it. That’s probably why we quickly got on when we met each other, even without talking much. It’s one of those cases of feeling we wouldn’t mind being friends with that person, but the occasion has never showed up. No bitterness, though: I enjoy talking to Zara as much as I did when we met.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really know how I did it myself… you know how he is”, she answers, chuckling, “right, Josh?”

She catches his eye, laughs when Josh tries to understand what we were talking about (he was in the middle of a complicated conversation about music gear and audio mixing devices with Chad’s son) and turns back to me.

“It was a matter of luck, I guess”, she continues.

“...or a matter of love, maybe?” I say, mischievously. Zara blushes a bit.

“Uh, yeah, whatever...” she snickers, “maybe you’re right.”

“Did he like the Guggenheim?”

“I think he liked it better the second time, when we went last year… Ten years ago neither of us was as into modern art as we are now, to be honest.”

“I feel you. Time goes by so fast, but sometimes it’s for the better, huh?” I smile. “You want something? I’ll go get a drink.”

“Um, I think I’ll have a gin & tonic, please”

I get up and start dodging tables to reach the bar, but halfway through, someone grabs me by the shoulder.

“I’ll come with you. Want to get myself something too.”

Anthony, who had been checking his phone for a while, not talking to anyone, joins me. I shrug my shoulders, smile and resume my way.

“You’re always the chatty one”, I ask, leaning on the counter and waiting for someone to take our orders. “What was all that silence about?”

“What do you mean?”

I try to be gentle.

“You know, there sitting with the others. You had your face glued to the screen.”

When he gets it, he dismisses it with a swift gesture of his hand. “Oh, it was nothing. Heather and I were discussing logistics and everything. Being divorced is fun… yay.”

He tries to laugh it off, and I let him. I’m not going to insist. Plus, the waiter has come. He asks for a margarita, and I order Zara’s gin & tonic and a martini for me. We’d usually have beers and that’s all, but today we’re going glam, I tell myself.

“What about you?”, he asks after the waiter goes away.

“What about me?”

“You were talking to Zara there on the table, but I noticed you didn’t say a word during the whole taxi journey”. His smirk is now visible, half of a grin painted on his face.

“You know, Clara and everything…” now it’s me who dismisses it.

“Okay, okay. Whatever you say.”

“It’s true, Anthony” I justify myself.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t say anything for a while, enough to make it all slightly uncomfortable… to both of us? He just looks at me, that grin still there.

“You know you look stunning tonight, right?”

I stutter for some moments: he’s caught me off-guard. I look back at him suspiciously, trying to decipher what does he want to get with this… or where does he want to get. But because it surprised me, I don’t verbalize my doubt.

“Um”, I try to return the compliment, “you don’t look too bad yourself”. With an added smile, because it didn’t seem too natural.

When I say it, I notice he does look good. I guess it’s the routine and seeing him every day, but yeah, he’s looking good. Dark hair growing, not so short anymore, a Parliament t-shirt and a matching burgundy blazer… and his eyes are shining as he almost-imperceptibly shortens the distance between us. What’s going on?

“Damn it, Amy, you know what he’s doing. He’s flirting all the time, so why did you think your time wouldn’t come?” I internally laugh at it, and try to take things lightly.

“Thank you”, he says, almost chuckling, “that was what I was aiming for when I got dressed up.”

“Oh, what a surprise” I smile, playing dumb. “By the way, where’s my Martini? I’m thirsty, come on”

“I paid the waiter so he would give us time to talk...” he jokes.

“Shut up, Anthony” I shake my head laughing.

“Nah, just kidding but I don’t mind waiting if it’s with you.”

“Come on! Not as funny as you think…” I protest, not sure if I’m serious or not.

The band onstage start playing an interesting arrangement of Sunny, originally by Boney M.: they’re good, very good, but Anthony looks disappointed.

“I thought they were going to play some Parliament to honor my tee”, he says, pulling a face and turning his back to the counter to have a better view. Then he sighs: “I’ll have to go pay them something too.”

