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atinylittlepain · 10 months

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Dancing in the Dark

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

Hungry Hearts masterlist

The summer of '86, a season of love, record-breaking heat, and evening softball games in one Austin neighborhood. What happens when seventeen years later, that lost love comes back around?

warnings | 18+ cursing, smut, young joel is a goddamn menace, angst, references to bad home life, gin making random things canon

wordcount | 9.8K

a/n | welcome back to Hungry Hearts, y'all. i have to thank @northernbluess for beta-reading this bad boy. love you, cousin. as always, I'd love to hear what you think of the chapter!

.......................................

“Hey, Cher, you ready to go?”

“Does it look like I’m ready to go?”

“You look ready to me.”

“Joel, I’m not wearing a shirt.”

“It’s hot out, Cherry. I’m just thinking about your well-being here.”

“How considerate of you. Just give me a minute, and be quiet before my parents hear you.”

“Bossy, bossy.” She leaves him at her window, shuffling back over to her closet to finish getting dressed. Joel, however, doesn’t stay put for long, swinging one leg, then the other over the sill and into her room before promptly banging his forehead on the opened pane of her window, a low curse leaving his mouth before she can shush him.

“Very smooth.”

“Yeah, well, you know me. Now c’mere.” He hooks a finger into the belt loop of her jean shorts, a little tug that she resists, and then a bigger, more impatient tug that she can’t help but shuffle into. He’s actually wearing pants tonight, tight, tight blue jeans with a t-shirt that’s had the sleeves and sides cut out, a perfect space for her palms to splay along the bare sides of his ribs when he draws her in for a kiss by the hinge of her jaw.

“If you start now, we’re never gonna make it to the fair.” He hums at that, his eyes still intently focused on her lips.

“Hmm, would that be such a bad thing?”

“Uh, yes, I want to see the fireworks.” She’s not sure if he really heard that, his mind seeming to go a bit one-track as he looks at her bra, his fingers brushing over the top of the cups, catching on the lace there.

“This is new.”

“No, I just haven’t worn it around you before.”

“Well, shit, Cher, you been holding out on me?”

“Joel.”

“Alright, alright, hands off, I’ll let you get dressed.” As she pulls a tank top over her head, she realizes that he’s never been in her room before. Not even when they were kids. She steals a glance at him as she’s tying her sneakers, and he seems to be stealing glances of his own, subtly leaning over the small desk across from her bed, his eyes trailing over the stack of books sitting there, the photos she had pinned to the wall from her last year of college. He doesn’t say anything though, a quiet collecting, so she doesn’t say anything about it either, simply clearing her throat to grab his attention when she’s ready to go.

“Try not to knock your head into the window on the way out this time.” He doesn’t, though he grumbles through the close contortion he has to manage to pop back outside, panting a little when he holds his hand out for her through the window. It’s not like they had an actual conversation about the necessity of sneaking around with each other. It was an unspoken understanding. Her parents like Joel enough, she grew up with him after all, but she’s certain they would both have aneurysms if they found out what they’ve been getting up to. And anyways, it’s just for the summer, nothing serious, a bit of fun, and Joel seems just as content with that as she is.

“Tell me about your classes.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d bore you if I did.”

“We’ve got a half-hour drive, Cher, try me.” The sun is just starting to set, turning the inside of his truck a hazy orange as they drive down the highway away from the suburbs and toward the Austin city limits.

“Okay, in most of them we read books, then we talk about the books, then we write papers about the books.”

“That’s it?”

“I told you it’s boring.”

“You’re taking writing classes too though, right?”

“Yeah, I actually won an award for a short story I did in one of them.” She feels a bit stupid sharing that with him, a bit stupid for even wanting to in the first place. But he smiles, big and bright, his eyebrows lifting up with a quick glance over to her.

“No shit, Cher, that’s awesome. I’m not surprised though.”

“Thanks, yeah, you wanna know what my mom said when I showed her the photo of me receiving the award?”

“What’d she say?”

“She asked if I had really been wearing my hair like that at school.” For a moment, he’s silent, and her stomach twists up, worried that she shouldn’t have shared that because, obviously, why the hell would he want to hear her bitch about her mom?

“That’s fucking bullshit, she seriously said that?”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom was always kind of a square.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

“You remember when I got gum stuck to your skirt in Sunday school?”

“Oh my god, she was so mad.”

“She’s got that vein, right down the middle of her forehead, you know?”

“Oh yeah, I’m very familiar with that vein.”

“I swear, Cherry, I thought it was gonna burst she was yelling at me so good.”

“I remember watching that from the car. Your little mouth was just hanging open, I didn’t know if you were gonna bolt or barf.”

“I was scared shitless. She yell at you when y’all got home then?”

“No, I got the silent treatment and no dinner for a week.”

“Shit, Cher, really?” Suddenly, the laugh buoying his words is gone, a little quieter, a little more tempered. And she realizes, oh, one of those things that isn’t normal. Oh, one of those things that doesn’t happen in other families. Since starting college, she’s gotten good at recognizing these moments, when the laughs die out right after something she said. Oh, your parents? Well, get a load of my parents. No, not funny. Not funny at all. A whole lot of not funny going on in her household.

“Yeah, I guess that’s why I stopped sitting next to you in Sunday school.” Said with a weak laugh to make it okay, though Joel’s smile has still faltered into something closer to a grimace, his eyes staying still and squinted down the stretch of the highway.

“Can I read the story sometime?”

“Oh, um, yeah, okay, if you want.” He keeps his eyes on the road, but his hand that isn’t hanging over the steering wheel slips down to rest on the center console, palm face up, a wordless invitation that she finds herself taking with her own hand. A small comfort to press her palm into his.

“Of course I do, Cher.”

…

It’s the same thing every year. The same rides that always have a few screws loose, the same smell of food sizzling in oil that his doctor would definitely not want him eating, the same throngs of sunburned people shuffling from booth to booth down the drag of streets that have been closed off for the fair. For a while, he didn’t go, but since Sarah got old enough to be interested in all the fourth of July festivities, they’ve made the drive into Austin every year for it, though as of late, the night usually entails her meeting up with her friends and yes, dadding, him into leaving her alone until the fireworks are over. But he isn’t all alone this year, Tommy tagging along at the last minute when whatever his plans were, Joel shudders to think of what they were, fell through. So no, not pathetic at all, just two grown men wandering through the crowd and waiting until they can go home.

“I saw we got a new appointment on the books for next week. Someone on Cascade Street?”

“Uh-huh.”

“New client?”

“Yep, yeah, they just moved in.”

“Why are you being weird about it?” Tommy stops in his tracks, scrunching his face up at Joel who would really like this topic of conversation to get dropped.

“I’m not, Tommy, why are you so concerned about this new client?”

“What are they getting done?”

“New porch.”

“Who’s taking the job?”

“I am.”

“You?”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Tommy shrugs, scoffing when Joel starts walking again without him, quick to catch up and step into stride with him.

“Seems like a pretty rinky-dink job for you to take on, especially when we’re in the middle of that new build on Cypress.”

“I thought you said you have Cypress under control?” He’s being a touch too snappy about it, he knows it, and judging by the weird look Tommy is giving him, his hands up as if in surrender, he knows it too.

“I do, I’m just surprised that you aren’t letting one of the other guys take that job on, is all. What, is it a pretty lady or something?” Before Joel can figure out how to answer that question, Tommy’s eyes are widening and slipping right over his shoulder, and then–

“Holy shit, holy shit.”

“What?”

“See for yourself, brother.” Tommy shuffles him around by his shoulders, Joel’s protests dying in his throat when he sees her. Mercifully, she hasn’t seen them yet, standing in line at a frozen lemonade stand with her phone at her ear, having what looks to be a heated conversation. He doesn’t see Ellie with her, though, and figures to himself that she’s gotten the same treatment he has from Sarah. And suddenly, frozen lemonade seems like a very good idea because his throat has gotten quite dry looking at her. Those same jean shorts he saw her in the last time, and a sliver of skin between the waistband and the hem of her t-shirt. Her very tight t-shirt that rides up a little more when she raises her hand to push those sunglasses of hers back into her hair. And, well, he’s not trying to be a perv, but it doesn’t take much more than a glance to tell that she isn’t wearing a bra beneath her very, very tight t-shirt.

“Cherry!”

“Tommy, what the fuck?” Too late, her head has already whipped around, her phone still pressed to her ear, though the scowl that had been on her face melts into a small smile, her eyes widening in recognition. Meanwhile, Joel is considering how hard he would have to punch his brother to rattle his pea-sized brain into some sense. Cherry seems to finish her phone call with a quick flurry, already walking over to them as she hangs up.

“Tommy Miller, look at you!” Tommy pulls her into a tight hug, a small oof leaving her as he hoists her up until only her toes are on the ground before setting her back down with a slap to her arm. Joel decidedly does not give her such a greeting.

“Cher, of all the people I don’t think I’d ever expect to see you around here, goddamn!”

“Wait, Joel didn’t tell you I moved back?” They both turn their attention to Joel, who only manages to open and close his mouth a few times before Tommy lets out a scoff.

“You knew that she was back and you didn’t tell me?”

“Uh, well–”

“I thought for sure he would have told you. He’s coming out to look at my porch next week. Very impressive by the way, Tom, Miller’s Construction.” At that, something smug slides down Tommy’s face as he looks over at Joel.

“Oh, is he now? Say, Cher, you didn’t happen to move in on Cascade Street, did you?”

“Yeah, that’s right, so Joel did tell you then?” Joel contorts his face in the best expression of please no, Tommy, I will kill you if you do that he can muster over Cherry’s shoulder, but Tommy just grins at him, and then at Cherry.

“No, nope, I just saw in our books that there was an appointment on Cascade next week with a very important person. Just putting two and two together for myself since it looks like no one tells me anything around here.” With that, Tommy claps Joel on the shoulder, who still hasn’t managed to get a word in edgewise between the two of them. Cherry has a smile on her face like she knows exactly what’s going on.

“Well, anyways, it’s so good to see you, Cher. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“It’s good to see you too, Tommy. I’m really glad to see you looking so well.”

“I try, now if you two kids will excuse me, I have a date with something deep fried and covered in sugar.” Tommy is off in a flash, leaving Joel to flounder beneath Cherry’s simpering gaze.

“You didn’t tell Tommy that I was back?”

“I didn’t think it was mine to tell.” She nods, squinting at him through the bleary haze of the sunset.

“So this hasn’t changed much at all.”

“No, I reckon these are the same rides we went on as kids.”

“Don’t remind me, I’m already worried that Ellie’s off getting kidnapped right now. I don’t need tetanus and loss of limb added to the list.”

“So you got dumped too then?” They make their way back over to the line in front of the frozen lemonade stand, a bit longer than it was before, but he’s happy to wait with her.

“Afraid so, apparently when you turn fourteen you no longer want to be seen in public with your mom.”

“That applies to dads too.” They both share a tired smile and a small shrug, and once again he can’t believe he’s standing here with her, talking about parenthood of all things.

“Ellie’s on a date, but don’t tell her I told you that.” Said with a slanted smile and a bump of her shoulder into his.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm, she’s been harboring quite the crush on her team’s center outfielder.” The gears in his mind spin for a moment, and then it clicks.

“Oh, oh, huh.”

“Nice save, Joel.”

“No, I mean, that’s great, Cher. Good for her for, uh, knowing herself.” He palms the back of his neck, trying to cool the quick heat creeping there as she laughs at him. It’s a heat he hasn’t felt in a long time, though she was always quick to draw it out of him, always quick to catch him.

“Yeah, it is. I do worry though. Austin is definitely not New York.”

“That it ain’t, though I don’t think she’s gonna have to worry with you for her mom. You always did know how to give people the what for.”

“You’re damn right about that.” That’s a smile he’d like to remember, a grin really, her eyes crinkling up at him, a little wry and a little fierce. That heat just keeps creeping.

When they get to the front of the line, she starts to argue with him when he tries to pay for her drink, though he manages to sneak it by her when she gets distracted by another phone call buzzing through her back pocket. She checks the caller ID, sighs, and immediately shoves the phone back into her pocket, letting out another sigh when she sees that he’s already paid for her lemonade.

“For the record, I’m getting the next one.”

“Sure, Cher.” His mind gets a little stuck on next one, though he manages to follow her over to a bench and sit down with her, when once again, her phone starts ringing. She doesn’t check it, simply takes a long swig through the straw of her drink as it continues to buzz and ring.

“Not gonna take that call?”

“Nope, do you want some of this?” Maybe it’s childish, but the thought of drinking from the same straw as her makes his brain start to fry, so he shakes his head no and grips the edge of the bench a little tighter.

“Is that who you were on the phone with earlier?”

“Oh, you saw that, huh?” It makes him feel sheepish, admitting that he had, nodding to her question. Her shoulders slacken with a long sigh, another pull from her lemonade before she continues speaking.

“It’s my agent, poking around for my next draft.”

“So you weren’t kidding about the big leagues? Got an agent and everything.”

“I wish I didn’t have one, honestly. But I kinda have to when I’m dealing with all these big publishers.” She pinches the bridge of her nose as she says it, her eyes dropping shut, and he finally sees that she is actually very tired. A little drawn, heavy circles under her eyes, a little thin, sharp around the edges in a way he doesn’t remember. How he missed it before he isn’t sure, but now that he sees it, something slight and sharp slips between his ribs and curls around his heart.

“You’re working on another book then?” How quickly she hides away that weariness, looking at him with her cheek tilted over her shoulder and a bright smile.

“I’m trying to. You probably don’t care to hear about this–”

“I do, Cher, always wanted to hear about your stories.” It comes out before he can think much about it, and her expression does a strange thing. A quick fall, a scrunch of her brows, and then a slight frown before she shakes her head as if to clear the whole thing away.

“Have you really not read a single one of my books, Joel?”

“Uh, I–”

“No, don’t answer that. Wasn’t a fair question, sorry. Anyways, there’s nothing much to tell about this one because I am completely stuck with it.”

“Stuck?”

“I’m about this close to scrapping the whole thing. I don’t know, I guess part of me thought the move would shake something loose, but I still got nothing.” It’s not like he could offer her any advice on it, and it’s not like she’s looking for it either, another sigh around her straw and a shrug of her shoulders, always quick to make nothing out of something.

“You eaten anything for dinner yet?”

“Does this thirty-two ounce frozen lemonade count?” He’s already getting up and holding out his hand for her, and while it seems like the simplest movement, his mind instantly questions if it’s too much, though he fights against that with a foolish hope.

“C’mon, Cher, I think I can do you one better than a frozen lemonade.” No big deal, she takes his hand. No big deal, he tells himself. No big deal when she lets go either, because that’s normal too. That’s friendly. And friendly is good.

“If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, then it is definitely going to be better than this frozen lemonade.”

…

“You got a little, right there–” Before she can wipe away whatever he’s referring to with a napkin, Joel has already licked his thumb and swiped it along the corner of her mouth, promptly sucking what she assumes is barbecue sauce off the pad of his finger.

“That was so gross.”

“What? I’m saving paper.”

“Lovely.”

“Always, Cherry baby.” The sun had set a while ago, the streets lit up in a syrupy wash of neon from all the rides and games lining the several blocks. They ran the whole circuit of the booths, her constantly pulling Joel away to keep him from spending any more money on trying to win her something, and inevitably failing at whatever rigged game he stepped up to. She can already see his eyes dragging over the remaining booths as they finish their meal at one of the picnic tables set up next to all the food vendors, planning his attack, no doubt.

“You know I really don’t care about getting a stuffed animal, right?”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Cher.”

“Those games are literally designed for people to lose at them. Seriously, I don’t want you to waste any more money on it.” She quickly realizes that was the exact wrong thing to say, Joel’s eyes flashing back to her, hard and steeled, on the defense.

“You don’t gotta worry about what I do with my money, okay?” His words come out rushed and loud, with a quick shake of his head, enough to startle her back from where her thigh had been pressed close to his, something that immediately washes the edge out of his expression, his eyebrows slackening and his lips parting.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, Joel.” Her mouth feels dry, a cool prickle in her scalp, regret swirling up her meal in her stomach. He gets enough of that from everyone else, the money, the job, the what is the plan. He doesn’t need it from her too.

“No, I’m sorry, it’s just– forget it, I shouldn’t have gone after you like that.” She’s not quite ready to look at him, keeping her eyes focused on the red and white checkered napkin that she’s twisting in her hands. But of course, Joel doesn’t abide by that for long, ducking his head and leaning over to place a smacking kiss on the corner of her mouth before angling back again to get one planted square on her lips.

“You– taste– like– smoked– brisket–” Each of his words is punctuated with another peck until she can no longer stave off the smile threatening at the corners of her lips, shoving him back with a palm pressed in the middle of his chest.

“Oh shit, Miller, is that you?” Her stomach turns over, because she’s pretty sure she knows whose voice that is, and she wishes that she didn’t. She isn’t sure what the next best move is, though Joel seems to make the decision for her, slinging his arm over her shoulder to tuck her into his side just as Mikey Donahue comes sauntering over to where they’re sitting.

“Hey, Mike, you out with the guys tonight?” Joel offers his hand out for a hard shake, apparently still chummy with Mikey after the little scene at his party. Though she supposes water flows under the bridge a little faster for boys anyways.

“Nah, decided to finally bite the bullet and take Maureen out, she ducked into the bathrooms but she should be wandering over soon.” Though the answer is directed at Joel, Mikey’s eyes stay steady on her, a smile that she doesn’t like the curl of crooking his mouth.

“Y’all are quite the couple. Does your daddy know you’re out with this menace, big city?” It’s so small, so subtle, but she can still feel it, the way Joel’s hand curls closely and tenses around her forearm from where his arm had been draped around her.

“Ha, ha, Mikey, that’s very funny. I’m a big girl though, don’t really need my daddy or you to be concerned with my business.” Joel snorts over her shoulder, and she has to resist the urge to elbow him for it.

“Whatever you say, big city. Oh, here comes Maureen. Do y’all mind if we join you?” She’s quick to cut Joel off before he can answer, squeezing his thigh hard to shut him up as she offers Mikey a tight-lipped smile.

“Actually, we were just heading off to get a few rides in before the fireworks, but y’all have fun.” Not another word, though she’s pretty sure she hears Mikey let out a laugh as she pulls Joel up and along behind her before Maureen can even get anywhere near them.

“Cher, you know I don’t like rides.” Said very lowly, a bit bashful, she thinks, his head ducking down to speak the words right into her ear. Yeah, she knows, and has known since they were nine and Tommy and her forced him onto the Gravitron, which ended with Joel in tears and a puddle of what had been his dinner next to the trash can that he missed by only a hair.

“I know, I just needed an excuse to get away from those two. But, really, Joel? Not even the ferris wheel?” He stops walking for a moment, his eyes scanning over the arc of the ride as if to give it his full consideration. Finally, he looks at her again, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“How bad do you wanna go on it?”

“I think it could be nice, but not if you’re going to be all weird about it.” She swears she sees his chest puff a little, and with that, he takes her hand with all the conviction of a man going off to war.

“I’m not going to be weird about it, let’s go.” Famous last words. He’s the picture of ease all while they’re standing in line, but the instant they cram into one of the cars, his whole body tenses up, his knuckles going white where they’re gripping onto the side railing. She doesn’t say anything at first, just puts her hand on his bouncing knee when the ride cranks into motion. Though when they crest the top of the ride and it stops again, Joel’s poorly contained panic becomes impossible to ignore.

“Oh, what the fuck–”

“It’s okay, they’re just letting more people on.” She doesn’t think that he hears her, too busy craning his neck over the side of the car before skittering back into place when the lean of his body makes the whole thing rock.

“This is so fucked–”

“Joel.”

“Why do people enjoy this? That’s–”

“Joel.”

“What?” He finally looks at her, eyes a bit frantic and jaw slack. She can’t help but reach out and brush his hair back from his face.

“Is it– are you afraid of heights?” Calling it what it is seems to calm him, his shoulders finally coming down from his ears and his eyes softening. She lets her hand dip down to curl behind his neck, her fingers scratching lightly into the back of his hair.

“Maybe, but I’d say that’s a pretty rational fear, Cher.”

“Yeah, it is, and you’re also totally safe right now.” Her words are undermined just a bit when the ride screeches back into motion just as she finishes saying them, Joel’s eyes going wide again as he whips his head around to look over the edge of the car. Right, drastic measures then.

“Hey.” First, she shrugs her thigh over top of his to stop the anxious bounce in his knee, already drawing his attention back onto her. Then, she leans in a little closer so she can keep her eyes steady with his, her hand firm along the side of his neck to hold him in place.

“Just look right here and it’ll be over before you know it.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Well, I’m not the one freaking out on a ferris wheel right now.”

“Hey.” She shouldn’t, like giving a child what they want just because they’re having a tantrum. But she does, pressing one kiss, then another to his lips, small, swift little pecks that he eventually starts to lean into, his hand that had been gripping onto the railing coming up to settle along the line of her jaw when she swipes her tongue across his bottom lip. They’ve gotten a little better at this, at making compromises with each other, giving and taking almost equally, opening up for each other. And, not that his ego needs to hear it, but she really likes kissing him.

His panic seems to be all forgotten as he licks into her mouth, his nose brushing along the side of hers. Always a little greedy though, crowding her into the side of the car and making a soft sound skitter up her throat when his teeth graze along her lip.

“Uh, excuse me?” It startles them both, Joel very slowly pulling away from her and turning his head to look at the ride attendant, the very unamused looking ride attendant.

“Y’all can get off now, thanks.”

…

“Goddamn.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“They don’t have barbecue up north?”

“Not like this they don’t, Jesus.” He tries not to smile too big at the satisfied hum that leaves her throat as she takes another bite. And he’s also trying hard not to watch her too closely, because, no, it’s probably not normal to just stare at someone while they’re eating brisket and potato salad.

“Do I have something on my face?” Busted, and, well, actually, he motions to the side of his own mouth, words getting caught in his throat. She gets the hint though, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at the same spot on her face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how hungry I actually was. I probably look a little crazy right now.”

“Are you eating proper while you’re working?” Sheepish, the flicker of her eyes from beneath her lashes is enough of an answer to his question. Some things never change, he supposes.

“I may get a little distracted.”

“Uh-huh.” A quick, quiet smile shared, a knowing. He likes knowing.

“Mom?” No, he is still not used to that, both of them whipping their heads around where they’re sitting at a picnic bench to see her daughter with a very furrowed look on her face.

“Hey, babe, everything okay?” Ellie is looking at Joel. Sizing him up is more like it, her lips pursed and her arms crossed, her hip cocked to the side, just like he knows her mom does when she’s not pleased with something.

“Uh, yeah, we were just gonna– wait, are you eating meat?” He glances back to Cherry, who now has the guiltiest little smile on her face, her eyebrows pulled together in a quiet cringe as she tries to inconspicuously swallow another bite of food.

“I am, Els, I’m sorry. I gotta be honest, I don’t think I’m gonna keep up the vegetarian thing all the time, but you know I’ll support you if you still want to.” Ellie gives her an eye roll that looks like it’s going to get stuck in the back of her head, a little huff and a few shuffled steps in place like she can’t believe this.

“Okay, well, fine, I guess. I was gonna ask if you had found something to eat that didn’t have dead animal in it, but obviously you’re not gonna be much help with that so I’ll see you later.” With that, Ellie turns heel back into the crowd, Joel still unsure exactly what he just watched.

“They have fried pickles, babe, those should be fine! Be safe, please!” Ellie only acknowledges her shout with a glance spared over her shoulder, Cherry immediately deflating when her daughter gets swallowed up by the crowd, bringing her thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of her nose again.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe that just happened.” Said with a dejected little laugh that only grows when she takes another bite of brisket, his chest loosening up when she shakes her head and offers him a smile.

