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getitinbusan · 3 years

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10 years with Jungkook

California

You met Jeon Jeongguk in the summer of 2012. Two kids brought together by a calling to California and a chance at making it big. Best friends from the start, what happens when only one of you becomes successful? Do you ever forget your first love?

Childhood friends to lovers, angst and smut.

Words: 4600

Warnings: 18 plus smut. Oral F, Sex MF, Swearing. Pretty Mild for me. This is a previously posted fic that has been updated and reworked.

It was a rare rainy August day in California. The heavy drops created a sad melody on the window as you put the dishes away. Tired and lonely, the feeling in your gut kept nagging at you, maybe it was time to give up.

The savings account was drained, there were no jobs to be found and this was the second month of falling short on rent. Surely it would only be a matter of time before your roommates would stop exchanging house cleaning for money.

Hanging the threadbare towel over its hook you stood in the kitchen, your mood mirroring the dim light of the afternoon. Feeling frusterated and stupid, it had taken you way longer than it should have to realize that in LA, you were nothing. Not pretty enough, rich enough, skinny enough or talented enough to ever make it big. So this is how the great Califonia chapter of your life would end, not by choice but necessity.

Gathering up the mail that was strewn across the countertop, you shuffled through it sorting its priority. Junk mail, bills, personal…one in particular standing out. Your heart began pounding as you took in the details.

The penmanship was nice, black ink on an unassuming envelope. But it was the stamp that caught your attention. It was sent from Korea.

Flipping it in your hand you examined the torn top. The letter, having been read, was cradled back safely inside. Addressed to your roommate a frown crept onto your face. Why wouldn’t he write to you?

It was a ridiculously hopeful notion but you widened the envelope and inhaled trying to find a trace of his fragrance, something, anything to trigger a happy memory. Cool California nights were the best excuse. How many times had you borrowed his sweaters just to have his smell on you?

You missed him. It had been a year and a half and you couldn't help but once again ponder the nagging question that always crept back. If you hadn't forced him to break the rules would he still be a part of your life?

It was too tempting to resist, your fingers pinched the paper inside of the envelope and pulled it free.

I’m feeling low, I don’t know who I am, only who I’m supposed to be.

What would life be like if I had stayed in California? We could all be roommates, hanging out and having fun, going to the beach on weekends.

Does she even think about me?

It sounds greedy that with how much I have right now, it’s not enough. I would give anything to wake up in bed beside her everyday. I want more than anything to be able to talk to her about these things but I can’t. I’ve made the mistake of trading her for fame and now I’m destined to keep her at an arm’s length so she’ll never know the price I paid.

How does she even see me? As an Idol? As the boy who abandoned her? Has she forgotten the good days we spent together?

I’ve been wrestling with myself, whoever that is. I wish I could be the teenage boy from that long ago summer again. I wrote this song thinking about it…

~When I see you smile in the screen

You’re good at everything

You’re just perfect

Feels like I've never been you

Do you even see me?

Do you know who I am?

Or how do I look now?

You don’t like me like that

I want to be your decalcomania~

I’m afraid I may not get back for a while, please write. Your friendship and thoughts of her are the only things that are keeping me tethered to some semblance of reality.

Clutching the letter to your chest, your mind took you back to that day.

"Decalcomania, the art or process of transferring pictures and designs. Making a copy of the original on a different medium"

Reading the description on the wall you’d both stood laughing at the piece's strange name, Decalcomania. The gallery visit felt like lifetimes ago but you still remembered clearly. You remembered, not because the piece had struck you as particularly special but because that's where you had decided that Jeongguk's laugh was the best sound you'd ever heard.

California had lured you into its promise when you turned 14. Having been accepted to an intensive dance program at The Movement Lifestyle Studio you packed up and headed West for the summer.

It was July and it was hot, the dancers stepping off the bus one at a time took their places in the studio.

Looking around there were so many older kids, you were probably one of the youngest. Calling out names they put you into groups, it appeared to be by age so you made your way across the unfamiliar wooden floor to the tiny gathering of teens in the darkened corner.

Shy introductions were made as one more member was ushered over to where you had congregated. “This is Jeongguk.”

He had the cutest smile and barely spoke english but his eyes twinkled like the constellations. Immediately drawn to each other you became fast friends.

Absolutely exhausted by the end of the first few days he quietly knocked at your door.

He was homesick and lonely, used to being surrounded by his six members, he couldn’t sleep well without someone beside him. You let him crawl into bed with you, you were 14 and it was innocent.