I smile, uncapable of laughing. I’m too weirded out by this situation. I know my response is not really natural: knowing him for as long as I’ve known him, I shouldn’t worry about this, but although I’m trying, it’s hard for me to keep things light. He’s got a natural talent to socialise, and for that I admire him, but I myself feel like I were at a crossroads.

“Amy”, he begins, reaching my cheek to caress it, “are you okay?”

He runs his thumb across my jaw, close to my lips. His touch is soft and gentle, but my body freezes. I see three cocktails landing on the counter right next to me. I see his eyes, dark and meaningful, empty of second intentions, only wanting me to feel better. But it’s a bit too much for me. I can’t follow him.

I get a step away from him, visibly distressed. I take a deep breath and get my drink.

“I’m sorry” I say, avoiding his eyes. “I think I need a bit of fresh air.”

I manage to fake a smile. “Can you give this to Zara?” I ask, pointing at the gin & tonic, and without waiting for an answer, I get out.

Outside, the night is dark.

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brynne-lagaao · 7 years

Text

(Fanfic) All That We Are - Chapter Six

Title: All That We Are

Chapter: 6/12

Rating: M

Mirrors: AO3 | FF.NET | Website

Summary: There wasn’t any real need to find out whether or not they were soulmates if they were both sure of the answer. But Yata’s answer was different from Fushimi’s, and that was just another of the dividing points they couldn’t reconcile.

Note: Once again, thank you to my wonderful betas, @dropletons and @candylit for their hard work and for not giving up on me over the course of writing this fic! You guys rock!

A large part of this fic takes place behind the scenes of certain canon events. Whenever it’s material outside of the anime (season one, Missing Kings, and Return of Kings), I’ll try to provide notes stating which materials are referenced. The fic should still stand decently without reading those things, but certain parts will make more sense in context.

Chapter Note: This chapter contains a reference to the first chapter of the K: Countdown manga, which takes place between Missing Kings and Return of Kings. It also refers back to something that happened in the drama cd, If There Was Homra (text translation here and audio here), set between season one and Missing Kings.

It wasn’t the flawless red of Anna’s fresh Sword of Damocles that stuck out in Fushimi’s mind hours later, though the lingering memory of fire blazing up through the scar at his collar hadn’t quite faded despite everything. He lifted his fingers from the keyboard of his laptop and reached up to slide them under the edge of his shirt reflexively, giving the mark a half-hearted scratch as his thoughts wandered.

It was early in the afternoon, sunlight pouring in through the large windows, but the working office space at Scepter 4 was conspicuously empty. In point of fact, Fushimi was the only one who had ignored Awashima’s instruction to sleep while there was opportunity, leaving any non-emergency tasks to those outside of the Special Operations Squad.

Even with Homra on the verge of piecing themselves back into an active clan, things were likely to stay busy. If he didn’t take the opportunity to catch up with the reports that had been piling up, he’d be annoyed with himself later.

Besides that, it was unlikely that he’d be able to sleep right then.

Fushimi’s fingers stilled, though he didn’t pull them back. His mind kept taking him back to the same point in time. The moment when Misaki had looked at him without bitterness – without anger, without desperation – but with an uncharacteristic hesitance and uncertainty, as if he didn’t know where the twisted remains of their relationship stood either. Not the sparkling eyes of their early days, not the blend of fury and bitterness he’d gotten used to in those years of separation, and certainly not the dull weariness from recently. The feeling this look had stirred up was a lot like the restlessness that had been plaguing Fushimi since he’d started on this path, but far more compelling – as if all of his instincts were calling out for some action, but his brain couldn’t – or wouldn’t – comprehend what it was. The whole thing was unnerving. He didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Misaki had been lively again – maybe not quite as carefree as before, but he’d still greeted his comrades with unrestrained enthusiasm, and rather than being annoyed by that, Fushimi felt as if some huge uneasiness he’d been carrying unknowingly had settled.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to make of that. It was baffling, and that was making him agitated. Unconsciously, his fingers dug in a little deeper, drawing out a sharp sting.