“So vegetarian, huh?” Cherry shrugs.

“New York.”

“Sarah had a phase with it too. Only lasted three days before Tommy took her to KFC and she swayed.”

“Ellie is a little more, uh, zealous about it. It’s going on two years now since she watched some documentary and came into my room in complete tears over, and mind you that a twelve-year-old said this, the horrors of animal agriculture.”

“Well shit.”

“Right?”

“You’re telling me you’ve been vegetarian for two years?”

“Don’t laugh, Joel.” It only makes him laugh harder, Cherry shoving him in the arm as she tries to scrunch her mouth out of a smile. But beneath that laugh, there’s something else, something warm and a little giddy. He’s noticed it every time she has said his name.

“No wonder you were so hungry, Cher, damn.”

“This may surprise you, but meat isn’t the only food group. And I’ll have you know I make some damn good tofu enchiladas.”

“Well that’s just sacreligious.”

“Oh please.” Back and forth, slipping into that easy volley without either of them noticing that their faces have started inching closer and closer, though when they do there’s a quick flush of heat that has them both clearing their throats and widening that space again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, where did Will end up?”

“Oregon, he’s a really great photographer these days.”

“Y’all keep in touch?”

“A little, yeah. I think for a while, we were both just happy to have gotten out, you know? It made us keep our distance from each other. But he came and visited last year, got to meet Ellie for the first time.”

“That’s great, Cher.”

“Yeah, it is. He’s turning thirty-three this year, if you can believe it.”

“Jesus.”

“I know, how’d that happen, huh?” Joel just shakes his head, a memory already floating up to the surface. Will was a freshman when they were seniors, tall but slight for his age, quieter, kept more to himself, though Joel made a point of saying hi to him in the hallways, clapping him on the back in the lunch line. There was a day, maybe a week after winter break, and Joel was loitering in the halls during a class he didn’t have any patience for when he saw Will at his locker. All smiles, all loud and brash greetings that all faded when he saw the shiner mottling under Will’s right eye. He remembers being ready to go on the warpath for the kid, asking him over and over, who did this, man, just tell me, who did this? He figured, one of the guys from the football team, someone he could set straight, and that he of course would set straight for Cherry’s little brother. But Will just kept saying nobody, it’s nobody, Joel, please don’t. It was probably two months later when he finally figured out who nobody was, a slow realization, something clicking into place.

But he knows better than to share that memory with her, the same way he knows better than to ask her if she has kept in touch with her parents. He already knows the answer to that question.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?”

“Where’d you go?” Her head tilted at him, a suggestion of a smile.

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“And that’s mean.” Back to the present, sitting next to her on a picnic bench, he has to shake his head of it. A strange feeling, how carefully they’re stepping around the past, sharing pieces in scraps, in unsure palms, always quick to make it light, make a joke of it. He’s not sure how long he can keep dancing like this.

“Are you sticking around for the fireworks?”

“I was informed by Sarah to meet her at the car after the fireworks, so yeah, I guess I am.”

“Oh, how funny, I was given the same instructions by my own little tyrant.”

“Imagine that.”

“You wouldn’t want to watch them with me, would you?”

“I’d love to, Cher.”

…

“You do realize you’re driving us in the opposite direction of where the fireworks are being set off, right?”

“Do you trust me or not?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly or not?”

“You know I could kick you out of my car if I wanted to.”

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try.”

“Cherry, just– quiet for a minute–”

“Don’t tell me to be quiet, Joel!”

“I’m trying to concentrate, goddamnit! You’re gonna make me miss the turn.”

“What turn? We’re literally on the highway and there isn’t another exit for–” Her thought gets lost behind a gasp when Joel mutters a quiet shit under his breath and suddenly veers completely off the road and into what she thinks is a corn field, though she’s a little too busy shouting whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck over and over again as the car bounces and bumps over uneven ground. And seemingly just as suddenly, he stops the car altogether, putting it in park and killing the engine in what, yes, is the middle of a cornfield, the stalks unusually high and proud for this early in the season. It’s already dark out, deep blue and bruising shadows, she can only barely see his face in what light the lamp post about fifty yards away offers.

“What the fuck?”

“You already asked that about a thousand times, Cher.”

“Yeah, and you haven’t answered, so again, what the fuck?” He’s still not answering, shouldering into his door to get it open against the close crush of the tightly planted corn stalks, letting out a satisfied grunt when it finally gives way.

“Joel–”

“Cherry, just shut up and give me your hand.”

“If you ever tell me to shut up again I’m going to make sure you regret it.”

“Noted, now come here.” Albeit reluctantly, she takes his hand from where he’s now leaning out of the driver’s side door, managing an awkward shimmy over the center console and into the driver’s seat as Joel swings his body out along the side of the car, one leg hitching into the truck bed. The soft silk of corn stalks brushes against her legs and arms as she follows after him, holding on tight to his hand to hoist herself up and into the truck bed alongside him, a quick tumble over each other, all tangled up. Though not for long, Joel already getting to work shaking out what she sees is a stack of moving blankets in the back of the truck bed. She takes a moment to look around, a thick line of trees surrounding the field on the side opposite to the road, so late that she doesn’t think a single car has passed by since they’ve driven out here. And, she hates to admit it, a perfect view down the stretch of the highway of the stadium where they’re setting off the fireworks from.

“You good?” His question startles her out of her slow scan of the surroundings, finally looking back at him to see that he’s spread the blankets out in the bed of the truck, his back resting against the cab and his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Y-yeah.” It comes out small and shaky, and while she thinks she knows why, she tamps that down tight as she crawls over to sit beside him. Even though it’s oppressively hot, she still tucks down into his side when he lets his arm fall over her shoulders. Perfect spot and perfect timing too, but she doesn’t watch the sky when she hears that familiar whistle and pop of rockets, choosing instead to see the light burst and shatter over his face, the slow fall of it in his eyes. And there’s no tamping it down now, that feeling starting to fizz and lift in her chest, and as she continues to watch each succession of color and sound wash over Joel’s parted lips and wide eyes, she knows that she is absolutely, irreparably, fucked.

“You’re not even watching.”

“Yes I am.” He’s not watching anymore either, looking at her down the length of his nose, all shadow between the quick fractures of light. Their chins bump first before they get it right, seeking each other out by feel. His hands finding her hips, squeezing and coaxing her into his lap, though he pulls away when the next resonant crack of fireworks splits the sky and her whole body tenses.

“You don’t like the sound?”

“It’s not my favorite thing.” No, she doesn’t like that sound. That sound that reminds her of the whole lot of not funny going on in her household, but she’s already leaning in to forget all that with her mouth pressed to his. Though Joel holds her back, firm palm, big palm, steady and curled at the nape of her neck.

“Is it okay though? You’re okay?” It doesn’t help her case when another stream of fireworks sets off just as he asks it, her body jolting in his hold again, but she tries to pass it off with a breathy laugh.

“It’s fine, Joel. I’m fine. Just come here, please.” He relents, his hand slipping down along her spine to press her closer as she opens his mouth with hers, a shared sigh and the quiet scrape of teeth, her palm splayed over his chest feeling the thrum of his moan when she licks into his mouth. He’s being careful, she can tell, and she doesn’t think it’s only because they can just barely see each other in the dim light and the punctuated bursts of brightness from the fireworks, his hands splaying wide along the span of her back, holding her so close that every time her muscles tense and jump at the sounds it just sends her closer into his arms. He’s steady, perfectly, his thumbs stroking back and forth along her spine, constant and lulling until she knows that the fireworks are still going on, the pinpricks of light in the periphery, but she can no longer hear them over the rushing in her ears and the way she’s trying to collect every breath of his with her own.

And she just wants more, however she can get it, his stomach tensing up when her fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, only pulling away enough that he can help her tug it over his head. Always so warm beneath her hands, she keeps one palm in the center of his chest, finding that pulse, that beat that always seems so strong to her, as Joel’s hands begin to wander. Ever predictable, the first stop of his circuit is her ass, both palms splayed and squeezing, making a weak noise fizzle out in her throat as he rocks her forward into the hardness in his jeans. From there, his palms slip down to the meat of her thighs, another squeeze, his fingers flickering under the hem of her shorts. Their kiss breaks with a quiet click, lips shined and swollen with it as she leans back to peel her tank top off, though before she can unclasp her bra, Joel grabs both her wrists, his eyes wide and pleading.

“What’s wrong?” The fireworks have stopped, so she must squint in the shadows to see the way his eyes are drooping down, the dip and bob of his throat as he swallows.

“Nothing, I just– s’pretty.” He lets go of her wrists, his fingers coming up to ghost over the tops of her breasts, that slight spill of flesh over the top of her bra, a small sigh that she can see leave his chest as he watches her own inhale and exhale.

“Do you want me to leave it on, baby?” She’s never called him that before, though judging by the broken groan that crackles in his chest, he liked it, a new warmth curling deep in her stomach at the sound.

“Please, Cher.” She can’t help the grin that slips across her face, circling one of his wrists with her palm to draw it up to her lips, pressing a kiss to the pad of each finger before guiding his hand down to the waistband of her shorts. Quick to flicker through the button and zipper, it’s all slow moves as he surges forward and she leans back until she’s laying out in the bed of the truck with Joel between her legs and nothing on but that bra he seems to like so much. It doesn’t surprise her that he wastes no time in ducking his head down to mouth over the fabric of her bra, her spine arching up into the wet heat with a sigh. Though he’s gone just as fast, drifting further down over the fluttering rise and fall of her stomach, his lips catching below her navel before he settles between her legs with her thighs resting over his shoulders.

He learned fast what she likes, with her hand in his hair and her words so quick to correct or to praise, he learned very fast. So she doesn’t have to say a thing now, a silent cry crackling in her jaw when he drags his tongue through the heat of her cunt. She can already feel a perfect bead of arousal dripping from between her thighs down the cleft of her ass as his mouth rests over her clit and he sucks, sharp, quick, before dipping back down and doing it again. He’s gotten more confident, more brazen about it, a little rough in the way his fingers dig into the swell of her thighs, demanding everything, open and willing and waiting for whatever he will give her. And she gives it to him, fingers threaded through his hair to tug when his teeth graze too tender, her spine strung tight and taut as her cunt clenches around nothing. The sound is obscene, a salacious secret amidst the hum of crickets and the close quiet of the night, the little hums he can’t seem to stop rising in his throat as he eats at her, the slick slip of it, and the gentle, but still there, rock of the truck from how he’s grinding his hips down, seeking out more just the same as her.

His one palm slips under the curve of her ass, tilting her hips up toward his mouth as he continues to lick and suck at her cunt, all that pleasure starting to hurt, starting to snap and snarl as she tugs a little harder at his hair.

“I– more– something more, please.” He lifts his gaze from its hazy drop, the whites of his eyes still hooded and shining up to her as he rests his cheek against the soft inside of her thigh, the little pants of his breath washing over her cunt and making her hips twitch.

“You want more?” She would smack him for looking so smug if she didn’t need it so bad, settling instead for another tug in his hair that makes him puff out a laugh. He doesn’t wait for any more of an answer, happy to oblige with two of his fingers dragging down through her swollen cunt before dipping inside, heat shooting up her spine when he curls them just so, that small stretch, that ache, that want. He presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh before his teeth sink into the flesh, his fingers already finding a steady rhythm that’s making her buck up into his hand.

“Yes– just like that– I want– I want–”

“You want it?’

“Uh-huh.”

“You need it?”

“So bad, Joel, please.”

“I know, Cherry, look at you, huh? So perfect like this.” He continues to coo at her in that low hum when it finally catches up with her, that pleasure pulling taut fraying all at once, her whole body curling in tight and tense and then releasing with a languid moan. My girl, my fucking girl, so good, my good fucking girl. She hears it somewhere in the back of her mind, tucking it away behind the wall of sound and sense still coursing through her as her hips jolt in his grasp, so sensitive that tears start to pearl along her lashes. She thinks her heart might actually stop when he finally pulls his fingers away and up to his mouth, sucking each one with a hum and an absurd pop before he crawls up her body to give her a taste.

Her hands are already tugging at his jeans, only a bit surprised when she manages to ruck them down and finds that he isn’t wearing underwear.

“You are such a freak.” He laughs, leaving a harsh nip to the hinge of her jaw.

“I don’t see why you’re complaining, it’s easy access, Cher.” She only manages to get his jeans down over the curve of his ass, but it’s enough so she can slip her palms down and dig her fingernails into the flesh in retaliation, Joel groaning and dropping his forehead down to her sternum.

“Be nice.”

“You be nice.”

“You’re the one that called me a freak.”

“And it stands.”

“If I’m a freak then you’re a–”

“Careful, baby.”

“You’re a menace.” He hisses out the word as he spreads her open on his cock in one slow drag, the both of them sighing as he stills inside her. For a moment the only sound is their ragged breaths. Slow movements, his hand curling around the back of her knee to draw it up against his hip, another small rock that makes her preen with how full she feels. Her mouth stays stamped at his hairline, words murmured there as she curls her arm around his shoulder blades.

“I’m a menace?”

“Uh-huh, you d-drive me insane.” His words come out breathless as he finally pulls his hips back, a little more force in his next thrust that makes a whine tear through her chest. He’s so deep, grinding his hips into hers even deeper and all she can do is take it, her heel digging into his low back as he does it again and again and again.

“Well you drive me in-insane too– oh.” The words slip out in stilted stutters, tears dripping cool and sticky down her flushed cheeks as he finds a different movement, one that’s harder and meaner, rucking her up the bed of the truck with every shunt of his hips against hers, his chest pressed tight against hers, sweat beading and dripping between her breasts.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” Pitchy and high in her throat, she can’t help it when he slips a hand between the humid stick of their bodies to drag his fingers against her clit.

“Good.” It isn’t long before they’re both unraveling around each other, his forehead pressed hard into hers, the weight of him heaving and draped over her, stifling and sweaty and perfect. Her whole body shakes with the panting laugh he lets out, finally resting his chin between her breasts to look up at her.

“My little menace.” She can’t help but laugh too, his cheeks splitting into a grin at the sound.

“My big freak.”

“Hey.”

…

“Oh my god.”

“What, what is it?”

“I think that’s Ellie and her date.”

“Where?”

“Don’t be so obvious about it, two rows down, across the aisle.” Her hand is on his shoulder, her finger pointed right next to his face to guide his gaze toward where she’s looking. Sure enough, it’s Ellie, sitting very close to another girl on the bleachers, oblivious to the crush of the crowd around them, smiling and laughing to each other as they wait for the fireworks to start. He never liked watching from inside the stadium, thinking that all the bright lights sort of defeated the purpose, but now he’s grateful for them so he can get a better look to confirm that yes, that is definitely Ellie who is now putting her arm around her date, getting even cozier.

“Oh my god.” He finally looks away to see Cherry hanging on his shoulder, perfectly mortified at the sight in front of her.

“You got a regular Casanova on your hands, Cher.”

“I feel like I’m going to cry, or maybe scream, or maybe throw up.” He’s watching her watching them, her brow crumpled and her jaw completely slack, pure shock. He’d laugh, but he’s pretty sure he’d be in a far worse state if he saw Sarah in a similar position.

“Hey, it’s okay, they’re just–”

“Oh my fucking god, look!” His eyes dart back just in time to see what he’s pretty sure is the end of a kiss, the young pair shyly pulling away from each other with small smiles.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

“Do you think that was her first kiss?” It’s such an absurd question. He’s only just met the kid, after all. But when he looks back at Cherry and sees the pleading tilt of her eyes, how could he not try his best?

“Well, I don’t know, Cher, do you?” Maybe his best wasn’t very good.

“I don’t know. Oh fuck, I shouldn’t have seen that. I should not have seen that. She’s too young for that, right? I should go get her, yeah, that’s what I should do.” She’s already starting to get up out of her seat, and all Joel can think to do is grab her hand to keep her where she is.

“Woah, woah, hey, I think they’re fine, Cher. Look, they’re just talking now.” She squeezes his hand, still looking at Ellie with a deep frown on her face, but she does sit back down. She’s still holding onto his hand while she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You think so?”

“Tell me this, how old were you when you had your first kiss?” Suddenly, the worry in her face slackens, something a bit more bashful slipping into place. She’s still holding onto his hand.

“Well, I was thirteen.”

“There you go, it’s normal then.” She’s still holding onto his hand.

“How old were you when you had yours?” She’s still holding onto his hand.

“I don’t know, probably thirteen like you.” She’s still holding onto his hand.

“You mean you don’t remember?” She’s still holding onto his hand.

“Not really.”

“How can you not remember your first kiss?” She finally lets go of his hand, only so that she can talk with her own, a bit of flailing and exasperation at him before her hands settle in her lap. He rests his on his knee, a hard squeeze to stop any lingering want.

“I just don’t. It was a long time ago, and it obviously wasn’t very important.”

“Do you at least remember who it was with?” He does, but she’s not going to like the answer, and suddenly the toes of his boots are very interesting as he scratches the back of his neck.

“Uh, Maureen.” He says it as he drags his hand down his jaw, the name getting muffled beneath his palm. Cherry’s face scrunches up.

“Come again?” He really doesn’t want to say it again, but he knows she’s not going to give this up now, her chin tilted down and her eyes narrowed at him.

“Maureen? Maureen Henderson, yep.” As if a yep might make it better, but her brows have already done that thing, that familiar thing where they shoot up her forehead, then scrunch down again, then slacken.

“Huh, so Maureen wasn’t very memorable then?”

“Nope, not at all.” She purses her lips and nods, her eyes squinting out across the stadium for a moment. But before whatever is simmering below the surface can bubble over, the first booming firework goes off, and her whole body recoils.

“Oh, motherfucker.” It happens again, another fizzle and crack, and as the crowd oohs and ahhs, she digs her fingernails into her thighs and grits her jaw.

“That never got any better, huh?”

“Afraid not.” He wants to reach out for her, to curl his arm around her shoulders and pull her tight into his side, to absorb the shock that keeps resounding through her body. He knows how to, after all.

“Is– is there something I can do, Cher?” Her eyes are a little unfocused, even when he ducks his head down to try to get her attention.

“You’d think that by now I’d have figured out that every loud sound isn’t–” Almost like a hiccup when the next rocket goes off. The only thing that’s different is that now, each time, first her eyes dart over to where Ellie is sitting, checking, making sure. He feels his heart ripping apart watching her.

“Hey.” It comes out quieter than he meant it to, but her eyes still turn onto him when he puts his hand on her knee.

“You wanna go wait at your car?” She nods, and that’s enough for him to go into action, not thinking twice about taking her hand again and shepherding them both down one of the aisles further away from where Ellie is sitting. Back and forth, back and forth, his thumb stays steady and smoothing along her hand the whole way out of the stadium and into the massive parking lot.

“My car or yours, Cher?”

“I don’t– I don’t– Ellie– uh, I–” She’s still holding tight to his hand, her eyes darting around the lot, clearly working herself into a state, the continued onslaught of fireworks not helping at all.

“That’s alright. Cher? It’s alright, okay? Let’s sit in my car and I’ll drive you to yours when this is over.” He thinks she says okay, but he’s already focused on pulling her along to his car. And when they get in, him in the driver’s seat and her in the passenger’s, he realizes that, no, he’s not going to crack the windows, trying to keep as much of the sound out as possible. So he lets the car idle and cranks the AC up as high as it will go, and it’s probably going to burn up his tank of gas, but he doesn’t care, because it seems to muffle the noise of the fireworks just enough for her to start coming back down. He’s still holding her hand over the center console.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry, Joel.” She takes her hand out of his, pressing her palm to her chest, letting out a long breath through her nose.

“Don’t, Cherry. It’s okay.” She keeps her eyes closed and her palm against her chest, long inhales and exhales, and he realizes that she’s doing a breathing exercise. He only knows it because the shrinks at the VA started Tommy in on it when he kept having panic attacks after coming home. And something like anger settles in his stomach, slithering up and seeping out between his ribs, sickening and slick. Anger that no, this hasn’t gotten any better. Anger that no, this probably won’t get better. And no, no one deserves it, but he selfishly thinks to himself that she especially doesn’t deserve it.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Cher.” Her eyes finally slip open, head tilting onto her shoulder to look at him. Mercy, it’s passing. Mercy, he could help her through its passing.

“So, Maureen Henderson, huh?”

“Oh, you’re still on that?” Small smile, he’ll take it.

“You could have done better, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Well since you remember it so well, who was your first?”

“You’re not gonna like my answer.”

“Try me.”

“It was Mikey Donahue.”

“No.” She was right, he didn’t like that answer, not one bit.

“Yeah, I think his friends dared him to do it, honestly.”

“That little shit.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You could have done better.” That gets a full smile from her, her nose scrunching up at the same time something takes off in his chest.

“I guess we both could have.”

“Yeah, Cher, I guess so.”

...................................................

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hiramaris · 2 years

Text

Dusk til Dawn

Part 3

Summary: Following Episode 9. And spoilers for Episode 10.

Author’s note: As Episode 10 is just released I just want to say heads up for those who are not yet finished. Completing the game without spoilers really made a difference, and as much as possible I want everyone to experience that. And for those finished, I’ll gladly welcome you to my domain where MC took a different route.

Disclaimer: I do not own Duskwood or any of the related characters. Duskwood is created by and owned by Everbyte Studio. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Duskwood story belong to Everbyte Studio.

Warning: Mentions of blood, suicide, violence, pedophiles, drugs, gun, murder, sex offenders, kidnapping

Gif by Dmitriy Zhadlun

It’s been a few minutes since the video call was dropped. You remained vigilant, scanning your surrounding with hawk-like eyes for any signs of Michael’s presence outside, phone ready to signal the others if ever the circumstance arises.

Jessy’s presence inside the room gave you a bit sense of comfort knowing she’s safe with you. She’s still busy going over the files, providing updates on her progress.

With each passing minute, a growing sense of unease settled in you.

It’s not that you wanted him to come, but why would he threaten you guys that he’s coming and then not come? It doesn’t make sense.

Actually, why the hell did he even tell you he was coming? He can catch you all off guard without even realizing it.

You’re not sure if he’s dumb or he’s all bark and no bite, but that couldn’t have been possible, he assaulted both Richy and Jessy and even devised a plan to trap you. So, neither option seemed likely.

The bastard is really unpredictable.

That’s why you should be always a step ahead of him. You can't afford to make mistakes right now.

When your phone rang, you were startled a bit. You sighed in relief as you saw Jake’s call I.D. Jessy perked up on the couch with a questioning look. You told her it was Jake and she only nod in understanding and went back to her files.

“Hello, Y/n,” his voice came through the phone. God, he sounded so tired. “Is everything alright with the others?”

“Well, given the circumstances, everything’s as good as it could get. Though they’re valiant as ever.” You replied with a sigh. “Which is good, right?”

“Hm. No man without a face in sight?”

“So far, he’s not here yet,” you replied, your gaze unwaveringly fixed on the window. He’ll eventually come here, and you know it.

“Anyhow, please excuse my absence, I have good news.” He announces and that caught your attention. The prospect of good news seems a nice change of pace. “Michael did not just receive a signal when he requested the location. He also made himself visible.”

“Wait, really?” You questioned. That only means one thing. “Does that mean we’re also able to trace his signal?”

“Not quite, but with a little more time, that will hopefully be the case. Currently, it is nothing more than a vague trace, but it would probably be worthwhile to follow it further. I might be able to track his GPS signal.”

