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inkedtae · 4 years

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rupture; rapture ⇾ kth. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ ex-boyfriend!taehyung x reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ one shot, angst, smut, f2l(?), e2l(?), ex lovers au, rekindled lovers(?), sculptor au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ responding to a late night call for help forces you to revisit truths you so skillfully ignored. was it always meant to fall apart to fall back into place?

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 13.2k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ slight upsetting themes, mentions of a new relationship, mentions of infidelity (tae thinks reader used him to each on her date), vague mention of consuming alcohol, switch!Taehyung, mullet!taehyung, sub!reader, unprotected sex, rough sex, clay/paint/art sex(?), hate-love sex(?), makeup sex(?), size kink, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms (f.), creampie, overstimulation, a lil degradation, a lil face-licking, body worshipping, clit worshipping, a lil clit biting, choking, spanking, motorboating, begging, teasing, swearing, breath play, breast play

anon asked: taehyung19angst asghjkll. U have a prompt list ? So for that. Maybe. If u want to. WOW. Ur awesome. The bestest. Okay. Bye. Love. Me.

#19 ⇝ “You said you knew how to do this.”

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i am aware this is supposed to be a drabble but that never seems to be even for taehyung so here’s a one shot instead. also sorry for writing this so late

☾ banner by ⇾ @editingverse (thank you so so so much dear~ please go give her all your love!! this banner is beautiful!!)

☾ beta’d by ⇾ @kkulmoon (luff you, my soulmate crackhead~)

☾ le playlist

◖send me a prompt from dabble drabble. i will try to get to it as soon as i can. please note that i have the right to refuse any request i find uncomfortable.◗

Navigating to the chipped yellow door is second nature. Four months of distance does not change how easy it is for you to find your way to his place from across town. Your most haunting regret, however, is accepting his call. You sat around your apartment for months, fantasizing about how powerful you’d feel when your phone rings and you see his name flash only to decline the call. You told yourself that is how you will regain your dignity, how you will reclaim your life. He’s been a big part of it since freshman year. Best friends instantly, lovers only a year down the line. Clicking that red button, rejecting his apologies is how you believed you’d be able to move on and fully erase him from your life for good.

But, in the midst of a drink with someone else’s company, he calls and you do not refuse. Your heart flips only to fall and shatter in the pit of your stomach. You press the green button without much thought and bring the phone to your ear. He sounds so unsure, so nervous. A relieved sigh you didn’t realize you were holding escapes you. Eyes watering, you whisper his name.

The shame creeps upon you, condescendingly soothing your ego. Where’s your dignity now? It’s as nonexistent as when you stormed out of this very door and swore never to return. You can hear the fates snickering, watching your pathetic self stand outside of the door. Shaking out a shiver, you gather up the scattered pieces of your courage and knock on the door.

The screech of metal on metal echoes as he unlocks the door. The sound is more comforting than you expected it to be. You can’t remember the amount of times you’ve nagged him to replace the damned thing. It’s old, rusted, and the scratches of the metal make you cringe as though your bones are rotting. It used to make your jaw ache, now it only comforts you. Little things already undress your confidence. What will seeing him again do? What emotions will it beckon?

Misery leaks from your bones and into your bloodstream. The door opens to a vision of grace. In his clay-smeared jumpsuit, the sleeves wrapped around his waist and his bare chest exposed, he stares back at you. Though frozen from the winter air, you feel your face grow hot. Eyes shaking, you don’t know where to look. You’re not even sure if you can meet his gaze. It intensifies with every ticking second his long bangs fall over his lashes. He let it grow out? You’ve begged him to do so for months and once you’re apart he finally gives in? You knew he’d look good, maybe even better than his shorter cut.

The sight only confirms that you’ll never understand him. But, you suppose, you don’t have to. He’s not yours to understand anymore, not even as a friend. That statement should give you a sense of relief, but it only resurfaces the loneliness you’ve been ignoring for months.

Shakily sighing, you plaster a polite smile and greet, “Hey Tae.”

Taehyung parts his lips, but his voice catches. He stares back at you, gaze dancing up and down your frame. He drinks in the way your black dress pants hug your curves, and how you dare to wear a tube-top under your coat in the freezing weather. Gulping, Taehyung flashes you a kind, tight lipped smile and moves aside to welcome you in. His chain looped earring dangles with his movements. It’s such a simple antic, but you cannot fight off the familiar comfort in your chest upon catching it.

Each step back into his apartment fogs your mind with memories of joy and despair alike. Sometimes, those emotions rise in tandem during the same memory, within the same five minute time span. But other times, those memories are saturated with one emotion or the other. You two could never find that balance; not as lovers anyway, not as you thought.

“Make yourself at hom-” he cuts himself off just as the door shuts.

You turn to face him, raising a brow at his slip up. Funny how things circle back no matter how much either of you try to suppress them. This place has always felt like home to you. In fact, revisiting it proves that it still does. He just never let you make it official.

The gloom of four months ago has followed you back in here as well, it would seem. You gulp down the little scratch in your throat and try your best to flash a smile. His brows raise at the gesture. You assume a teeth braced wince paints your features instead.

Clearing his throat, Taehyung corrects himself, “Comfortable. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab you a hot drink to warm you up.” His gaze shifts to the slanted window over his little studio sectioned in the corner of his apartment. “It’s really coming down out there.”

Setting your clutch down on his work table, you nod. He glares at your action before looking back at you. You are fully aware of his distaste for you to dump your things near his work, even if it happens to be your own sculpting supplies. However, he distrubed your date tonight and that little slip up of his recalls more anger than you care to accept right now. Playing into his pet peeves is the very least you can do to show him that you’re not here for anything else but fixing his sculpture.

With a pleasant smile plastered on your lips, you peel your jacket off and set it down on the table as well. Taehyung sarcastically smirks then makes his way to the kitchen. You know you shouldn’t but you let your eyes linger on his frame and follow him around the kitchen while he prepares something for you. His shoulder blades flex as he reaches for a mug from the top shelf - a detail you always found makes you anxious because the cups can easily slip out of his hand from such a height and break.

He must feel your gaze as he glances back at you. “You must be freezing,” he comments.

Looking down at your half top, you shrug. “Not really. That’s what a jacket is for.” You shouldn’t sass. It always gets on his nerves. But, the way he regards you with such tamed hostility and smirks all knowingly, switches something in you. You cannot hold yourself back and he cannot expect to call you over here in the dead of night for help only to glare and sneer at you.

Out of sheer spite, you sit on one of the stools by the table and bend down to untie your thick heeled boots. He absolutely hates this. Sloppy and messy, is what he tells you when you come into the apartment with your shoes on and take them off near his studio. Taehyung stirs the contents of your mug, tossing daggers at you in his stares.

It is only now, in the thick silence, do you hear the soft voice of Sinatra through the vinyl player. Glancing over at the source, you recognize the album cover immediately. It’s the same one you gifted him for his birthday last year. His next one is in a couple of weeks. The realization unexpectedly twinges your heart with guilt. You feel as though you should have already bought his gift, and planned his party. It’s not your responsibility to do that anymore, but you want to and that’s enough for your tongue to coat with disgusted remorse.

“Want me to get you a sweater?” Taehyung asks.

You sit up straight at the close sound of his voice. He stands in front of you with the mug in his hands, glaring down at your boots. Kicking them off by the heel, you stare down at the puddle you’ve made beneath the chair. You should apologize but, instead, you thank him for the drink, take it from his hands, and make your way to the project he’s been working on. He mutters curses under his breath before cleaning up the mess you’ve made… As he should.

You smirk into your cup before taking a sip. Hot chocolate. It’s all he can make, or cares to make. And though it is not your favourite drink, he still prepares it to your specifications. Extra sweet and creamy, with a dash of ginger. Could the habits of your past be muscle memory he cannot shake either?

The answer never arrives as your thoughts halt at the sight of his sculpture. Though returned back onto its pedestal, the torso seems to have endured a terrible fall. He’s so careful about things like this. How could he have let it happen? Was the inner wiring he used too heavy? Did he not use enough slip, otherwise known as wet clay, to keep additions in place?

You bite the inside of your cheeks to school your features. Still, there is no hiding the truth. Especially when it’s right in front of you. Redemption is nonexistent. The sculpture is ruined. Tilting your head, you stare at the unfinished molding and try to figure out how to fix it without adding more clay, since he claimed on the phone that he doesn’t have enough to start over.

“Well?” He asks behind you.

Looking back at him, you take another sip then hand him the cup to hold. Taehyung accepts it, bringing the mug to his lips. The gesture is so simple, so casual that you almost miss it. He did it a lot when you two were together. You did it too. It was never a pet peeve but rather something you were proud of. It proved how close you two were, how well you meshed. Sharing food is common between lovers. Only now, that’s not at all what you are.

You stare at him, mouth gape. He licks his lips before taking another sip. The action repairs your heart only for your reality to wreck it all over again. Catching your eye, he raises his brows in confusion. You flicker your gaze between him and the cup, hoping the silent gesture is enough to return his senses.

Eyes widening, he holds the cup away from his face. “Oh,” he hums under his breath. “I’ll, uh, get you a new one.”

“Don’t bother,” you shrug before he can even turn towards the kitchen. “It’s not that big a deal.”

It is. You’re not his and neither is that hot chocolate. He should know better. He should pay attention more. He can see this all in your eyes as you continue to silently judge him. It’s not that big a deal, you repeat to yourself. The way his large eyes soften, the way he pouts is not that big a deal. You have a job to do, feelings to ignore, and a person to never see again. All you have to do is remold the clay and be on your way.

Finally returning your attention to the sculpture, you approach it while pulling your hair back. It’s rather large since he scaled it to be life-sized, so you assume he has some structural wiring in there to keep it in place when molding. You might have to take it out and remold the entire section. But maybe you can simply push the wiring back in place? However, if your theory about the wiring being too heavy is correct, you might face another smash to the floor. So it seems easier to just pull it all out.

“Is the clay still wet?” You ask before poking the shoulder.

It’s tacky, but that’s not enough to keep it from drying. You scan the room for the spray bottle, finding it behind you. Being a sculptor yourself, you know that the clay has to stay wet enough to be able to continue to add and mold it. Your scan of the room reflects that he is close to finishing the project. He has the muse’s head and arms wrapped in air-tight bags to keep them from drying. They just need to be slipped, slid, and smoothed into place. The details also need to be added, but for the most part, he’s just about done.

“If you’re gonna figure it out yourself, why did you ask me?” He sighs as he sets the mug down near a cup of paint water.

His tone is uncalled for. Nothing seems to have changed. He still has a temper and makes no effort to readjust his attitude. You toss him a glare over your shoulder. After spraying some water over the sculpture, you start to dig your fingers into the molding. Taehyung sucks in a sharp breath behind you. You can’t blame him for such a reaction. It must be very disturbing to watch someone else dig through your hard work.

You take off the clay bit by bit, looking for the metal structure wires he must’ve used to keep it all shaped well. However, as you place another chunk on the table, you begin to realize that the sculpture is not hollow, meaning wires have not been used. He simply ventilated the slab of clay to help air bubbles escape when it comes time to fire it.

Furrowing your brows, you look over at him in confusion. He leans back against his work table with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at you. Is this a joke? He doesn’t need your help. He could’ve dug through the smushed clay and remorphed it himself. He’s more experienced than you are; he should’ve known this.

Your anger begins to fester in your chest. He must’ve heard. You still share some mutual friends, so he must’ve heard down the line that you were going out with somebody else tonight. Your outfit of choice is a clear indicator as well. He found out about your date, your first date in the last four months you’ve been broken up, and just needed to ruin it for you. Fuck, you can’t believe you seriously bought his lies again. It’s that stupid voice of his. So deep and soulful, you can never resist it’s lulling temptations.

“What?” Taehyung pushes himself off the table and walks towards you. “You’re pouting like you always do just before you’re about to shout. Is it that bad?”

Is that what he’s doing now? He’s trying to remind you how well he knows you, how well he can read you? If this is just another reminder that no one is like him, you just might prove him right and scream out of frustration. Huffing, you roll your eyes at him. No matter how much your heart flips and flutters at his concern, you will not fall for his stupid games.

He watches in confusion as you clean your hands off with a cloth. “God, (Y/N), what is it? I thought you said you knew how to do this.”

With a dry chuckle, you shake your head and mumble, “You’re still the same liar you’ve always been, Taehyung.”