“Fushimi.” Awashima’s crisp voice intruded on that moment of inner reflection. Fushimi looked up as she stepped across the room toward him, pulling his hand back. She raised an eyebrow at him when their eyes met. “Didn’t I tell you earlier that we’re off duty for the rest of the day?”

He clicked his tongue. “I can’t sleep when it’s this light out.”

“I see.” She crossed her arms, studying him critically. “You realize that the purpose of a break doesn’t necessarily need to be sleep?” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “Have you eaten?”

Fushimi narrowed his eyes at her, frowning back. “Have you?”

He expected a weary sigh and a reprimand of some sort, so he was surprised when her face softened into a rueful smile instead. “I suppose that’s a fair point.”

The unexpected honesty robbed him of a proper response. Fushimi hesitated for a moment, eyeing her warily. He’d worked closely with Awashima on a number of occasions, but they’d rarely spoken on a personal level. Not that he went out of his way to speak on a personal level with anyone – he hadn’t come to Scepter 4 to make friends – but Awashima was not the prying type in the first place, unlike certain others he could name. She was more than competent at what she did, possessing the ability to efficiently draw out the strengths of any given unit when the situation called for it. That fact alone made her tolerable to work with and for, despite the occasional annoyance.

At that moment, she was addressing him casually.

Somehow it put him at ease, though he wasn’t sure why. Fushimi tapped his finger on the side of his laptop, uncertain what to make of this conversation. “Did you come here for a reason or are you just checking to see if you could catch someone who snuck in to get work done?”

She raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t comment on the mild swipe he’d taken. “As a matter of fact, I came here looking for a few overdue reports.” Another wry smile. “Considering how things have been, it’s possible they were finished and not submitted.”

That was convenient, considering what he was working on – and it provided an easy way to bring this back into comfortable territory. Fushimi faced forward again, reaching out to tap the stack beside him as he eyed his laptop screen. “Tell me which ones you want, and we’ll find out how lucky you are.”

There was a brief, startled pause, and then she dutifully recited a list.

“The first, I’ve already processed.” Fushimi indicated his ‘done’ pile. “The second isn’t written yet, as far as I know – check with Kamo when he’s back. The third and fourth are in here somewhere.” He tapped his stack again. “The fifth is too, but I wouldn’t count on it being ready, since Domyoji is the one in charge of that case. Odds are, it’ll need a lot of revisions.”

Awashima made a slightly impatient noise. “I’m not sure if that boy will ever grow up,” she observed in a murmur. “Well, no matter.” Striding around the table, she pulled out the chair on the other side, opening the work laptop in front of her. “Since you’ve gathered the reports, I might as well assist you with the processing.”

Fushimi blinked at her, once again taken aback. Awashima rarely sat with them in the work room, usually busy supervising the various operations of Scepter 4 or serving as Munakata’s second under an official capacity. When he worked with her, she was more often in command of an operation for which she’d chosen to utilize his particular skillset. Processing the completed reports of the Special Operations Squad had generally been his task when he wasn’t in the field.

She raised another eyebrow at him. “I also have a vested interest in making sure this work is done, Fushimi. With two people, we’ll finish sooner.” Her other eyebrow joined the first. “Unless, of course, you have some complaint about the quality of my work?”

What kind of question is that? He clicked his tongue. “I hope you’re not expecting me to answer that.”

Her expression softened again into a smile. “I’ll let it pass this once. Here.” She lifted about half of his stack and set them beside her instead. “Let’s get started.”

The atmosphere was still and peaceful as they worked. Awashima, as it turned out, was quiet and focused, unlike several others who seemed to feel the need to fill the silence with inane chatter. The soft, rapid patter of their mingled typing kept the air from growing awkwardly stilted, and their respective stacks began to lower with an efficient speed.