“That would be amazing, Jake,” you exhaled, a sense of relief washing over you. That way, you’ll probably be able to tell where he’s headed, meaning, you could probably trace where he kept Hannah. This lead Jake got gave you immense hope.

“Y/n,” Jessy called from the bed, her voice drawing your attention. It seemed like she had found something important in her files. “Can you come over here for a sec?”

“Yeah, sure, Jess.” You took one last look outside before going towards her. “I’ll talk to you later, Jake. Keep me posted, okay?”

“See you later, Y/n.”

You took a seat beside her, “hey, what’s up?”

“I just got done with all the files.” She told you, seemingly a bit frustrated. “There are no records on AMC Gremlin. I really looked through every single one of them, and it’s absolutely impossible I missed one. So, either this car was never at the garage or som—” There was a loud thump below the floor causing you to stand up instinctively. It was as if something had fallen or a door was being forced open. “What’s that?!”

“Wait,” you say, ready to investigate the commotion down there. “I’m gonna go and see what—”

“No,” she said with a firm voice. She tugged you back beside her. “Stay here. I’m gonna ask them.”

Just as you were about to sign off, you caught a glimpse of activity from the spy feature Jake installed on your phone. Seeing as they didn’t know you can also spy in their conversations, and you didn’t want them to be alarmed by that, especially Jessy, you decided it would be best to deal this far with her.

Jessy: What was that?

Dan: Sorry

That was me

Cleo: Did something happen?

Dan: I knocked something over

You: Yeah, we heard

Thought it was Michael

Jessy: What happened?

Dan: I knocked over this dumb clothes stand

You: That was quite a scare, old man

I was ready to fight someone

Dan: Haha save that strength for kicking Hanson’s sorry ass later

Anyway sorry for the scare. Y’know wheelchair and all that

Jessy: Whew 😥

Okay then

See you later

They are already uncomfortable with the notion of Jake having access to their private accounts but they don’t know you have access, too.

Their reaction to that fact is unknown and you wouldn’t want to risk it.

“Hold on, Jess. Can you keep an eye on things for a sec? I just need to look onto something.”

She smiled and said, “yeah, sure,” without any questions.

One of the many qualities you admired about her was her ability to respect your privacy, not prying or pushing, and patiently waiting for you to address things in your own time.

With an appreciative smile directed at Jessy, you settled comfortably on the couch before whipping out your phone once again.

A conversation thread between Dan and Thomas captured your attention, and you couldn't resist reading along. Even though you tried to maintain a passive expression, you couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows.

Apparently, Thomas wanted Dan to hand him the weapon, and Dan being Dan, didn’t seem to take him seriously. Thomas argues that if ever things went down, it will be better off in his hands as Dan can’t even move from floor to floor because of his wheelchair.

Either way, you agreed with Dan.

It’s not because Thomas is a wimp, as Dan jokingly referred to him, but you just think he just didn’t have the capacity to use it and pull the trigger if necessary. That weapon is your only chance against Hanson if ever the situation demands it. Besides, being a security guard as per Dan’s story, you knew he at least has experience and knowledge when it comes to using one.

Now, things just escalated as to who brought the gun and Dan is accusing Thomas.

To be honest, you’re not sure who brought it but it’s safe to assume it’s one of the group. It just didn’t make sense if none of them admitted it if its only purpose is to keep you guys protected. But what made you surprised is when Thomas mentioned that the weapon might belong to Hannah’s dad and was supposed to be hidden in the attic. Apparently, he promised Hannah’s mom to get rid of it when Hannah was born but he didn’t. Dan questioned if Thomas was sure if it was the same gun because the idea of the gun making its way from the Donfort’s attic to the cabin seemed impossible.

Which leads to the thought that Lilly might have brought it with her. Dan couldn’t believe it. Actually, neither could you. But you also noticed she didn’t seem to be fazed when Cleo brought it up earlier or you weren’t able to see her reaction because she was behind the phone.

The two decided to confront Lilly. The gun was left in Dan’s hands and Thomas will be the one to talk to Lilly since he’s the only one who’s supposed to know about her dad’s gun.

And speaking of Dan, he sent you a private chat.

Dan proceeded to tell you about that time when he was thirteen. A guy holding his hat in both of his hands was trying to smile and asked if his mom was home and suddenly turned up at their door. Dan mentioned the guy had a big, white scar on his left hand. He knew him straight away and he didn’t have to introduce himself to Dan. And the huge scar the man got is from the time he got wasted and then slipped with a bottle of beer in his hand. He was aiming that bottle at his mom’s head, fortunately, she was fast enough to avoid it.

Dan: Hey

I wanted to thank you

You: Eh? For what?

Dan: Thanks for taking my side earlier

You calmed the others down

You get brownie points for that

I know I don’t have the best judgment all the time

But you believed in me

And they believe you believing in me

I’ll take that any day

That belief seemed to be the push for them to fight back

And boy

I don’t think I’ve told you already, but we all felt relieved for your ass being here

You: Haha I do have a fine ass

I won’t blame you 😏

But seriously, I feel the same

I want to protect you guys, too y’know?

And we’re gonna kick Hanson’s sorry ass tonight

Dan: Haha we will 💪

Anyway, I’d like to tell you a story

You suddenly realized who Dan was talking about.

His dad.

Dan demanded him to get away from their house and he guarantee nothing if he dare show him his face again and asked for her. But a couple of days later, he came home in the evening, and the guy was on his porch again. This time, his mom is there, covering her face, hiding the black eye he just gave her but not her tears. And Dan being Dan, you knew what he could have done in that situation. That’s the reason his mom has trouble walking which you have been hinted back in his and Cleo’s conversation a while back. His dad pushed her down the stairs just because she put peas in her casserole one evening.

Damn, you think as you put down your phone.

Dan: Goddamn peas

He never showed up again

And until today, I have no idea if he even knew who I was

And to be honest, I don’t give a shit

You: You really shouldn’t

Guy’s an asshole

Dan: Yeah

The biggest one

To make a long story short

I know what it’s like when you open the door and you’re suddenly faced with a monster

You: I guess you and me both

Dan: Well

I guess we’ll both know how to deal with that kind of monster

Right

I’ve got to go

We don’t want the faceless one to smear his mark on this door too now, do we?

You: Be careful, okay?

Call us when something happens

Dan: Will do

Now you know where he’s coming from. You always believe that everyone has their own reasons why they act the way they do. As a psychologist, you have plenty of cases that you handled and all of your patients there have their own stories to tell.

That’s why you never judge your friends on how they acted. Especially that time when Dan is skeptical about you. You’re a stranger after all, and there’s a risk that you were the kidnapper that time for them, the same goes for Lilly. You were never mad when she released that video. She just reacted like how a normal sister would do, and who are you to be mad about that?

Another notification from your phone attracted your attention.

Now, that made your eyebrow rise. Normally, if he seeks help, he'll direct message you but that's not the case now. He's sent this message to the Group Chat itself. This could be possibly related to what he told you earlier.

Jake: I need your help.

Cleo: From all of us?

It seems that Jessy is not with her phone you decided to inform her.

Jake: If that is possible, then yes.

Dan: Here we go again

“Jess, I think there’s something we need to deal with in the group chat.”

“Oh,” she took her phone out. “Have any idea what is it for?”

“Not sure. Anyway, come sit here.” Patting the space beside you on the couch, you added, “I have a feeling we won’t be needing to guard the house for now.”

Though she appeared puzzled, Jessy complied with your request.

You fought back a snort in amusement.

Jessy: Hey 🙂

You: 👋

Jake: As you all know, Michael Hanson activated location sharing via GPS on Hannah’s phone.

However, that way, he unknowingly revealed a significant weakness to me.

A few minutes ago, I was able to establish a connection with his phone.

Dan: And what does that mean in normal words for us peasants?

"It is now possible for us to access Michael Hanson’s microphone as we wish." Jessy reads aloud from the group chat, her eyes widening in astonishment.

And that made you choke on your own spit. That was possibly the least you expected Jake could have gotten from Hanson’s location. Damn.

Jessy giggles at your reaction but put a soothing hand against your back, patting you softly. With a playful grin, she teased, "Looks like it's safe to say you didn't have a clue about this."

“I only know bits about the shared location. That’s why he called earlier but this is beyond what I expected. Damn, Jake’s good.”

“You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?” Jessy playfully nudged you with her head. At some point during your conversation, you noticed her leaning against your side, her head finding a comfortable spot on your shoulder. “I have to say, it's kind of adorable. Are you usually like this when you and Jake discover something?”

Dan: No fucking way

Jessy: 😲

You: Haha vengeance is ours 😈

Dan: Haha you bet it is

Jake: : )

Anyhow, this is not quite what I had hoped for but it should suffice.

You: It’s more than enough. Good job, Jake

Jake: ; )

So.

As soon as I establish the connection, we will be able to hear everything occurring in the vicinity of his cell phone.

Perhaps this way we can outsmart him.

You: Awesome 😁

“I’m just excited. I really try to see everything as an opportunity, and this one is big, Jess.” A wide grin adorned your face.

“Seriously, why does he keep calling me that?” Jessy complains, and you can only laugh at her adorableness.

Jake: This is where you all come in.

I want all of you to listen and take note of every sound. Both striking and inconspicuous.

Anything could be important.

Any questions?

You: Will we still be able to talk to each other? I mean, in the group chat?

Jake: You can still talk to each other.

I believe conversing among ourselves to be vital.

However, I suggest that you should use only one source of sound for those who are together.

Preferably one phone has its audio muted to avoid any echoes and sound disruption.

This applies to Cleo and Lilly, and Y/n and Jessica.

“Well, it is a pretty name. You can’t blame him.”

“Flirt,” she huffs. It would have been believable if she wasn’t snuggling against you.

As Jake's chat once again drew your attention, a twinge of guilt nagged at you for being mushy with Jessy when you were supposed to be focusing on the case.

So, you subtly adjusted your seating position, prompting Jessy to do the same. You stretched both of your arms, before grabbing Jessy back to you with your one arm. She let out a surprise “oof,” while your other free hand took hold of your phone.

Now, you can be mushy with her and focus on the task at the same time. You see, multitasking has been one of your vital assets. This way, you don't have to feel guilty anymore.

“We can share, you know?” You whispered against her ear.

Jake: The best-case scenario is that we can find out Michael’s current location.

Any advantage we have over him is unspeakably valuable.

Please increase the volume of your cellular phones.

It would be even better to use headphones, if at all possible.

Jessy: I’m afraid I don’t have mine with me ☹️

You’ve been wearing your wireless earbuds this whole time which is pretty convenient during the ride earlier, plus it’s super stealthy as well since it fits directly into the ear canal. You took off your left earbud and went to proceed to put it on Jessy’s.

“Why are you getting red? And you’re super warm, too. You, okay?” You ask innocently as you tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear as you put the earbud on her. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” You ask, fearing that your actions might be crossing boundaries. After all, technically, you just met them today, in person that is.

“N-no,” she stammered, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness. "Just... could you please tuck me back in with you? I feel a bit cold."

Your own cheeks flushed in surprise at her unexpected request. "Huh, what?" you managed to utter, caught off guard by her words.

“Omg,” luckily before she noticed, both of your phones glitched in a familiar way like you are being hacked, which makes sense because your phone has been hacked multiple times it doesn’t faze you no more, but you cannot say the same for the others.

Looks like Jake’s ‘Do not be alarmed’ didn’t work. It went like that for a couple of seconds before it went back to the group chat, but the only difference is that there’s some sort of phone icon with a microphone symbol now occupying the upper part of your phone screen, resembling the icon of a voice recorder.

This must be it.

Truth be told, you saw it’s now starting to connect. Your entire demeanor changed, you need to take this seriously. This could very well be the last lead you’ll eventually have, and this might lead you to Hannah.

Dan: What the hell?

You: Welcome to my domain 😁

Jake: I will now establish the connection.

“What the fuck...” You whispered, either in amazement or fear, you are not certain. You were about to say something along the lines that you’re sure he’s driving. It’s gonna be either towards here, or to where he hid Hannah. But Jessy went and covered your mouth with her hand and shushed you.

“He might hear us,” she whispered. You wanted to say that’s not how it works but you decided to shut up and listen even more. Jessy began to type something; you guess she’s really afraid that he might notice you guys are eavesdropping on him.

Oh, damn. He went out of the car.

Jessy: What’s that?

What is he doing?

You: He’s in a car definitely

Cleo: You’re right

He’s driving

Dan: I guess we’re his destination.

You wanted to get up and see if he was already here, but you don’t want to miss anything. From the looks of it, it feels like he’s in a somewhat isolated place. His footsteps are very audible, almost like he’s walking on a pile of dried leaves and twigs, you can also hear the howling of the owls and even the crickets.

He’s definitely not here.

Jake: No traffic.

No people.

You: Damn

Are those chains?

Seems like he’s opening a gate

Your guess is he’s on his way to where he hid Hannah. And based on what you heard earlier, he did keep her in the forest. But where exactly?

“This is so creepy,” Jessy whispered, her voice tinged with a shiver, as she pressed against your side.

You: He went back to his car

Jessy: It looks like he’s getting something out of his car

Pretty sure

You: He might have put something in the car, too

Jessy: You’re right. That’s also a possibility

Dan: He’s in the forest, safe bet

You: Definitely

Seeing Jessy shivering, you instinctively drew her closer to your side. “He can’t do that. Don’t be scared, Jess. I’m here.” You loosened the scarf from around your neck. Gently, you draped it over her shoulders, the fabric serving as a tangible shield against the cold. It doesn’t much compliment your style anyway, and she looks definitely cold. “Warmer?”

Jessy: I’m too scared to even breathe

I’m afraid he might hear me

“Mm-hmm,” she affirmed in appreciation.

Jake: Do not worry. I assure you, he cannot.

“See? He can’t hear you, and he most definitely won’t be able to touch you anymore. I promise.”

“Thank you, Y/n/n,” she sighed. “You always make me feel safe.”

With a small, reassuring smile, you turned your attention back to read the following chats once again.

There's not much changes to the sound. It still feels like he’s walking on a trail of dried leaves as if—

Dan: So

If I was the killer

Sneaking through the forest in the dead of night

What would I be doing there?

You: Nothing good that’s safe to say

Shit.

Is that what you think it is?

“Oh, my God!”

What you heard just now...

Dan: What

The

Hell

— is a woman crying.