The perplexed sculptor narrows his eyes. “What did I tell you about mumbling?” He questions in a grumble. “And what the hell are you going on about anyways?”

His tendency to be a walking contradiction will never cease to irk you. He tells you not to mumble then does it himself. Just another pet peeve he’s instilled in you that you can never shake. Then there’s the continuous lies he can never seem to stop telling. For once, why can’t he just be honest?

You toss the dirty cloth at him and make your way to his precious work table only to find that he moved your things to the chair by the door. You rush in that direction instead, and Taehyung follows not too far behind. “I can’t believe you’re still pulling this shit even when it’s over,” you scoff with a shake of your head. “You made it seem like you had no idea what to do. You guilted me into coming back here and for what? To ruin the first night I stopped thinking about you? Well, congratulations,” you drily chuckle as you grab your clutch and turn to face him. “You’ve ruined my night and my date.”

Taehyung pauses mid stride. “Oh,” he rasps, eyes roaming over your body once more. “You had a date tonight?”

Eyes wide, softened, and wet, his next words catch in his throat. All you can make out is a quiet rasp. It’s a convincing act, but you know him well enough to spot his feigned innocence from a mile away. Setting your jaw, you shake your head and sigh, “Not any more.”

You reach for your jacket, but Taehyung is quicker. He snatches it first and holds it behind him. You open your mouth to curse at him when he rushes to say, “Wait, wait.” Hand on your waist, he holds you still.

You freeze under his palm. He’s barely used much force. It’s the simple touch itself that sends you into a trance. The memories of being pinned beneath him, or guided into grinding against his hips rush back to you. Breath hitching, you try to wipe the affection from your features. The searching look in his eyes tells you how bad of a job you’re doing.

“I could fix it myself, but not by myself,” he clarifies. “I just didn’t know how to get you here without making it seem like it’s a complete disaster. Be honest, (Y/N), if I told you I wanted you to sculpt with me you wouldn’t have shown up.”

Be honest. When the fuck have you ever lied to him? The question is tempting to ask, sitting right on the tip of your tongue actually, but you can already tell that you’ve made your annoyance known as concern swims in his eyes. He’s trying to find where he went wrong in his explanation. He’s never done that before. He never notices your discomfort during a fight, but always after the fact. That’s enough to have you consider his explanation, to consider the fact that maybe he has not changed completely, but he’s trying. Perhaps you should start trying too.

Besides, he’s not wrong. If he didn’t make it seem like it was irreversible, you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation over or even thought about ditching your date. Chewing on your lip, you sigh and nod. “Fine, I’ll help you fix it.”

A relieved smile plays on his lips. He removes his hand from your waist, muttering a quiet apology then returns your jacket onto the chair. You set your clutch down on there as well, nowhere near his work, and follow him back to the sculpture. He sprays it down as you take another couple of sips from your hot chocolate.

“When is this due?” You ask as you set the mug down.

Taehyung’s gaze shakes. “At nine,” he reluctantly replies. He sets the spray bottle down. You stare at him in confusion.

The time is both seemingly vague and specific. You furrow your brows, blinking rapidly in hopes that you can reprocess the information for more clarity. When that doesn’t work, you ask, “Tonight?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Thirteen hours? That’s all you two have to remold and detail a life-sized sculpture. This information alone would’ve had you running to help as well. Why didn’t he just tell you this? Why did he have to lie? No, nevermind his lies. You both have thirteen hours to remold the base, attach the head and arms, and add all the details on all four pieces. It may seem like a lot of time but you also have to let the clay sit for a few hours before firing. However, with a sculpture this large, it might need at least three days to dry. How did he expect to finish the rest on his own?

Nothing is adding up. You know Taehyung very well. You’ve shared sculpting classes countless times. His work comes first; always. He sketches and prepares months in advance for a project since the clay can crack or explode during its bake. How could he not have done the same thing here? He should’ve started this at least four months ago… oh.

Taehyung spares you a nervous glance. He can see the realization of his own reality in your eyes. You swallow thickly, knowing you should just pretend that you haven’t noticed anything. Still, you say, “Tae, we both know that’s not enough time. Even if we split the work, it still needs-”

“Don’t worry about that,” he mumbles. His hands smooth over every chunk of clay he reapplies. “Let’s just piece it all together, okay?”

There is a lot you have to force yourself to ignore in his words and tone. He mumbles orders, and expects you to follow. His voice is deep and cold. He gives you his back while he speaks. It’s but another pet peeve of his that makes you want to pull your own hair out. However, most of all, you have to force yourself to ignore how painful it is. Seeing him again, only an arm’s length away, crumbles your anger and hearing his voice reminds you that he still holds every bit of your heart. You have to blink your tears back at the realization. This idea reeked the moment you considered it. But, you can never stop yourself when it comes to him. A year of friendship and two of love; how can you forget all of that in four months?

Taehyung turns to you, his eyes trailing up from your hips to your chest where they linger. Flickering his gaze back up to yours, he offers a tight-lipped smile. You fail to find it in you to return it. He sighs. Hands by his side, voice heavy with sincerity, he says, “I won’t force you to stay, babe- (Y/N).” His slip up has him frozen in place as well. Clearing his throat, he continues, “I need to get this done and you’re the only other person I know who knows how I like it.”

The familiar pet name gives you pause, but the end of that sentence has you hot all over. Your eyes widen at the alternate implication of his words and you can’t help but choke on your next intake of air.

Taehyung’s expression mirrors yours. Face reddening, he’s quick to correct himself. “No, no, I just mean artistically.”

You cannot find the words to say something, anything to make this situation better. Lips parted, all you can voice are quiet croaks of uncertainty. His large eyes, wide with anxiety, watch you carefully. He’s clearly unsure of how else to soothe your discomfort. He goes to say something else but the words fall short. The scene has your skin crawling with shivers. Shaking your head, you walk around him to smooth out the clay he remolded.

“I’ll fix her waist. I think you should get started on the details,” you say, hoping his words can just fizzle away along with the awkward silence that has fallen over the both of you.

Taehyung takes a deep breath. His eyes remain trained on you for a moment, watching as you match the sculpture’s left side to her right. Then, he circles around you and makes his way to his work table.

Though you should be focused on your work, you still have one eye on Taehyung. The jumpsuit sits low on his hips, and his back is bare of any scratches. Your lasting desire to mark up the blank canvas of his back tightens your core. You can feel your black pants dampening at the thought alone. Your hand gently presses into the mold, smoothing out every piece you add.

With Sinatra’s calm voice circling around the room, you and Taehyung fall into a comfortable silence. The rhythm of your actions, the way you move around each other is like muscle memory. You can subconsciously anticipate the other’s next move and react accordingly. He hands you tools before you need to ask and you accept them without a second thought. It’s easy, comfortable, and so familiar that you almost forget he ruined your plans tonight.

Taking a step back, you wipe your wrist over your brow then assess your work. You’ve been trying to sculpt one of the figure’s breasts, adding clay and rounding out the mold. However, it seems like you’ve undershot a bit and made one mound a bit smaller than the other. You sigh and reach for more clay when Taehyung interjects.

“Leave it,” he says from his place beside you.

When did he step back too? He was just detailing one of the sculpture’s hands. “They’re uneven,” you point.

He smirks. “I like them that way.”

His eyes flicker to your chest again before meeting your gaze once more. You shouldn’t look into that gesture too much, but you do. He can’t say something like that, stare at your breasts suggestively and think you wouldn’t notice. Unless, he wants you to notice. You start to wonder how often he’s thought about your breasts and why he feels the need to incorporate them into his project.

While you remain standing in your place, Taehyung returns to his crouched position and continues his work. You can’t bring yourself to move just yet. You stare at the sculpture, at the curve of her stomach and dip of her waist. She’s full-figured and even has stretch marks on her hips, well the side that has not met the floor still has stretch marks. You need to add them on the other side. But, the shape of her body just looks all too familiar.

No, no, it can’t be. He didn’t sculpt your naked body entirely from memory. And why should he? You’re not a couple and he’s made it clear during those four months of silence that he doesn’t want anything to do with you either. No, this is merely just some consequence. You sigh and get back to work. Those thoughts completely boarded shut out of your mind.

“Were you having fun?” He suddenly asks, standing up to start detailing the sculpture’s breasts.

You glance up at him, about to ask what he means when you remember the date. “Oh,” you hum. You’re not sure how much to tell him, or if you should even entertain him with an answer at all. He’s obviously still affected by the break up if he let it get in the way of his project timeline. What was your date’s name anyway? Morgan, Mac, Mark- Mark! Yes, it was Mark something or maybe something Mark. Fuck, you can’t even remember his name. You’re not even sure where you met up for drinks.

Taehyung pauses his sculpting around the figure’s nipple. He chances a quick look at you, raising a brow. “That bad?” He teases with a playful smile.

His light-hearted tone shocks you out of your thoughts. Maybe you read the situation wrong. Maybe he is over you. Otherwise, why would he ask you about your date so casually, like you two were friends? Or maybe… he’s seeing someone else himself? Sumni did ask for your permission to date him. She was so kind and understanding in her questioning that you couldn’t refuse her. Even if it was a week ago, she would have already talked to him by now and they could’ve already gone on their own date. The sheer thought of Taehyung dating around makes your throat tighten and stomach ache.

“I didn’t stay long enough to make up my mind,” you reply, trying your best not to mumble. Your voice is small though, and tone shot by misery. A wave of hopelessness washes over you at how final everything between you and him feels again. “I don’t think he’s for me though.”

Taehyung hums in acknowledgment or understanding? You don’t know. You can’t pull yourself out of your self pity long enough to decipher it. “Poor guy,” he mutters as he picks up where he left off on the sculpture’s breast.

You carve uneven lines on the figure’s hips, recreating some stretch marks like he had done to the other side. Raising your brows, you question, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs a single shoulder. “I just know what it’s like to lose someone as great as you,” he explains in a near whisper. “The poor guy is gonna lose his mind.”

Tears sting your eyes. He can’t do this. He can’t guilt you for leaving him, not when you both know that it’s just as much his fault as it is yours. Still, even in the midst of pain, the kindness laced in his words tugs the corners of your lips into a small smile. Is that what happened to him? Did this poor guy, this poor little sculptor lose his mind when he lost you?

You toss him a sidelong glance, whispering, “He’ll survive.”

“He can only pray to.”

What is this? What is he trying to say? So he regrets the way that things ended, perhaps even that they ended entirely. Does he think you don’t? Nothing can change how you feel for him. Nothing can hide how badly you wish you can still call him your own. But, he said it himself. He does not want you around, in such close proximity to him anymore. Two years into, what you thought was, a serious relationship and he does not want you living with him.

“I’ll grow tired of us,” he said. Or does he not remember? Did he forget how he promised he’d get you a key, or help you pack? Did he forget how high he got your hopes? Has the fear of getting bored of your company finally withered away?

What does it even matter now? You both said things you haven’t even attempted to take back. Not a single apology has been issued either. Whatever relationship you once had is gone. You can never get it back. Still, you don’t have the stomach to break it to him. You can’t destroy the last little bit of hope he has in you. You can’t find it in you to tell him that no amount of prayer will get you to willingly return to such a relationship.

“He hasn’t been in my company for too long to miss me. Actually, I’m worried he’s already grown tired of it,” you reply. Guilt immediately sheds your pettiness. You know you shouldn’t have said that. Though, he did egg you on. How could he have expected to bring up such a subject and think that you wouldn’t retaliate?

Taehyung tenses and shifts his jaw, giving the impression that he’s chewing gum, and turns to glare at you. From experience alone, you know very well that when Taehyung chews on his imaginary piece of gum, he’s either cocky, pissed or both. This time he has tears glassing over his eyes. Shame cringes your heart. You can’t bring yourself to look at him again. Getting even does not feel as dignifying as you thought it would. You cannot even find a shred of pleasure in seeing him so speechless.

Parting your lips, you try to soothe the sting of your words, only they all fall short. Every time you try to recollect them, they wither away. It’s almost like your mind is warning you from worsening the situation. But the silence is deafening. Sinatra's voice cannot even fill it. His disappointment is too loud; the shattering of his heart like an explosion. And your pain can never shut up. All you can hear is how miserable your soul is and how depressed your heart becomes upon every glance his way. It’s the soft look in his eyes, even when he’s glaring, and the little scrunch of his nose.