He was in the process of reaching for the final report in his stack when the sound of a PDA buzzing made him pause. In the split second that it took him to confirm that it wasn't his, Awashima had pulled the device from her coat. "Sorry," she said to him, rising from her seat and moving toward the back of the room before answering. "Awashima."

There was a brief pause, and then he heard her sigh. "You could have said something earlier." Another break, and then, "So I understood. But still..." The words trailed off, and then she made a small, amused sound. "There's nothing to thank me for. Scepter 4 was protecting its own interests." Another pause, and he could hear the smile in her voice when she responded. "I intend to. Is that all?" After only a short moment, she added, "Then please give my regards to your new King. Goodbye."

Ah. Not that he couldn't have guessed who it was based on the tone, but that last bit confirmed it. "You're still trading intel even now?" he commented when she returned to her seat.

"Nothing has changed in that respect," she confirmed, without batting an eye.

Nothing, huh? Fushimi frowned at her, hesitating for just a moment before going ahead with the question that had come immediately to mind. "You and Kusanagi-san aren't soulmates, are you?"

She stared at him, obviously taken aback by his directness, and then sighed. "That's a bold question." Her voice was dry. "Well, I suppose it’s natural that something like this would come up. As a matter of fact, we don't have that kind of relationship." A corner of her mouth turned up. "Not that the possibility hasn't occurred to me."

The candid admission had him furrowing his brows. "You two have talked about it?"

"That's not necessary." Awashima shook her head, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat. "We share something of an understanding as the second in command of two traditionally opposed clans. It would be pointless to even discuss such a thing as long as that reality remains." She offered him a small, rueful smile. "I'm sure he's as aware as I am that our compatibility may be high enough, but we have responsibilities that won't allow for it."

The simple, pragmatic explanation was strangely unsatisfying. Fushimi felt his frown deepen without knowing what it was that unsettled him. Was it that easy a decision to make, to not pursue a soulmate connection with someone who seemed like a likely match? And... traditionally opposed clans? The intricate sword mark at the back of Munakata's neck came immediately to mind as he considered that response. He wondered if she knew about it.

If it signified what he thought it did, what would her thoughts be about that connection?

As soon as that particular thought occurred to him, an insidious whisper slid up into his brain with another question: what would her thoughts have been if he'd come to Scepter 4 wearing a matching mark to Misaki's?

It was impossible, of course, but Fushimi felt his fingers twitch against the keyboard in front of him, the urge to reach up and scratch at his burned Homra mark rising, along with the same baseless urgency from before. The idea of a soulmate match with Misaki didn't bring quite the same feeling of sinking dread that it had in the past, but it came with several uncomfortable memories all the same.

Memories that weren't even necessarily uncomfortable in the same way they had been.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?

More often lately, he couldn’t keep away the thoughts he’d always been able to overwrite in the past with the memory of Misaki’s furious face. The sharp bark of Misaki’s laugh felt as real in his mind’s ear as it had been in person. He could see the inward curve of Misaki’s shoulders and back as he rubbed at the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. The way the longer strands of his hair curled around the line of taut skin there had always made Fushimi’s fingers itch to brush it, and the play of muscle beneath Misaki’s clothing as his body moved had fascinated him more than he would’ve liked to admit. Misaki could never sit still; he was always in motion, gaze sharp and smile bright. Even when he wasn’t smiling, Fushimi could feel the energy radiating from him, and the passion lurking in the warm color of his eyes.

Even in those days, his eyes had sometimes traced the slope of Misaki’s jaw, the outline of his lips. He wanted to feel those places under his mouth and run his hands along the parts of Misaki’s body that were hidden normally.

The desire was more or less understandable, though. It was just a physical reaction, after all. It had led to more than one careless mistake, which was irritating, but at least it made sense. It was the restless feeling that accompanied it that he still couldn’t comprehend – the insistent urging that had become worse when Misaki’s energy had dimmed, gnawing at Fushimi with ferocity during the moments when he’d seen or encountered him.