Damn. You’re fucking sure that’s...

~~~~~

You: Hannah?!

Thomas: Yes!

That’s Hannah!

Author’s note: So, yeah, you must have noticed that I turned most chats as verbatim and is used in an actual conversation, and I also left the other chat conversations as is. That’s because, from the first chapter, I made the MC go to Duskwood, which if you already finished the game, is an entirely different route. As I’m still writing this down I am not sure if I’m going to follow the actual ending or not but there’s a chance that I won’t. I also avoided mentioning MC’s gender as I want the readers to feel like it was actually them in the story as much as they are the MC in the game. I also didn’t mention the actual country where MC lives because I want to leave that part out to you. The only thing I probably had control over is MC’s profession which I think I already mentioned a couple of times.

P.S.: I prioritized this first before my midterms for tomorrow and I haven’t reviewed yet so, I guess farewell for now.

P.P.S.: All chapters are under beta. That's why you will notice that there are times that there will be some changes in some chapters I already uploaded. Thank you for reading :)

#duskwood #duskwood jake #duskwood jessy #duskwood lilly #duskwood mc #duskwood cleo #duskwood dan #duskwood thomas #duskwood hannah #duskwood richy #duskwood mwaf #duskwood jessy x mc #jessy hawkins #lilly donfort #hannah donfort #thomas miller #dan anderson #richy rogers

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lieutenantselnia · 5 months

Text

I figured the new year would be a good opportunity to reorganise and structure my art folder. After about five years of drawing, particularly the folder with my finished pictures started becoming a bit cluttered, and although I did have some subcategories for structure, I started to get confused. Luckily I had my Clip Studio Paint files organised by year, so I could track back when I drew what. I now reorganised it into folders for each years, and within each of that folder I have different subfolders so I can now even see how many pictures of each category I've drawn.

Then I thought "why not actually make a statistic out of this"? So I counted the files from all the folders and plopped them into an excel sheet. I think it's obvious what my favourite thing to draw is😂

Note that this is not the absolute number for all drawings I did, just the number of files! Sometimes I like to to alternate versions of the same drawings with slight differences (e.g. different background colour), so I'd have two files in the end but technically it was the same drawing. That's why the numbers of my csp files never quite correspond with my actual exports, however I didn't take this into account here.

The categories listed here are all subcategories I've used so far. I think most of them are self-explaining, whenever I noticed I'd draw more regularly for a specific fandom I'd make a folder for it. I wanted to save my animations separately though, as I never did that many I didn't become confused with the different fandoms anyway. Designs is for things like wallpapers n stuff. Fanart is for fandoms I only draw something for once in a blue moon, so it doesn't make sense to give them their own folder, as well as things that contain characters from multiple fandoms (like art challenges and such). For timelapses, I never recorded many of them (it makes my csp files become huge), but when I did I also wanted to save them separately. Also, I guess for my self-insert art, I could structure it further with subfolders for each of my f/os, but I'll just see if I feel the need for that.

I honestly find it really interesting to see my art represented in plain numbers, not in likes and reblogs, but what I actually did. Honestly I think 78 pieces in one year is quite a lot (though there are a bunch of them I never finished), but I also know very well who's to "blame" for this:

(He's given my major art brainrot in 2021 and I love him for it hehe💕)

The last year was a bit more slow and difficult, but I also try to not stress myself about being "productive" when it comes to drawing. Art is my hobby so I'll draw what I want, when I want. I have a bunch of ideas and inspiration though, so I hope I can execute some of them sooner or later :D

#just me rambling a little about statistics and organising stuff #I can't help it I actually really love structuring things especially when it's related to a topic I like #also in case you wonder what was going on in 2019 - basically I was still a baby at digital art and just super super slow #selniasoriginal #art summary #art journey #digital art #clip studio paint #self insert x canon #self ship

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aranarumei · 11 months

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B, F, K?

thought abt going thru all of my fics and felt an intense bout of decision fatigue so I’ve decided to limit things to mostly a3, which I think is probably the more interesting way to answer, anyways. I ramble so this is a bit lengthy.

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

oh yeah. I am Not Immune to Projecting Sometimes. I know I just said I’d talk abt a3 but this bakugou-centric fic was just me drawing heavily on my personal experiences with like. complicated family dynamics and it seemed to go okay so. I’m pleased with it mostly bc i felt like the conclusion wasn’t very… wish fulfillment? which is nice sometimes, but not what i wanted.

on the a3 side, the Specifics are rather different but dress for success was definitely inspired by conversations i’ve had about gender and presentation before... but the detail drawn most from real life was probably juza’s thoughts about his smile, particularly that he’s just a guy that. Doesn’t Smile. As a kid i was 100% the sort of like. Person who has never smiled ever to my classmates and that made me later in life believe that i was just like. Incapable of smiling properly. I smile lots nowadays tho :)

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.

[LUKE] It’s not. Besides, when I wake up, won’t you be there? On the other end of sleep, and “ Good night,” is a “Good morning”. You don’t need to follow me into everything, as long as you know you’ll see me again. [S] “Good night” is a very strange greeting, then. [LUKE] Maybe so. More than a greeting, I think it feels like a promise.

clockwork heart is. my favorite play. it may even be my favorite event. (tough competition w/ captain’s sky pirates + my master’s mesmerized by mystery for me. and nocturnality.)

this snippet is really just. it's kind of barely a fic. the whole post is not that long. I had Lots Of Thoughts about how luke, at the end of a clockwork heart, says, “So it’s just good night for now.” it was, to me, just such a perfect encapsulation of the idea that this separation was temporary and not forever, even though they were both saying goodbye, so I wanted to write something that expanded on that idea a little. i think it's effective, seeing as how I get more emotional about the ending, now, and the script format forced me to pretty much rely on dialogue alone.

K: What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

this made me look at myself and be like… huh, i think i’ve decreased in angst as i’ve grown older. interesting.

anyways i think mine would be… there’s this backstage for nocturnality (so like, spoilers for that) where azuma is transported into the world of nocturnality and like. meets with kota after the ending of the play. and he makes this comment about like. oh, I prefer tasuku to kota, after all.

and it just like. I’ve never stopped thinking abt that. so I had the sketches of an idea where it’s like. azuma is dropped into that world only like… he Stays There for wayyyy longer than a couple of hours. and u get very fun stuff of like. kota projects his feelings about reo onto azuma and azuma kind of does the same, and the like… lines blur a little badly and they probably lash out at each other somewhat. and it’s a bit complicated, since at this point in time azuma and tasuku have grown closer but they still don’t know each other Perfectly. and he’s not even here but there’s a guy with his face who is Almost Like Him (and how well can you be sure you knew tasuku, too…) all while you’re also slowly losing your sense of self because like, in this world, “reo” is the real existence? there was also gonna be some kind of drama with the vampire society I think… since azuma would actually be like Human and not. Turned Yet.

anyways it never rly went anywhere bc it would have to be a lengthy multichap and i’ve got a slow track record with those. i need to finish at least One. these are all also just like… vague concepts that i hadn’t fleshed out into proper plot beats, so it requires a Lot of Work that i just. don’t want to do currently. but i think it could be like. really fun.

ask me about fics & stuff!

#ask #primeministerofantarctica #ask game #a3 #kiri.txt

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gukyi · 4 years

Text

into the wilderness | pjm

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

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

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

Something about last summer sucked.

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

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

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

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

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

You told him because you thought that nothing would change.

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

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

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m in love with you.”

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

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

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

“Me too.”

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

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess that would be me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Some things never change, you suppose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters.

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

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

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

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon doesn’t say a word.

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

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile.

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

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

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

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you can’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?”

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

“Is this your first year at camp?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” Eli insists.

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

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

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

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

“Y/N—” Jimin begins.

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

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

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

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jimin asks.

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

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

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

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

You want to be honest?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips together, guilty.

“Especially Jimin.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Try what?”

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

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

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

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They will bloom every year, Jimin said.

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

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

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

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

“Love!” Zoe shouts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” He asks.

“The hydrangea.”

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

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

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

“Me too,” Jimin sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s getting easier.

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

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

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He means that part, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks.

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

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says.

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

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically.

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

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently.

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

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

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do? That is news to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It can’t be.

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

You swear.

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

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

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

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

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

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place will never not remind you of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you want to do.”

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

You nod. “Five minutes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Needed for what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder if Jimin feels the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder, what if.

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

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

You didn’t know that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

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

(Can it be?)

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

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

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

“Yes,” you breathe out.

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

“Yes,” you whisper again.

Jimin blinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No matter what, that will never change.

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

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

No. This feels like something new.

This feels like your heart is in bloom.

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

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

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

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say.

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes you feel like you can do anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me,” you say.

“Me,” Jimin says.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily.

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

“Send what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anytime,” he promises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re next, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.”

It’s not a goodbye.

It’s an until I see you again.

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

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

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

And you know that you two will be alright.

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

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

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

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

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checkingoutforheroes · 3 years

Text

B.A.B.Y PROTOCOL.

Part 1.

Avengers x fem!reader

Pt. 2

Genre: Minor angst, more fluff.

Warning: Language! (cursing here & there)

Words: 1746

Synopsis: This takes place in Avengers: Age of Ultron. When The Avengers were at the rock bottom, Nick Fury and advised by Maria Hill, to initiate the B.A.B.Y Protocol.

Main MASTERLIST

The Avengers gather in the lab after one of an ugly half made robot command a few of the Legionaries to attack them. Currently they are finding out about what or who attacked them. Some of them cleaning their wounds and Thor going out to track the Legionaries. Bruce the only one who starts first. “All of our work is gone. Ultron cleared out every research that we do. He uses internet as an escape route.” Natasha turns and lean her body to a table to say what she’s found. “He’s been in everything. Fails, surveillances. Probably know about us more than we know about each other.”

Holding his right wounded arm, Rhody said “He’s in the internet, he’s in your files. What if he decides to access to something a little more exciting?” By that, Maria has thought something. “Nuclear code.” Natasha looking at them “Nukes? He said he wanted us dead.” Steve interrupt her “He didn’t say dead. He said extinct.” “He said he killed somebody.” Clint said but Maria ask back. “But no one else in the building.” Their conversations cut by Tony. “Yes there was.” He displays JARVIS damaged simulator form and all went silent except Bruce, he checks on JARVIS.

Thor come in angry and straight to choke Tony. Being choke, Tony try talk to Thor “Come one. Use your words buddy.” Thor lift him up a few inch above the floor. “I have more than enough words with you Stark.” Steve walks closer, breaking them. “Thor. The Legionaries?” Thor update them about the Legionaries have the scepter and they have to retrieve it again. For the first time after the attack, Dr. Chow speaks. “You build this program. Why he’s trying to kill us?” Tony just laugh at that question and Bruce disagree. “Tony, this might not be the time to-“ Tony cut his sentences. “Really?! Bruce. We didn’t create a murder bot. Remember New York?” Everyone move their head down facing the floor remembering that event and Tony continue. “A hostile army of aliens charging through a hole in space. We’re standing 300 feet below it. We’re The Avengers. We can bust arms dealer all day but that up there, that’s, that’s the endgame. How do you guys planning on beating that?” Steve looking at him “Together.” “We’ll lose.” Tony say and Steve still with his answer “And we’ll do that together too.” He looks at everyone and gives the order. “Thor’s right. Ultron trying to draw us out. We start tonight. Do whatever you can to find him. The world is a big place, make it smaller.” Maria stand from her chair. “I’ll escort Dr. Chow to airport. I’ll see you guys in the afternoon.” They all nods and both of them walks out of the lab.

Next morning.

A young girl wearing her café’s uniform walking with a headphone on her head. While walking, she notices a guy snatches a bag from a lady. That lady screaming asking for help while her baby crying to see her mother in terror from across the street. You bring down your headphone and chase that guy. Thanks for your training, you almost keep up that guy until he stuck in an ally, nowhere to go.

“You wanna give me the bag or I’ll take it from you?” You said. Looks like he’s stuck.

“Fast legs.” He said.

“I had trained before.”

“I’m not a bad guy.”

“Well, good guys don’t snatch a bag from people especially in front of their baby! You gave me the wrong impression though. Now, give me the bag and go.”

“I’d like to see you take it.” “You asked for it dude.” You move forward and fight him hand to hand combat. Actually, you are a bit surprise by his technique. He’s not so bad but you have been train by a professional back in the academy.

You’ve been caught one day and some guy wear uniform took you somewhere. You thought it was a juvenile school because you are just 15 that time. Turns out it was S.H.I.E.L.D. They gave you test by test and found out that you good at combat and a little bit good at common sense. After you graduated, work job by job. Gang to gang. Mob to mob. You can’t do that kind of job anymore. You want to be good and yes, you did stop working with the dark. You washed your hands and works at Donut Do It. It’s not your vibe but it is fine for your fresh start. After you slap that guy, you hear a woman voice call your name that has been long unspoken by anyone including you.

“Baby.” A woman called.

“Normal people doesn’t know that name.” You said while choking that guy.

She said “Maybe because you’re not a normal girl.”

“What do you want Maria?” You ask that woman.

You immediately know who he is. Fury. “Oh God, not you too. Okay, for the record, honestly, I haven’t commit any crime that violated the laws.”

“You.” A deep voice man said.

You can hear Maria smirk when she asks you “Are you sure about that?” “…today. You didn’t let me finish. I didn’t commit any crime, today.” You said. Fury tell you to let that guy go and you look at that guy “You’re with them?” He tries to answer even you’re still choking him. “Y.. YE.. Yes!” You release him and slap him real hard right across his face. “That’s for wasting my time. Fuck off.”

Fury look disbelievingly at you. “Was that necessary?” You look back at him “What? Caressing lightly on his soft cheek?” Maria interject “That’s the opposite of what you did.” You try again just to tease her. “Okay. I, tap his soft cheek?” Maria raise an eyebrow at you “Try again.” You surrender. “Fine. I just 180-degree angle slapped him. He’s a trained agent for God sake. He’ll be fine.” You turn around about to walk back to your work place and Fury stop you.

“And where do you think you’re going young lady?” He asks you.

You turning back. “ Work. Turns out I have a job now papa bear. Thanks for the recommendation letter though. Now, will you excuse me, I have go to work. Hope to never see you two again. Babai.” Again, Fury stops you. “You are not going to that Donut Do It.” You tilt your head to him. “I told you I work there and I’m going. If you two want donut, you know where to find it. Mention my name and you’ll get 30% discounts.” Maria’s face changes when she talks this time. “This is serious and urgent, Baby.”

“We are gathering as many as best agents that we have, and you are one of the best, Baby. Come with us and we’ll brief you.” Fury said and you stop him from saying any further. “Look, I’m gonna stop you right here papa Bear. That is where you are wrong. Aren’t you guys seen my record? I know what good is but I’m far away from good. There is still red blood stain painted on my hands that I could never leave. Even if I wash it thousands time, it won’t come off. What makes you think I’ll do it?” You feel your left chest aching but you ignore it.

Maria answers you. “Because everyone deserves a chance to be and do good. To start over. Yes, you can’t wash that much blood on our hands but this is the chance for you to do something good in your life. A do-over. You actually do something good after the academy. Take out those mobsters down, those gangs. You went inside to get the intel and you burn them to the ground and made those cities safe. Then, you just proof us again just now by caught that robber.”

You huff and look down on your feet. “You set that up.”

Maria look at you. “But you didn’t know that. Yes, Baby. We’ve seen your record. Detail. You are far away from where you are before the academy. Or after. I mean you did killed people.” You crunch your eyebrows at her “Hey!” Fury turn to talk. “Help us this time. After that, it’s all up to you. We are no longer bugging you. You are no longer in our record. I’m not wasting my time coming here if we don’t need you.” “I thought you miss me.” Fury huff and talk to Maria “I’ll wait in the car.”

“He never begging. That kind of begging, what he did. Is it that bad?” I ask Maria and she nod with worry face. “Earth level threat. That’s all I can say right now. Come with us to tower and we tell you more.” You let out a long sigh. “Me? Out of all agents, me?” Maria walk closer to you. “Please Baby.” You’re now messing with her. “It Earth level threat and you want a baby to involve? What kind of adult are you? Put a cute baby in danger like that. Unbelievable.” She smiles more than earlier. “The kind of person that will make sure there will be chicken drumets and spaghetti carbonara every day for your meal.” You silently look at her and playfully sigh and she knows you better. “Caramel pudding and fluffy pillow too.” The ache in your chest getting hard to ignore now. You ask Maria some time and turn back from her. You bending, breathing like your doctor teach you and massage your chest a little. Must be from running earlier.

“Hey, are you okay?” Maria ask, worry if you are sick, but yes you are sick.

“Yeah. Just shock. Did you say fluffy pillow? You ask her, not wanting to let her know first. They need your help, that’s what you are going to do. Help as much as you can. She let out a giggles and wrap her arm around your neck. “Yeah, you are coming with us, like it or not.” You both walk toward their car where Fury is waiting. “How many pillow though?”

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Thank you for spending your time reading this. Feel free to reblog or ask me anything, thank you in advance!

Part 2 is coming!!

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

As Soon As I Can

Nestor Oceteva x F!Reader

Request from @alienstardust: Umm All the angst in those childhood prompts. I’m a fan! Yes! <3 Maybe something with Nestor? 💫 thank you

I went with this prompt from This Post: When Person A and Person B were kids, Person A broke their arm and had to wear a cast for a while. To make them feel better, Person B decorated it by drawing a bunch of doodles and quotes all over it. When Person A finally got the cast off, they asked the doctor if they could keep it. Years later, Person A takes the cast to a tattoo artist and gets all of Person B’s doodles and quotes tattooed onto their arm so they can wear them forever.

Warnings: language, angst, hospitals

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I looooooved writing this. Writing has been tough for me lately but this just felt really right. This is my first fic where I’ve done a lot of time skips within the story so hopefully it flows alright. Hope you guys enjoy! xo

General Mayans Taglist: @garbinge @mayans-sauce @thesandbeneathmytoes @paintballkid711 @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @queenbeered @sillygoose6969 @sesamepancakes @yourwonkywriter @chibsytelford @gemini0410 @multiyfandomgirl40 @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @themoonandthewicked @bucky-iss-bae @encounterthepast @everyhowlmarksthedead @rosieposie0624 @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo @mijop @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @holl2712 @lakamaa12 @masterlistforimagines @kkim120 @toni9 @shadow-of-wonder @crowfootwrites @redpoodlern @punkgoddess-98 @black-repunzel99 @lexondeck

You and Nestor were sitting in your back yard, sprawled out together under the one tree that managed to survive so many years in the California heat. You were laying on your back, cast-bound arm lying rigidly out to the side. You were staring up through the leaves as you listened to Nestor talk.

“At least they let you pick the color,” he was next to you, laying on his stomach as he dug through his backpack.

You laugh was heavy with sarcasm, “Yea, if I’m not gonna be able to move my arm for the next eight weeks it’s the least they could fucking do.”

“You sound bitter.”

You looked over at him, “I am bitter.”

He chuckled and shook his head, he was about to come back with a witty remark when he got distracted by finding whatever he had been looking for. He smiled as he pulled it out, “Aha!” he held up his pack of Sharpies.

“What’re those for?” you nodded towards the markers.

“For your cast.”

“You’re gonna decorate my cast?” you had to laugh.

“Yea,” he was carefully choosing a few different markers to start with, “Maybe it’ll make you feel better about totally eating it falling off your skateboard the other day.”

You laughed as you reached over and shoved him with your good arm, “Shut up—like you haven’t fallen a million times.”

“No casts for me, though,” there was a cocky smirk on his face.

“No casts for me, though,” you mocked as you tried not to laugh.

You watched him in semi-silence as he started at your wrist and slowly but surely made his way up your cast, covering it with all sorts of doodles and quotes. Sometimes you forgot how artistic he could be. You went back and forth between watching him and just resting your head back and closing your eyes. Neither of you kept track of the time as he stayed sprawled on his stomach beside you. the two of you probably would’ve stayed out until dark if your mom hadn’t stuck her head out and said that Nestor’s brother was there to pick him up and bring him home. Nestor threw all of his things back into his bag before helping you up.

Once he was gone, you took some time to actually look at the cast. You smiled at the amount of work he put into something that you were only going to have for a couple months. Your fingers traced lightly over the many marker lines that now covered your cast. Your mother looked over your shoulder at the artwork, a smile passing over her lips for a moment.

“Did Nestor do that?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of your arm, “Yea.”

She nodded, “That was sweet of him.”

You scoffed trying to suppress the smile on your face, “I guess.”

The next eight weeks passed by. And, despite the fact that having your arm in a cast was incredibly inconvenient, it could have been a lot worse. Nestor walked with you to all of your classes, offering to carry your backpack despite the fact that you told him that your busted arm had nothing to do with your ability to carry a bag. Whenever the two of you were together and things were quiet, he would keep adding onto the tiny mural that was your cast. Sometimes you wondered how much more he could fit on it, but he always found a way. For as much as you wanted it off, you were going to miss the bonding time for the two of you. And you were going to miss the artwork, too.

“So,” the doctor smiled and nodded at you, “you are all good to go. We can get the cast off and you’ll be as good as new.”

“Yea?” the thought of having your arm back made you feel giddy.

“Absolutely.”

You felt like a new person once your arm was free of the confines of the cast. Letting out a sigh of relief, you rotated your wrist a few times and carefully ran your fingers over the freshly-exposed skin, glad to feel like you were back in control of your own body.

“I can get rid of this,” your doctor held up the cast he’d just finished so carefully removing, “Unless you want to keep it as a momento.”

“Um, actually,” you felt your face heating up as you avoided eye contact with your mother, “Could I keep it?”

The doctor nodded, smiling as he handed it over to you, “It’s quite the work of art at this point—I understand wanting to hold onto it.”

On the drive home, you felt your mother glancing over at you every couple of minutes, a knowing smile on her face. You tried to ignore it but eventually you broke.

“What?” you were careful of your tone.

She laughed quietly and shook her head, “Nothing. Just, I think it’s nice that you’re keeping it, that’s all.”

“Mhm,” you tried to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks again, but that only made it worse.