With a deep breath, you turn back to the sculpture to keep your hands busy. As you use the pad of your pinkie to smoothen out the stretch mark lines you’ve carved, you say, “We had a drink. That’s as far as we got.”

Taehyung clears his throat. His hands pick up where they left off around the nipple. “Had I known you were out, I wouldn’t have called,” he sighs.

You try not to scoff, particularly because he sounds surprisingly sincere. Sneaking a glance up at him from your squatting position on the floor, you try to search for his usual tell-tale signs. He always blinks one too many times in the same two minute span when he’s lying, that’s if he’ll even meet your gaze. He’s already looking at you when you begin to search his features. He holds your stare and you start to worry that you wrongfully cursed him before when you were convinced that he knew.

“You really didn’t know?”

He shakes his head. “Why would anyone tell me you’re going on a date?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Would you want to hear that I have been on one?”

“Have you?”

Internally cringing, you snap your attention back on the sculpture. The question simply slipped out. He must know that. Of course you’re curious about his love life since you’ve left it, but you don’t need him to know that. And even if he was prying into your date tonight, you still don’t feel comfortable with him knowing that you’ve been wondering about him too, worrying that he’s found the love of his life and forgotten all about you.

Taehyung chuckles. “Do you really want to know?”

Three? Four? Five? How many dates did he have to go on to be able to ask such a question? You hold your breath the moment you feel your next intake waver. Running your tongue between the gaps of your teeth, you stand up and begin detailing the left breast.

“I’m not going to beg you,” you grumble under your breath while sculpting the nipple. Your eyes shift from the one you're working on to the one he perfected, making sure they’re at least even.

“Never had a problem with that before.”

He does not mutter it. He does not whisper it. He chuckles through the statement, cockiness dripping from his tone. Shooting him a glare, you find his jaw moving, the imaginary gum returning. Taehyung smirks at you, eyes dancing over your features like he’s figured you all out.

You raise your brows at him, lips slightly parted by a little smile. “Once again, Taehyung, your memory has miserably failed you,” you start only to widen his grin.

“How so?”

“You’ve been on your knees far more times than I’ve been on mine. You’ve whined louder too.”

He leans in, wrist against his stomach as he lets out a hearty laugh. You feel a rush of your arousal pool at your core just from the simple sound. Face growing hot, you realize how much you’ve missed this, missed him. He always laughed with his whole body, clutching onto you when clutching on his stomach never granted him any stability. Sometimes he’d brace his teeth in a boxy smile and let out his deep chuckles that way. So endearing, so cute, Taehyung would always loop you in his laughing fit as well.

Biting on the sides of your cheeks, you keep yourself from joining in this time. “Why is that so funny?”

Taehyung shakes his head at you as his laughter dies down. With a smile still gracing his features, he replies, “You’re always begging for me. Oh, I remember once you were on the table and you won’t let go of me and until I, and I quote, ‘rammed into you with the force of a thousand waterfalls.’”

Shit. You remember that day all too clearly. Taehyung had been painting and you were somewhere in the kitchen sketching his hands from a distance since he would always tease you about that. Somehow you found out he’d been painting you nude from memory and wanted to help him out. You began stripping for him, inching closer with every piece of clothing you shed. He watched you draw closer to him, and there was something about the way his eyes drank you in that you could not shake. It just made you giddy all over, dripping for his love by the time you were fully naked and within his reach. You were so horny, you said anything to make sure he ruined you.

Avoiding his eye, you reluctantly reply, “I do not recall.”

That statement tips him off immediately. His endearing innocence darkens; you don’t even need to look over to witness it happen. You can feel it. You can feel his demeanour change. Taehyung sets whatever tool he’s using down and towers over you. Stilling in place, you let him graze the bridge of his nose in your hair.

“Do you want me to remind you,” he whispers before pressing his lips to your ear, adding, “my muse?”

Knees all but trembling, you have to remind yourself to keep your eyes open. His warm breath fans over your skin, prickling goosebumps all over. His fingertips brush up the length of your spine, streaking your back with clay and leaving a chain of shiver in their wake. Then there’s that little pet name. Your soul shudders to hear it again while your core waters.

What does he even mean? How far is he willing to go to remind you how badly you wanted him?

Breath shaky, you gingerly meet his gaze. Noses brushing, you try to ignore how good he smells. His scent is always a cross between chalky clay and citrusy cherries. A whine threatens to slip out and you have to swallow thickly just to silence it. “You can try,” you whisper only to feel his hands on your hips.

The grey clay stains the hem of your black pants and a majority of your skin. Taehyung turns you towards him then presses himself against you. His semi-hard rubs against your stomach, making him groan. Seems like he’s falling apart faster than you are. Did he miss this too? Miss the way you smell, the way it feels to be near you again?

You rest your arms on his shoulders and he guides you around and back to his work table. It’s almost like a little dance, with the quiet music still playing in the background. Faces only a breath apart, the temptation to kiss him only grows. But giving in would only prove him right. After so many months, you cannot grant him this victory of being right, especially since he was the one in the wrong when you left.

When the back of your thighs meet the edge of the table, Taehyung shifts his hands down to your ass, gripping tightly and he lifts you up against him and onto the table. You have to choke back a moan just from the rough grip. Your lips brush against each other’s, but neither one of you is willing to bite the bullet first.

“Any of this familiar yet?” Taehyung asks. His voice is almost an octave deeper, saturated in lust and desire.

Smirking, you shake your head.

Taehyung tongues his cheek and cocks a brow. He leans back a bit, hands circling around your waist to rest on your thick thighs. His cocky grin widens as he pushes them further apart. One of his hands shifts up to your crotch, thumb grazing the seams. Face lighting up, Taehyung glances down at your crotch and brushes over it once more.

“No panites?” He questions with a chuckle. “This is looking more and more like that night then I thought it would.”

The confidence he oozes should annoy you, but you find yourself only spreading your legs further for him. Whenever he’s acting this egotistic, you cannot help but respond to it by giving yourself to him. This is a fact he knows well and uses to his advantage any time he’s ever felt like it.

You try to keep your wits about you, saying, “I wouldn’t know.”

Taehyung suddenly leans in. Your breath hitches at the realization that he’s swallowing his pride, that he’s finally going to kiss you. You’ve been dreaming about his lips for months, wondering how you’d be able to find someone else who just fits ever so perfectly against your lips. Eyes fluttering closed, lips in a faint pucker, you’ve inhaled deeply only to have him kiss your chin. He chuckles quietly against your skin, licking his way to your jawline all while leaving you breathless.

“You’re about to,” he growls.

As your body is in the midst of reacting, he somehow digs his nails into the seams of your pants and tears them apart. You gasp, shifting your hands from his shoulder to the edge of the table. You cannot help but stare down at the tear in amazement. Questions on how and why die in your throat when you find that Taehyung’s attention is not even on you anymore. He’s tightening his grip on your thighs and gazes down at your pussy. It pulses under his gaze, much to his own amazement.

Squatting down, he licks his lips at this new angle. “Well, fuck,” he whispers. “How long have you needed me?”

Four months, you wish you had the courage to say. Instead you breathlessly reply, “I’m not sure this is what happened that night.”

“How would you know? I thought you didn’t remember.”

He’s only teasing but his tone is accusatory. You already know it’s because you’ve refused to answer his previous question. And your decision to talk back only adds to his shift in demeanour. Once cheeky, his features darken into something closer to vexation. You’ve pushed the wrong buttons it would seem.

Narrowing his eyes, he orders, “Tell me, my muse. Tell me how long you’ve been needing me.”

You suck in a sharp breath. Pressing your lips together in a fine line, you refuse to make another sound, let alone utter another word. You’ll be damned if you have to admit that you regret walking away, that you cannot even remember the details of your date because all you could think about was everything he would do differently. Having to admit that for the last four months all you’ve been able to do is touch yourself to the thought of him or cry wouldn’t just be motifying but shameful and pathetic.

With a slow nod, Taehyung sighs. You think this is it. He’s ripped your pants apart, looked at every inch of your barest part, and teased you all for nothing. You’d maybe ask to borrow some pants, and he might give you some. But, other than that, nothing would’ve come from this interaction. The flirty comments and knowing looks would disappear with your relationship, this you feel you are sure of.

Then, he plays against your expectations; something you should have expected. Just when you’re about to bring your legs together, Taehyung spreads them apart further and shoves his face between them. He cannot use his hands there since they are covered in clay and, it seems, he also refuses to use his tongue. You cannot hold back the moans that pour out of you with every ministration. Merely smearing his face into your heat, Taehyung teases your clit. The bridge of his nose trails between your folds, lips pressing wet kisses to your tightening hole. From left to right, he shakes his face against your pussy.

You buck your hips against his lips, lacking shame and restraint. “Tae,” you moan, voice breaking.

Taehyung pulls away. Heaving and eyes half-lidded, he smirks up at you. He’s drenched in your arousal, looking like the cat who got the cream. “How long?” He mewls.

“Gimme your tongue,” you whine.

Taehyung mockly pouts up at you. He always looks prettiest on his knees, pretending to be in charge from such a degrading position. “Would you tell me then, babe?”

Your hips inadvertently roll at the pet name. You love it when he babies you like that, when he makes you feel so precious and fragile even though you both know you can rule over anything you want. Hesitantly, you nod. He raises a brow, waiting for verbal confirmation that you’ll tell him once he gives you his tongue.

With a little shrug of a single shoulder, you reply, “Why don’t you give it a try, TaeTae.”

His left eye twitches. You know exactly how that name affects him. His anger and powerful demeanor tremble when you dwell on him like that. He doesn’t need to tell you that he’s suddenly yours to overtake; his large eyes do the trick.

Swiping his tongue over his lips, Taehyung cleans his mouth from you. One little taste and his pupils expand, blown by lust and hunger. You don’t have to waste anymore time convincing him that you’d answer his question if he goes down on you. Your taste seems to be enough of a factor, in itself. He dips his head back in, tongue out this time. The tip pushes through your hole, lapping up your pooling juices. Leaning back on your hands, you gasp a loud moan. He knows his way around so well. One flick up, and your toes are curling. No amount of time apart has disturbed his memory of you. This may have been something you noticed while sculpting but now you can feel it. Tongue in and out, warm and wet, Taehyung explores your pussy like it’s his first time, only he knows everything about it.

You want to tangle your fingers in his hair, to see how the long strands feel in your hand, but they’re covered in clay too. And you know from experience just how hard it is to get clay out of hair. Once it completely dries, it almost seems like the only other option is to cut it all out. So, instead, you just dig your nails into the table, engraving your presence in the wood.

Rolling your hips into his face, you cry out your pleasure. Your legs are shaking, squeezing around his face, but he can’t seem to care any less. In fact, judging by his groans and growls, he seems to love the suffocation. He even pushes your legs further against his cheeks. Freezing in place, Taehyung only allows his tongue to continue to swirl around your pussy. His fingers harshly press into your thighs, sure to leave bruises, but you don’t care. Having him mark you up just like when you were together, is enough to make your eyes roll back.

You’re so, so close. Pussy clenching, his tongue still pushes its way in. He’s determined to see you through, to have you unfold right in his hands so hard that he still won’t breathe. And though you start to worry a bit, you cannot really pay attention to anything else besides the pleasure.

“Oh, Tae,” you cry. Voice breathy and high-pitched, it’s only a matter of time before-

It hits you hard, fast, and completely off guard. You have felt it growing and knotting in the pit of your stomach, but have no idea it would rush at you this harshly that you completely fall back on the table. Body convulsing, you scream and cream all over his tongue, mouth, and chin. His entire face will smell like you for days.

Taehyung forces your tightening legs apart, gasping for air. Gazing up at you, he sticks his tongue out and against your clit. He’s determined to help you ride out your high and nods his head up and down. You watch him through blurry vision, shamelessly rocking your hips up to meet him halfway. Or, at least you try to. Soon, you become all too sensitive to even hold his gaze, let alone grind against his tongue.

You fight against his hold on your legs, whining loudly. “Okay, okay,” you gasp as you try to seat yourself up.

He doesn’t care. That once yielding look in his eyes flashes into a demanding one. Seeing you so helpless under him shocks him with power once again. “One more time,” he pants against your heat.

“TaeTae,” you mewl, attempting to manipulate your way out of this overstimulated feast.