There was no energy, no passion within Misaki during that time, and yet he still felt that draw of his presence. It had been easier to turn his back and walk away than to deal with it or try to sort out what it meant, but it had left with that hollow, unsatisfied feeling every single time.

Even now, he didn’t feel any urge to rile Misaki as he had before. Something had changed irrevocably, and he couldn’t put his finger on what – or how, for that matter. His only real clue – and one he would’ve liked to ignore – was that single encounter in the middle of it all when he’d been unable to still the flow of desire within himself.

It had drawn a response, he couldn’t deny that.

Fushimi clicked his tongue automatically against the pleasant shiver that overtook his body with the memory. He hadn’t wanted to stop – probably wouldn’t have if the interruption hadn’t come – and it wasn’t purely for physical reasons. It wasn’t anything to do with soulmates, either, although he suspected that was a large part of Misaki’s motivation.

As if it would’ve even gone that way in the first place…

In that moment, Misaki had seemed like he was drowning and had clung to Fushimi as if he were a lifeline. And something within him had wanted – needed – to respond to that desperation.

He wasn’t sure what that said about him. It was disturbing.

Across from him, Awashima cleared her throat; when his gaze focused on her again, she tilted her head to the side questioningly. “If you do need a break, there’s no reason to push,” she reminded him, and uncrossed her arms to indicate their two nearly-completed piles. “We’ve already made a considerable amount of progress.”

Once again, Fushimi had to appreciate her habit of not prying. “There’s no point leaving it with only this much to go,” he mumbled, attempting to shove back the confusing blend of emotions in his mind as he reached for the final report in his stack. “You can go if you want.”

“I wasn’t asking for my sake.” Even without looking, he could hear the smile in her voice again. “Let’s continue, then.”

It was strange, but somehow as the sound of typing filled the silence between them again, the afternoon sun gradually darkening into twilight as it poured in through the tall windows, Fushimi felt a comfortable feeling spreading across his entire body. For the first time in a long while, that restless urging at the back of his thoughts had stilled, and he had a sense of peace.

He didn’t really know what to make of that either, so he pushed it from his thoughts and bent his attention to the work at hand.

The sound of Anna’s soft footsteps as she went up to her room for the night was the only noise in Bar Homra during that moment, but Yata found he didn’t mind the silence that much. In the bar they’d just reopened, with the light buzz of his first taste of alcohol warming his body, he felt comfortable.

It was enough to make the smile on his face widen, eyes shutting with contentment.

Homra was back together, and he wasn’t alone anymore. That alone was enough for him, but he didn’t think he’d ever shake the weight of what had happened. His initial thought when their clan had reformed was that the empty feeling from before would be gone and he’d never have to worry about it again, but that hadn’t exactly been the case. There was a lot to think about. Anna had given them all hope – and a place to belong once again – but it didn’t erase the heavy sense of something irreplaceable being gone. He still felt the grief pulsing strongly at the back of his mind, and couldn’t quite rid himself of the guilt for all the things he hadn’t done.

That emptiness was a faded threat in his soul, a scar that wouldn’t quite heal.

Yata figured it was his reminder that there was more to be feared in life than enemies. That period in his life when he thought he’d lost everything wasn’t something he was about to forget. He was going to do his best this time not to have any regrets. If he at least tried to understand the important people around him better, there wouldn’t be so much disconnect between him and them.

A recent memory flared up behind his closed eyelids – Saruhiko, with his impassive frown, turning his face away as Yata fumbled for words to express his gratitude. It came with the distant throb of an old ache, different from before.

That guy’s kind of a special case, huh?

“Something on your mind, Yata-chan?” Kusanagi’s voice cut into his thoughts; when he opened his eyes again, his older friend was giving him a small smile. “You can go if you want. Not that I mind the company.” There was a bit of a wistful edge in his gaze. “Tell you the truth, it feels a bit different in here now.”