Inseparable, days and nights were spent side by side, the others began referring to you as the twins. It was the best summer of your life but like every boy meets girl summer story, it had to come to a close. Promising through tears to keep in touch and stay friends you went your separate ways.

Jeongguk would send silly videos of his practice sessions, goofing around with the other members. He’d facetime and text but he always loved to send handwritten letters.

They lived in a box under your bed and contained stories of how hard he was working to become an idol. He always signed off with, "I miss you,” and a few lines of lyrics he’d written.

You didn’t know then how important they would become, the only tangible piece of him you could still hold on to.

Whenever he came back to America you did everything you could to see him. You always found a way to get to the small tour stops whenever they came through. 2015 was the first, then KCon in 2016, but 2017, it was different.

Facetiming you with the news that they were bringing the Wings tour to NY, Chicago and Anaheim, he asked if you’d be part of the dance crew. How could you turn down two weeks with Jungkook the hottest new K-pop Idol? They were getting bigger, more popular and their lives were changing rapidly.

He had strict rules, girls were completely off limits. No talking, no hugging, no smiling at one another, any little thing could be easily misconstrued by the fans. Everything had to be done in secret. Jungkook would sneak you into his hotel room where you would spend your nights together catching up. The boys would bring you in food and cover for him while you both stayed locked away out of sight.

While happy to be with him, you could tell there was an underlying sadness he was holding on to.

"I wish I could go and explore the city with you like we used to," his voice trailed off.

You were laying in each other’s arms cuddling on his bed. Leaning over he kissed the top of your head.

"All I really want is to take you on a proper date."

You snuggled closer into his side as he exhaled deeply, releasing his secret.

"I’ve been waiting so long to become someone, a man worthy of your affection. Now I’m stuck. I have everything I wanted and I’m not allowed to share it with you."

His arms gripped you tighter.

"I’m sorry, this is a terrible confession. I don’t expect you to love me back, not under these circumstances, I just need you to know, you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved and there won’t be anybody else, ever."

Every bit of his confession, every moment of that last night in the hotel room had stuck with you to this day. The words of a 19 year old boy whose life had become bigger than the feelings of two people.

He'd left in the morning without knowing. You were a coward, too afraid to tell him you loved him too.

LA became your home right after they left Anaheim. Focused on your dancing, if you became good enough, maybe you could join the tour with him.

A letter with a big bouquet of flowers arrived a few weeks later.

"Congratulations on your new house in LA!

I hope that all of you are getting along as roommates, it’s hard living with others sometimes.

Last night I dreamt that I was there with you and all of our friends. We were having a party on the beach and we sat together watching the sunset.

Do you remember after practice when we would skateboard as fast as we could to the ocean so we wouldn’t miss the colors?

Maybe one day my toes can feel the sand there again.

I miss you, I miss me… the me I am when I get to be with you.

We're coming back in October for a few days and I’m hoping I can see you, I’m lonely already.

Jeongguk

~Won’t you please stay in dreams

I can hear the sea from far away

Across the dream, over the bush

Go there where it becomes clear

Take my hands now

You are the cause of my euphoria

When I’m with you, I’m in utopia~

By the time The AMAs came, the plan had been finalized. You would steal Jungkook away so that you could take him on your first real date.

Having enlisted Namjoon to help, he was your inside man. The boys, happy to help finally get you together, would cover for his whereabouts with management. The day before the awards they were only scheduled for styling, as long as he wasn’t late for the press rounds the next afternoon your plan could work.

It was Namjoon’s job to get him out of the building. Telling him to follow his lead, Joon convinced the managers that Jungkook must have eaten something bad for lunch. Claiming to not feel well, he was whisked away to meet you at the hotel’s back receiving door.

Sitting in the shiny red rented convertible you tossed him a pair of sunglasses. What you wouldn’t give now to see that smile again.

Barely giving him time to get in you’d sped away heading straight for In And Out Burger.

"Kookie, I hope you’re ready for the best day of your life! We’re going to eat until we explode, drink and party at the beach and then, instead of returning you to your fancy 5 star hotel you’re staying the night in my crappy little house with a tiny uncomfortable bed!!"

He laughed, that perfect laugh. It was so pure and honest, thinking about it now made you sad. Was that the last moment he'd gotten to be his true self? Jeongguk the man not Jungkook the personna?

Knowing you only had one day to give him everything, one day to show him you loved him, you tried to make the best of it.