However, the use of the name this time, only spurs him on. He knows what you’re trying to do and doesn’t at all find it amusing. This time when he repeats his words, he growls, “One more time!”

Lips suctioning around your clit, he harshly sucks. Slurping and swallowing everything you have to offer, Taehyung holds your gaze. You’re a trembling mess. Tears falling freely down your face, you curse him three times over and buck your hips against his mouth. He finds the entire sight so humorous, he can’t help but smirk.

You’re still his little toy, a play thing for him to fool around with and test out some kinks on. The realization should make you curse him again and again, but you can only play into it. Pouting and mewling, you’ve fully sold yourself out just so Taehyung is well fed with your juices.

This is the peak of his games, you think. This is as far as he will go and you expect that you’ll cum in another minute or so. But then his teeth graze your clit once, twice, three times. You come undone within seconds. Arching your back, you let out the neediest cry you’ve ever heard and pathetically cum against his chin. The shudders and shivers of your body are beyond your control, as is your broken voice and any lasting grip you thought you had on reality.

As if biting and sucking your clit isn’t mindbreaking enough, Taehyung dips his tongue back in you to sneak another taste. “Taehyung, please,” you beg. “Please!”

He finally lets up, removing his face from your sopping heat and releasing his hold on your legs. You instantly bring them together and hug them into your chest. Heaving and shedding your last few tears, you try to recompose yourself and the silent atmosphere you once shared while sculpting.

“Strange,” he starts, returning to his feet. He takes his hands in yours, slowly unwrapping the hug you’ve cocooned yourself in. “It sounds a lot like that night. But, that’s not at all what I was doing then to make you this needy.”

To anyone else, you would've looked fucked out and completely ruined. But Taehyung knows that’s not at all the case. He has tested your stamina enough to know that you can most likely go for another round or two. Pulling your legs apart, he stands between them then helps sit you back up.

Faces inches away, you exchange breaths. “How long have you been this needy, my muse?” He asks again.

He really does smell like you. His cheeks, nose, chin, and lips are smeared with your cum. It doesn’t even look like he was feasting. It almost looks like he just wanted to cover his face with your juices. Gulping, you consider his question. You did insinuate that you’d answer the question if he gave you his tongue. And, holy fuck, did he give it to you. However, an insinuation is not a promise. He made that clear during your last argument.

“I don’t remember promising anything,” you whisper in a light pant.

The pain in his eyes cannot be neither mistaken nor missed. Echoing his words all these months later, surely recalls suppressed emotions of misery and betrayal for the both of you. He sneers a smirk, glaring at your lips. “Your memory has failed you,” he hisses. Gripping onto your hips, marking you there with bruises as well, he adds, “But, I won’t.”

“Not again, anyway.”

You sound colder than he does which causes him to hesitate for a moment. His hands fall by his sides as he searches your face for some sort of confirmation to continue. He almost seems like he’s not sure if he really wants to pick up where he left off too, seeing that you’re still upset with him. The guilt of seeing him so fragile and wounded eats away the majority of your anger. But, if he thinks he’s the only one struggling to make sense of this break up, he’s wrong.

Right now, the only way you can think of showing that to him is by first displaying your eagerness to continue in this sexual stroll down memory lane. You lean forward, brushing the tip of your nose against his, and reach down to his crotch. The dent in his jumpsuit throbs in your hand. His hard cock all but pulses under your palm as you rub at it. His breath hitches. You then untie the sleeves of his jumpsuit and watch carefully as his cock comes back into view. Fuck, you’ve forgotten just how pretty it is when it’s all pink tipped and desperate to be pumped. He shifts a bit, you assume to step out of the jumpsuit, and resettles his hands back on your waist.

Not another moment of uncertainty stands between you anymore. Swallowing his pride, Taehyung kisses you first. Lips on lips, the taste of yourself on his tongue has you moaning already. He seems to take this as a sign to let himself go as well. He pulls you closer to the edge of the table and rolls his hips into yours. The length of his dick rubs between your folds, but he doesn’t enter. Not yet. He simply teases the idea of entering, of ruining you.

But, you’re too overstimulated to enjoy it in its entirety. Your legs resume their little shudders at the tiniest bit of friction when his cock just happens to brush against your clit. Taehyung, upon noticing this, makes sure to touch it with every new grind against you. He smirks when you whimper into his mouth and chuckles a bit when you break the kiss to whine his name.

“What is it, baby,” he coos. He grounds his hips harder into yours, erupting moans from the both of you. “Ah, shit, I could just cum like this,” he hisses as his mouth hovers over yours.

A little smirk tugs on your lips at his words. Yes, you may be helplessly falling apart with every passing second. However, watching him come undone from the impression of your pussy against his cock, is a rather prideful moment. You tilt your head and begin peppering his chin and cheeks with open mouthed kisses, staining his face with your saliva now as well as your cum.

“Then, just cum, TaeTae,” you whine.

Perhaps if you didn’t sound so desperate, he probably would’ve switched back into his own submissive state. But, it’s the squeal in your voice and mischief in your tone that only drives him further down his power trip. He pulls away a bit, holding your horny gaze with an unimpressed one of his own. He realigns his hips as his jaw shifts. He’s pretending to chew gum again. Holy shit, he’s going to fuck you senseless.

He does not push into you though. Instead, he pulls you onto him by the deadly grip he has on your hips. You stare up at him as a loud cry escapes you with every inch that stretches your walls. Taehyung looks back with very little remorse in his eyes. The sight of you so small in his arms, whipped for his cock, makes his tip twitch a bit. But he is not immune to the action of entering you, sucking in a sharp breath.

“I can’t believe I forgot how tight you were,” he whispers, voice breaking.

And you thought you could never forget how big he is, but here you are. Eyes rolling back, you relish in his size like it the first time. “Big,” you mewl as he bottoms out. “Tae, you’re so big.” You sound just as broken as he does.

He cannot even find it in him to be cocky about it. He hears the realization in your voice. He knows you’ve forgotten too. A flash of pain twinkles in his eyes. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and whisper. “Remind me, Taehyung.” His brows quirk up and you add, “Remind me how good you make me feel. And I’ll remind you the same.”

Taehyung presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. Then, his hips snap in action. Holding you close, he starts hard and fast. He’s naked and growling into your ear with every thrust. You’re clothed and whining with every rumble of his chest and jerk of his hips. You didn’t even have to beg to bring out such a feral side of him. Could it be that he’s looking for the same thing you are? A lost lover?

Clay smeared fingers pressing into his skin, you push away that thought and scratch at his back. That once blank canvas of muscle and skin will now be lined with your lov- lust. This is just lust. You have to remind yourself of this fact every time he pushes into you.

He quietly hisses with each streak until he pauses his thrusts. You pout, leaning back a bit to ask if anything is wrong. But before you can even part your lips, Taehyung is readjusting his grip from your hips to your tube top.

“You’re a fucking slut to dress like this for him,” he growls. Then, in one swift motion, he pulls it down. You gasp as your breasts spill out, not out of exposure, but simply shock. He grips onto the rolled down top and smirks. “They’re a little uneven,” he points out. “But, I like that about them. Does he too? Does he get to see you like this, slut?”

You’ve got it wrong. It’s not your use of his nickname that has sent him spiralling into a pit of dominance, but rather that you went out to see another man. Is that why he ripped your pants apart? He’s destroying the outfit he thinks you wore for somebody else. Not only that, but his words only confirm that he is indeed sculpting you. All from memory, Taehyung has been molding your naked body down to the precise imperfection of your slightly uneven breasts.

And while you’re still trying to make sense of it all, he slaps one of them causing you to moan and throw your head back. Taehyung grabs a hold of your chin and drags your head back down to meet his gaze. “Answer me,” he seethes. “How much of you does he have?”

“None!” You shout. Your breathing is uneven, and you have to swallow the lump in your throat to continue, “I don’t even remember his name; he’s irrelevant.”

Taehyung circles his hips around yours, clearly pleased with your reply. But he does not pick up where he left off. “You haven’t been able to remember a lot tonight. Is that all irrelevant to you too?”

The shake of your head is reactive. You barely even had to think about it. This act of pretending that you don’t feel anything for him anymore has clearly fallen. “That’s not it, Taehyung,” you whine, hooking a leg around his waist. He wipes the tears streaming down your face as you continue, “I just didn’t want to remember us.”

Licking his lips, Taehyung slowly pulls out and eases himself back in. You tremble, watery eyes twitching in bliss. “Tell me how long you’ve been needy, baby,” he whispers.

“Have I not said enough already?”

You clutch onto his biceps and buck your hips up to meet his. He gasps, unable to hide his smile. You can tell he wants to finish this conversation but, with the way your walls are tightening around him, he doesn’t seem like he’s able to. One look in his eyes and you can tell he’s consumed by the pleasure all too much to reply.

Taehyung lets one hand fall to his side when he starts to pick up his pace. You shift one of your hands to his shoulders while the other holds onto the table’s edge. He holds you by the grip he has on your rolled tube top and smacks his hips against yours. It’s almost as if he’s riding a horse with the way he’s fucking you. And if you don’t whine loud enough, he’d slap each of your tits and force those screams out of you, growling, “You can do better than that.”

Removing your hands off him and back to the table, you accidentally rest your hand on one of his palettes. You gasp, looking over to find your hand smeared with blue and yellow hues. Taehyung laughs and rams into you faster. “You’re just making a mess wherever you go, hmm?” he teases.

You pout. He’s having too much fun making a mockery of you. Granted, you’re loving the attention, the way he’s fucking you into submission and realization, but you cannot let all this go to his head too much. As he smacks your breasts once more, nipples a little raw as they sting, you wipe your hand on him, down from his cheek to his collarbone.

He gasps, but his hips never stutter. Before you can even register his actions, Taehyung readjusts his grip from your top to your breasts and shoves his face between them. He transfers the swirl of dark blue and gold all over you as he fucks you as senseless as you predicted.

And as he playfully punishes you, blowing raspberries into your chest, you find yourself missing this, missing him. How could you have forgotten he likes to get playful, that he can switch between his two demeanours so seamlessly? He giggles when he pushes your breast into his face and further stains them with paint.

“The only one making a mess is you,” you rush to whine as your impending orgasm nears.

Dipping your hand in more paint, you rub the colours on his back and shoulders. You’re going to colour him yours if this is the last thing the two of you do together. Paint on his skin, in his hair, all over him, you’re going to make your impression here last through all the moans and whines and lewd slouches of your sensitive wetness around him.

Taehyung kisses his way up to your lips. He slips his tongue in once he reaches them and rolls his hips into you particularly harder than before. He can feel that he’s got you trailing the edge of your high. Thrust upwards, Taehyung reaches your most sensitive place. Every ram into it makes you shudder, toes curling and moans pouring into his mouth. One of his hands shifts up to your breast, massaging the smeared paint in, while the other holds your hips in place.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whines against your lips. “Come back to me.”

He can’t do this. He can’t beg you to come back with his dick shoved so deep in you like this. You’re so fucking close and he knows this. He can feel every inch of you tighten around him and desperate to be released. It’s cruel of him to manipulate you like this, to kiss you like he’s lost in the moment when he’s really just lost in you.

Kissing his way to your ear, Taehyung feels your pussy quiver. He smirks, thrusting hard enough to move the table back, and growls in your ear, “Come back to me, my muse. Cum.”

You fall back onto the table, body a total shaking shock as your orgasm washes over every inch of you. With one hand trembling over your lips, your other grabs onto one of your tits in an effort to brace yourself from the rush of ecstasy that overcomes you. The moans and whines that leave you are no exception to your convulsing state. Their breathless, broken, and blaring as you practically scream out in bliss.

Taehyung enjoys the show, watching you forget how to breathe from his place between your legs. He’s still going fast and hard, groaning when he feels you coat his cock in your cum. Mesmerized by the sight of your unheld breast bouncing with each of his thrust, he slaps it. You squeal at the sting.

And as you try to look at him, still riding out your orgasm, Taehyung’s cock twitches only to paint your inner walls with his missed affections. He falls forward, over you, burying his face between your tits again. You push them into his face and shake them against his cheeks, hearing him growl over your heart.

At some point, he stops thrusting and opts to circling his hips into yours. It’s all the same to you. Your legs continue to shake and your heart still races. Drenched in sweat, paint, and clay, you two lie there for a second longer. Even while growing limp, Taehyung feels so full in you.