You never told Nestor that you kept the cast. You never really knew exactly why you didn’t tell him—the two of you told each other pretty much everything else. The two of you spent almost all of your free time together, and as soon as he found out that your cast had been removed he was dragging you right back out to do things that could potentially break your arm all over again, and you let him. He never asked about the cast, so you never brought it up. There were moments, as the two of you got a little older, where you wanted to mention it to him in passing that it was something that you kept, but the moment never seemed quite right. Each time you went to clean out your room and your closet you would come across it, and each time you were faced with the decision of whether or not you wanted to keep it, and you always did. You always told yourself that you didn’t know why, but you knew.

“Alright,” you were trying not to let yourself get too emotional as you sat cross-legged on his bed watching him pack “You can’t do anything stupid while I’m not around to yell at you for it, alright?”

He chuckled as he shoved another shirt into his bag, “Trust me, there will be plenty of other people around to yell at me. That’s the whole point of—”

“But they can’t do it as well as I can.”

He glanced over at you, a small smile on his face. He knew how upset you were despite the fact that you were still being supportive. Him going into the Navy was something that you hadn’t seen coming. The thought of him being gone for so long after the two of you had spent so much of your lives practically joined at the hip was a bit jarring. You knew the ache in your chest was caused by more feelings than you were ready to admit to him, or to yourself.

“It’s not like you’ll never hear from me.”

You huffed, “Snail mail is not the same as bothering you in person,” you flopped backwards on the bed, “And for the record I still think it’s bullshit that you don’t get to call me.”

He laughed as he stood up and sat on the bed, looking down at you, “Don’t be dramatic. I’ll be in basic for less time than you had that stupid cast on your arm.”

“Yea but it’s not like you’re coming right home after that.”

He nodded, his expression sobering a little as he continued to look at you, “I know.”

“You’ll come home to visit me as soon as you can?”

He chuckled, nodding, “As soon as I can.”

For a moment you thought about spilling your guts—telling him everything that you were thinking and feeling. There was something about the way that he was looking at you that made you feel like maybe he felt the same way. But the confidence that shot through you went away as quickly as it appeared, and the moment passed as he continued to pack his things.

True to his word, you got letters in the mail. You saved each one, kept them stashed away in your closet alongside the cast that was still there collecting dust even after years of being shuffled around. You sent more letters than you received, not that you really minded. You figured that he needed them more than you did.

However as the months ticked by, you waited for him to say he was coming home, but he never did. It was one thing right into the next and the more time that passed by, the more you wondered if this was how he slipped away from you, even though he swore that that wouldn’t happen. He reached out when he could, when he had the time. And you knew that he had other priorities, and realistically you did too. But there was still part of you that felt like things were changing too much.

Your heart sped up inside your chest when you got a late-night phone call from him. You scrambled to answer it, “Hello?”

“Hey,” he sounded exhausted.

“Hey,” you pulled your blanket up to your chin as you spoke to him, “H-how are you?”

“I’m alright,” he sighed, “It’s good to hear your voice.”

You smiled despite the weight settling in your chest, “It’s good to hear yours too. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

You didn’t want to push and pry, but you couldn’t help asking, “When are you coming home?”

There was a long pause before he spoke up again, “I, uh, I don’t really know.”

“Don’t they give you guys leave or something?”

He let out a tired chuckle, “Yea. But, um, I’m not sure if I’m going to be coming home for leave anytime soon.”

Your heart crumped inside your chest, “Why not?”

“Got some shit that I’m working on lining up here. Doesn’t hurt to stay close.”

You hated that your bottom lip was beginning to tremble, “Right.”

He knew you too well and you could hear the shift in his tone, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” you replied immediately, “Fuck, don’t be sorry. I’m proud of you, really. Keep…keep doing your thing.”

“Thank you for always being there. It’s been…it’s been nice knowing someone is in my corner when no one else seems to be,” there was a beat of silence, “You seen my family lately?”

You took a deep breath, “No. Why, everything alright?”

He sighed, “Wouldn’t know.”

You pressed your lips together into a tight line—things had never been simple for him when it came to family, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll be home to see you as soon as I can be, alright?”

Your breath was shaky as you exhaled, “Alright,” you were about to say goodbye but your brain betrayed you, “Hey, Nestor?”

“Yea?”

“I love you,” the words fell from your lips, free of their confines after so many years of locking them away.

It might’ve been you projecting, but you could’ve sworn that he let out a sigh of relief, “I love you too.”

That was the last thing that you’d heard from him. He went radio silent after that. You wondered if it was just you that he was ignoring, but no one seemed to have heard anything from him—his own family included. The only things that were running through your mind were terrible. All of your calls went unanswered, all of your texts went unopened. The letters that you sent didn’t get kicked back to you but you never got responses to any of them either. He had blipped off the radar seemingly without a trace and you had no idea why. You lost a lot of sleep over it but at the same time, life didn’t stop for anyone. You had to keep moving forward while a very large part of you was stuck in the past.

You were packing up your room, getting ready to move into your own apartment. You were throwing things from your closet into random bags and boxes—organization had never been your strong suit. As you were leafing through everything, pulling things down off the top shelf of your closet, you were smacked in the face with a stack of papers. You managed to catch them before they hit the ground, tears instantly springing into your eyes when you realized what they were. Your heart sped up inside your chest as you stood on your tip-toes, reaching for the very back of the shelf. The feeling of the plaster underneath your fingers sent a shock through your body as you pulled it towards you. Looking over it, you were bombarded with an onslaught of memories.

Packing fell by the wayside as you sat on your bed, reading through the letters and looking over all the artwork that was still holding up on the cast. How you managed to keep your tears from falling, you didn’t know.

There was a light knock on your door and you looked up, trying to make yourself look much less upset than you were. The smile immediately dropped from your mother’s face when she saw what you were doing, how it was upsetting you. She leaned against the doorframe as she tried to figure out what to say to you to try and make things better.

“I’m sorry, honey,” her tone was sincere.

You shook your head as you set your cast to the side, “Don’t be. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You hadn’t really spoken much to her about it all—there wasn’t a whole lot to say. You didn’t have any answers and with each day that went by it was less likely that you would ever get them. It was difficult to tell whether or not it was more reassuring for you that no one had heard from him, not just you.

“There’s nothing to talk about. He just fucking disappeared, I guess. I just need to accept it and get on with my life.”

“He was your best friend—you’re allowed to be upset about it, you know.”

Even though you knew it, it was nice to hear her say it to you. Wiping the tears from your eyes before they could stain your cheeks, you nodded, “I know.”

She lightly drummed her fingers on the door frame, “You keeping those?”

There was a long pause before you finally nodded, “I think so.”

She nodded, “I’ll go grab you another box.”

“This thing looks like it’s been through the wringer,” your tattoo artist chuckled as she looked over the cast you’d brought with you.

You managed a smile, “Because it has. I’ve had that thing since I was in, fucking, like eighth grade I think? Long time.”

“What made you decide to get this done now?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Figured it’ll be better than moving it from one closet to the next over the course of my life.”

You could tell by the look on her face, that she wanted to ask for the story behind it all. But the fact that you didn’t offer it up, made her not pry. You’d always been open so if you were keeping something to yourself, she respected that. The two of you talked about the logistics of it, and the changes you want to make to clean it up a little bit. You were excited to come back and get it done, though.

Despite the wait, your excitement and nervousness about coming back didn’t fade. You didn’t regret the decision, but it was still nerve-wracking as you got ready to sit down in the chair. She had you look over the pattern she’d drawn up, and when you gave her the okay she laid the stencil out on your arm and got to work. You watched her as she brought it all to life—it was a little cleaner and more grown-up than the original scribbles and doodles, but it felt right. Tears stung at the edges of your eyes but it wasn’t because of the physical pain of getting the tattoo.

She was wrapping it up in saranwrap as she gave you the run-down of taking care of the tattoo. You’d heard the spiel before but you still listened anyway. You had a hard time taking your eyes off of the artwork as you made your way back out to your car. Sitting down in the driver’s seat, you let out a sigh as you tried to inspect the ink as best you could through the wrap around your arm.

The next day, you were putting on a fresh wrap over your tattoo after your shower when you heard your phone buzzing in the next room. With a heavy sigh, you slapped a piece of tape onto the wrap and scrambled to get to your phone before you missed the call. Looking down at the screen, you didn’t recognize the number. But it was an off-hour for a scammer to be calling so you answered it on a whim. Worst case scenario you would just hang up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, my name is Rita and I work at Imperial Hospital. I’m looking for Ms. Y/N?”

“Um, speaking?” you had no idea where this was going.

“Good morning. Someone was admitted and you are their only emergency contact—no next of kin listed. Do you know a Mr. Nestor Oceteva?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, “Yes,” you couldn’t get the words out fast enough, “Yes I do. Is he alright?”

“He’s going to be fine,” her tone was calm enough to give you the smallest sliver of reassurance, “But we do need you to come in and answer some questions for us. He’s been in and out of it and we need someone who can give us reliable information.”

“O-okay. Yea. Yea I’ll leave right now. It’ll be about an hour or so before I get there though. Is that alright? He’s going to be okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s going to be fine. Thank you so much for your cooperation.”

You hung up the phone and started flying around your apartment to get ready. You had no idea what you were about to be walking into but at this point you didn’t care. All these years you’ve been wondering about him and he was two towns over. You were as angry as you were relieved.

The line of questions that the nurses asked you seemed endless. You knew that it was all important but there was nothing that you wanted more than to be in the room and see that it really was him, that this wasn’t just some cruel trick from the universe.

Finally, the nurse started walking you back. You only heard half of what she was saying to you about his condition as the two of you approached the room. You heard that he was stable and the rest didn’t really matter to you. your hands were trembling as she gestured to the door to his room, telling you that she would give you a few minutes to yourselves.

You slowly opened the door and a sob lodged itself in your throat as you looked at him. He was passed out, whether the sleep was genuine or from the meds you didn’t know. Truthfully, it was almost difficult to see that it was the Nestor you knew and loved—but you could still see it. Underneath the cuts and scrapes, beneath the braids and the tattoos, there was still your Nestor. The man you knew all those years ago was somewhere underneath it all.

Walking over, you collapsed in the chair next to his bed. You reached out and took his hand in your own, seeing the scars and scabs that covered his knuckles. Whatever he’d been doing all those years, it wasn’t treating him well. You let out a shaky breath as the tears started to fall. You tried to keep your emotions bottled up and quiet, but you couldn’t. There were too many there that you had been battling with and pushing down over the years.

Your crying made him stir. With a quiet groan of pain he opened his eyes and turned to look and see who was in the room with him. His entire body went stiff as his eyes flew completely open, unable to believe that you were sitting there with him.

“H-holy shit,” he coughed, trying to sit up, “Y/N?”

He was conscious and able to speak, so you punched him in the upper arm, “As soon as I can my ass, Nestor.”

He winced and smiled, and you could see all of the motions in his eyes, “I’m…I’m sorry.”

“You fucking should be.”

“I am.”

“Good.”

There were a few beats of silence and then he heard the crinkling of the wrap on your arm as you crossed them and he nodded towards it, “Fresh?”

Heat instantly flooded to your face and you fought the urge to get up and run out of the room, “Got it yesterday.”

“Can I see?”

You hated that he was talking to you like everything was normal, but you couldn’t lie and said that you didn’t miss it. Taking a deep breath, you laid your arm down on the hospital bed for him to inspect. A smile instantly took over his features when he saw what it was. He looked up at you, and when he saw the happiness and hurt both in your expression, his smile dulled a little bit.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What the fuck, Nestor?”

“I know, I know. I should’ve said something.”

“Uh…yea.”

“When they let me out of here, will you let me take you somewhere and tell you all about it?”

“I mean. I guess. But only because I’m nosey,” you managed a smile through the tears.

“I love you.”

The words made your heart skip a beat in your chest, “I love you too.”

“That’s way less clunky than a cast,” he tapped the plastic wrap.

You smiled, wiping the tears away, “Yea, I guess so.”

“I can’t believe you still have the same number after all these years.”

You paused, looking down at your hands, “I kept it in case your ass decided to smarten up and call me one of these days.”

“Hospital calling you on my behalf doesn’t count?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “No. No it doesn’t.”

He reached over and clasped your hand in his, “I’m really glad that you’re here.”

With a deep sigh, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his forehead, careful to miss all the scrapes, “Me too.”

There was so much more to be said, but it could wait. You tried to soak up the feeling of his hand over yours, smiles appearing on both of your faces despite the lost time and the gravity of the situation. A lot of things had changed, but as you felt the heat from his palm and the way his thumb traced back and forth over your hand, you knew the important things were still exactly the same.

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva imagine #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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loverdrew · 3 years

Text

Do It For Me | b.b

Synopsis: Y/N may never be able to forgive Bucky if he goes through with his decision. (pre-endgame with a twist, very inaccurate storyline and writing I know but it’s all fiction)

Warnings: a few cuss words here and there

Based off of Greys Anatomy (between Izzie and Denny)

My first ever Bucky Barnes fanfic! I’m getting more into writing for Marvel characters.

I had been sat up in my room at the Avengers compounds for the whole day at his point; harnessing my magic, drawing/reading to calm me down, and just enjoying a nice day off. Everything seemed quiet, a little too quiet for my taste. No one had come knocking on my door to talk or check up on me. After a few minutes I started to hear talking through my headphones and it was coming from outside my door. I slowly let my earbuds drop from my ears, silently opening up my door and creeping downstairs. It had seemed to more I got down the steps, I saw more people come into view. All backs were turned, some arms crossed, but voices were definitely raised. It felt like more than one person kept trying to speak and once at the bottom step, I saw the one person who was the center of it all.

Wanda was the first one to see me, cutting her sentence short, and soon everyone followed. Steve’s face dropped, biting his lower lip and looking at the floor. Bucky stood up, eyes almost bulging out of his head. I looked around stunned at everyones faces as they all made a collective sigh.

“W-what’s...what’s going on guys.” Wasn’t so much of a question, but more of a ‘tell me now or I’ll crush you guys with just a thought’. My powers were growing, everyone knew this. With one scream, a whole city could go deaf. With no swipe of my hand, I can send more than 10 men flying 100 feet. Most of the time they wouldn’t dare bother me in fear of my emotions becoming heightened and possibly destroying something. But something tells me right now might be the first time that happens.

“I said, what’s going on.” My hands glowed purple, the color of my powers. Wanda immediately rushed in front of me and looked me in the eyes, rubbing her hands over mine. When she found out I also harnessed powers from an infinity stone, Tony made it a point to have her help me maintain my magic. Her touch softened the glow, instantly calming down my heart rate. She repeated the same phrase to me; ‘don’t let it take control of you, take control of it’. The purple glow went away, as she guided me towards the group.

“Thanos is coming, Y/N.” Tony spoke up.

“And we’re trying to figure out how to stop him once and for all but...there was an idea brought up.” Bruce chimed in, and I followed his gaze right to Bucky. His head laying low. My mind went to the darkest of places. Bucky had never looked so ashamed. All I wanted to do was hug him and rub up and down his back, he always liked that. The last time I did that for him was a few nights ago when he had yet another nightmare and I found him downstairs watching TV even though I knew he was exhausted. He was too afraid to fall asleep. I remember that night, thinking about how badly I wanted to tell him how I felt. He had been my rock since coming into the compound, even if nobody else saw it. Our friendship consisted of late night snacks and conversations, training together making each other stronger, and always communicating and tell each other the truth no matter what. But oh, how I wanted that friendship to mean more to him as it does to me. But I would panic, thinking I wasn’t ever going to be good enough for one of the best people I’d ever met. He deserved a woman who was just as great as he was.

“Tell her.” Natasha spoke, anger laced in her voice.

“Bucky...” I whispered.

“My greatest wish in life is to take back every bad thing I did in this world. Every person I had killed, hurt, ruined their life.” He looks at Tony with deep regret. “And I can’t ever do that physically, but maybe in another way, I can.” He was rubbing his hands together avoiding my gaze.

“Okay? Bucky that’s great that you’ve figured out how you want to do that-”

“You didn’t let him finish.” Sam said with a monotone voice.

“We need to be ready whenever Thanos decides to come. And the only way for me to get my wish is to...be the one that’s sacrificed during the battle.” My heart stopped and the ringing in my ears began to pick up. Wanda could see my hands glowing much brighter and more rapidly this time. I could feel her hands come up to the sides of my arms but within a flash my whole body shook the entire room like an earthquake.

“What!!” I walked over to him and slammed down on the table. “Are you out of your god damn mind Barnes!”

He tried to reach out but I raised my hand, stopped his movement and moving his arm to stay at his side, unable to move it.

“No, no, no you’re not doing this. You guys please tell him he is NOT sacrificing himself! You have no idea how much power those stones are! Just look at me! I have the same powers as a stone yet I can’t control shit Bucky! It’s out of control you’ll be dead before you can even use one stone to fight off Thanos!”

“I’ve been working with Tony and Shuri on a way to help me harness the power. They’ve been working on a suit for me that is stronger than Tony’s. Y/N you have to understand that this is my way of righting my wrongs, if I die then I die a hero who saved the whole world, not someone who use to kill hundreds of people with no remorse.” I turned towards Tony, his eyes becoming scared as he held his breath.

“You...” I throw my hands up and thrashed Tony into the wall, shattering it. He couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear at what I could do to him. Wanda yelled out to stop, but I couldn’t hear anything over my own boiling anger. “You knew about this. You knew he wanted to die and didn’t try to stop him!”

“I-I was just doing what I thought was the only option.” I slammed him again into the wall.

“There’s other options Tony!” I began to cry out, tears instantly springing from my eyes so quick it took me a second to realize I was even crying. With each puff of my chest my powers weakened as I wasn’t paying as much attention anymore, my brain becoming overstimulated with dark thoughts.

Bucky came up behind me and brought his arms around mine, his cheek pressed up against the back of my head.

“You’re not doing this Buck, we’ll find another way.” I said in between cries. I looked around seeing everyone else become emotional at my breakdown. Natasha was like a mother figure to me, this was the first time I was seeing her tear up. Wanda was my protector, but she didn’t know how to protect me from my own feelings. And everyone who surrounded me, who watched me grow from a 20 something year old uncontrollable witch to a grounded and a fantastic Avenger, wore heavy hearts and hooded eyes. I turned around quickly wiping my eyes of any tears and stood tall. My breathing coming back to normal. “It’s okay we’ll-we’ll find another way. There’s gotta be another way right?”

“Y/N...” He said sadly, clutching my hair. I pushed him off and walked away giving some distance between us, actually, between the whole crew. I stood on one side of the room while the rest remained where they were.

“Don’t do that. Don’t try to make me okay with this. Alright, you did some shit in your past Bucky, so what we all don’t have the best track records as angels. And I’m sure you don’t feel like you deserve to live with all of the trauma you’ve endured but guess what? You do! You know how you get the fix things? You become a better person, a fighter and protector of the world! People change Bucky and I’ve seen it first hand in you! You deserve to live just as much as anyone else!” Everyone remained silent, so I assumed they agreed with me. “And if you tell me one more time about sacrificing yourself because that’ll right your wrongs in this world, so help me God, I will kill you myself right now!” And without thinking, my hand shot out a purple beam of light, latching onto a glass vase and chucking it around the room, creating a whole in the wall and the glass shattering everywhere.

He walked up to me peacefully with his hands held in the air.

“Y/N, please. I’m going to be alright, you don’t have to worry this much. You should be more concerned about protecting yourself. I definitely wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t do this and something worse happens to you.”

I laughed in sadness.

“What about me? What about me when you die!” I saw multiple people begin to shed the same tears I was. We had all grown fond of Bucky when he joined us. He really proved and showed deep down, behind the trauma HYDRA had left him, he was a great man. That’s why I fell so deeply in love with him. “That’s the worst thing that could ever happen to me Bucky! I will die inside if you don’t exist in this world!”

“Y/N-” more tears sprang from his eyes. His voice cracked and got lower. It’s like he couldn’t find the words to describe the pain in his heart at the thought of leaving you behind. Without having told you that he loved you too.

“No I get it! You’ll be okay, you’ll be fine with it but what about me? Please, don’t do it for yourself, do it for me please!” I hunched over, the grief and pain overtaking my body. I felt too weak to even stand and continue yelling at him. “Please Bucky, please do this for me! Don’t leave me please don’t do this, I can’t take it please! You have to do this for me, because if you don’t I will never be able to forgive you!”

He stepped closer at a slower pace.

“For dying? For saving the world?”

“No for making me love you!” I began to cry out harder, the ring in my voice shaking the room once again, making everyone’s hands fly up to their ears as I got louder and louder. Natasha at this point was full on bawling, along with most people in the room. I think it was safe to say everyone knew of my affection towards the man at the center of attention, and maybe that’s why everyone had left me alone today. Afraid of this exact situation. The one person, the one thing in this world that can bring me to tears at my feet.

Bucky’s eyes filled with adoration as he ran up to me and held me on the floor in between his legs. I clutched at his arm crying into his shoulder. He looked back at Tony, who only gave him a nod. They had agreed together that one of them was bound to be the sacrifice when it came to defeating Thanos. Bucky of course still wanted it to be him, he felt it was the most right option. But when he looked back at Tony, clutching the love of his life in his arms, Tony took that as a final answer. Tony was okay with the decision he had come to long ago. He was ready to die for the good of everyone else, but nobody knew that yet. Bucky wasn’t giving up the fight, but now it only became that much harder to leave her behind. It was easier not knowing her feelings, but it had come to the light. Bucky wanted a life like Tony, the kids, the wife, everything. But at what cost? He was still going to fight to the death if he had to, but the decision to be the one to end it all was fading away.

“It’s okay Y/N, I promise we’ll talk more about it and find another way if we have to.”

“We have to Bucky, we have to.” My cries didn’t stop, but my voice lowered. My eyes caught everyone else’s, almost embarrassed at my sudden outburst of devoted love to Bucky, but everyone knew, they just never heard it from me. “Just hold onto me please.” I pleaded.

“I’m here Doll, I promise I’ll stay right here.”

#marvel #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #the avengers #avengers imagine #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #bucky barnes x reader

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heshoes · 3 years

Text

Uni Daze

She was his best friend and they shared everything together already anyway. What difference would it make if it were a hat, shampoo, or the same bed sometimes? So what? That's what the Uni Daze were about, having fun, traditions, getting serious, new relationships, friendships, heart ache, break-ups, make ups, secrets, the occasional/casual bajingo here and there, and possibly, just maybe, finding the love of your life and hoping that it all works out.

Warnings: Slow burn, smut, angst, mentions of abortion, mentions of verbal abuse

Pairing: Harry Styles x OFC ( face claim Zendaya)

Uni Daze Masterlist

Chapter 4 (word count 11.2k)

Harry

Usually a busy day keeps me grounded and out of any possible trouble that Michelle could help get me into, but today was different. It seems like whenever there was something toolook forward to, the day seems to drag and the minute and second hands on the clock move at a non existent pace. Any other day I would almost dread going to work the front desk in the first year halls though I know it had to be done. Today, however, I looked at it as four hours that I could use to talk to Rion.

There was a two hour gap in my time frame today due to a professor sending out a bullshit email telling us the reasons as to why his class was cancelled. He was one of the youngest professors at the university with a track record of hanging out with his student's. But what he did behind the closed doors with Lumen, the girl who lived down the hall from Michelle and I was none of my business.

After I'd taken the spare time to shower, change clothes, and read a chapter and a half ahead in my anatomy text I found myself antsy and ready to go to work, much to Michelle's amusement.

"Just sit down. You have twenty minutes left yet. Did you not have some kind of I'm an important person meeting that you could have went to? Or any equations that you could crack in hopes to surpass both Galileo and Einstein combined? Over achiever."

"Michelle, your grade mark average has been higher than mine since birth and I'm older than you."

“True. But I just don't put as much effort into it as you do."

"That's what makes it all the more annoying. No, I don't have any meetings lined up for senior class. You could be a part of it you know. All you have to do is come to a meeting."

"I'll pass on that. Thanks."

"It looks good on job applications."

"And so does First Class Honors at an Ivy League Uni." Michelle spoke, paying little attention to me as she smiled down at her phone. Ten minutes had passed before I stood from the couch, drawing Michelle's attention again. She smirked at me while shaking her head.

"I'm gonna walk. It's a nice night out, plus if I work a little earlier I get paid more and that doesn't hurt."

"No, I'm sure it doesn't. Especially if you're not really in it for the money in the first place, Hershey. Ask her out today, yeah?"

"I just enjoy talking to her. I don't want to ask her out. It's too soon. It's cliche."

"Says the man who was turned down once and then gave up completely. You don't have to date her Harrow, but stop lying to yourself. It gets you nowhere fast. Ask her to the party."

****

The walk to the first year halls was quicker than I expected. I wasn't sure if it was due to the distraction of the scenery change or my pace, but a fifteen minute stroll was cut down to one that only took ten. When I walked into the double doors I saw her again, seated at the front desk with her eyes focused on the pages of her book taking in each word with a lazy grin on her face.

“Hi Rion. How are you?" I asked somewhat loud, causing her to jump. "Sorry didn't mean to scare you."

“No, it’s fine. I didn't see you walking up. I should pay better attention sitting here. Sometimes I just get so engrossed in the words that I forget what's going on around me. How are you this evening?"

I grinned at her before running a hand through my hair and taking the hair tie that I'd stolen from Michelle off of my wrist before pulling it halfway up.

"I'm alright, but I think I asked you a question first.” Rion looked down at her half way finished novel that she had barely scratched the surface of on Monday and then smiled up at me as I made my way around the desk, taking the seat next to hers.