Picking up the food Jungkook held onto the red and white bags in the passenger seat, sneaking his hand in to steal fries when he thought you weren’t looking. If you weren’t sure you were in love with him before you you certainly were now.

Pulling up beside the tree on the beach he was stunned, "Ahhh Jagi, I can’t believe you brought me here."

Happy that it meant as much to him as it did to you, you both sat on the branch and ate. Two blocks from the old studio this used to be your escape. Every break you’d make your way to the tree for some time alone, together.

With the burgers done he turned to you and smiled. It felt like he wanted to say something, but stupidly, you'd cut him short leading him back towards the car.

Making your way through your checklist you brought him back to where you'd first met. The Movement studios students were starstruck when he walked in. After insisting that he teach some choreography, he reluctantly led the class.

Your eyes were glued to him as he moved in front of the mirrors, no longer that awkward teenager but a full grown man mesmerizing you with his every move.

Getting back to the car he stopped you before you reached for the handle. Putting his arms around you he pulled you in close. But again, you resisted him.

"You stink Jungkook, our next stop is the ocean."

You remember pulling away. How stupid you were, you should have held on to him longer. Reaching into the back seat you revealed a pair of swim shorts and a towel. He looked disappointed that you kept interrupting his attempts at intimacy. It broke your heart but you had a plan and limited time to execute it.

The Ocean was chilly but the wind was warm, he came out of the change room with the shorts on but still wearing his shirt.

"Kookie, this isn’t Korea, you don’t have to be so modest here. Plus, you should grab some sun, you may not believe it but when your skin is sunkissed," you grinned, "you look really sexy."

He raised his eyebrows and quickly removed the shirt at your request.

Running into the water you splashed and played and he took great pleasure in picking you up and throwing you as far as he could.

The sun was getting ready to set and you wanted to dry off before the cooler air set in.

Leading him back to the shore you both laid down on the towel. He put his arm around you and you cuddled into his side.

"My god Guk, look at your abs!"

He blushed like crazy as you traced the muscles on his stomach.

"Stop, it tickles," he giggled.

But you didn’t, you kept tickling him until he held you so tight you couldn’t move. He had you pinned, flipping you on your back he shook his wet hair flinging water droplets all over you. Pleased with himself he leaned in closer to you, his eyes asking for permission to kiss you. As the gap between you got narrower you could hear his name being shouted and footsteps running closer. He flopped onto his back and sighed as your roommates and friends piled on top of him.

Eating, drinking and catching up with everyone you watched each other from across the bonfire. Moving from person to person he slowly made his way back to your side.

"Welcome back." Running your hand through the back of his hair, it was now or never.

Pulling him closer your lips finally met in the way they were destined, soft, slow and full of love. His hands instinctively moved to cup your face as the world stopped around you.

"I love you," you whispered.

Nose to nose he smiled at you and it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

It didn’t last long, his phone started going off incessantly. The managers knew, you’d been careless, photos and videos of him from the studio had been posted online.

"I’m so sorry Jungkook, I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble."

His eyes turned hungry as he grabbed your hand.

"You promised I wouldn’t be going back to my hotel tonight, let’s get out of here."

If he was going to get in trouble anyway, why stop now?

The drive back to your place was quiet, adrenaline and hormones flowing like electricity through you both. The time for smiling was over as the seriousness of the situation lingered in the air between you.

It wasn’t just being in trouble or being caught, but the fact that you both knew what was going to happen when you stepped into your bedroom. One act that would change everything between you, it held the power to change the dynamic of your relationship forever.

Leading him to your room you closed the door and stood staring at him as he sat on your bed. He raked his fingers through his hair before he spoke.

"I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to be able to make love to you. BUT I also know that when I leave I’m not going to get to see you again for a very long time." His head hung low. "Management is going to do everything possible to keep us apart and that won’t be fair to you. I think that maybe we should just let our happy memories of today be enough, I don’t want you to regret anything. "

Walking closer you stood between his legs and he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"The only thing I'll regret is never getting to experience all of you. I can’t live not knowing how it feels to be totally yours even if it's only for one night."

He rested his head against your chest, "You’ll always be mine."

His hands traveled to the hem of your shirt and his fingers ran over the soft skin of your stomach. Undoing the button of your jeans he slowly slid them down your legs and you stepped out of them.

Standing up he lifted the thin fabric of your shirt over your head and you stood before him waiting as he took his off too. Unclasping your bra he sighed as he looked at you taking in your shape, his fingertips hovering over your hard nipples.

"I’ve never done this before," he confessed.

"Me either," you whispered. "I've only ever wanted it to be you."