He peels himself off you. His face, glistening in paint, looks like Van Gogh’s starry night, his eyes being the sparkling stars. He smirks down at you before trailing his gaze lower. That smile falls with every part of you he realizes he has ruined. Your chest is exposed and covered in colours, shirt non existent, pants clay stained and torn straight down the middle, and pussy a sopping mess of your mixed cum when he pulls out.

“I did make a mess,” he pants.

One step back, then two, then three. He distances himself from you as if ashamed of his work. You slowly sit up and cross your legs. Already, they feel strained and sore. But, they’re the least of your worries. It's the way that Taehyung winces at the sight of you, that has your heart somersaulting into your stomach. You swallow thickly between heaving pants and watch him carefully. He’s completely bare and looks even more broke than you do. His gaze looks vague and face sickly. Shaking his head, Taehyung runs a hand through his hair. He looks so annoyed with himself, he cannot even find it in him to laugh at the fact that he only got more paint in his hair.

Crossing your arms over your chest to cover yourself up a bit, you say, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He blinks repeatedly, snapping his attention back up at you. “Why aren’t you disturbed by this?” He questions, voice all but breaking.

Your eyes scan up and down his frame before your brows knit together in confusion. Is he referring to his naked body, or that the two of you just came to the thought of dating each other again? Still, why is either of those things worth being disturbed over? A naked Taehyung post sex has never been a bad sight and, though things did end horribly, the thought of being with him again doesn’t seem so bad now. Did he not mean it when he asked you to come back? Was it just something to get off to? Are you just something to get off to?

“What?” You whisper now that your anxious train of thought has robbed your voice.

“Aren’t you dating?” He clarifies. “That poor guy. I can’t believe I just let us do that.”

You’ve never seen him this distressed. He walks back to you, just to grab his jumpsuit and briefs. He can’t even bear to look at you as you stare back at him in complete confusion. What does he think happened here? That you cheated? Clenching your jaw, you can't believe that he could think that low of you. Then again, you never did blatantly say that it was your first date since the break up. In fact, now that you think about it, you did make it seem like you were in a relationship with someone else.

Taehyung hastily gets dressed as you try to hop off the table without falling on your face from how weak your legs are after such a fucking. “Tae,” you start only to have him walk away. With a sigh, you call after him. He ignores you.

What the hell are you supposed to do now? You sure as hell can’t follow him with your legs so sore and he doesn’t seem to want to talk to you. And even if you could walk, your clothes are ruined and it would take a while for an uber to get here with all the snow coming down out there. The distant spray of the shower directs your attention to the hallway Taehyung escaped down to get away from you. Great, he’s showering and left you here to figure this all out yourself.

Taking a seat on the floor, you decide to give your legs a moment to rest before ordering yourself an uber and hoping that this night ends soon. You should’ve listened to your gut and rejected his call. You shouldn’t have agreed to this, or come here, or let him remind you just how much you miss and love him. All you ever wanted was- is him. If it haven’t been for this whole stupid issue about moving in, you’d still have him.

But, no. You had to force him into a step he wasn’t ready for. You lost him then and you came back to watch yourself lose him again. Is that it? Is that why you didn’t even explain yourself to the poor guy that was sitting across from you at Rollos. Yes, Rollos; that’s where you went for drinks. Wow, your memory really hasn’t served you well tonight. You hope you forget this tomorrow. You hope you'll be able to forget how pathetic you feel, how hurt he sounds, and how you lost him all over again.

“Get up,” Taehyung orders. His voice is rough, like he had been sobbing.

Looking over to him, you find that could’ve actually been the case. His face is tear streaked now as well as paint smeared. He stands a good few feet away from you, glaring down at your woefully ruined frame. “Taehyung, I’m not-”

He doesn’t seem to want to hear any of it. “Get up,” he repeats. “Go shower. I have some clothes for you to wear then I’m taking you home.”

“Tae, just liste-”

“Delete my number. We never talk about this again. And if you’re at all like the person I loved, you’d tell him the truth.”

Is he seriously judging you right now? You’ve barely even had a chance to explain yourself. He really doesn’t want to listen to anything you have to say, cutting you off like you’re less than him. You cannot help but scoff at him and his words.

Taehyung sighs. “Just please get up, (Y/N).”

“I’m not dating anyone.”

His superiority falls. The life returns to his face as he approaches you but you recoil into yourself the moment he steps forward. Pausing, he tilts his head at you. “What is it?”

What is it? This man is going to be the death of you. “You just shamed me for something that wasn’t true, Taehyung!” You shout.

“I thought you were cheating with me!”

You use the table to help yourself up and dryly chuckle. “Ha, yeah because lying is such a normal thing to do, right? I’m as twisted as you, Taehyung.”

“I lied because I knew saying no would hurt you. Why can’t you see that I was just looking out for you?”

That one sentence makes you freeze in place. Is he really that fucking dense? He can’t seriously believe that looking out for someone you love involves lying. Slowly turning to face him, you don't even make an effort to hide your tears anymore. “You were looking out for yourself and you know it!”

“I just didn’t-”

“Want to grow tired of me.” You finish for him in a mocking tone.

Taehyung huffs, shaking his head. “That’s not what I was going to say. Would you just let me finish?”

You’re done with this stupid conversation. All you want to do is go home and get as far away as possible from him and the way he smells and the fact that even though you hate him so much right now, you want him to come and hug you and tell you everything is going to be okay. But, he’s just so annoying. And you can’t bear to look at him anymore with that cold glare consistently being directed towards you. You’ll wait outside for the uber. Hell, you’ll just walk back to your apartment. Anything to get out of here and away from him.

In an attempt to follow through, you try to make your way towards the door, but your legs almost instantly give out.

“Jesus, babe,” Taehyung hisses, rushing to your side.

It’s not even just the fact that you’re sore but your ripped pants are starting to rub up against your cum leaking pussy. You whine a bit and try to shake him off in order to jump back onto the table. But, you’re thankful he stays by your side because you definitely cannot get up there alone with your lacking upper body strength.

His hands linger on your thighs, softening eyes locked on yours. A hint of a smirk plays on his lips before he says, “I remember doing this to you often.”

Yes, leaving you limping around the apartment was his favourite pastimes. He liked to watch you struggle to walk after every intimate moment. In fact, he always felt like he didn’t do his job right if you’re not limping. He’d go ten times rougher the next time around and then cuddle you to his chest, cooing reassurances in your ear. Was it bad that you wanted that all the time? That you wanted to sleep and wake up in the same bed he does everyday?

Slow tears roll down your face as you take his hand art stained in yours. “It was my first date since our break up,” you confess. “Sumni asked for your number… and for permission to go out with you. I just felt a little hurt that you were moving on.”

“She called.”

Your heart has shattered too many times tonight to even react to his words, but you can feel your soul shudder. She called. And did he answer? Did he have a drink with her too? You want to ask but your pride swallows your questions whole. All you can bring yourself to say is, “She’s a nice girl.”

He nods. Squeezing your hand, Taehyung wraps his arm loosely around your waist and stands in front of you. “I told her I wasn’t really ready to see anyone else yet,” he tells you, pressing himself against you.

The gesture is not at all sexual and you do not interpret it as such. Rather, it is tender and comforting. He releases his hold on your hand to wipe your tears, letting his own fall. Licking his lips, he whispers, “What’s his name?”

You shrug.

“Come on,” he half-heartedly nudges your legs. “Tell me.”

Does he think you’re trying to spare his feelings? Meeting his gaze, you can’t help but smile. He looks so cute, so precious in front of you. Playing with his hand, your fingers looping around his, you reply, “I don’t remember. I only spoke to him for half an hour or something.”

He cannot hide his smile, but avoids your gaze. Even still, you can see the relief within them. He seems to be pleased that you’re just as miserable as he is, pining after someone you cannot have any more.

“Is that why you came over?”

You shake your head before you can even think the action through. And the words leave your lips just the same, “I just missed you.”

“I really missed you too,” he croaks, rushing to say the words like he can’t believe them himself. “God, I’ve just wanted you back for so long.”

He’s all but sobbing in front of you. Parting your lips, you’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have you, not yet anyways. The fact is that he still lied, and has continued to lie to manipulate you. This cannot be forgiven so easily. You love and miss him dearly, but surely you cannot just take him back without discussing the cause of your break up first.

But then, Taehyung burrows his face into the crook of your neck and lets himself fall apart. Hugging you close, he cries into your skin. You cannot hold back the sob that tears through your throat just from the mere sound of his choked breaths and wet tears against you.

“I’m so sorry,” he cries as you cradle his head. “I’m sorry.”

The broken tone of his voice is enough to make you whimper into his hair. He sounds so fragile. This break up, you realize, has torn him inside out too. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you try to console both of your fears. But every sob trembles your courage and every drop of his tears makes you recoil in guilt and shame. How could you have done this to him, to your relationship?

He shudders a breath as he pulls away. Red in the face, wet streaks staining his painted cheeks, he cups his hands under your jaw and says, “Look, you can move in right now, okay? Alright? I’ll get your things tomorrow. I’ll give you Jungkook’s key. He only comes here to steal our food anyways.” Just stay, please (Y/N).”

His voice is shaky and tone all but heartbreaking as he chuckles at his own little joke. The desperation is real and hard to deny. You cannot even open your mouth to even voice your reservations about dating again. Clutching onto his jumpsuit, you try to revert your gaze to your lap in hopes to find your courage and tell him that you need to talk first. Only, Taehyung dips his head low to catch your eyes again. He’s determined to have you stay. And your silence only provokes more tears.

“I promise I’ll never tell another lie,” he sobs. “I promise I’ll never let my worries get in between us again. Please, baby, just please stay. Say that you’ll stay.”

You cannot watch this for another moment longer. There’s lots you still have left to discuss, like why he’s so worried about growing tired of you, and why he felt the need to lie in the first place. But his promise to never do it again is enough for now. And you just can’t sit here watching him cry any longer. You pull him towards you, pepper his cheeks with gentle kisses then cradle his head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tae,” you mutter into his hair. “Mostly because I can’t.”

Your attempt at a joke causes him to choke out a chuckle. He showers the crook of your neck with wet kisses, muttering into your skin, “I love you.”

Rapturing in a relieved frenzy, your nerves dance within your bloodstream and repair your ruptured heart. You let out a deep breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. “I love you too,” you cry.

The last four months haven’t granted you a shred of peace. You’ve lived and re-lived that argument over and over again, praying you can just go back and fix it all there and then. But, maybe… maybe it all needed to fall apart to fall back into place. Maybe it needed to rupture to rapture.

tags: @miinoongi, @jenotation, @allannahmalik, @taeshuworld

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#bangtanfairygarden #btsguild #networkbangtan #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #winterbearnet #vantenet #btswritersclub #magicshopnet #bangtanhq #btsgoldnet #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #kim taehyung angst #kim taehyung smut #bts smut

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spine-buster · 5 years

Text

Alone, Together | Chapter 26 | Morgan Rielly

A/N: Just wanted to thank you guys for being understanding about the once-a-week posting schedule. Also, as always, your canon questions are really fun to answer, as are your comments about the chapters! Feel free to keep them coming.

Hope you enjoy this chapter because the next two focus on the playoff series with the Bruins and we all know how that went L O L (I’m still not over it).

When Bee walked into the Scotiabank Arena Monday night, ready for the Leafs to face the Florida Panthers, she already had Aryne and Alannah waiting for her impatiently. Bee hadn’t gone to the game against New York on Saturday because she was…tired. From work. At least that’s what she told them.

She knew that Fred and Tyler wouldn’t say a word to anyone about the fight. She trusted them. On Saturday, when the Leafs faced New York on Hockey Night in Canada, Bee just wasn’t up for going to the arena. She was still emotionally drained from the night before, and even though she and Morgan had a long talk that morning, resolving a lot of things, she didn’t want to be around people. She didn’t want to be around hockey. He respected that. The Leafs ended up losing in overtime, but when Morgan came home, he wasn’t in a bad mood. Instead, he took off his suit, threw on his pajamas, and held Bee in his arms for the whole night. He kept telling her how much he loved her; she kept telling him the same. He kept kissing her tenderly and apologizing; she kept saying there was nothing to apologize about anymore. He kept telling her how he wished he could give her the world, the moon and the stars – anything her heart desired and that she wanted in life; she kept saying she’d throw it all away – every bag, every shoe, every book, every moon and star in the universe – because all she wanted was him.