"I'm doing quite well actually. I have no real complaints." Her face dropped.

"That face that you're making is telling me that the last thing that you said was a lie. Clearly."

"Well..."

"Go on. Say it." I grinned while pushing my chair back and resting my feet on the shelf of the desk in front of us.

"My flatmate."

"Yeah?"

"She had company last night.” Rion's voice lowered to a whisper and her cheeks twinged the lightest shade of pink.

"And?"

"And they were very...loud. I didn't get much sleep and every time I had time between classes and I went back to my dorm to take a nap I would always oversleep. I could swear I was late to almost every class today, but my professors were kind of understanding. They all cut me a break because I'm new." Rion rested her head in her hands before she began to shake it back and forth. "I mean I don't want to be that girl who switches dorm flats because their flatmate makes them uncomfortable. She's a really nice girl you know?"

"Uh-huh." I chuckled. I didn't mean to laugh at her misfortune and bad day, but she looked so distressed while explaining it all. No wonder she was rushing about today.

"But I can't risk being late to class, or miss classes because her and her girlfriend insist on having loud goes at each other. My parents had to pay so much for tuition here and I'm working at least three jobs to pay the loans I've taken out myself."

"Yeah that's-Wait what did you say?"

"I said I'm working three jobs to pay off loans and my parents for school and-"

"Wait, no. Sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off, but what did you say before that?"

"My flatmate and her girlfriend have loud goes at each other."

"Your flatmate is a girl?"

"Yes." Rion tilted her head, looking at me as if I'd lost it. When you live on campus, the dorms are usually co-ed, but the actual rooms aren't.

"And you said she had a girlfriend?" It wouldn't be her. It can't be.

"Yes she's a les-"

"Lesbian."

"Yeah. And it's not that, that makes me uncomfortable. I believe love is love no matter who you find it with. It's just that they were so loud and I think sex is a very private and sacred thing… And I mean it was so disrespectful because Alison knows that I have to be up so early for my first class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday but she was— they were both...and then there was this buzzing sound. I think toys were involved."

I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. The mix of the story, the situation, and the toys made it too good to be true. Rion pouted, but I could still see a trace of a smile on her lips.

“Sorry. It's not funny. You were just making a funny face. Did you say your flatmate's name was Alison?"

"Yeah. Do you know her?"

"No." It's really not a lie. I don't know her.

"Oh. She's a really sweet girl, but I need sleep."

"You do. Three jobs is a lot to juggle. It makes me feel like I'm not doing enough."

"You do though. You work, you have more classes than I do, and you're president of senior class. We both are tackling a lot…But, I can't help but feel like something is missing from the equation for the both of us. I just can't quite put my finger on it."

“Yeah, me either. Do you know Alison's girlfriend. Have you seen her?" I don't know why I'm hoping that there's a chance that this Alison is playing the same game that Michelle is or that it's a completely different girl.

"No. I'm sure that she said it at some point last night, but I put my earphones in to try and muffle the sound as much as possible." Rion sighed as she turned around to face the desk again, looking back down at her book.

"It kind of sounds like you need an escape." I say, hoping that she would turn back around to face me.

“It's only the start of the year. Usually I'd be fine, but I'm already tired. Cambridge comes with a price, but I'm more than willing to pay it. A get away sounds good."

"Well, there's this party on Saturday that practically the whole school contributes in. I've even seen some professors there, the younger ones at least."

"Really? At a school like this?"

"Rion, Cambridge may seem mysterious, with all of its prestige, low acceptance rates, and student's who attend with big brains, but it’s a university first. Parties exist here and because we're not supposed to be considered a school known for parties, they exist a little bit more than your regular university. We just keep it a secret. You should come."

"I'm not really that much of a partier. The last one I went to was after I finished all of my GCSE. I was talking to this boy that I liked and I'd never really drank that much, but I was with my friends and peer pressure and all... It just didn't end well."

"Let me guess. You threw up on him?"

"No... I— I can't! I can't tell you it was so embarrassing!" Rion laughed covering her mouth before she stood up to help a first year out. I swear its only Wednesday and more than a fourth of the first years who live in this building have already lost their keys. I'm sure that after the party on Saturday and the excessive drinking that's going to take place there's going to be a line outside the door for key replacements.

Chelle: I'm so bored so I'm gonna clean the apartment. Starting in the living space, then your room, then mine. Anything that might stick to my fingers if I touch it this time? 😜😷

To Chelle: Don't clean my room! It's already clean! And please don't tell me you touched anything in my bin?😨😳

Chelle: I haven't, but I assume the worst. And I may or may not have changed your name in my phone to Mr. Tissue. I will never let you live that down.

To Chelle: Call one of your bitches and leave my shit alone, pimp daddy. I'm buying a lock for my door.🔒

Chelle: 😼Bitches? What good will a lock do when I'll have the spare? 🔐👀

To Chelle: We'll discuss this when I get home. I’m Busy. 🗣DO NOT TOUCH MY SHIT!

"You alright?" Rion asked pulling me out of my text war with Mitchell.

"Oh, yeah. Just texting my flat mate."

"Mitch, right?"

"Yeah," I snickered, shaking my head while thinking about the well being of my things, "So are you going to tell me what happened when you were at this party years and years ago talking to the boy you liked?"

"Ugh, no I can't. I absolutely can't embarrass myself that much again. It would be like reliving it."

"I'll tell you one of mine. My most embarrassing, but you've got to tell me yours first.” Rion hid her head in her hands peeking out at me between her fingers and laughing.

"Fine. But please don't judge me. It was my first time being drunk. Promise?"

"I promise that I might not be able to not laugh and I won't judge you but tease you for it later."Rion squinted her eyes at me processing what I said before she turned around facing away from me in her swivel chair. I heard her take a deep breath before she started.

"I'd never been drunk before and we were at this party because everyone finished their GCSE. We weren't really old enough to drink-"

"No shit?"

"Don't interrupt," she laughed dragging out the words, "All of the toilets were taken in the house so I was waiting outside of this one when Flynn came up to talk to me-"

I laughed out loud for the third time today and the story wasn't even over. "His name was Flynn?"

"Yes. He was very cute! Let me finish!"

"Okay, soz."

"So we were talking and I was really drunk and I really had to go and....I peed! Don't laugh! You said you wouldn't judge me!” Laughing was an understatement. My stomach hurt and my eyes started to water.

"You pissed yourself?!"

"I didn't talk to anyone for a week, even my best friend for letting me get that drunk."

"Why didn't you go wee outside?"

"Well it's so easy for boys to do that isn't it? You can just whip it out, shake it off, and put it away. Girls have layers that they have to get through, and I'm a lady."

"A lady who wet herself."

"And what's your story?"

"And it appears that we're out of time."

"Oh no you don't!" She laughed wiping the corner of her eye and pouting, "You promised!"

"Alright I guess. I was out with one of my friends and his parents had just gotten divorced so he was living with his mum at the time. We'd went to a bar and I'd gotten so drunk that I forgot where I was-"

"That's it?"

"No, I wish it was but no. We went back to his place because my mum doesn't like me drinking and I didn't want to hear her nag. But when I got back to his place, I started stripping off."

"You didn't!"

"I did. I took off everything.... Everything. My friends mum was at work at the time but when she came home the next morning I was ass naked in her hallway sleeping on the floor...on my back...and it was morning...My friend had went in his room and closed the door. But, now every time I come home to visit him and his mum is there she winks at me and pinches my bum."

Rion was in tears the same way that I was a few minutes ago and I didn't even care that the story was embarrassing, because her laugh was as cute as she was. I looked at my phone to check the time and our shift would be over in five minutes. Any other day time would have dragged on, but it always seems when I'm here with her it goes by a little faster.

"I can't believe that." Rion spoke while wiping her eyes again.

"Well believe it, because it happens every time. Makes for a good story though." We both started to gather our things to leave but before we left the building, Rion tore a sheet of paper from her notebook and began to write on it.

"Here. Um, that's my number. I don't know about the party just yet because I have to check my work schedules and everything else, but I don't know. Just text me sometime before then?"

"Sure. I mean yeah of course I will.”

Rion grinned at me while biting her bottom lip before walking away and the walk home that usually took fifteen minutes now felt as if it only took five.

****

I closed the door behind me with an exhaled breath and a smile on my face before inhaling the scent of pine and citrus. Michelle poked her head out into the hallway that led to the door where I stood before she stepped out of the kitchen fully wearing pink rubber gloves, a pair of my favorite Green Bay sweats, and a t-shirt that also happened to be mine.

“Honey, I'm home."

"Bitches?"

"Excuse me?" I looked at my best mate confused as she crossed her arms across her chest after removing the gloves from her hands, tilting her head to the side as she spoke again.

"You said I have bitches, Styles. Apparently there's more to discuss."

I walked away from the door removing my work shirt and tossing it at Michelle. She tried to move out of the way and dodge the laundry that I'd threw at her but it still landed on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, causing it to land on the floor before shouting at me.

"I've just cleaned this entire apartment and you come in here making a mess! Pick it up and take it to you're room you quadruple nippled fuck."

"Girls don't mind my bonus nipples. It even sometimes becomes interesting foreplay, when I was having sex that is."

"Gross!"

I laugh and duck when she launches the shirt back to me causing it to land in in a pile on the kitchen floor. We both look at it and step over it before I grab two beers out of the refrigerator, one for myself and one for Chelle.When I try to hand her the beverage, she frowns at the twist off cap and then pouts at me causing me to scowl before I open it for her.

"You're so useless sometimes, Chelle."

"Says the man who doesn't clean, yet looks around at a spotless household that smells of cinnamon. I wonder who did that? Ah, it must have been the useless one. Now," Michelle spoke before clicking the neck of her beer with mine and then taking a sip, "What's this about my bitches?"

I chuckled as I took a gulp of my drink and headed for the living-room with Michelle close behind. We sat on the couch on on opposite ends of each other, relaxing after a long day as we usually do.

"Maybe not bitches in the plural sense. Maybe there's just one?"

Michelle stretched out on the couch putting her mitch-matched sock clad feet on my lap, drawing a displeased look from me but ignoring it entirely as she dramatically massaged her temples with her free hand.

"I can't deal with your game of clue today. The chemicals from the cleaning made my brain go fuzzy and I don't think the beer is helping. Just tell me what you think you know so I can tell you that you're wrong as usual."

I smiled at her, placing my half finished beer bottle on the table in front of us and then began massaging her calves causing her to close her eyes and hum in appreciation before taking another swig of her drink.

"Alison."

Michelle opened one of her eyes before quickly closing it again.

"What about her?"

"Was she a part of your plans B and C last night? Because something or someone tells me that she may have been." Michelle's eyes snapped open and she looked at me in shock. "It's okay if you like her. You can't help who you like."

"I don't like anyone," Michelle looked down briefly at her lap as she shrugged off my discovery. If I've learned anything about her from being her friend its that when she fails to make eye contact, she's lying. "Gianna stood me up last night and Alison was my backup plan. It's simple. I got what I wanted and left in the morning before she even woke up."

"Okay," I smirked at her before picking up my beer again, finishing what was left of it.

"I'm serious. I don't like anyone. I don't feel anything for anyone anymore. Senior year, up the ante, remember? I barely like you."

"Alright," I chuckled before pushing her legs off of me, returning to the kitchen to grab another drink.

"Harry!"

"I believe you, I believe you. You you're an emotionless drone," I spoke as I opened the refrigerator, "We need to go to the grocery store. This is getting ridiculous. We don't have anything in here besides beer, fizzy drinks, and water."

"There are plenty of noodle cups in the cabinet. We'll just tell people we're on an all liquid diet if we ever get visitors. We're not done talking about the other thing. Stop changing the subject. How did you even know I was at Alison's last night?"

I closed the door to the refrigerator with a smirk on my face walking past Michelle to go back into the living room. She followed behind me while lighting a candle that smells like oranges to keep the citrus scent going.

"Well? Come on Har. I don't want to have to chase you around the apartment all day for answers."

"Make me a noodle cup and bring me a bottle of water and I'll tell you."

"You were just in the kitchen!" Michelle speaks as she throws her lighter at me but does what I ask.

When she gets back, she hands me a fork and places the bottle of water on the table in front of me. I smile at her as a thank you before I speak.

"Rion."

"What?"

"Small world right? Or, small campus? Rion, is Alison's flatmate and she kind of, she heard you two last night. I mean, unless that wasn't you and there's another girl named Alison on campus? She said you guys kept her up because you both were too loud."

"There very well could be another Alison, Harry. It's not like there are only four lesbians that exist on earth. But Rion? The girl that you work with? The one that you have the hots in the pants for, Rion?"

"Yes and I don't just like her that way."

"Hm. Of course you do, you've only known her for three days..."

"What, hm? What do you have to say about her?"

"Oh, nothing except Alison calls her prudence. She says she's a real goody good and she's annoying."

"Thats sad," I say as I finish all that I was going to of my noodles leaving the rest for Michelle to eat. She takes the cup from my hands and takes a bite while looking at me to finish what I was going to say, "Rion says Alison's really nice and sweet."

“Well, I don't know. Rion may very well be Princess Peach. You know I don't do girly gossip. It gets on my last nerve. Alison just feels the need to talk to me when I'm there and its like shut the fuck up, girl. I didn't come over here to hear you talk, now get between my legs and-"

"Woah! Okay, and Mitchel is back. How are ya bro? I haven't really seen you in a few days."

"Fuck off Harry." Michelle laughs. "I hear the sordid details of you and the lads sexcapades all the time...well not you so much now, but you know what I was getting at."

"Yeah but, it's kind of different..."

"How?" Chelle quirked an eyebrow and turned her head looking to me for an answer that I'm not sure that I wanted to give her.

"Well, because... I um... and it's just that sometimes-"

"Wait! Harry you pervert! You get turned on by it don't you? It gives you a stiffy?"

"No!"

"Yes! Yes it does! You're turning all red!"

“No it doesn’t, Michelle!"

"Then what's your valid reason?"

I couldn't think of a lie fast enough and Michelle started to laugh, nasty snort and all. I took a pillow from the couch and threw it at her, making her fall backwards on the floor and stay there, using the pillow to her advantage as she lied down on the throw rug that covered the majority of the hardwood flooring in the living room. Our apartment was pretty nice considering that it was still school property, then again we did luck out putting in our bid in order to get into the newer buildings.

"Okay Hersh, I'll keep my dirty details to a minimum for the sake of your tight trousers. I can only imagine that, that gets uncomfortable. Anyway, did you ask prudence- sorry, Rion, to the party this weekend?"

"I did." I smile as I think about the neatly folded piece of paper in my pocket with her number written across it.

"What did she say?" Michelle looks up at me from her place on the floor.

"She said that she's not really that much of a party person." I smiled again a bit harder than I had before.

"So she's not going and she turned you down again? Maybe she is a prude. Don't worry about it Harry, there are plenty of other girls out here on campus just as smart, if not smarter than she is, prettier, and who will appreciate you for- What are you smiling about? Why are you so giddy from being turned down twice?"

I chuckled to myself while shaking my head and standing from my place on the couch, stretching before going towards my room.

"I didn't necessarily get turned down."

I could hear Michelle's footsteps close behind me as I walked into my room. She'd been in here. I can tell not only because of the clothes that she wore to clean that were mine, but because I could still faintly smell her perfume. Nothing was on the floor anymore and she even made my bed. I looked around the room and then back at her before I sat, grabbing one of the neatly placed pillows to put under my head, then lied back on it with my legs hanging over the edge of the mattress.

"Before you say anything, you'll be able to find your things. I just put everything where it’s supposed to normally go."

"I wasn't going to say anything besides thank you. I'm still buying a lock for my door, but thank you."

Michelle rolled her eyes. Something she calls a brainless trait. When she catches herself she covers her face in embarrassment before she continues to bother me, taking a seat next to me on the bed. "So how is Rion's telling you that she's not a party girl, not necessarily turning you down?"

"She gave me her number. You know, for someone who doesn't like to hang out with girls you surely do a lot of girly gossip. You're so nosey, Jesus."

"Oh please, Harrow. You wanted to tell me just as bad if not worse than I wanted to know. Are you going to call her tonight?"

“No. That's too forward and desperate. I'll text her tomorrow or something."

"You're such a teenaged girl. You think about things too much instead of just doing them. Sometimes I wonder if you have a bajingo where your penis should be. If she gave you her number its because she wants a call.”

"Go fuck off somewhere else Mitchel! And by the way, those joggers and that shirt are mine. Thief."

Michelle stood from the bed with a smirk on her face before she took off my shirt and my sweats, folding them precisely before she put them in my washing basket. I kept my eyes on her face when she looked back at me and I swear that I tried to keep my eyes on her face the entire time, but I would be lying if I said that my eyes didn't roam over her smooth skin when she wasn't looking at me. I closed my eyes quickly and turned my head away. Hearing her laugh was the only evidence that I had to let me know that she was still standing in my room.

"I didn't say take off my clothes right now. God, Chelle don't be so literal. Go dress yourself!"

"I have on underwear! And you took off your shirt when you came through the door. AND I've seen you walk around in your boxers plenty. Is there some sort of double standard because I'm a woman?”

"That's not the point! And yes there is! Please go put on trousers and a shirt?"

“Whatever, Harry. I'm going to bed. Clearly I'll have to sleep this way because it's hot as hell fire in my room. It's a shame that this is a new building but they still didn't bother to make sure that the ventilation was right before they stuck people in it. Good night and all that."

"Night." I looked towards Chelle and then looked away again as she began to walk out of my room, her nicely rounded bum bounced as she closed the door behind her.

****

Saturday came quickly. Too quickly for my liking, and I hadn't text Rion or called her at all. I didn't want to seem desperate, but perhaps waiting three days made it seem like I wasn't interested? I hadn't seen her at work for the past two days because she has two other jobs to juggle. I'd hoped that she could get off for today, however, even though I haven't said a word to her.

"Just call her. Stop being a chicken shit. The party is tonight, and I'm rooting for you, Styles." Michelle spoke as we walked down the aisles of Sainsbury Supermarket. We'd been here for nearly half an hour and had nothing in our cart except beer, noodle cups, frozen pizza's and a bottle of Goldschläger for tonight. Broke college students can afford alcohol when they can't afford anything else.

"Are we going to buy any real food, or is this about as good as it gets?" I asked, ignoring Michelle's comment.

"What? We've got plenty. Plus I think there are chicken nuggets in there and that's a delicacy for us. Don't avoid what I've said to you."

"I haven't avoided anything, and we would be able to get more than chicken nuggets and noodles if you would just call your parents."

Michelle hesitated before she looked back at me and then back down at her list. She doesn't call her parents much to ask for money if she can avoid it. Her mum isn't doing so well health wise and to the best of my knowledge she hasn't been for some years now. The doctors thought that she had leukemia, but apparently they've only just discovered that's not the case. I think it's what drives Michelle's dream to become a doctor. She's eager to find out what's going on with her mum so that she can be the one to cure it.

She glanced at her phone having an internal battle with herself on whether she should ring home or not. I felt bad for asking her and I normally wouldn't, but I'm running low on funds myself. I usually get a stipend every other week from my mum and paid every other Friday from my shitty job, but unfortunately I'm between pay checks and for some reason my mum is late.

Michelle decided against my idea putting her phone back in her pocket.

"We're in our last year of uni. What would it look like if we resorted to calling our parents to wire us food money? You call yours if you're so hungry."

"It would look like we're both working shit jobs barely making wage and paying to rent out the apartment that we have so that we can finish out this last year with a roof over our heads. I wouldn't ask you to usually, but is an emergency. I asked my parents last time. It's your turn."

“Well, we can just get rid of something then if we don't have enough." Michelle stopped the cart and began to sift through the contents inside it, moving over ten cups of noodles out of the way and the one bag of chicken nuggets that we had. When her hand landed on the alcohol, we both looked at each other and shook our heads no. "Fuck," Michelle groaned under her breath, "Fine I'll ask my parents tomorrow. Let’s just get this for now and get out of here."

When we left the grocery store, after loading all four of our bags into my car, Michelle got quiet while looking out the window. I still hadn't told her that Louis is planning on meeting up with me and the lads to drink before we go just to prove that he's not one of those people and usually, now days anyway, wherever Louis is Michelle is far away and vice versa. I figure that there's no better time to tell her rather than now while she's quiet, but at the same time I don't want to hurt her feelings. She seemed lost in thought, but there's still a smile on her face.

I cleared my throat causing her to look at me quizzically with an eyebrow raised.

"Um, so.."

"Yes?"

"About the party tonigh-"

"No you don't!" Michelle cut in not allowing me to finish what I was going to say as we pulled up to our apartment. "You're not cutting out of this. Gosh, Harry, I know that you want to be more serious and that this year and I'm sorry for not using the Ultimate Alarm the other day when you were in an alcoholic hibernation, but it's a Saturday. Can you not have fun on Saturdays?" Michelle frowned pouting a bit.

"I'm going to the party, if that's what that speech was pertaining to at all? I wasn't going to say that I'm not going."

"Oh. Well then by all means continue." She smiled this time, happy with herself because she didn't have to argue her case any further.

"Yeah, I um, I'm going to the party, but Louis wanted me and the lads to meet up with him before we go. Pre-gaming and all that." I spoke quickly hoping that she didn't mind or hear what I said for that matter. Her eyes stayed straight forward, looking outside the windshield before she replied.

"All of you?"

"Yeah. He kind of asked about it earlier this week when I saw him...But you know we'll hang out at the party and stuff."

She nodded her head. It was the only response she'd given as her eyes stayed on the boot of the car in front of us.

"Are you alright with it? I can always-"

"Don't worry about it, Harrow. You were his friends first after all, and we live with each other. I'm tired of seeing your ugly mug anyway." Michelle laughed while patting my cheek and I shoved her hand off of me. "Plus, we all know I have bitches that I need to tend to so it's fine."

She covers up how she truly feels with a joke and all of a sudden I feel guilty.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah it's fine. You're very much a pleaser, Harrow. Did you know that?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked as I parked the car and grabbed the groceries out of the back seat to go upstairs.

"You can't please everyone. In the end someone is going to have to be let down or hurt. That's the way of life. It's okay to be selfish sometimes, Harry. That's what I mean."

Michelle sighed as she walked ahead of me, using her keys to unlock the door to our flat. I put the groceries and my things down in the kitchen before I went for a wee, all the while trying to figure out where the hell that last bit of our conversation was coming from, but when I came out of the bathroom she was back to acting like her normal self.

"Since you're leaving me to fend for myself tonight," Michelle spoke holding up two double shot glasses filled to the brim with alcohol, "We didn't buy this for nothing." She spoke in reference to the Goldschläger that ate up the majority of our money and bit her bottom lip while smiling at me.

I winced, already feeling the burn of the liquid going down my throat, before looking at my watch.

"It's only five. No one is going to start drinking until at least nine. You're trying to kill me. I said sorry for agreeing to go with Louis and the lads. Why are you making me do this?"

"Harry, when we were first years we drank early all the time."

"And my liver paid for it."

"Oop, Harry what's that?"

I looked over my shoulder confused before I looked back over to Michelle.

"What's what?"

"Is that a bajingo between your legs where you penis should be?" Michelle started to laugh while pointing in that general area.

"Piss off Chelle!" I spoke before walking up to the table and grabbing the shot that she'd placed there for me. I held it up to eye level inspecting it first. There was something floating in the glass.

"It's actually gold," Michelle said seeing the confusion written clean across my face, "hence the name Goldschläger."

"So we can afford to drink gold flecks in alcohol, but we can't afford real food?"

"I'm going to call my parents tomorrow I said, Mr. Sensable. Now shut up and down it!"

I looked at Michelle shaking my head as we clinked glasses and turned the shot up to our lips. The burn of it made my eyes water and when I looked at Michelle, hers were doing the same. I picked up the bottle on the table and read it before Michelle took it from my hands, pouring us both another shot.

"This is forty-five percent alcohol."

"Yes. It's strong. So, so strong." She nodded as if she already knew.

"We'll be trashed if we keep drinking this. We probably wouldn't even make it to the party." I spoke before I walked over to the refrigerator to grab us beers, hoping that she would switch substances.

"No we won't. I won't let us miss it. But legend has it that this is supposed to get you drunk quickly. The gold flecks supposedly make microscopic cuts in your esophagus so the alcohol can get into your bloodstream faster. Cheers." Michelle handed me the shot glass again as if after hearing that I would want to drink it again.

"Michelle that's horrible. I don't want to-"

"Just take one more shot of it and then we'll just sip beer until you leave to go meet up with Louis and the rest of the lads."

Her eyes were pleading and I couldn't tell her no. We both flipped our heads back as he downed the shots and with in a peer pressured hour, ten shots and two beers later, there was a sloppy grin on my face and I my vision was doubled. Michelle however seemed fine.

"Your alcohol tolerance has lowered dramatically. It’s almost seven. What time were you going to go to Louis'?"

"In an hour."

"I'll drive you." She spoke as she sat against the couch taking out her phone and laughing at my facial expression.

"You had just as much to drink as I have. You can't drive."

"I can. I've got a buzz but that's all. You're trashed. I only had three shots. The other seven you took alone." I looked at her in shock. How could she have tricked me that way? I swear she was drinking too. Michelle laughed and I could already tell that she was recording me. "I'm putting this on instagram."

"Don't! I really hate you." I slurred while pointing at her, only causing her to laugh more.

"You need to loosen up, especially for your hot date tonight. There's no point in you being so uptight at the start of the quarter. I'll let you go back to your boring self when Monday comes around again." She pulled her phone away from me as I tried to take it from her. "You might want to check your phone by the way. It seems you have a message."

I looked down at the notification that showed on the screen, squinting my eyes to try and focus on what was there. When my eyes adjusted, I almost felt sober.

Rion: I was starting to think that maybe you'd forgotten about me. I checked my schedule and I'm actually free tonight. I don't know how long I'll stay, but I'll meet you there. Alison is going so I'll just be with her.

My eyes widened before I scrolled up to see what I supposedly said.

To Rion: Hiiiii, It's Harry. Sorry for being such a stupid arsehole and not texting you sooner, but would you still want to go to that party tonight?

"You texted Rion?"

"Yup."

"But I-I'm not...Fuck!"

"What? You like her right? I've done you a favor."

"Yeah, but—“

"No but's. You either like her or you don't and if you do and if she likes you, which she does, obviously, then you have the go ahead to call. She wanted you to call. She clearly likes you. She's excited and so are you. You're just nervous. You haven't been on a date in six months or maybe more? But, this should be like riding a bike, if you will. I've removed your kickstand, now all you have to do is pedal."