More relaxed he let his mouth start exploring your body. You were goosebumps and shivers beneath him as his tongue found it’s home between your legs.

He was soft and careful, placing his lips over your clit sucking it in delicately until your moans couldn’t be contained any longer. You could feel his eyes burning into you as he watched in awe as his finger slid inside you.

"It feels good Kookie, please…"

You could feel his mouth stopping to smile before he picked up speed. Moving your hips to eagerly meet his mouth you were unravelling quickly.

"The way you taste is better than anything I had imagined."

Devouring you in sessions between his words of adoration you came hard on his tongue.

"I'm really regretting running you all over town today when we could have just been here...doing that.. " You were out of breath.

"I was worried that I wouldn't be any good." He grinned at you pleased with himself.

Moving up to where your head lay on the pillow he pushed the dampened hair off your face, "Are you ok? Do you need anything?"

He placed his forehead against yours.

"I just want you. I need you to know I'm yours, forever.

Rolling a condom on he moved slowly to line himself up with your entrance.

"Tell me if you need me to stop okay?"

He pushed carefully, slowly stretching you around him. Watching intently for discomfort he froze when he saw the tears welling in your eyes.

"Shit, I’m so sorry, let’s stop, I didn’t mean to hurt you." He was apologetic as he thumbed away the tears.

"No," you delicately kissed his lips. "I’m okay… I’m just so happy, so overwhelmed with how much I’m feeling right now."

He smiled down at you, pressing his body closer he gave another push until he was fully inside. Your bodies fell into a beautifully choreographed rhythm until Jungkook was so lost in pleasure he began to move at his own pace. Quicker and deeper he moved until he finally spilled into the condom.

Laying together in euphoria you kissed, and kissed, and kissed until you finally found sleep while wrapped around one other.

Every few hours he’d wake you up. His hands running over your body checking to make sure you weren't just a dream. You’d made love each time, everytime better than the last.

It was 9 am when he caressed you awake once more.

"I have to leave soon. I don’t want to." He spoke in whispers nestled into your neck. "Please tell me to stay."

Your heart broke at his words. "If I ask you to stay, I’m selfish, you’ll always wonder if you made the right decision." The tears came, knowing you had to do what was right. "If I tell you to go, your dreams come true… ” your voice trailed off.

"And I’ll always wonder if I made the right decision,” he finished.

Your phone started ringing and you knew time was up.

It was Joon, "I’m outside. Sorry, I held them off as long as I could. I told them that I’d come get him so you could at least have time to say goodbye."

Your tears fell out in heavy ugly sobs, "Okay, five minutes… and Joon… thanks, I know you’re probably in trouble too."

Hanging up you turned back, Jungkook was already out of bed with his clothes thrown on. He stood with open arms bravely waiting.

"Thank you for yesterday I'll never forget it."

Laying your head against his chest you took a moment to listen to his heartbeat. You could hear him sniffle and knew he was crying too.

You flashed back remembering that night long ago when he came to you homesick, holding you so he could sleep while he tried to hide his tears. There was a knock at the door and Namjoon’s voice broke through the moment.

"We’ve got to go Jungkook."

Stepping away you’d left his shirt soaked in tears, handing him his sweater he pushed it back towards you. "You keep it."

He kissed you one last time before opening the door to reveal Namjoon's weary face. His Hyung put his arm around his shoulder and led him to the car.

Turning one last time he looked back, his eyes were filled with tears as he gave a small wave before getting in the back of the big black sedan.

For months you pretended that management was the only thing keeping you apart.

You held on to that silly notion until May when they were coming for the Billboard awards. For weeks leading up you waited for a message, a secret meeting arrangement, but you got nothing. His image was all over the TV and his voice echoed through your empty heart. Then, just like that, it was over and he was gone again.

Now, here you stood in your kitchen, his letter bringing him to the forefront of your mind and opening old wounds.

He was just as sad as you but what could you do?

Picking up a pen you began writing…

I shouldn’t have done it but I read it in your letter

You said to a friend that you wish you were doing better

I wanted to reach out but I never said a thing

You don’t ever have to be stronger than you really are

And honey, you don’t ever have to act cooler than you think you should

You’re brighter than the brightest stars

You’re scared to win, scared to lose

I’ve heard the war was over if you really choose

The one in and around you

You hate the heat, you got the blues

You’re changing like the weather, oh, that’s so like you

I’ll pick you up

I’ll catch you on the flipside

If you come back to California

We’ll do whatever you want, travel wherever, how far

We’ll hit up all the old places

We’ll have a party, we can dance till dawn…

Y/N

October came again and a chill was in the air, the smell of the ocean hit your nose and you stopped to take it in.