He asked if she would move in before the playoffs; she nodded her head and said yes. Morgan could have cried.

“We missed you on Saturday night,” Alannah said as she and Aryne hugged Bee. “Was everything okay? You haven’t missed a Saturday night game in a while.”

Bee shrugged her shoulders. “It was…um…”

“We know it wasn’t work,” Aryne put air quotes around the word, giving Bee a look. “Did you and Morgan have a fight?”

Bee bit her lip. “We did, but it was resolved before the game. I was just…I don’t know…emotionally drained, I guess.”

“What was it about?” Aryne asked.

Bee shook her head. She loved Aryne, Aryne was one of her best friends, but she didn’t want to get into it. She didn’t want to air her dirty laundry with her boyfriend to the wife of a member of his hockey team, regardless of how close they were. “The fact of the matter is that we talked about it and solved it. And, um, I’m moving in.”

Both Alannah’s and Aryne’s jaws dropped. “Um, please hold,” Aryne raised her hand dramatically. “You’re moving into Morgan’s place?! When?!”

“Before the playoffs,” Bee revealed. “He’s wanted me to move in for a bit now, and, well, I finally agreed on Saturday night.”

“Bee, this is huge,” Alannah commented with a giant smile on her face. “I mean, especially if he’s wanted you to move in for a while. What was stopping you?”

My own fear? She couldn’t say that out loud, at least not to them, so she settled for another shrug of her shoulders. “I guess I just wanted to get a job first before making such a big life decision,” she said. “I mean, it’s still technically not even a year since we met. We’re just reaching our six-month anniversary. No relationship I’ve ever had has ever gone this…fast.”

“Yeah, but you and Morgan, like…love each other,” Aryne said. “Like, I don’t think I’ve ever met a couple as on the same page as you guys. Morgan looks at you like you put the stars in the night sky, and you look at Morgan with this glimmer in your eyes and the softest smile on your face…and it honestly makes me sick,” she joked, garnering a laugh from both girls. “But I’m serious. You guys just sort of have this way about you, as if you’ve been together forever. You guys get each other. That’s the most that anybody can ask for in a relationship.”

Bee couldn’t help but smile. “And that’s why it feels right,” she said. If Aryne could see it – if the outside world could see it – then it must mean something, right? “It might be…you know, quick for some people, but it feels right to us. It feels like the natural progression of our relationship.”

“Well, I’m so happy for you,” Alannah said. “You’re over his place so much as it is. Why delay the inevitable?”

“That was his reasoning.”

“Aryne!” a voice called suddenly, interrupting their conversation.

Aryne spun around to see who called, and when she recognized the two people waving, she squealed and outstretched her arms to hug them. Alannah was smiling as well but Bee had no idea who they were. Soon, Aryne turned back towards the girls with a giant smile on her face. “Alannah, you guys have met, but Bee – these are my in-laws! Barb, Joe, this is my friend Briony McTavish!”

Bee’s face immediately lit up when she learned who they were. “Mr. and Mrs. Tavares! It’s so nice to meet you!” she shook their hands.

“Aryne has told us so much about you!” Barbara smiled. “Are you excited for the game tonight?”

“Very,” Bee smiled. “Gosh, you guys must be so excited to become grandparents!”

“Our first grandbaby!” Joe smiled, looking down at Aryne’s bump lovingly. “Barbara can’t wait to be a babcha. She’s already got a makeshift nursery set up. Even took out some of John’s old clothes to see if they can be given some new wear.”

“I think I’ve been shopping enough to cover that,” Aryne winked at Joe. “There’s also still the baby shower. Maybe just take out that classic Leafs toddler jacket you bought him for one of his baby photoshoots.”

“Oh my God, I’m going to completely melt if I see that,” Alannah quipped. “It’s like when Hank has his little Leafs onesie on. I totally become a pile of goo.”

“Briony, Aryne tells me this is your first season with the Maple Leafs,” Barbara said. “How have you taken to hockey so far? Do you like it?”

“I like it when we win,” Bee joked, getting a laugh from everyone around her. “To be honest, I’m still learning and getting used to it. Especially the line changes. Now I have to learn about the playoff format. It never ends!”

“It really doesn’t,” Barb shook her head. “John’s…what? 28 now? It’s been 25 years since we started hockey and I’m still learning things.”

“Just wait till the game starts, Barb. Bee knows all about the offside rule,” Aryne wiggled her eyebrows, garnering another round of laughs from the group. Aryne turned on her heels and waved at the group to follow her. “We should get to our seats before puck drop.”

Something must have been in the air at Scotiabank Arena that night, because by the end of the 1st period, it was already 4-2 for the Leafs. John had scored two goals, with Patrick and Jake scoring the other two. Aryne, Joe, and Barbara were going crazy, cheering him on and clapping, and the Sportsnet cameras shot to them to show their celebration. With the way they were sitting – Alannah at the end, then Bee, then Aryne, then John’s parents, Bee was definitely caught on camera. And she only realized this because Angie decided to send her the video, already uploaded onto Sportsnet’s Twitter account, of them all celebrating John’s two goals. Bee’s Rielly jersey definitely gave every viewer an indication of who she was there for.

“I have to go to the washroom,” Aryne mentioned as John’s parents were being interviewed by one of the Sportsnet personalities. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” Bee said as they both got up, letting Alannah know where they were going.

Bee began to walk up the stairs but Aryne walked down. When Aryne noticed Bee wasn’t beside her, she looked up. “I don’t want to walk up all those steps,” Aryne grimaced, putting a hand on her bump. “Let’s just go to the regular ones. I’m so tired.”

Bee could only acquiesce as she followed Aryne to the regular bathrooms, not the ones located in the friends and family section high above them on their special level. They waited patiently in the line, and although they kept a steady conversation, Bee noticed some long stares coming their way. She wondered if Aryne noticed them too. When a free stall came up, Aryne bolted inside, leaving Bee to wait for her, scrolling through her phone and reading all the updates she wasn’t able to read earlier in the day because of work. She checked her Instagram, as always, and saw a new barrage of notifications.

You have a new BFF in the Leafs squad every week. First Lucy now Aryne. Must be because they see how desperate you are and want nothing to do with you.

how do i become a wag like u can u help

Wearing Mo’s jersery so u can let everyone know ur with him. Ur a joke.

The desperation R E E K S off of you! You are never going to be as pretty as Cassie or Steph Lachance or any of those girls so quit while you’re ahead! AND GO TO THE GYM FFS!!!!!

I know you’re not trying to be like the other wags. That’s very noble of you, I guess. But do you really think this crusade of yours is going to last? There are only so many comments Morgan will be able to take about how fat you are before he finally sees it and dumps you. You’re only getting fatter and fatter and it’s embarrassing for you and for Morgan. Why would you put him through that? You will never be part of the inner wag circle because of the way you look. That’s just how it is. That and the fact that you are bleeding Mo dry of his money.

“I’m telling you, that’s Briony McTavish,” a louder than anticipated whisper broke Bee out of her thoughts. She looked up from her phone quickly to see three girls standing near the entrance, one with a phone in her hands directed right at her. The second they noticed that Bee was looking at them, the girl holding the phone lowered it dramatically and put it in her purse.

Bee sighed. “You guys can approach me, you know,” she called out to them. “I don’t bite.” The girls’ mouths gaped open, like they didn’t know she could speak. She smiled politely to try to get the girls to calm down. “I mean it girls, I don’t bite. Did you want to speak to me?”

The girls shuffled over, looks of fear mixed with worship and complete shock adorning their faces. Two blondes, one with straight hair and one with short curly hair, clearly couldn’t believe what was happening. Their brunette friend – the one who had the phone in her hand – was able to find her words first. “Sorry, we just think you’re really pretty,” she said. “It’s nice to see a wag who isn’t a skinny blonde.”

“Well, thanks,” Bee said, unsure if she should be grateful for the compliment. “You could have asked to like…take a picture of whatever. I wouldn’t have minded if you had asked. I would just appreciate it if you didn’t take creeper shots of me.”

“Sorry,” straight-blonde-hair-girl said. “It’s just…well, we know that Morgan uploaded that picture of you on his birthday, but you’ve just been all over the blogs online--”

“The blogs? All over? What do you mean?”

“You know…like, people are talking about you on the bunny blogs!” straight-blonde-hair-girl clarified, like it was the best thing in the world to get talked about online. “We know they’re bunny blogs and we should take everything they say with a grain of salt, but like, there was that whole thing where you were in Cassie’s New Years video that basically blew up all of Leafs Tumblr and the bunny blogs, and then the Vancouver pictures and then Morgan’s birthday pictures--”

“Seems like a lot of people are stealing a lot of my pictures,” Bee said sarcastically.

“It wasn’t us, we swear,” the brunette jumped in. “Everybody is just, like, wondering who you are. That’s all. There are like, the mean girls who start rumours about you, but nobody listens to them. I guess because you aren’t as open as Cassie people just want to know more.”

“Why aren’t you as open as Cassie? ” the one with the short curly blonde hair finally spoke.

Bee couldn’t believe she would ask such a question, but she also knew that these girls were going to write into those same bunny blogs the second this conversation was done with, so she had to watch what she was going to say. “Morgan and I are just private people. Especially Morgan. He’s super private and super protective. And we want to keep it that way.”

“Did Morgan help you get the job at Scotiabank?”

Bee’s body stiffened. “How…how do you guys know I work at Scotiabank?”

“Well, like, someone Googled your name I guess, and it was on some website,” the young blonde said. “It’s been all over the bunny blogs.”

A shiver ran up Bee’s spine. She couldn’t believe how much information was out there about her, that they managed to find and steal from her, yet these girls still wanted to know more. Should she just come out with her blood type? What her favourite movie was when she was five? Her DNA configuration? What more could they want from her? “No, he didn’t help me get the job. I have a Master’s in Financial Economics. I got the job all on my own.”

All three of the girls smiled on cue. “Told you so!” the brunette said to the straight-blonde-hair girl. She turned her attention back towards Bee. “Sorry, it’s just that there was this huge thing online about whether or not you quit school when you met Morgan or if you had just finished your program, and there was this whole thing that Sydney Esiason said in a comment on Insta but everyone thinks it’s about Cassie, and some girl claiming to be from your program was all like ‘We’re just done, Briony’s one of the top students in the course’ but someone else, also apparently from your program, was like ‘She quit the second she started going out with Mo because all she’s ever done is aspire to be a wag and all she used to talk about was bagging a Leafs player’ and it was all--”

“Please don’t believe everything you read on the Internet,” she interrupted. The girl hadn’t taken a breath since mentioning everything that was happening online – it seemed like she lived her entire life there. More shivers ran up Bee’s spine. To think someone in her program was engaged in this – that they even had the time to engage in this – was beyond her. “I’m just a girl trying to work and I happen to have a professional athlete boyfriend. That’s all I am. There’s nothing special about me besides my Master’s degree.”

“Morgan definitely thinks there’s something special about her, and I do too,” Aryne’s voice interrupted their conversation as she made her way out of her stall. She looked over at the girls as she washed her hands; again, their jaws dropped at the sight of John Tavares’s wife. “You can write to all those bunny blogs and tell them Morgan’s never gonna get with them, so they need to stop,” she said, her voice strict. “You can also tell everyone that the DMs Bee gets are hilarious and pathetic all at the same time, and we laugh at them over bottles of sauvignon franc at restaurants those girls could only dream of eating in.”

The girls’ eyes went wide. “It’s not us--”

“I know it’s not you. It’s all those Toronto party girls who like to cause shit and it’s the Instagram model girls who wouldn’t be able to get a contract with any legit agency if their life depended on it, but be the messenger,” Aryne winked, though her voice still strict and curt with them. “I don’t care what you say about me. Call me a bitch on every single bunny blog on the internet – I really don’t care. But anybody who goes after Bee is gong to have a problem with me.”

“Will do,” the brunette smiled, a feisty look in her eyes. “Are any of the younger Leafs single?”

Bee’s eyes went wide at the abrasiveness and audacity of the girl. Her friends slapped at her arm as she was in a staring contest with Aryne. “They’re not into jailbait. But I’m sure you’ll just go and befriend Cassie to see.” Aryne looked at Bee and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go. The period’s about to start and I want to actually watch the game.”