Without Mikoto and Totsuka around, Yata’s mind instantly supplied, and he felt something clench a little within him. It wasn’t the all-encompassing grief from before, but… Hell, he didn’t think it’d ever be entirely gone. Looking up at Kusanagi’s face, he was pretty sure he wasn’t alone in that respect.

Trying to understand the important people… It didn’t have to be just Anna.

Swallowing against the remains of that ache, Yata leaned forward on the bar counter, elbows resting on the surface. “Kusanagi-san,” he started, feeling a bit awkward about it but determined to press onward. “Y’know, there’s something I’ve been kinda meaning to say – or, uh, I mean apologize for…” He shifted his weight to reach up with one hand and scratch at the back of his head. “How should I put this…?”

“Ah.” Kusanagi’s smile became more of a grimace. “Yata-chan, there’s no need to apologize – ”

“No, I gotta say this!” Lowering his hand, Yata leaned forward, meeting Kusanagi’s mildly startled gaze squarely. “Just hear me out, okay? Please!”

The grimace relaxed into a more serious expression. “All right.” Kusanagi leaned against the bar on his side, his gaze intent. “I’m listening.”

“About… that time…” Despite his resolve, it still felt awkward. Yata resisted the urge to lower his face, determined to face this head on. “When you told us you were closing the bar... I lost it. Those – those things I said, back then… I didn’t mean it. I was upset. But that’s not an excuse!” On the counter, he balled his hands into loose fists. “Kusanagi-san… I’m sorry! Really, truly sorry!”

At that he did bow his head, residual shame flowing through his body in waves. “I expected you to be a certain way all the time, just for my own sake.” He swallowed down the lump that had risen at the back of his throat, forcing himself to continue. “When you weren't what I wanted, I lashed out. It was selfish of me. I... really, I'm sorry."

There was a significant pause. Yata found himself trembling with emotion, tense as he waited for a reaction to his words.

Finally, Kusanagi heaved a sigh. “When you say things like that, you really sound like an adult now, Yata-chan,” he remarked. There was something weary in his tone. “Still… you don’t need to bow your head. After all, you weren’t the only one making mistakes that day.”

He hadn’t expected that. Yata jerked his head up, surprised, and found himself the subject of a rueful, slightly pained look. “I have an apology of my own to make,” Kusanagi admitted, once their eyes met. “Truth is, I lashed out at you too. I could write it off by saying I was grieving just like you were, but I’m the one who’s supposed to be the adult here.” He shut his eyes briefly. “I’ve had time to think it over, and it wasn’t fair of me. How pathetic, huh?” That came with a slight scoff, but when he opened his eyes again, his gaze was still serious. “I’m sorry for it, Yata. Sometimes I forget… we were both there, after all.”

The unexpectedly subdued tone had that aching lump rising at the back of Yata’s throat again. “Kusanagi-san…” Even as he felt something tense within him start to give with the return apology, the fresh reminder of their shared experience had him swallowing hard. In that moment of raw honesty, he felt open enough to offer a low, pained, “I still dream about it sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Kusanagi sighed again, straightening. His eyes were distant. “So do I.”

It didn’t feel like there was anything else to be said. The moment of silence that stretched out following that affirmation felt thick with remembrance and grief.

Somehow, there was something freeing in that shared understanding, too. Yata reached up to rub the moisture from the corners of his eyes roughly, managing a soft huff of a laugh. “Things got weird, huh? My bad.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Kusanagi eased back from the counter, offering a small sideways smile. “It’s not so bad to have moments like this once in a while.”

“Got that right!” Yata grinned back at him roughly, and then slumped forward with an exaggerated motion. “Man, I’m glad I got that off my chest! It’s something I really regretted, y’know?”

“I know how you feel,” Kusanagi agreed, with a bit of humor. “Though… one other thing I regret is not having a chance to be open with you – not just you, Yata-chan, but everyone else, too.” His smile turned rueful. “I had reasons – and it’s not that they weren’t valid, but given the way things turned out, it seems it just caused unnecessary grief in the end. Can’t promise I’ll break the habit, but I’ll try to trust you in the future.” Their eyes met again, and the smile widened a bit. “Try to keep your head if you can – I’ll be relying on you.”