Bundled in Jungkook’s hoodie you threw your bag over your shoulder and began your walk to work. You'd gotten lucky, Movement had hired you just as you were about to give up and leave California. Filled with hope and excitement a new intensive program was scheduled to start today and you were going to meet the future superstars of the dance world.

Memories flooded your mind as you made your way through the familiar neighborhood. It still hurt, but things were beginning to feel happy again. Writing the letter had given you closure, he knew how you felt and beyond that there was nothing else you could do.

Opening the heavy door to the studio you caught a familiar reflection moving in the mirror. Chalk marker in hand he was writing something, It couldn’t be?

Hearing the door click back into place he turned to face you.

"Hi."

He walked towards you slowly. Unsure of what your reaction would be, he approached with caution.

"Hi."

You were breathless, in the months of not seeing him he’d only grown more handsome.

"I can’t change what happened… and for the rest of my life I’ll be sorry for all of the time we missed."

He was getting closer.

"But I can’t take another day not knowing if I can fix this… somehow…"

He reached for your hand but you pulled it away. His head fell in disappointment.

"Jungkook, I can’t listen to this… look at me."

Reaching for his chin you pulled his head up until he was facing you again.

"I refuse to listen to you apologize for something that is out of your control. Your life was decided before you met me and I am nothing but grateful that I got to appear in some part of your story."

He tilted his head and pressed a small kiss into the hand that was still holding his chin.

"God I’ve missed you." He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

"How long are you here? I’ve got to teach class.. It’s the first day but I’d love it if we could catch up?"

He laughed at you and your knees buckled at the sound of his happiness.

Taking his chance he pressed his lips to yours and you could feel the smile forming on his face.

"I’m your private lesson Jagi, I’ve booked you for the next two weeks."

Taking a step back you had to ask, "How Jungkook? What will you be giving up?"

Pulling you back to his embrace he began to dance with you.

"There is no more giving up, on anything. Our contracts were over and I only had one thing I wouldn’t negotiate on, that’s you."

He guided you to look at the mirror.

"I wrote you something."

~Please call my name one more time

I’m standing under the frozen light,

but I’ll walk step by step towards you

Still with you ~

"I promise I’ll never let you go again."

#jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #Jeongguk #jungkook x reader #kookie #nochu #10 years with jungkook #california #lana del rey

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poguesofthebau · 5 years

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a/n: shout out to my mf BABY @fairlyukulele for this concept n many of the concepts that are currently in the works, love u the MOST

summary: ethan sucks at watching movies, and sometimes it puts the people he loves in literal danger.

watching movies with ethan was impossible, and no one could tell you different. it didn’t matter what kind of movie you decided to put on, he could not sit through the whole thing.

the first movie you’d ever tried to watch with him was something corny and romantic, like the new Beauty and the Beast, or Everything, Everything. you dragged him to the movies on a day that neither of you were doing much, and you were so excited. ethan, on the other hand, was hesitant to walk into the movies to begin with, knowing he would hate whatever movie you forced him into watching. but he couldn’t say no to his girl, so he dragged his feet through the theater doors with the giant bucket of popcorn in one hand and your fingers laced through the others. you’d get nice and comfy in your seat, kicking your shoes off and basking in the glory of how ethan’s thumb felt stroking patterns into your thigh while he scrolled through his phone beside you.

the movie began, and you were completely wrapped up in it, eyes glued to the screen as you mindlessly reached for popcorn every few moments. half an hour into the film, though, you’d felt ethan squeeze on your thigh, and peeled your eyes from the big screen to look at him. he’d tugged on your leg then, silently asking you to lean into him, and when you did, you couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on your face at what he’d wanted. “you think that guy’s cuter than me?”

you rolled your eyes, patting his chest with your hand and shaking your head. when you shifted to lean back into your own seat, ethan caught you by the hand you’d placed on his chest, pulling you closer to him than you’d been before. your eyes widened at his actions, glancing around to see if anyone else was paying any attention to the two of you. as you concluded that no one was paying any attention to how handsy ethan was suddenly being, you also realized why he was so comfortable doing the things that he was-- you’d sat in the very second row from the back, with no one behind you or on either side of you. conveniently, your seats were completely hidden from the rest of the people in the theater.