Aryne linked her arm with Bee’s, and when they were far enough away from the washroom, she looked at her. “Don’t ever think that you need to speak to those types of girls ever again,” she warned. “They’re not worth your time. Everything you just said is going to go on all those bunny blogs.”

“You don’t think it will clear stuff up?” Bee asked innocently.

“It never clears stuff up,” Aryne countered. “Rumours are still going to spread about you. Remember when we watched the Isles game at your place and I told you that you have your priorities in order?” she asked. Bee nodded her head. “You still do. But keeping them in order is harder than having them in the first place. And those girls…their only priority is either hooking up with a hockey player or making it seem like they’ve hooked up with one. And if they’re not trying to hook up, they want to make it seem like they’re inside their circle and friends with the wags. They don’t even have morals.”

Bee knew that she needed to listen to Aryne. She didn’t have a clue about any of this and she was so in over her head that she didn’t even know where to begin, what was right and what was wrong, what was appropriate and what was not. It was a mystery to navigate this minefield; every step she took, she felt like she was going to explode, or that she’d set off something that would get the sirens ringing and the armies rushing the battlefield. “Let’s go watch some hockey,” Bee announced, resolved to not giving it another thought. What was more important than what those girls told her was being spread online was that John was on the verge of a hat trick and Morgan was on the verge of approaching seventy points.

“Atta girl,” Aryne wiggled her eyebrows. “Now let’s go watch my hot husband dominate Florida.”

Dominate John did. Only six minutes into the second period, he completed his hat trick thanks to a rebound from a shot by Morgan. It rained hats in the arena as Bee, Alannah, Aryne, and John’s parents danced, cheered, high fived, and hugged each other in celebration, the cameras panning to them and showing them on the jumbotron for the fans to see. The assist by Morgan meant that he was on his 69th point, and Bee wanted so desperately for him to get 70.

Then the magic happened. Only four minutes into the third period, John scored a fourth goal. Aryne went nuts, as did John’s parents, and rightfully so – it was his first four goal game for the Leafs. Barbara even began to cry as the fans kept roaring their applause for their hometown boy. Like a cherry on top of a perfect ice cream sundae of a Monday night, Zach scored the seventh goal for the Leafs, with an assist from Morgan, gaining Zach the distinction of being a 20-goal scorer and getting Morgan to a 70-point season. Bee teared up as she hugged Alannah after the goal. She knew he was having a career season, but he blew his previous points total out of the water – by almost 20 points.

After the game, Bee waited for Morgan in the usual spot, eagerly anticipating his arrival. Media was taking longer than normal – she figured because of the night John had. She checked the usual Twitter accounts for Sportsnet and TSN to see what they were saying and uploading onto their feeds. She checked her Instagram to see more DMs, but only read Angie’s who sent her a compilation video Sportsnet had uploaded of the group celebrating all four goals. Then, for the first time in her life, she Googled ‘puckbunny blogs tumblr’ to see if what those girls were saying – and what Aryne told her – was actually true. Automatically, what seemed like hundreds of links popped up for her to click on, and she clicked the very first. Right at the top of the feed, she saw her name.

I met Bee McTavish (Morgan Rielly) at the Leafs game tonight in the washroom of all places lol. She’s a sweetheart. Super super nice. Doesn’t like that all her photos got posted everywhere bc she is trying to remain super private and says Morgan is super private too. She was in the washroom with Aryne (John Tavares wife) who was much ruder. Oh and she has a Master’s. Never quit her course when she met Morgan. It was all lies ☺ bye!

Aw thanks anon! Good to know! We all knew Morgan would go for someone just like that! It’s too bad a lot of people won’t respect their wishes.

Bee McTavish is bigger in person but pretty. Maybe it was the jersey. Saw her at the Leafs game tonight sitting with Aryne Tavares and John’s parents. Went crazy after Mo got his 70th point. I know Sportsnet showed her a bunch of times but she was on the jumbotron too after John’s fourth goal and it was really cute. Small applause bc the crowd recognized John’s parents and wife.

I guess Mo doesn’t mind her size anon. Thanks for the update! She must be really close with Aryne if she sat with her and John’s parents? Did she know them from before and that’s how she and Mo met?

Bee McTavish is lovely. Everybody needs to get off her dick. If you watch the videos from Sportsnet she’s so genuinely happy for Morgan and the team when they do well. Whenever I see her at games she’s one of like, the only wags – esp the young wags – who is always paying attention to the game instead of being on insta.

Thanks anon! Seems to go with what a lot of ppl are saying.

Those people saying Bee is nice are probably her friends she’s sent to say stuff about her. She’s honestly not that nice. A TOTAL social climber. Pretends to be all cute and innocent but she’s been on the Toronto party scene for a while and was stalking Leaf players before she got with Mo. Rumour has it she slid into Auston’s DMs (what Toronto girl hasn’t lbr) and even Willy Nylander’s before she landed Mo. Shows how much of an idiot she is bc Willy wasn’t even in Toronto till December!!!!!

Wow ok anon thank u!!!

Whoever sent in that last ask is so incredibly dumb lol yeah she’s a known Toronto party girl yet her whole instagram feed when she was public was books, her coursework from her Master’s, and food she’d cook??? Try doing ur research next time sweetie you sound so jealous! Ur probably trying to hook up with Mo even though he’s taken. Just makes u a slut. Not to mention a homewrecker.

I just post all my asks. Not necessarily what I believe.

Bee couldn’t help but snort as she swiped to delete the tab. There was no way she was going down that rabbit hole. She stuffed her phone back into her pocket and waited impatiently for Morgan. When he finally came out, with John, Zach, and Tyler in tow, she couldn’t help the giant smile that appeared on her face as he walked towards her.

“You ready to go?” he said, extending his hand towards hers.

She grasped onto it tightly. “Come here.”

When he was close, she stood on her toes so she could reach him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders before giving him a long, lingering kiss. “You wanna talk about it?” she whispered.

“Talk about what?”

She smiled slightly. “Mr. Seventy-point season.” A smile crept upon his lips as he closed his eyes and shook his head – his version of ‘I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.’ But Bee was going to make a big deal out of this. “I’m very proud of you,” she whispered quietly, so only he could hear. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

Morgan bent down to kiss her again. “That’s all that matters,” he whispered.

“What?”

“That you’re proud.”

“I’m always proud of you.”

“I know you are, but it’s especially important tonight.”

“Because you hit seventy points tonight?” she giggled.

“Stoooooppppp,” Morgan buried his head into the crook of her neck. “Stop saying it.”

“Stop saying what? That you hit seventy points this season?” she smirked, moving away slightly so she could look at him again

“Noooo no no no ,” he shook his head before bending down to kiss her again. “Is that the only way you’re gonna stop saying it?”

“Mhm,” she nodded her head.

“Am I gonna have to kiss you all night?”

“You tell me Mr. Rielly,” she pecked at his lips. “What do you mean ‘it’, anyway? Do you mean the fact that you got sev--”

He kissed her again, dragging her quickly towards the door. “I gotta get you home quick.”

***

“Okay, I can help carry all the garment bags down.”

“I’ll follow behind you with the box of handbags.”

“I’ve got the shoes.”

“Make sure all the books are taken. We may need to take two trips.”

“Naz, you can just sit there and look pretty.”

“HEY!” Naz yelled in protest to Morgan’s comment. John, Jake, Mason, and Tyler laughed at the scowl on Naz’s face as Ashley stuck her tongue out at the boys. “Are we forgetting these guns can b--”

“Do not brag about how much you can bench press right now or else I’m going to punch you in the throat,” Jake grimaced. “Can we just move all this stuff to Morgan’s? Because the quicker we do so the quicker we can eat Chinese food.”

“Yes please, because baby’s hungry,” Aryne rubbed her belly.

The boys grabbed their designated boxes of Bee’s things to bring down the moving elevator, and the girls grabbed the various garment bags and made their way down the main elevator’s to Lucy and Aryne’s waiting SUVs in the parking garage. Once they loaded everything in, Bee and Angie drove with Lucy to Morgan’s apartment, while Ashley hitched a ride with Aryne. The boys ended up taking a second trip up to the apartment to get the remainder of Bee’s things before packing everything into Naz’s SUV and driving to Morgan’s apartment. They were lucky that Bee didn’t have a lot of things, comparably – no furniture to move, no giant ottomans or kitchen tools and accessories to pack away – just her half-bookshelf, taken from her old apartment, with its modest stack of books she’d added to sparingly during her time at Naz and Ashley’s apartment.

When the boys arrived at Morgan’s apartment, the girls were already rearranging the closet to incorporate Bee’s clothing. They shoved all his game-day suits to one side while they hung her work clothes on the top bar and her more casual clothes that still deserved a hanger on the bottom bar. Angie called out to Morgan that it was time to invest in another shoe rack where his Jordan’s collection wouldn’t take it over. Aryne was busy ordering the Chinese food. Ashley rearranged the bathroom drawers so all of Bee’s products could fit. The boys kept Bee’s bookshelf right next to the entertainment centre – he’d be buying bigger bookshelves soon, anyway. They decided to set the table while the girls continued to work on the closet behind the closed bedroom door.

“Did you consent to whatever’s going on in there?” Tyler asked as they all heard a loud thump coming from his bedroom. “They could be painting your room purple for all you know. They could be installing a Habs mural. A giant picture of Randy from Trailer Park Boys on your ceiling.”

Morgan shrugged his shoulders. Jake rolled his eyes. “Even if he didn’t, what’s he gonna say? She could paint the walls neon green and he’d nod and smile and say he loved it,” Jake said.

“Let’s not act like girls don’t run the world,” John commented with a chuckle. “Our wives definitely run our lives.”

“You got that right,” Naz piped up. “The other day Ashley had a craving for anchovies. Anchovies. Guess who had to go out to go buy anchovies at midnight or else her brain was going to explode.”

“That’s why I remain a bachelor,” Tyler said. He turned dramatically towards Mason. “Unless you have a sister?”

“Only a brother, dude.”

“And I reiterate, that’s why I remain a bachelor.”

Morgan’s phone buzzed, indicating that the Chinese food had been delivered. “You girls have three minutes until the food is here!” he yelled as he shoved his phone into his pocket. “Can you be a dear and come help me with the bags?” he asked Jake, who nodded his head. “And can you guys go check on them? Make sure they’re actually not installing a picture of Randy on my ceiling or throwing out any of my clothes?”

When Morgan and Jake came through the door again with the Chinese food, everybody was out in the main area. Aryne was already sitting at the table while everyone else mingled about; Bee was grabbing something out of the fridge – probably a hot sauce – and Tyler and John were leaning up against the couch. Aryne saw them first and she began clapping when she saw the food. “It’s here!”

Everybody gathered around the table quickly. Bee helped herself to too much Cantonese chow mein. Everything was passed around – the chicken balls, the sweet and sour sauce, the chicken fried rice, the plain steamed rice, the spring rolls, the beef with broccoli, the kung pao shrimp and the Szechuan chicken. Everybody’s plate and glass was full of goodness. For a while everyone was even silent because they were stuffing food into their faces. It was Tyler who broke the silence. “Have you guys seen how well the Raptors are doing? Their post-season is gonna be amazing.”

Everybody nodded their heads. “Hopefully ours is gonna be equally as amazing,” Naz commented.

“You think we’ll be able to go to some games?” Aryne asked her husband.

“Aryne, are you aware of who your husband is?” Tyler asked, causing the table to laugh. “He’s John Tavares. He can walk into anywhere and get whatever he wants.”

“Raptors tickets are gonna be the hottest commodity in town if they do well,” Mason commented. “Good luck with that.”

“I’m sure Masai will hook up Kyle with something,” Naz said. “Besides, Bee’s gotta go to her first Raptor’s game.”

The mention of her name gave Bee an opportunity to look at everyone – really look at all the people surrounding her – and she felt a pang of gratitude hit her chest. There was excitement, of course, of moving in with Morgan – of knowing that, when their friends were gone, she wouldn’t have an apartment to go back to; that this was her apartment too now. There was thankfulness, of course, for everyone helping her to move her things, despite how little she had and how quickly it took them to do it – she barely needed to bribe them with a Chinese food dinner before they said yes to helping. But more than anything, gratitude. Gratitude for them surrounding her. Gratitude for their help and support.

Gratitude that they were her family.