I looked at Michelle and shook my head before I went in my room to find something to wear for tonight, deciding on the usual skinny jeans and oversized shirt, leaving a few of the buttons in the front undone as I stumbled into the living room to wait for Michelle. She reappeared from her room shortly after I did wearing black leather looking tight pants and some sort of red cut off shirt along with her fake glasses and red lips. She looked beautiful and I could only think that she was doing so for Alison.

As much as Chelle would doubt it, I think the player may have taken an interest in one that's supposed to be a pawn in her dating game. All I can hope for is that Alison treats her right. She deserves someone who would.

"What's the point of wearing a shirt if it’s barely buttoned, Styles? And it's see through. I mean I guess kudos for buttoning the three buttons you did bother with correctly." It could be because I'm drunk, but I could have sworn that I saw her look me up and down...not necessarily in a friendship manner. I ignored her while grinning and standing from the couch before she grabbed the Goldschläger again pouring us both another shot. "One for the road?"

"I'll take it if you take it first you lying Judas. I'm already drunk enough as it is."

Michelle cringed before she threw her head back downing the shot, eyes watering again by how strong of a burn the cinnamon schnapps left behind. I did the same and then took another for the hell of it since I wouldn't be driving tonight. Michelle eyed me as I walked down the stairs and to her car as if I would fall.

"Stop watching me and walk yourself."

"Someone has to watch out for you. You're clumsy enough as it is, bambi. Adding alcohol to the mix is a disaster waiting to strike."

"Says the absolute asshole who got me drunk in the first place."

"Oh yeah...That's right." Michelle smiled victoriously before she spoke again, clearing her throat before hand, "Uh, so, since I'm taking you to Louis' place where does he stay? I know he must have moved from where we lived before..." Her face dropped slightly.

"With his bird about five blocks over... Sorr-"

"It's fine." Michelle started her car, looking through the windscreen straight ahead like she did earlier as she drove and listened to the directions I gave her, telling he where to turn.

When we pulled up in front of the house, Niall was outside on the porch with a beer in his hand, smoking a cigarette. No doubt because Hollie put him out of the house, not wanting anything to smell like stale smoke.

"Harry! Hi Mitch!" He waved to us as he stumbled over to the car clearly drunk himself and louder than usual. "You're staying too, Michelle?" She shook her head no while smiling half way at Niall as I got out of the car. "You should stay. This thing, whatever it is, between you and Lou is ridiculous. You guys were so close and it can get there again. Just get out of the car and-"

"I can't Ni, I have somewhere to be, myself." Michelle's eyes begged Niall to be more quiet but he didn't get the hint. He was going to speak again, but was cut off by Lou as he walked out onto his porch with Hollie close behind. He didn't notice that Michelle was with us until I moved to walk towards the house.

"Lads!"

I looked from Michelle to Louis then back to Michelle again and as I did I saw her eyes widen right before she cursed under her breath. Louis paused in his steps, and his eyebrows drew together slightly before he spoke.

"Michelle." He nodded at her as a greeting gesture making everything more awkward.

"Louis."

"Mitch can stay right?" In that moment everyone looked at Niall as he took another drunken, oblivious drag off of his cigarette and it appeared that everyone wanted to punch him in the face, including me.

"No actually I was just leaving. Enjoy your night boys. Be safe, Harrow. I'll see you later yeah?"

I nodded my head before she spoke a simple "good," and sped off as quickly as her car could take her. Louis took a deep breath, shaking his head before smiling at us and inviting us in for more booze. I honestly didn't think that I would drink anymore tonight, but after that I felt the need to.

Niall dropped his cigarette and stepped on it while shrugging his shoulders at me as we followed behind Louis into the house where everyone else sat.

“Read the room next time, yeah?” I spoke under my breath hoping that only Niall would hear me.

“What room? It’s stupid that they don’t talk anymore. For fucks sake he was going t’ marry—”

“I know, Niall. I know.” I interrupted Niall mid sentence and could not help but notice the hitch in my jaw, that became more sore than it had been in a while.

We all spoke as we walked in the house and I put the topic behind me in order to proceed on with the rest of the night and for the first time in a while I was happy that the liquor continued to flow. It seemed to put me and everyone else around in the right mindset for one of the biggest parties of the year, but Louis still seemed somewhat flustered about seeing Michelle for the first time since they called things off. I know Michelle probably didn't feel the best either and I tried to text her to see if she was alright, but I got no response.

Chelle: Are you okay, Chelle? I'm so sorry about that. Didn't know that he would come outside.

Though I got no response to my text, I expected to see Michelle as soon as we got to The Barn. The title of the bar was fitting as it was out closer towards farmland and covered in red paint as it actually was previously a stable. It was crowded with everyone from students to professors indulging in what the night had to offer, but as I skimmed the crowd I began to get more anxious. We had been here for an hour. I was sure that by now that I would have run into her. Taking out my phone, I’d opted to give her a ring, but before I could unlock my screen my phone began to buzz in my hand.

"Hello?" I slurred on the line while closing my opposite ear with my finger so that I could hear whoever it was I was talking to.

"Harry?" The deafening music and noise in the background made it almost impossible to hear.

"No, this is Harry." hiccup “Who is this?"

"Harry, it's Rion can you hear me?"

I walked away from Niall, Darragh, and the rest of the lads as they prepared to make Niall do a keg stand; swaying as I went.

"Who is this?" I repeated trying to hear better, hoping that it was Michelle calling me back in response to the text I’d sent.

"Harry, it's Rion. Can you hear me now?"

"Rion?"

"Yes."

"Hi." I smiled as if she were in front of me, when in all actuality I was in the middle of the crowded street surrounded by a sea of strangers. A car honked at me just as I was about to cross back towards the party, causing me to step back so that I didn't get hit.

"Where are you?" She laughed into the phone causing me to smile again.

“Outside enjoying the weather. Are you here? At the party I mean."

"I am," when she spoke I could hear the smile in her voice, over the excessive chattering and music in the background. "Can you come to the doors near the front of the pub and meet me there?"

"Sure. Stay on the phone with me? You know, just until I find you." I slurred into the phone but Rion laughed again nonetheless.

"Of course...Is that you in the middle of the street? Please be careful if it is."

I looked around, confused as to how she could see me but I couldn't see her. I walked towards the pub again forcing my bleary eyes to focus until I spotted her, standing on a large rock that was just outside the door. When I reached her, I held out my hand to help her down. She took it and called me a gentleman before I said anything else.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" I asked as I looked down at her in her jean jacket and simple black dress that clung to her chest then flowed down to her feet.

"I guess. It's not that bad. Ten times better than the last party I went to already."

I laughed.

"You haven't drunk anything?"

"One mixed drink, but I didn't really finish it. Are you enjoying yourself?" She asked me as we began to walk to nowhere in particular.

"I am. A little bit more now, actually.” A slight blush came to Rion's cheeks before she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and I cleared my throat to continue. "Where's your flatmate?"

"Alison? I'm not sure. She said she was going to meet up with a friend of hers. The same girl that she was with the last time no doubt."

My mind went to Michelle as I checked my phone again and still I had no messages from her.

"So, she left you here?"

"I haven't seen her in the last hour... She could have. But if she did, I have no real way home now. She was my ride. I knew I should have just driven on my own."

I didn't say anything more, but I had the feeling that Alison bailed. I might have an idea as to who with and where to as well.

"Well, are you ready to go?" We ended up closer to the street facing in the direction of the campus. "The night is oddly nice for the end of August and the sky isn't as cloudy as it could be. We might miss getting rained on if we leave now."

"Do you have your car?" She asked looking towards me as if it were a deal breaker.

“No, but I would walk back with you. The parties aren't really my thing anymore. I just came to catch up with some friends. It was nice to get out. We're only about a 15 minute walk away from campus."

Rion looked towards the pub and then back at me again before she smiled and answered me sweetly.

"I'd love to get out of here with you."

Rion and I began walking, but as soon as we got a little bit past the corner where the party was being held at she stopped, causing me to stop as well and look back at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Are you going to tell any of your friends that you're leaving?" She asks while holding her dress up just past her ankles so it doesn't touch the ground.

I grin at her, absolutely ecstatic that she's giving me the chance to walk her back to her dorm room. If those tossers want to know where I went they know how to call. I guess Mitch really did do me a favor and I might owe her one after this.

"Oh, um...No. They're having a good time. I'm sure they won't even notice that I left. It's okay. Besides, I'm getting kind of tired anyway. I could always just shoot them a message."

Rion nods her head in agreement before we begin to walk again. Bunching the material of her dress in one hand in hopes not to step on it, I couldn't help but chuckle as I looked at her.

"Its so long. I love this dress but it's a bit of a hassle to wear." Rion comments, already knowing the reason for my amusement. I gently grab her hand to stop her once more and this time she looks at me with as soft smile forming on her lips.

"Here, let me..." I trailed off, gently taking her hand that had the fabric of her dress, causing her to let it go. Our eyes met as I slowly went down on my knees in front of her. If I would have gone too fast I'm sure I would have lost my balance or worse. It's almost a wonder that I can form a coherent sentence. All that I can hope is that I don't completely reek of alcohol.

I take the hem of the dress and tie a knot in it that's hopefully loose enough to undo when she gets home if she wants, and high enough so that she doesn't have to worry about stepping on it or have it sweep on the ground to get torn or dirty; just above her ankles. I'm not going to lie, when I was down there I looked at her feet and what I could see of her legs. I won't say I have a foot fetish or anything weird like that, but if a girls toes looks like they can pick up an orange with ease and whip it at the back of your head, it's kind of a turn off for me.

Her feet were beautiful aside from a few cuts here and there on her the tops of them. She even had a plaster or two on one of them, but somehow she even made that okay because they matched the purple coloring of her nail polish.

I stood after I was finished, and by the look on her face I must have been down there for a reasonable amount of time to make a knot, at least I hope I was. When I was looking at her feet, I had to make it not so noticeable that that's what I was doing. I don't want her to think I'm some kind of a freak.

"Thank you," she exclaimed while smiling, "I don't know why I didn't think of that."

"Yeah I saw some other girl do it and thought it made sense."

Rion smiled at me again and as we walked next to each other, her hand grazed mine; once, twice, three times before I grabbed it in my own. I saw her look over at me through her peripheral vision. It was a quick glance but I saw it nonetheless. I also saw her bite her bottom lip to try to prevent her smile from getting any bigger than it already was.

I didn't want to bust her out and embarrass her, but I did want to tease her a little. I gently squeezed her hand while biting my bottom lip to stop my smile from spreading much like she did, causing her to laugh before I changed the subject.

"The sky is really clear tonight. I can see Orion's Belt. It really might not rain after all."

"My namesake." Rion smirked.

"Sorry, what?" I spoke noticing that the party sounds were fading farther and farther into the distance.

"My mum is really into Greek mythology and constellations, so my name and its spelling came from Orion himself." She pointed towards the sky and the huge constellation before she looked back at me, slipping her hand back into mine purposefully.

"Cool story. And I'm not being a sarcastic asshole or anything by the way. That makes your name original." hiccup "And I like it a lot. I think my mum named me Harold because it was the only male name that begins with H and that comes after G that she could think of. Her creativity stopped after she realized that she wanted to put her kids names in alphabetical order." Rion laughed and nudged my arm.

"Don't talk about your mum. I think she might have chosen the name because Harry fits you. I've always liked that name."

"Have you now?" I asked with a smirk on my face and an eyebrow raised.

"I have."

"It's because of Prince Harry isn't it? Be honest."

"No it's-"

"Tell the truth."

"He's just so cute. He's the dreamiest ginger I've ever seen besides Ed Sheeran. All due respect to his royalness." Rion spoke causing me to laugh and shake my head before she continued. "Then again, all of the Harry's I've had the pleasure of meeting were pretty fit." She said looking over at me and then back up at the velvety black night sky speckled with beautiful stars.

"How many of us have you met?"

"Well...Just one so far."

I looked over at her as we finally reached a street that had lamp posts and she let out a small chuckle that sounded as if she were clearing her throat. Her eyes caught the light that lined the streets making her irises seem to brighten even though her eye color was dark brown.

We'd finally reached campus just as the clouds started to roll in at two in the morning and from there, I followed Rion's lead back to her dorm. In my three full years at Cambridge, I'd never been to this one in particular, but apparently, Michelle has. I saw her car in the parking lot. Something told me that she would be here, seeking comfort for the blow she received earlier. The sooner that she realizes that fucking doesn’t fix what hurts her, the better off she'll be. Part of me wants to bang on the door as soon as we get to the room, but I decide against it. All I cab hope that she’ll talk to someone eventually. If that someone happens to be Alison, then I'll be happy for her, I guess.

"Thank you, Harry. For getting me home safe and asking me to come out. I had fun for the amount of time I was there for." Rion leaned against her door, smiling while looking up at me.

"It was no problem. Thank, you for, you know, coming." I could hear myself wanting to ramble before I closed my mouth.

“Good night, then." Rion spoke, still smiling and then pausing.

"Goodnight."

Rion turned to unlock her door and when she got it open I turned to leave, but before I could go I could feel her pull my hand. When I turned she had a pout on her face.

"You know, you're really horrible at picking up on signals."

Huh?

"I-"

"I waited so patiently as well."

"I'm-"

"Three days. You didn't text me or say anything for three days. I didn't know what to think. I still don't."

"You're-"

"Oh shut up, Harry."

Rion crossed her arms over her chest and out of shock I closed my mouth, not really sure what to say or do. Rion squinted her eyes at me before shaking her head and turning to go into her little dorm before I stopped her, pulling her to me before I kissed her deeply, pushing her against the wall a bit to show her how it should be done.After it was over Rion sighed in content with her eyes still closed before reopening them slowly. I grinned against her lips before speaking knowing that I’d won her over.

"I didn't know what to think either to be honest. It's been a while."

Rion grabbed me by the front of my shirt, bringing my lips back down to hers.She pulled away, kissing the corner of my mouth making a trail to my ear and then kissing me right beneath my earlobe. There was no tongue involved at all but it still had been the most action than I'd gotten in months and it was still enough to leave us both breathless at the end of her antics.

"Do you know what to think now?” She pushed her door open, speaking before she closed the door behind herself with a cheeky smile.

I’m not sure how long I stood there with a goofy grin on my face after it was all said and done, but when I got to the stairs my drunken mind allowed my legs to work properly and carry me down while still having the memory replay in my head.

I'd only gotten through the doors of the exit of her dormitory before my brain went to my pants, thinking that I might be able to get a good wank before I fell asleep with Rion's lips pressed against my jaw as the mental muse. Just when I thought about flushing any possible tissues instead of putting them in my bin, my phone rang.

"Harry?" Rion whispered into the phone, sounding on the agitated side.

"Rion? What's wrong?"

"She's at it again." Rion exhaled into the phone before I heard the creaking of a door, sounding as if it were being shut.

"Who's at what?"

"Alison and her, friend."

I started to chuckle, thinking of all of the ways that I would tease Michelle tomorrow when I saw her. I know that she's been active, but damn. She's got to be insatiable. I pictured her and Alison, terribly sweaty, gasping for air-

"Harry?"

"Sorry, what did you say?" Rion's voice snapped me out of getting too carried away in inappropriate thought again. Thoughts that I shouldn't venture into about my best pal.

"I really want to be able to sleep without being disrupted. Do you mind if I come to yours? I'll sleep on the couch, the floor, a chair. Anything you wouldn't mind sparing really."

“No, of course I don't mind."

Oh god.

"Are you sure? Should you ask your flatmate first? I wouldn't want to intrude on you or him."

My mind was swimming with a thousand things. Minor details that had the potential to be major. Is my room clean? When is the last time that I had a girl in my room that wasn’t Michelle? Do we have water bottles that I can offer Rion when we get into my flat if she's thirsty? Why does Rion think that Mitch is a guy?

“No… I uh, I'm alone for the night, actually. My flatmate is staying somewhere else I think." In your roommates' room, disrupting you currently.

"Thank you so much." Rion breathed out, sounding somewhat relieved.

"Yeah no problem. I'll turn around now."

"Oh shit, did you get far? I'm so sorry."

"No it's fine. I just got down the street a bit." I spoke as I neared her building again.

I saw her walking out in the same clothes she was wearing before. When she got to me, she thanked me again before we took the surprisingly short walk towards my flat.

"You live in the new buildings? Fancy."

"Yeah, it's alright. For it being new, the ventilation sucks in Mitch's room, but that's the only complaint we have."

I unlocked the door and turned the knob saying a silent prayer as we walked in, but I'd forgotten that Michelle cleaned the whole place, including my room despite my protest for her not to. It was the first time that I’d been happy that she didn’t listen to me.

"It's really nice, Harry. You were being modest." Rion spoke as she tiptoed through the apartment, stopping in the living-room and taking a seat for herself before removing her sandals. "Really clean for two lads."

"Oh, actually-"

"Sorry, Harry. I don't want to interrupt, but do you think I could use the restroom first? I'm bursting to go."

I laughed while running my hand through my hair. "Sure. It's just down the hall. We wouldn't want a repeat of your last party."

Rion turned red, covering her mouth in a laugh and speaking to me as she walked down the hall.

"I really still can't believe I told you that."

While she was gone, I grabbed extra blankets from the linen closet and laid out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts of mine for her to wear on my bed. I also grabbed a bottle of water and put it on my desk for her in case she was thirsty, thankful that I made Michelle put some of those noodle cups back in exchange for it. Before I made my bed on the couch, I went into Michelle's room to steal one of her pillows but I’d gotten distracted easily. On her bedside table was a picture of the both of us taken last year. We were both pretty out of it and you can clearly tell in the photo, but in the midst of all the insanity Michelle was still alert and smiling at me while I was laughing and pulling her shirtsleeve with my teeth.

When I heard Rion leaving the bathroom I quickly left from Michelle's room, placing the photograph back down where I got it from and closing her bedroom door behind me.

"You'll be in my room. I've laid you out some things to make you more comfortable."

"Awe, Harry. I can take the couch really. I don't want to kick you out of your bed."

"No you won't. Now, go to bed. Good night, but for real this time."

Rion eyed me as she nodded her head in agreement, a slight grin on her lips.

“Yes for real this time.” She spoke before her bottom lip was drawn into her mouth. The liquor I consumed tonight made me do the same as I looked her up and down shamelessly, grinning as I did so.

I started to take a step backwards only to notice that Rion advanced forwards causing me to stop in my tracks. Our lips connected again more fervently than they had before, before I started to walk again leading Rion back into my bedroom.

#Harry Styles #harry styles slow burn #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction

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fyeah-bangtan7 · 3 years

Text

BTS' Jin on 'Rock-Style Songs,' Life Off the Road, and Being Very Handsome

"When we couldn't go on tour, everybody felt really a sense of loss, a sense of powerlessness," Jin says

BTS’ main producer, Pdogg, is fond of pushing the group’s singers to the top of their range, and beyond. One of the most extreme, and impressive, examples is the howling series of beyond-falsetto notes Jin manages to reach on the track “Crystal Snow.” You’d never know it from that moment and many others, but Jin wasn’t a singer (or a dancer) at all when he first joined Big Hit Entertainment (now HYBE) as a trainee; he was studying acting instead. In the third of Rolling Stone‘s breakout interviews with each of BTS’ seven members, Jin explained how he cultivated his formidable skills, looked back at some of his best musical moments, and more. He sat in his label’s headquarters for the conversation, in a blue button-front shirt with a wide collar and a black baseball cap from the Japanese brand Mastermind, a gift from Suga.(In celebration of BTS’ appearance on the cover of Rolling Stone, we’re publishing individual digital covers with each member of the band; check back throughout the next four days for more.)

I know you just woke up today. What was your day like yesterday? We went to shoot a variety show, a popular and famous show in Korea, and we haven’t done one of these in a while. I want to emphasize and make sure it’s pointed out for the record that everybody went berserk about how good-looking I was [laughs].

Even through the mask I can tell. So what have you learned about yourself in this year off the road? Especially when we were on tour, there wasn’t time to reflect on myself and figure out what gives me joy, what makes me relax. Being off the road for a year gave me a chance to really reflect on what I want and who I am, and sort of learn to love myself. I got a chance to sleep more, and that makes me a lot more satisfied. I tried exercising, and I realized that’s something that I like. And everyday things like playing games, watching movies, singing, those kinds of things.

At the same time, it feels like you felt the pain of not being on tour. Not just myself, but other members really felt that. When we couldn’t go on tour, everybody felt really a sense of loss, a sense of powerlessness, and we were all sad. And it actually took us a while to get over those feelings.

You wrote the song “Abyss” about some of those feelings, right? As the title suggests, I was feeling very down deep in the abyss when I was writing the lyrics. I was feeling very sad and down. But the process of actually singing the song and recording the song alleviated a lot of those emotions.

“Moon” is a great guitar-driven song. Is it true that you would like BTS to record more material that leans toward rock? I don’t think I’ll refuse any rock-style songs that come our way. It’d be good if we can do more of them, but they have to be feel appropriate and match the style of our team.

Since your background was in acting, you really had to learn to sing and dance from scratch as a trainee. What was that like? It was true then and it still is true now that it does take more effort for me to do the things that may come more naturally for the other members. I lack in many areas. For example, a lot of the other members will learn a dance once and they’ll be able to dance right away to the music. But I can’t do that, so I do try to work harder so I don’t hold the other members back or be a burden. So I would come to dance practice an hour early, or after the practice was over, I would stay behind another hour or so, and ask the teacher to go over the choreography one more time.

But you’ve become an amazing singer. What were some moments when you started to realize that you achieved some mastery of singing? I don’t think there really was a moment when I felt I had arrived as a singer. I haven’t mastered singing. But a singer has a duty and an obligation to bring joy to the audience. As we went on tour, I began to see the audience liking what I was doing. We were sharing the same emotions and what I was doing was resonating with them more and more. So whether it was my singing or my performance or whatever it might be, I began to realize that I am able to communicate with the audience.

Tell me about [HYBE founder] Mr. Bang. What is his particular genius? [Cheekily] A lot of it, I think, is luck. The realization of genius was his good fortune in meeting us. I don’t think he could have done it without us. I think in his good fortune lies his genius. … I think one thing that I can say about him is his ability to look into the future and read trends very early on. He’s able to see, “This is the kind of thing that we can be doing; this will be good for the future.” So I think that he’s very capable in that. Plus he’s very lucky.

You are, of course, the oldest member of the group. There’s a truism that people sort of freeze at the age they become famous, because that’s when ordinary life stops for them. So in your head, do you feel like someone who is almost 30, or do you feel younger? This is embarrassing for me to say because it’s sort of tooting our own horn, I guess. But at every moment where I felt that we were at the peak of our fame, after that we reached another peak, and another peak. And so as I continued to become older, and again, it’s kind of embarrassing to say this, we were able to hit more and more peaks. So I feel my age! I feel that I’m 29.

Would you like to try acting again at some point? Nothing’s carved in stone. I sort of like to go with the flow and do what I feel. Right now I really love music, so I think I’m obviously more oriented to doing music.

“Spring Day” is obviously a group effort, but I find your part on it particularly moving. What do you remember about recording that song? We wanted to create sort of a sweetly sentimental or melancholy feeling for that song. When we got the lyrics, we tried to set the theme and the tone for recording the music. I tried to recall a lot of my sweetly melancholy memories so that I could translate it into the overall feeling. For example, you’re thinking about a friend that you may have lost touch with, and drawing from that sadness.

How does all the complex vocal interplay on BTS’ songs come about — how do you all decide who sings what? So when a song is finished, we will all sing it. We will sing the entire song. And then we decide which lines really suit which person and their character. And we try to work that out.

And finally, in your trainee days, could you have ever imagined this level of success? I think at that time, I felt that if I could bring together an audience of 1,000 people, that’s what I wanted to do. That was my goal back in those days.

#bangtan #jin #m:rolling stone #o:interview #210516

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jungshookz · 4 years

Note

cee cee i have an idea!!! what about Cool and Cultured bookshop owner! tae and dorky y/n walking past the store everyday and one day goes in and strikes a conversation about a fancy book like catcher in the rye and talks about the symbolism of rye in the book and tae's like :0 das wildly inaccurate but you're kinda cute so here's my number so we can talk more about rye and y/ns like :0

➺ pairing; kim taehyung x reader

➺ genre; wowowow handsome & well-read bookkeeper!taehyung, fluff!!!! the kind of fluff that makes you feel like you’re wrapped up in a warm blanket sipping on a mug of hot chocolate on a nice autumn’s day when the leaves are just starting to turn red and orange, y/n’s kind of a dummy but in a very loveable kind of way, featuring namjoon the (sort of) wingman

➺ wordcount; 6.2k

➺ summary; the catcher in the rye? oh, sure - of course you know that book! it’s about catching loaves of bread, right?

➺ what to expect; “i called it catch her in the eye, joon.”

➺ note; our (first??) drabble of the month as voted by you guys! i finished writing this the day after it was decided that bookkeeper!tae was the winner because that’s how excited i was about him >:-) enjoy!

»»————-　➴　————-««

“and… open your eyes!” you exclaim, throwing your arms up into the air excitedly as namjoon takes his hands away from his eyes

he blinks owlishly before looking up and-

“you brought me to a bookstore!” he gasps, a smile immediately spreading over his features as he claps his hands together, “oh, this is great! usually, you bring me to those awful rock-climbing places, or that horribly violent paintball gun place, and even when you brought me to the movie theatre the tickets were for that gory r-rated horror movie-”

“okay, let’s not get carried away-” you hold a finger out to shut namjoon up before he can list out moRe reasons as to why you seem more like you hate him instead of love him, “the point is: this time, i brought you to a bookstore!” you smile proudly before crossing your arms

not to toot your own horn or anything but you did a pretty good job with this surprise

you even did tons of research to find the best bookstores in the city!!

which was difficult because namjoon’s been to like.,,. EVERY bookstore in the city

but not this one!

to be fair, it was a long forty-five minute car ride to get here so you understand why he’s never come out here himself

“…this isn’t like… a weird bookstore or anything, right?” namjoon narrows his eyes in suspicion before taking a step back and looking up at the name of the store again