so, after putting in nearly no effort, ethan had somehow tugged you onto his lap, hands tangled in your hair as he guided your mouth to his. within five seconds of kissing him, you’d forgotten how excited you’d been to see the movie, now fully wrapped up in how fucking talented ethan’s hands were. after fifteen minutes of touching you in just the right way, ethan’s hands coaxed you out of your seat and through the exit of the theater, all the way back to his bed-- literally.

after that experience, you and ethan never went to the movies alone again. if one of you had something you wanted to watch, you’d pack a bag and drive over to rent the movie and spend the night curled up on the couch watching it in the comfort of his home.

one night he convinces you to watch a new action movie that he’s been dying to see, so, reluctantly, you meet him in the living room where grayson is fiddling with the remote while they wait for you, sauntering up to him and plopping down on the cushion. ethan’s arm juts out and pulls your body into his, planting his lips on your temple with a light smile at the fact that you’d agreed to spend your saturday night on his couch watching a movie with him and his twin brother. your head nuzzles into his neck with a soft hum, and the movie starts.

the entire film, you’re half paying attention, half focusing on how enormous ethan’s hands are as you toy with his fingers in your lap. at some point, something exceptionally interesting begins to happen on the screen, causing your attention on his fingers to be put on pause as your eyebrows raise at the intense fight scene taking place. your head cocks to one side when Character A’s leg flies past Character B’s head in an attempt to land a kick to the face, and you feel ethan chuckle under you. when you swivel your head to catch his eye, he’s already smirking down at you in amusement, that familiar glint of challenge in his eye, “bet i could do this to you. i’m like a ninja.”

grayson scoffs from the other end of the couch, and suddenly your boyfriend is taking action. within two seconds, he has you in a chokehold, which you easily squirm your way out of. unable to fight the laughter that’s falling past your lips, you shove him to the side, smushing his face into the arm of the couch. he uses his feet to gently push you back by the stomach until your arms are too far from him to hold his head down, and then he’s on top of you. after pausing the movie, grayson himself is now giggling at the sight of you and ethan going at it, and he has to curl his legs into themselves to keep you from flopping right into his kneecap while trying to free yourself from ethan’s hold. in a matter of a few seconds, you’ve got him flipped back over-- you may or may not have bitten his neck to weaken him-- and now you’re holding his wrists above his head with both hands, a total mess of giggles and wheezes.

finally, the play fight goes south.

in an attempt to flip you over once again, ethan has literally kicked you off the couch, and you hit the ground with a sickening plunk. the wind is knocked out of you, and ethan’s eyes are wide as he drops off the couch beside you, immediately regretting his move. “oh my god, are you okay?”

you wheeze, taking a deep breath as you look at him with fire in your eyes. “jesus christ, ethan. what’re you trying to do, fuckin’ kill me? i’m not grayson, ya know!” at that grayson grins smugly, proud at the unintentional compliment you’ve slid his way in your annoyed frenzy.

as he helps you sit up, ethan’s head is shaking with surprise at himself. “babe, i’m sorry! i can’t help how good of a ninja i am! shit just happens sometimes!”

you roll your eyes, dropping back down on the couch. this time you lay out on your back, ethan hesitantly kissing you before lifting your feet so he can sit down and then laying them back on his lap as you place a pillow over your face. ethan’s hand is rubbing up and down your calf, and you know he feels bad for hurting you. a moment later, though, you hear the movie resume, internally groaning at the boy’s lack of concern for you as you mutter into the pillow, “this is why i never watch movies with you.”

#ethan dolan #dolan twins #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan imagines #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins imagines #ethan dolan blurb #ethan dolan blurbs #dolan twins blurbs #dolan twins blurb #ethan #dolan

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[MF] This is the Last Story I Will Ever Write About You

I wrote the story twice over the course of two years. The two versions, although the same story focusing on the feelings associated with anxiety and depression, could not have been more different. The first time I wrote it, the story which I destroyed, took me a year and 310 pages of writing to complete. I shredded the entire manuscript a week after I finished writing. Ten months later, I tried writing it a second time, although I found I had little to say on the subject matter the second time around, and produced a pitiful eight pages to show for nearly two years of my life’s work.

Regardless of length, the story I wrote in both was a story I felt I needed to tell, and accordingly, the first and second versions befell the same creative hurdles. Both stories featured a boy as the main character; I imagined him as being between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one, and I never managed to give him any name beyond “The Boy.” When I began writing the story the first time, I stalled attaching a name for my character, and filled in all the instances where his name should have been with “The Boy.” I hoped the story’s completion would inspire me to overwrite the placeholder with a natural and fitting name for my main character, but I found that as I continued writing, my internal list of possible names continued to shrivel and dry: when the manuscript was complete, the character still remained “The Boy.” And when I rewrote the story, I forwent the formality of naming completely, and the placeholder stuck.