Yata couldn’t help but perk up at that, straightening in his seat with pride. “Leave it to me!” He thumped his fist against his chest enthusiastically. “I’ve already pledged my life to Anna and Homra – I’ll give it my all! And I won’t let you down!”

If anything, he expected a smile and fond agreement, so it was a bit surprising when Kusanagi gave him a serious look instead. “Let me share something with you, Yata – one adult to another.” He leaned forward, bracing both hands on the counter so they were closer to being eye to eye. “Never pledge your entire life to anything. In Homra’s case, you’ll always be our Yatagarasu. But don’t forget that’s only a part of who you are as a whole. If you haven’t yet, you should start thinking about what kind of man you want to be – and what steps you can take to start getting there.”

Yata blinked at him, taken aback. “Only a part…?” It seemed unreal to look at it that way. The idea of thinking beyond Homra – beyond being Yatagarasu – wasn’t something he’d thought about. When Homra wasn’t in his life, there hadn’t been anything – just that endless, consuming emptiness. Didn’t that mean there really wasn’t anything else for him?

Somehow, that thought was… kinda scary.

Well, there was one thing… Not that he wanted to think about it, but he still kept coming back to it, as fixated as he had been from the start. That one stupid, painful, traitorous bit of hope he’d let himself fall back on – the retreat to his younger years, when all he’d wanted or needed was to be Saruhiko’s soulmate.

No point thinking about that. Yata curled his fingers into loose fists, trying not to scowl. It wasn’t like he could help it. All it took was looking into Saruhiko’s eyes, catching a hint of that mingled wariness and intensity, and he was lost. Even now, he shivered a little just thinking about it. Saruhiko’s mouth on his, warm and eager; Saruhiko’s hands on his body, mapping every crevice as if he wanted to commit them to memory. And then there was Saruhiko himself in the circle of Yata’s arms, the excitement of being able to feel the press and pliancy of that familiar thin frame against him as he held tight stirring to life within him and clouding any chance of reason. He’d thought about it a lot since. Couldn’t help it.

That guy’s not easy to forget. Even with so much reason to do so, Yata just couldn’t.

It kinda didn’t help that some time while everyone was apart, Kousuke and Eric had picked up a pair of deep brown, perfectly matched paw print marks on their opposing shoulders. He was happy for them of course, but still, sometimes…

Well, okay, he was jealous. That was normal, though. Right?

Pushing that thought – and the bitterness that came with it – down, Yata summoned up a sheepish grin in response to the conversation. “Not sure if I really get it, but…” He still had his resolve, and he wasn’t gonna back down from that. No room for doubts now. “Y’know, I wanna be someone who my important people can rely on.”

And if he was being selfish… also someone they wouldn’t want to leave behind. But he wasn’t gonna say it.

“That so?” Kusanagi smiled back, straightening again. “Well, maybe try to keep that thought at the back of your mind anyway. You might find other pieces of the answer coming to you here and there.”

“Uh, right. Got it.” Honestly, he still wasn’t sure if he totally got it, but he didn’t have to think about it right away. Yata frowned a bit. His earlier thoughts had kicked something else loose from the back of his mind. “By the way, Kusanagi-san… Can I ask you something? It’s about Mikoto-san.”

Kusanagi gave him a questioning look. “What’s on your mind?”

He’d been wondering about it for the longest time now – and he did want to try and understand his original King, as best he could despite everything. “Did he…? I mean, Totsuka-san wasn’t just teasing me way back then about the soulmate thing, right? Mikoto-san really did have one, didn’t he?”

“Ah…” At that, Kusanagi looked a bit pained. “Yeah,” he admitted, after a second’s hesitation. “He did.”

He did. Those words felt like they buzzed through Yata’s brain. He leaned forward, anxious to find out more. “So then, why…?” Suddenly unsure of how to word the confusion coursing through him, he stopped there, eyebrows bunching together.