the secret garden

oh!!!!

like the book!!!!

how clever :D

“what do you mean?” you frown, placing your hands on your hips before glancing back up at the name as well

the secret garden

kind of a lame name for a bookstore

“like a…” namjoon trails off before clearing his throat, “you know, like a bookstore that’s actually a sex dungeon or something like that-”

“ew!” you immediately make a face before shaking your head quickly, “wha- why would you even say that?!”

“well, i don’t know!” namjoon holds his hands up in defence, “i’ve never been to this bookstore before-!”

“this is a regular ol’ bookstore, joon. i promise!” you clap your hands on his shoulders before giving him a squeeze, “just the way you like it! old, dusty, and full of nothing but boring books.”

namjoon beams

that’s exactly what he likes to hear

see, today is your seven year friendaversary with namjoon

you guys have known each other since middle school and noW the two of you are in your final year of university which is crazy

and so, for the past seven years, you’ve gone out on this day to celebrate your beautiful friendship because honestly you’ll take whatever excuse to go to a restaurant to try to get free dessert (“yeah, we’re celebrating our anniversary! so, i’ll take three orders of your chocolate lava cake-”)

you guys usually take turns where one year one of you will plan an entire day of fun activities for the other, and then the next year, the other person will do it because that seems like a relatively fair system

last year, namjoon took you to this cute pottery place and you ended up making these adorable matching friendship mugs

they’re both a little lopsided but that’s just part of their charm!!

namjoon painted his a beige-brown and you painted yours a BRIGHT purple and then you traded mugs (so that when he comes over to your apartment, he has his mug, and when you go over to his apartment, you have your mug!)

he also insisted that you guys carve your guys’ initials on the bottom of yours and draw a heart around it which you thought was a little much but you are… very fond of namjoon so you’d jump off a cliff if he asked you to

admittedly, most of the things that you’ve planned during your years have been catered to your own personal desires so you’ve been a little unfair but namjoon’s always been too much of a sweetheart to say anything about it

and for the most part, he’s a pretty good sport even though it’s blatantly obvious that he’d rather chop a toe off than spend the afternoon doing your chosen activity

the last time it was your turn two years ago, you took him to a go-cart track and spent the entire two hours practically driving circles around him because he was driving like ten kilometres an hour

the only reason why he wasn’t driving like one is supposed to drive on a go-cart track (i.e. like a maniac) is because he was worried that if he went too fast he’d get a ticket or something

and kim namjoon does not get speeding tickets

not on the real road and most certainly not on a man-made road either!

for the record, he definitely didn’t appreciate you calling him a slowpoke and telling him to eat my dust, bitch! and he still brings it up from time to time whenever he wants to guilt you into doing something with him (“i’m not switching muffins with you. it’s not my fault you don’t like yours!” “…hey, remember that time you called me a slowpoke and told me to-” “take the muffin.”)

anyways

he’s glad that this is just a normal bookstore and that he doesn’t have to worry about whether or not one of your activities is going to end in him losing a limb for the first time

what a wonderful way to end the day!!

actually, you guys still have to grab dinner after this where you’ll try to squeeze as many free desserts out of the restaurant as possible as per usual so this is a wonderful way to almost end the day

the little bell hanging above the door chimes as the two of you step in and almost immediately you’re greeted with the warm smell of what you’re pretty sure is hot chocolate??

“i love this place already.” namjoon breathes out, his jaw dropping in awe, “i wanna live here!”

“okay, keep it in your pants-” the door starts to shut and you nudge namjoon forward to keep from getting your butt nipped by the door

you don’t even get a chance to say anything else before namjoon suddenly darts off

so much for keeping it in his pants

you pause when you get a good look at the place

huh

for some reason you feel like a lot of instagram pictures have been taken here

it’s obviously an antique place but it’s like one of those trendy antique places

a brass chandelier hangs from the ceiling, the (fake) candles casting a golden glow over the entire store

there’s a spiral staircase that curls up to the second floor

the walls are covered with floor to ceiling shelves stacked with, duh, books, but even for what you thought would just be a dusty old bookstore… it’s pretty nice in here!

there’s even an archway in the centre of the place that leads to what looks like a pretty cozy reading space for customers which is a nice touch

and there are people sipping on mugs of hot chocolate too!!!

you can’t help but wonder if you need to be reading a book in order to get a mug of cocoa

you like the hot chocolate part but you’re not as excited about the reading part

“y/n, come on!” you look over to see namjoon - who already has three books cradled in his arms - waving you over enthusiastically, “check it out! it’s a vintage boxed set of the chronicle of narnia series! and they’re leatherbound-“ he practically moans before nudging you towards it, “help me take it out?”

“narnia?” you snort, tilting your head so you can look at the titles pressed into the spine of the book, “isn’t narnia, like… for kids?”

the last time you read the lion, the witch, and the wardrobe was when you had to read it for a book report in like the fourth grade

you glance over your shoulder to look at namjoon who now has an unimpressed frown on his face

“what??”

“…you insult me.” he sniffles, “just help!”

you roll your eyes playfully before turning back to pull the thick set out of the shelf and-

“hello!”

“-!”

the sudden sound of a stranger’s voice nearly makes you drop the set but you manage to prop the edge of the box back up onto the shelf before it falls and breaks all the bones in your foot

you turn to look at whoever-

oh my

hello indeed

“welcome to the secret garden.” he smiles kindly, tilting his head at you, “did you need any help with that, miss?”

oh good god

his voice makes you feel like you’re wading through a river of warm caramel

and you’d happily let yourself drown in that river

two seconds go by where you don’t respond at all and instead you continue staring at mr. caramel with very obvious hubba-hubba eyes

“i think we’re good, thank you!” namjoon clears his throat, elbowing your back gently before offering a smile of his own

“oh, alright! well, my name’s taehyung,” taehyung reaches up to adjust his glasses, “please let me know if you need assistance of any kind - i’ll just be up at the front. if you’re just here to relax and read, i’d be happy to whip up two mugs of hot chocolate for the two of you!”

“awesome! thank you.” namjoon nods all while you continue smiling at taehyung dazedly

he waits until taehyung disappears before turning back and looking at you

“…what’s wrong with you?”

“i’m good, thank you…” you whisper your very delayed response and namjoon moves his head so that he’s blocking your view when you lean back a little to try to look at taehyung sitting behind the front counter, “holy moly. i’d let him explore my secret garden-”

“oh, now look who can’t keep it in their pants-“

“hey, you should look at this as a good thing!” you grunt as you adjust the hefty box in your arms, “now i’ll willingly drive you back here… whenever you want.”

namjoon’s eyes immediately light up

»»————-　➴　————-««

you and namjoon end up returning to the bookstore about two weeks later

last time, namjoon wanted to stay longer (and so did you, honestly) buT you were pretty close to losing your dinner reservations and you weren’t about to give up your free chocolate lava cake just to stare at the cute bookkeeper from afar like a creep

so you had to leave!

namjoon ended up leaving with the boxed set and a couple other books so suffice to say, he was pretty happy

and when you suggested visiting the bookstore again this week… well, namjoon had to jump on that opportunity, didn’t he??

you?? offering to take him to a bookstore?? again??

you’re obviously only using him as an excuse to go into the bookstore so you can spend hours watching taehyung like a weirdo but he’ll take it

namjoon hums happily as he takes a sip of his hot chocolate before licking a little bit of whipped cream off his top lip

he wonders if taehyung would be willing to share the recipe to it because this is honestly the best hot chocolate he’s ever had

namjoon looks up from his book when he hears you let out a sigh for the tenth time in the last two minutes

oh god

look at you!

“oh… and he’s good with kids, too?” you sigh blissfully as you prop your elbow up on the arm of the sofa chair before leaning your cheek against your fist

you watch fondly as taehyung gets down on one knee, holding two fists out for a little girl

she taps his right hand shyly before quickly wrapping her arms back around her mom’s leg, peeking at him from behind it shyly

taehyung flips his wrist around and uncurls his fingers to reveal a single caramel, his face lighting up briefly as she takes it from his open palm into her little hand

“i don’t know why you can’t just go up and talk to him-” namjoon snorts at how lovestruck you look before peering around the corner of the archway to look at taehyung too, “it’s not a big deal. he’s really nice!”

“i can’t just go up and talk to him. are you kidding me?” you frown, shaking your head, “what am i supposed to say??”

“tell him you need help finding a book!” namjoon states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world (because it is) before slapping the book on his lap shut, “just out of curiosity - what book would you ask him to help you find?”

you lean back against the sofa chair before twisting your lips in thought

book?

what book…

what was the last book you read…?

ooh!

“esio trot!” you perk up, namjoon’s eyebrows knitting together in confusion because he has no idea what just came out of your mouth-

“esio- oh my god, esio trot as in the roald dahl children’s novel??” namjoon frowns, “no! you can’t go up to taehyung and ask him to help you find esio friggin’ trot-”

“okay, you don’t see me making fun of you for buying what you bought last week, mr. chronicles of narnia-”

“you did make fun of me!” namjoon gawks, “in fact, you’re still making fun of me for it-” he waves his hand to cease the conversation, “listen to me. from the very few times that i’ve spoken to taehyung, it’s clear that he’s… cultured, you know?”

“cultured… like yogurt.” you joke, slapping your own knee gently, “get it?? because yogurt is cultured? cultured yogurt??”

namjoon resists the urge to roll his eyes

see?

this is exactly what he’s talking about

“…yes, y/n. i get it. anyways, as i was saying- taehyung is just very…” namjoon kisses his teeth as he tries to think of how to phrase his words, “…well-read… intelligent… scholarly… refined…”

you tilt your head in curiosity as namjoon continues listing out a bunch of snooty sounding adjectives

wait a minute

“are you-” you scoff, straightening up in your seat, “are you calling me dumb??”

hey!!

you’re not dumb!!!

it’s not like books are super complicated to figure out or anything

all you have to do is read what’s inside of it and you certainly know how to read!!!

and sure, sometimes you still don’t know if receive is spelt receive or recieve or if business is spelt buisness or biusness, but that doesn’t mean that you’re dumb!!

“no, no, i’m not calling you dumb!” namjoon shakes his head quickly, “i’m just saying that if you had a choice, you would choose a movie over a book-”

“well, yeah - obviously i would choose a movie over a book.” you snort, “why would i waste eight hours reading tiny little words on stiff white pages when i could be watching a movie that compresses the entire story in a convenient one hour and a half??”

“i’m your friend, and i don’t want to watch you make a fool of yourself!” namjoon argues, “because if you do, then you’ll be too embarrassed to ever come back here again, which means that i’ll never be able to come back here again-”

“what’s stopping you from coming here by yourself?”

“because every time i tell you that i’m going to the bookstore, you’re going to ask me a bunch of taehyung related questions when i get back-”

okay

that’s a fair point

that sounds like something you would do for sure

“alright, fine!” you huff before crossing your arms, “what book do you suggest i go up there and ask him to help me find?”

namjoon twists his lips in thought

hm…

“catch her in the eye!” you chirp, folding your hands behind you book as you smile brightly at taehyung

namjoon feels his own face flush at how confidently you just said that and he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaMING

he told you to ask taehyung to help you find the catcher in the rye

NOT CATCH HER IN THE EYE

“the catcher in the rye?” taehyung nods, “sure! of course i can help you find the catcher in the rye.” he returns a smile as he steps out from behind the counter, “follow me, please!”

you shoot namjoon a big thumbs up and a faT grin as you pass by the entrance of the archway and he gives you a weak one in return before turning back and slumping against the couch

oh boy

…he’s never going to come back to this beautiful bookstore, is he?

“you were here about two weeks ago, weren’t you?” taehyung asks as he looks over his shoulder, the two of you trotting up the spiral staircase, “with your… boyfriend, right? you guys bought the boxed narnia set.”

“hm? oh!” you let out a little laugh, “yes, that was us, but joon- namjoon’s just my friend. um, that day was actually our seven-year friendaversary and he’s a real dork for books so i thought it’d be nice to bring him here-”

it’s in that moment that you suddenly hear namjoon’s voice in your head reminding you that you’re supposed to act like yoU like reading too

“i mean-” you clear your throat, “i, too, really like books, so i- you know, it was a mutually pleasant experience for the both of us t-to be here-” you chuckle nervously

hopefully you were able to save your own ass there

that was a close call!!

you trail behind taehyung as the two of you weave in and out of the bookshelves

you didn’t get a chance to come up to the second floor last week

but it’s surprisingly nice up here!!

there’s a lone sofa chair in the corner with a little coffee table sitting next to it

very nice for customers who prefer to read alone

“ah, well, that’s very thoughtful of you!” taehyung nods before suddenly pausing, “i’m so sorry-” he spins around and you nearly bump into his chest but you manage to stop yourself just in time, “i just realised i never got your name.”

“y/n. i’m- i’m y/n.” you stick your hand out quickly for him to shake

you feel a little zap! travel from your fingertips to the rest of your body as soon as taehyung takes your hand in his

he gives you a gentle shake before squeezing your hand lightly and then letting go, “well, it’s very nice to meet you, y/n. now, give me a second to find the catcher in the rye for you…”

taehyung turns to thumb through the books on the shelf and you feel your heart flutter in your chest as how pretty he looks from the side

wowie

you can’t help but take your bottom lip in between your teeth as you continue to admire taehyung’s features from the soft swoosh of his hair to the rosy pink of his lips

how can one man be so pretty?

“ah- here we are!” taehyung pulls a book out of the shelf and you quickly snap yourself out of your daze, “the catcher in the rye… a novel by j.d. salinger.” he hands it to you and you take it before blinking down at the cover

…the catcher in the rye?

what happened to catch her in the eye???

“it’s a great book.” taehyung hums, “have you read it before?”

“oh, i… i have!” you scoff, making a face, “duh, of course i have. i mean, it’s… you know, it’s such a… um, a powerful novel…” you clear your throat before reaching up to scratch the back of your neck, “i mean, the last time i read it was actually in… high school… so… you know, i’ve forgotten most of the details but i figured it’d be nice to get a refresher, you know?”

(you never read this in high school.)

((you just made namjoon summarise the entire book to you in the form of a poorly drawn stickman comic and even then you still didn’t fully understand the story.))

“absolutely! there’s nothing wrong with revisiting old friend from the past,” taehyung chuckles lightly, “in fact, i was reading animal farm the other day- what kind of literature do you typically read?”

you press your lips together tightly

oh god

namjoon didn’t prepare you for additional questions

literature??

quick!

what kind of literature do you typically read??

…

tell him you read all kinds of literature!

that sounds like a legitimate answer, right?

“i... read… all-”

you’re cut off by the sound of a bell chiming from below and you let out a breath of relief when taehyung scurries past you to peer over the balcony

“i’ll be right there!” he holds a finger up at the customer waiting by the front counter before spinning around to face you again, “was there anything else you needed, y/n?”

“wha- i-” you stammer, unable to come up with a non-creepy reason to keep him up here with you, “no! no, this was-” you give the front cover a hearty slap, “this was all i needed-”

“perfect!” taehyung claps his hands together, “well, let me know. you know where i am!”

he disappears down the staircase before you even get a chance to thank him

the smell of his cologne lingers in the air as you make your way down the staircase and you can’t help but beat yourself up over how your interaction with taehyung went

it wasn’t a bad interaction or anything

in fact, you think you did a pretty good job at acting like a bookworm!!

it’s just that…

you don’t think it was a particularly memorable interaction for taehyung

that was just a typical customer interaction for him

you were supposed to charm him!!!

impress him!!

sweep him off his feet!!!

tickle his brain!!

“hey, buddy…” namjoon coos as you plop back down on the sofa chair, “how… did it go?”

he’s afraid to hear your answer because it certainly looks like it didn’t go super well

damnit

he knows this moment is about you but now he’s thinking about how he’ll probably never be able to taste this delicious hot chocolate ever again

“got the book.” you grumble, tossing it onto the coffee table before shaking your head, “i called it catch her in the eye, joon.”

“yeah, i… uh, i heard you.” namjoon nods understandingly, crossing one leg over the other before leaning back against the couch, “i don’t think he heard you say that, though! i mean, he knew what you were looking for right away.”

namjoon knows you well enough to see that you’re currently spiralling down a self-pity hole right now

oh boy

“hey, you know what’ll make you feel better?” he leans forward to give your knee a comforting squeeze

“what?”

“how about i buy this for you so you can read it and fully impress taehyung next time with your newfound knowledge-“ namjoon points to the book you’ve abandoned on the table, “and then we can go for chocolate lava cake!”

your eyes widen slightly

“free chocolate lava cake?”

“no, not free-“ namjoon snorts, getting up from the couch before reaching back to pick up his bag, “i mean, i’ll pay for it. my treat! so, yeah. i guess it’s kinda free for you.”

“that sounds nice!” your frown is almost instantaneously replaced by a grin, “if i get more free things from you just for being sad, i’m going to be sad more often-”

“what?? no! do not pretend to be sad just to get me to pay for things-”

taehyung glances over from the front counter when he hears a twinkly laugh and he can’t help but smile lightly at the sight of you giggling away in the sofa chair

your nose scrunches slightly as you let out a little snort and he presses his lips together to keep himself from beaming too wide

y/n, huh? cute.

»»————-　➴　————-««

(taehyung can’t stop thinking about you and your absurdly cute face.)

»»————-　➴　————-««

it’s another two weeks later that you come back to the secret garden - but this time, you come alone.

and to be honest, you… don’t know if this was a good idea or not

because joon was with you for the last two times and you were definitely using him as a security blanket so now you feel like you’re about to dive into the deep end of the pool without any floaties

you were going to ask if he wanted to come with you but you felt like this was something that you had to do alone

you swallow thickly as you tuck your car keys into your pocket

namjoon can’t be your bookworm wingman forever, right?

the store is almost suspiciously quiet as you step in, the little bell ringing above your head as per usual

your classes ended a little later today which is why you weren’t able to come in the afternoon

pluS you had to find a way to get namjoon to go home without you without raising any eyebrows so that sucked up a little more of your time

you were going to tell him that you were going to stay on campus to study at the library but even you couldn’t believe that

so you told him that you had a group project to work on which was why you couldn’t have dinner with him tonight!

you jump in surprise when the door suddenly slams shut behind you from the breeze

it’s a little chillier now that it’s november but it’s nice that you get to wear cozy cardigans and snuggly sweaters now

“i’ll be right there!”

you hear taehyung’s voice ring out from the second floor and you swallow your nerves as you stand up a little straighter

fake it till you make it, right?

i love books

i love books so much

i love books so much that i would fuck a book if i could!

...okay, maybe not that one.

you glance around the store - there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here

which makes sense because the sign says that the store closes at 7pm on weekdays and it’s…

6:50

wow

so you’RE the asshole who comes into the place ten minutes before closing time

good one!

“so sorry for the wait, i was just-” taehyung pauses on the steps, his face immediately lighting up when he sees you, “oh, y/n!”

“hi!” you chirp before reaching up to scratch the back of your neck, “sorry i came ten minutes before you’re supposed to close… i wanted to come earlier, but i had a thing…”

“oh, don’t even worry about it!” taehyung snorts, tossing the dirty rag over his shoulder, “i was just doing some dusting…”

you feel your mouth go drY as soon as you notice what he’s wearing

he’s wearing a henley tee (except all the buttons are undone and aLso he has his sleeves pushed up to his elbows), dark wash jeans, and a pair of tattered black converse sneakers

it’s just the casualness of it all that makes it so sexy

“so, what can i help you with tonight?” taehyung tosses the rag onto the counter before pushing his glasses back down from the top of his head

he adjusts them slightly before blinking at you and you find it awfully cute that his doe eyes now look a little bigger through the thick lenses

what can he help you with tonight?

…yeah, what can he help you with tonight?

the downside of not telling namjoon about your solo mission is the fact that namjoon’s usually the one who plans every little detail out for you

and you just came here on a whim

you don’t have a plan

you don’t have a plan at all!

your plan was to just come to the bookstore to see taehyung because you wanted to see taehyung

“i…”

“oh, by the way-” taehyung perks up suddenly, “how was your little trip down memory lane with the catcher in the rye?”

the catcher in the rye?

the catcher in the rye!!!

ah! yes!!

that’s definitely something to talk about!

…wait a second

you-

you didn’t read the book

oh god

you had two weeks to read the book and you didn’t read the book

almost immediately you feel your anxiety sPike back up and you can’t help but scold yourself for not bringing namjoon along with you

if namjoon was here, you’d just get him to say all the main points and you’d stand right next to him throwing in the occasional ‘yes, very good point!’ and ‘of course, i completely agree’ every now and then!

“the catcher in the rye!” you blurt out, suddenly aware that you haven’t spoken in like ten seconds, “i- yes! the book was- it was great. i thoroughly enjoyed it. i would definitely read it again!”

“hey, that’s great!” taehyung laughs lightly, “you know- i mean, i have to ask because i always ask this question to people who’ve read it- what do you think the main theme of it is?” taehyung hums, “because i’ve always thought it focused a lot on alienation, you know? i mean, a loss of innocence is obviously another theme, what, with holden wanting to be sheltered from the harshness of adult life- i really think it can actually be seen as some kind of social commentary… like a critique of the superficiality in society-”

“of course, i completely agree!” you nod furiously, “those are very good points-”

“i’m sorry, i’m probably sucking up all the oxygen in the room-” taehyung smiles sheepishly before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “so what do you think?”

if there was ever a moment for a black hole to appear in the floor and swallow you whole… you’d want for it to happen right now.

actually, you’d want it for it to happen whilst you were driving to the bookstore so that you wouldn’t have even gotten the chance to say hi to taehyung

“i think… well, i… first of all, i agree completely with everything that you just said about aliens and… you know, a loss of innocence and how hard adult life is…” you stumble over your words, your face beginning to flush from how idiotic you probably sound, “i just… i have to talk about my favourite part in the book! you know, the part where holden- holden, that’s the name that you just mentioned- he… he does such a great job at catching those loaves of bread. i thought that part was hilarious.”

you clear your throat at the end of your mini-review

taehyung’s eyes flicker slightly and for a second you think you’re in danger of being called out for obviously noT having read the book but…

he nods slowly and brings his hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully, “i mean… yeah. i completely agree! that part always gets me! why don’t you go on? i’m interested in hearing more of your thoughts.”

oh!

hey, would you look at that??

phEW

maybe you’re better at improvising than you thought you were

now knowing that you’re on the right track gives you a booST of confidence and you give yourself a mental pat on the back

you can’t wait to tell namjoon about this

he’s going to be so proud of you!!

you grin before nodding enthusiastically, “of course! i have a lot of thoughts to share on the book. i mean, i personally think it was an interesting choice on the author’s part to choose rye as the main ingredient, because he had… so many other options that he could’ve gone with! and also - did he go with light rye or dark rye?? because throughout the entire novel, he never actually specifies what kind of rye bread he’s referring to-”

taehyung leans back against the counter and crosses his arms, smiling politely as he continues to listen to your rye bread rant

it’s obvious that you definitely didn’t read the book but he was genuinely curious as to what you would be able to pull out of your ass which was why he asked you to go on

he doesn’t think anyone’s ever gone into a full-blown ramble about how the catcher in the rye is actually a narrative on the benefits on rye bread for lil ol’ him before

but, for the record…

it’s really cute how much effort you’re putting into your analysis to try to impress him

“i’m sorry, i need to- i need to interrupt you-” taehyung giggles, cutting you off right as you’re about to dive into a discussion about the number of loaves holden caught in the novel, “as much as i would love to hear more… everything that’s coming out of your mouth is wildly inaccurate, y/n.”

what

...

oh my god.

“wh-” your throat goes dry and you choke a little, “what?”

“be honest- did you read the book?” taehyung asks flat-out and you feel your cheeks burning up again

uh-oh

“i…”

okay

forget it

you can’t do this anymore!

it’s too stressful!!!!

“…no.” you press your lips together before shooting taehyung a sheepish grin, “there’s no catching loaves of bread in the novel, is there?”

“not even one loaf.”

“oh, god-” you groan quietly, reaching up to cover your hot face with your hands at the realisation that you just very confidently ranted about the importance of rye bread in this novel for the past five minutes, “not even one?!”

mortifying!

absolutely mortifying!!!!

well

it’s time to tell namjoon to find a new favourite bookstore because you are nevER bringing him back here agai-

“hey, it’s totally fine!” taehyung laughs lightly, stepping closer to you so that he can pry your hands away from your flushed face, “i actually think it’s really impressive how long you can go talking about bread-”

“you let me- you knew that i hadn’t read the book yet you let me continue talking about bread-?!” you gawk, taehyung now bursting into a full-blown chortle as he throws his head back, “how could you??”

“i couldn’t help it!!” taehyung wheezes, reaching up to flick a stray tear away, “i’m sorry! i’m sorry, really, i am-”

even when he’s laughing at you, your stomach can’t help but feel fluttery

“you’re lucky you’re pretty-” you snort, shaking your head gently, “otherwise i would be way more mad at you…”

taehyung’s laughs dwindle down into light chuckles and you swallow thickly when he takes a small step closer

“you’re lucky you’re pretty.” he retorts playfully, reaching over to move a strand of hair away from your eyes with his pinky finger, “otherwise i wouldn’t have let you talk my ear off about bread for five whole minutes…”

...he thinks you’re pretty?

“oh yeah?” you challenge, reaching over to jab your finger into his chest

taehyung reaches up to wrap his fingers around your wrist before offering you a particularly boyish smirk, “mm, yeah.”

you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second and you know it’s way too soon but you really want him to just lean down and kiss you…

“hey, do you like dessert?” taehyung pulls away suddenly before turning to make his way behind the counter

“de- dessert?” you ask dumbly, still a little dazed from... that

what was that?!

“mhm!” tae leans down slightly and flips a couple of switches underneath the counter, the chandelier light shutting off first before the other little lights begin to switch off as well, “there’s a little diner about a block away that makes really good strawberry cheesecakes.”

“i love dessert!” you nod, “and strawberry cheesecake sounds really yummy.”

“good! in that case, would you be interested in sharing a slice of cheesecake with me and perhaps delving deeper into your rye-based analysis?” taehyung teases as he grabs his coat off the back of his chair, his keys jingling in his hands

you snort lightly

“i would love to share a slice of cheesecake with you but i refuse to embarrass myself further, so we’re going to have to find something else to talk about-”

taehyung holds the door open for you and you immediately shiver as you step out, the chilly air a stark contrast from the warmth of tae’s cozy store

you jolt in surprise when taehyung reaches down and slips his fingers in between yours (which he later explains he only did because his hand was cold and definitely noT because he just really really wanted to hold your hand) before beginning to tug you along next to him

“well, we can talk about the fact that you thought the name of the book was catch her in the eye-”

“i knew you heard me! i knew it!!”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

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