How the story should end was another delaying pitfall of my writing. When I began writing the initial draft, I had intended to end it with suicide. I wanted to make the reader--as it made me--sick, and I had the perfect ending line stored in my head: “He ran to the cliffside for salvation, and to be swept away by the riptide.” As a writer, I cherished my closing lines, as I think many writers do, since these linger and flutter in the reader’s mind the longest, but as the months spent filling pages of story slipped past, the line which I had saved fit less and less; constantly displaced by modifications to the story. The tone of my writing eventually shifted towards optimism, so I redirected my search for an ending towards those of unadulterated happiness, only to quickly realize how inappropriate it would be for the story I was writing to end in such a storybook fashion. It would be insincere to trivialize the healing process of depression. To write an abrupt and clean ending would dismiss everything which I had spent years writing about. Yet I kept writing, and finished my story without an ending in mind. And when I got to the end the first time, the proper ending line for the story still eluded me. So as filler, I wrote a line which both represented my search for the true ending as well as described the boy’s recovery:

“It’ll take some time, but I’m willing to wait.”

It didn’t take much time for me to decide to shred what I had written; about two weeks in comparison to the fifty-two or so I spent writing it. The shredder devoured a year in a few minutes. And afterward the shreds slipped away like sand, found their way into recycling receptacles, and I was happy. Despite throwing away a year of work, I was happy that nobody would ever read the story I had written.

I destroyed my writing because it was too personal.

Without intending to, the story I had written was my own. The details were different, and the boy certainly overcame more hardships than I ever did, and was tougher on himself than I ever was, but I could recognize myself in the boy. And it took me a long time to realize it, but I never named the boy because it would be like giving myself another name. His thoughts were my own, and I in my story, I had inadvertently laid out my own insides. I had begun writing at my lowest point, and the story’s existence was a reminder of the two years I spent too scared to move. Now that I stood on the edge of the passing storm, thinking about my story was like looking at the aftermath and seeing what I lost. I now know that writing it probably saved my life, but it was a relief when I shred the worst part of my life.

I did not want to be reminded:

Of what it felt like to want to disappear.

In the ensuing months, I didn’t think much about what I had done, and the thought of writing a second version never occurred to me. And life moved on. Then the school year ended, and I wasted my summer sipping coffee and listening to thrifted records. And once it was over, school started again. And the months moved fast. One winter morning, I sat in my bed reading when I noticed the frost which clung to my window and was struck with a sudden pang of loss. I had split from the boy: I could no longer remember the virulent loneliness which he had endured. I was no longer the same person as the one who wrote that story, and all I could recall was a vague feeling associated with a distant memory of winter. And while a part of me was relieved me to have forgotten the worst of it, in shredding my story, I had suggested an end. It wasn’t the end the boy deserved--him being the part of me which had defined my life so much up to this point--tossed away and forgotten. Only because of him can I write the sentence: I am still alive. And even though his existence had been confined to the pages of my story, the boy was very much real to me, and I had forgotten about him. Now I decided I would set him free. I drew a blank page of lined paper and began to write his story--my story--again.

He walked down the icy sidewalk back to his apartment. Class had been the same as every other day. Nothing had happened that day, just like nothing had happened the day before, and the day before that. Life seemed to have left him behind. The boy felt nothing except tiredness. He hadn’t slept in weeks.

He was ready to give up. He’d been ready to give up for weeks, and now, mid-stride, the boy stopped moving. Tired of fighting, his body had stopped in rebellion. His urge was to lie down on the sidewalk as if it were his grave, but instead, he did the only other thing he could think of: place one foot in front of the other and count the passage of time. In repeating this simple task, he could keep going for a second longer, and if he could keep going for a second longer, he could go on living for another second, and so on. He counted a second. And then another. Then he placed one leg forward, and was tired beyond belief, with tears swelling his vision, but he took another step.

When he reached the front of his apartment building, his vision swayed. The blood rushed to his head and he felt as if he were going to pass out, and was forced to sit down on the steps. His heart pumped rapidly in his throat, and he gagged from nausea just as a similarly sickening thought threw up into his mind. It was a poisonous thought that promised a quick and unholy end which interrupted and suppressed him as it still sometimes does in my own mind. I did not write it down.