Why wouldn’t he say anything? Why’d we never meet this person? Shouldn’t it have been awesome, finding a soulmate match?

Shouldn’t it have fixed things? Made it better, even… even when…

Kusanagi seemed to pick up on most of his uncertainty without the words coming out. “Why wasn’t it a celebration, you mean? Why didn’t that person intervene or magically fix things in the end?” He sighed heavily, looking away, and muttered almost to himself, “Well, in a way that person did intervene…”

Yata stared at him, more confused than ever. “Huh?”

“Never mind.” Kusanagi shook his head, not quite meeting Yata’s gaze. His expression was unreadable. “I don’t think it’d do you much good to know the person, but I will say this much…” When their eyes met again, his gaze was serious. “It wasn’t a match that could have worked in the long run, given the circumstances.”

The words didn’t sink in immediately. A match that couldn’t have worked… Yata frowned back, unable to reconcile that with what he’d always known. “But… if they were soulmates…”

“Yata-chan…” Kusanagi shot him a glance that was almost pitying. “That doesn’t really mean much, you know. It tells you something, sure, but it doesn’t change your relationships for you or fix any problems with them.” He shrugged. “In the end, they’re just a set of marks, after all.”

Yata jerked upright in his seat, shocked. “What are you saying, Kusanagi-san?” Just a set of marks? The words were a blow to one of his most closely held ideals. “Isn’t finding your soulmate the best thing that could happen to you? How could it be just a set of marks?” Carried away in his passion on the subject, he demanded, “What about Kousuke and Eric? You’re saying they’re nothing but a set of marks?”

That earned him a sigh, and Kusanagi briefly shut his eyes. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Yata. I never said it was a bad thing.” He looked wry when he opened his eyes again. “Let me ask you this, then: d’you think Kousuke and Eric treat each other different, now that they have those marks?”

It wasn’t a question he’d expected. Yata blinked, hastily scanning back through his memory. “Eh… well…”

Kusanagi didn’t wait for him to collect himself. “You think they didn’t care about each other as much as they do now, that it?”

“Ah…” The answer to that was obvious. “No, but – ”

“But,” Kusanagi continued relentlessly, “you’re okay with saying all that care and effort and consideration doesn’t make a difference, right? Just the fact that they’re soulmates?”

It was hard to argue when he put it like that. Yata frowned back, his mind working fast to try and process the contradictions. The words resonated, but it was hard to try and piece together why or what it meant for him. “That’s not,” he started, and then paused, frustrated. “I mean…”

Kusanagi gave him a second, then shook his head when nothing else came, a rueful smile forming. “I’m not trying to bully you here, Yata-chan. If anything, I’d like to see you think these things through on your own and see what you come up with – even if we end up disagreeing in the end. Just challenge yourself.” With that, his gaze took on a knowing look. “Maybe you’ll find some answers. Or closure.”

That hit uncomfortably close to home. Yata squirmed in his seat, warmth prickling across his face. “Y-yeah, well…” He reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “I-I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure any more if there would be an opportunity to find answers when it came to Saruhiko. Or closure, for that matter. He only knew that he wanted to, desperately, somewhere deep down that he didn’t like to acknowledge openly. There was still the burning hope within him that he was right, they really were soulmates, and once Saruhiko realized, he’d see what a mistake he’d made and explain everything. And then they could move on.

After everything, now he was finally starting to realize that he might have to work on accepting that he’d never find out for sure. And that moving on might mean doing it by himself.

Having gone through so much aching loneliness, the thought should’ve scared him. But somehow, despite everything, it really didn’t. Mostly, Yata was just confused. And maybe a bit lost. He didn’t know where to start with this crap yet.

Nothing else to do but move forward and try his best, really.

Kusanagi offered him a grin, as if guessing what was going through his head. “Any time.”

#k project #sarumi #yata misaki #fushimi saruhiko #fanfic #fanfic:mine

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