As I wrote in my bedroom, I heard the click of my own front door. I panicked. The thought of being torn from my writing to deal with raucous housemates and miscounted rent checks and cleaning arguments would truly be the end, and my moment of remembrance--the last contact with my past--would be severed. My handwriting became sloppy and illegible, and in my panic, I snapped the pencil I had shaved to a dull point. Reaching for another to replace the broken writer, I tore the paper and allowed my writing to flow out of the page. And as the writing flowed through my room, I rushed to the story’s end, trying to patch together a conclusion from the broken pages and memories which only partially made sense. He would see that he had survived. It wasn’t the poignant and thoughtful ending which I had envisioned, but the dread of being interrupted from my compulsion to write made any ending seem sufficient. So I wrote.

As I tried to erase the paragraph I had just written, smudging the lead which had seeped off the pages onto my hands, I heard the seal to my writing break with the squeak of the doorknob. Swiveling around in my chair to confront whichever housemate determined to bother me, I was struck to see The Boy, who I recognized as my own, framed by my doorway with a surprised look on his face. He was my own creation, slipped from the broken pages of my story, but he didn’t look like me; I had imagined him as looking better than me; being better than me. He was beautiful but he didn’t know it.

“Oh, I… I must’ve walked into the wrong apartment without thinking... mine must be the one next door... I’m sorry.” The boy stammered. I wanted him to stay, so I said:

“No, no, please stay for a moment. I could use someone to talk to for a few minutes.”

“Oh... okay.” He said nervously.

I sat there in my boxers, my body turned in an awkward fashion towards the boy. He stood expectantly, waiting to for me to speak. He made an uncomfortable noise. At that moment, all I wanted to do was hold him and stroke his head. Stricken, I didn’t know what to say except I wanted to let him know how much I loved him; how much he was loved; so I blustered out:

“You’re not a waste to anybody.”

He looked confused but thanked me nonetheless. I looked down at my feet, too embarrassed to make eye contact, and angry at myself for making such a strained and bumbling attempt to comfort him. I reminded myself that he did not know who I was. After a moment, he gestured vaguely to the space behind me, and must have seen the writing materials, because he asked:

“What are you writing about?”

“It’s a story about a boy. I’m in the middle of the story, but I haven’t really thought of an ending to it yet.”

“How long have you been writing it?”

“I started years ago, but I destroyed most of what I had written for it, so I’m starting again.”

“You weren’t happy with your work?”

“No, but the more important thing to me is that I keep writing.”

“That’s good. I just picked up writing myself.”

“What do you write about?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll probably write some about my life experiences. I’ve been having kind of a tough time and I’d like to put it into words.”

“I tried writing about myself for some time, but I didn’t realize how harmful it would be to my own health. It was a way out of the worst part of my life, but eventually, it was what kept me from moving on. I kept coming back to it because it was what defined me, and writing about it felt like I was reliving it.”

“I’m sure it hurt.”

I smiled sadly.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“It helped you though, right? When you needed it most?”

“Writing saved me. I’m trying to move on though. I want to feel whole again. My work reminded me of that period of my life, so I shredded it: to put it another way, cliche, I know, but I guess I’m trying to ‘let go of my baggage.’”

“I see. I’m hoping that writing will save me too.”

He paused for a moment, clearly afflicted with a feeling I knew too well. The sad hope of someone nearly resigned. I studied his face. I knew this would be the last time I would see him, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. It was as if the space between us, the space between my desk and the door, was expanding faster than I could sustain. Traversing that space with sentences and words seemed to take an increasing amount of energy. Eventually, there would be a critical moment when they would never reach the other side. I remained silent and waited for him to continue. When he did, his voice came from a distance:

“Listen, I’ve got to get back to my apartment. Thanks for talking to me for a bit, and thanks for the advice; if that’s what you would call it.”

Now my words barely reached the boy:

“No problem, and... could you close the door when you leave, will you?”

“Yes. And thanks. Again.”

The boy replied as he left the room. I watched the door shut and when I heard the latch bolt click, I turned around to face my desk again. Looking down at the page I had been writing, I recognized that the story, the one which I began writing simultaneously year ago and earlier that morning, was almost complete, except it still needed the last sentence which would conclude the last two years of my life. I sat very still for another moment, thinking, and afflicted by the overwhelming bittersweet swells of my body that seem to accompany the endless growing pains of my life, it came to me. Suddenly, I whirled around.

“This is the last story that I will ever write about you!” I yelled through the closed door, but he was already gone.

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