#morgan rielly #morgan rielly imagine #morgan rielly imagines #morgan rielly fic #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs imagines #toronto maple leafs fic #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fic #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fic #alone together series

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sunnytumbies · 4 years

Text

just follow my yellow light (and ignore all those big warning signs)

Warning! This fic includes mentions of depression, anxiety, needles (in a medical setting), and dealing with grief/trauma. Please stay safe should you choose to read!

A/N: This is also a more plot-heavy fic, with most of the fiendery occurring in the very last sections, so please be aware of that! Word count: 8499 Title: “Yellow Light” by Of Monsters and Men

The thing about hospitals is that they’re all the same.

Cal understands why people hate them—really, he does—but sitting here on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath him, a blood pressure cuff tightening around his bicep, he can’t help but feel...safe. Understood.

He’s biased, he guesses. He grew up in one, doodling on prescription pads with crayons, running his favorite toy car along the floor (weaving around the nurse’s practical clogs on his hands and knees, look, Mom, look at how fast I am!), his mother Marianne bouncing him on her lap as she updated charts on her computer even though he was far too old for that, stray blonde hair that escaped from her tight bun tickling his cheek. Every once in a while, she’d turn to him with a wide, warm smile.

The whirring of blood pressure machines were his lullaby. The smell of antiseptic was the closest he got to the smell of home, and was in fact the very smell that followed him home from work with Marianne, permeated the whole house along with her tired sighs and her whispered arguments with his father Henry when she thought Cal was sleeping.

So, yeah. Cal likes hospitals. Don’t overanalyze it.

The nurse—Alicia, today—gives him a small, tired smile, the expression of someone who genuinely cares but is too busy to do much about it. “Dr. Moore says everything looks good, Cal. Just make sure to keep an eye on your lungs. Don’t bind for too long and keep doing your injections around the same time each week, okay? You know where to find us if you need something.”

“Thanks, Alicia,” Cal says, but she’s already whisking out the door. Cal wonders how many patients she has. Alicia oversees the hospital volunteer program, and even though Cal's known her for years, he swears her face is as young and beautiful as it was when he was a child. She’s funny and whip-smart and strong and she likes Cal best, he thinks, but lately she’s looked so tired.

He wonders if she’s one of the nurses who really cares about all of her patients. He wonders if that kind of thing is sustainable.

Alicia cares, he thinks.

He’s walking down the corridor, idly rubbing at the bandage across his forearm—and yeah, okay, if he has to name one part of the hospital experience that he could do without, it’s the blood draws—and he’s so fixated on reaching under the bandage to rub at the stinging skin there that he almost runs directly into Sweater Guy, who reaches out preemptively to steady Cal by the shoulders.

“Shit, sorry,” Cal mutters reflexively, then looks up to see that it’s him and, well, fuck.

Cal’s been volunteering at the hospital for six months or so, now, answering call buttons for the nurses and giving directions to confused family members and just grunt work, really, something—nay, anything—for him to put on his resume, and at every single shift he’s volunteered for, he’s seen Sweater Guy.

He’s Cal’s height but twice as skinny, collarbones jutting out underneath his sweaters (his endless sweaters, usually layered over collared shirts and rolled up to the elbows, no matter how swelteringly hot it gets outside). The sweaters bother Cal more than they should, because they all look expensive, and yeah, sue him, he’s a little bitter, because he buys one new pair of shoes a year and calls it splurging. He’s a candy striper, Cal thinks. He wears a pair of yellow-tinted glasses that Cal cannot for the life of him make sense of, constantly slipping down his nose (and yes the yellow compliments the rich brown of Sweater Guy’s skin beautifully, not that Cal has noticed, thanks). He has what Zara always insisted is sex hair, expression perpetually annoyed, like he always has something better to doing.

And he avoids the fuck out of Cal.

“It’s not on purpose,” Zara said one day a few months ago, leaning conspiratorially over their little table in the hospital cafeteria, mouth full of mediocre tuna fish sandwich, because Zara is a godless heathen who enjoys tuna fish sandwiches. “He’s just...busy, you know? He doesn’t avoid you more than he avoids anyone else.”

“Except he does,” Cal muttered, toying with the bottle cap from his soda. More than once he’d made eye contact with him in the hall, and then watched him completely switch directions, head ducked down low over his shoulders.

Not long after that, Zara--who had, until then, occupied the third room in he and Amy’s apartment--left school to attend a community college program for mortuary science, because Zara is, in addition to being a godless heathen, a chiefly ridiculous person, and now Cal doesn’t have anyone to complain to about this.

It shouldn’t bother him, except...Cal is likeable. He is. He charms nurses as though that’s what he’s getting volunteer credit for. Babies smile at him on the street. He’s likeable.

So what the fuck, you know?

“I apologize,” Sweater Guy says now, and Cal is hyper-aware of the guy’s chapped lips, of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously in his throat. He makes himself look away.

“You apologize? I’m the one who didn’t see you, dude,” Cal says, and God damn does that yellow sweater he’s wearing look nice on him. It shouldn’t. Yellow is categorically the worst color. Cal’s pissed.

Sweater Guy actually cracks a smile. “Yes, well. I’m glad we avoided a collision.”

And just like that, he’s walking off, and Cal doesn’t know what he’s supposed to make of it, if it means anything at all, but surely first contact after six months of silence means something.

“Hey,” he calls out before he can think better of it. “What’s your name?”

Sweater Guy stops and blinks, surprised, then pauses for a minute like he has to think about it. “Oh. My name is Quincy Washington.” He swallows. “What’s yours?”

“Cal.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Cal,” Quincy says softly, and Cal watches him walk away until he disappears around the corner.

Cal has a routine. He’s never been particularly organized, never been the type of person with color-coded planners or who lays out his outfits the night before, but he has a routine for check-up days: after picking up his inhaler refills and testosterone from the hospital pharmacy, he’ll treat himself to an iced chai tea latte with almond milk, hot if it’s cold outside or he’s feeling adventurous. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits in line to place his order, his lips flicking up into a small little smile as he pulls out his phone, realizing he finally has an update, deciding to send it to the group chat he still has with Amy and Zara:

I figured out his name!!

Amy texts back immediately, and Cal’s little smile splits into a full-blown grin. ???????????

Sweater Guy, Cal types, shifting forward as the line moves. It’s Quincy Washington, apparently.

Cal grins when he sees a message from Zara appear: r u sure he gave u his real name? that sounds pretty made up ngl :* but hey u finally talked to him!!!! told u it wouldn’t be hard!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3

Cal rolls his eyes a little, but good-naturedly. Zara was always convinced that Cal has a crush he’s not addressing, a conspiracy theory that has infected Amy as well, because no one fixates that hard if they DON’T have a crush, Cal, come on. Cal maintains that while he isn’t blind, there are about a million things more interesting about Sweater G--Quincy than how attractive he admittedly is.

Cal: In my defense, he talked to me first, and it’s only because I ran into him.

Zara: charming! did u gaze longingly into his eyes? did he gaze longingly into urs?

Cal rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Well it wasn’t his EYES I was looking at. ;) (I was looking at his stupid yellow sunglasses.)

Zara: silly! u should’ve asked him if he needs roomies. it would be an honor if my old room went to The Cause :)))

Cal’s lips droop, the smile sliding off his face as he pockets his phone. He knows Zara meant nothing by it, but he’s been compartmentalizing the roommate situation until now, and it’s not something he can particularly deal with at this moment. He doesn’t have to, as it happens--at that moment, an impatient “--sir? Sir, may I please take your order?” breaks through his mental abstraction, clearly not for the first time, and he shakes his head to clear it, cheeks flushing as he approaches the counter, mumbling apologies. He orders his drink, iced chai tea latte, please, making sure to leave a hefty tip in the jar.

Eager to spare himself further social anxiety, Cal grabs his drink as soon as it’s placed on the counter, mumbling another apology as he grabs a straw and walks briskly out of the exit closest to the parking lot, sipping eagerly at the drink (he swears it’s even better than usual) and what do you fucking know.

“Quincy,” Cal says when he reaches his car, clamping down on the little thrill he gets from knowing the name. He swirls the drink a little like some kind of movie character with a glass of wine. He’s chill. He’s cool.

“Oh. Hello, Cal,” Quincy says sheepishly. He’s standing at the front of a car—not just a car, the car—its hood propped open in a universal sign of defeat. “I seem to...be having some car trouble.”

“No fucking way,” Cal breathes out, because some things are too strange to be coincidences.

“I’m...I’m sorry?”

Cal shakes himself. “No, you’re good, sorry. It’s just that, uh. This is your car?”

It’s a Mercedes AMG, and it’s been parked next to Cal’s car every day for a couple months now. Cal’s awe hasn’t dulled with time. He figured it belonged to some paranoid doctor, rich and extravagant and scared enough of car crashes to buy a luxury armored SUV. The fact that it belongs to Quincy isn’t strange all on its own—because sure, whatever, Quincy is well-off, that’s a thing that happens to people—but the odds of the day he realizes it belongs to Quincy being the same day he learns Quincy’s name after months of wondering and silence?

Well.

“Yes. It’s practically new,” Quincy says sadly, “but I’m hopeless with cars. It’s probably something rather foolish.”

And then, because Cal is a masochist, he finds himself saying “Well, I know a thing or two about cars,” and yeah, okay, this is happening, apparently.

“You do?” Quincy’s expression is nothing short of hopeful. “Cal, I would be incredibly grateful.”

“Of course,” Cal says, already moving toward the car, because who is he to say no to a beautiful boy in a yellow sweater, to a beautiful car with its hood propped open? “It’s no trouble. Keys?”

“In the ignition.”

Cal forces himself to focus on the task at hand, even though sitting in the driver’s seat makes him feel downright giddy. He tells himself it’s the car’s immaculate leather interiors, the sheer novelty of sitting in a ridiculous, extravagant vehicle, and not the boy standing in front of the hood with his arms folded across his chest in defeat. He takes a breath.

Although, he thinks as he twists the key in the ignition, surely this is an acceptable thing to be intrigued by. Why is unassuming Quincy, who looks no older than Cal, driving an armored SUV—and not just any armored SUV, but one that can sustain machine guns and hand grenades?

He guesses people could say the same about him and his car, because the upkeep of classic cars is a bit of a bitch, but Cal’s beat-up inherited ‘59 Chevy Apache isn't machine gun proof, and it certainly isn't new. She's valuable, of course, but she was passed down to him, not bought fresh off the lot, and that value is probably tempered by years of dings and scratches. She's not a symptom of extravagance the way this absolute mammoth must be. So. Not the same, actually.

When he tries to crank up the car, it makes a horrible grinding sound that he knows well, the needles on dashboard instruments shuddering. Cal takes great pains to compose his amused grin into something more sympathetic.

“Good news and bad news,” he says, slamming the car door behind him reflexively before cringing. This isn’t the Apache, with its squeaky doors and stubborn latches, and that door alone probably cost more than Cal’s college tuition. “The good news is it’s nothing serious. You’ve just got a dead battery.”

Quincy slumps a little with what Cal assumes is relief. “That seems manageable.”

“The bad news, though,” Cal says. “Do you have jumper cables?”

“No,” Quincy replies, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed.

“See, that’s what I was worried about.” Cal gestures to his own car. He sips at his latte, and is genuinely alarmed to realize it’s almost empty. It’s delicious, but still, he’s only had the drink for twenty minutes at the most. “I don’t have mine either. I--” Cal considers the location of his jumper cables, in a heap in the living room of the apartment, leftover from a Skype debate with Zara centered on a story her classmate insisted was true concerning jumper cables and nipples. Cal doesn’t regret the use of a visual aid--he won the debate, after all, because seriously, have you seen jumper cable clamps, there is no way--but he decides this is not something he needs to share with Sweater Guy. “They’re at home. I can go grab them and come back to give you a jump, though? Our place is literally right around the corner.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Quincy hedges, a little desperately. Cal sees him battling internally between the need to be polite and the need to get his car running again.

“You’re not imposing,” Cal says, “because I offered. Seriously. Apologizing to me when I ran into you! Thinking you’re an imposition after I offered you something! You’re too nice for your own good, Quince.” The nickname slips out without Cal’s consent, and he feels the tips of his ears warm.

Quincy looks at him, tilting his head curiously. “I have an anxiety disorder,” he says after a moment, very plainly, and Cal feels like the biggest asshole in the world. He feels like an even bigger asshole because his knee-jerk reaction is to laugh, because what a mood, really.

To his abject horror, the laughter actually bubbles out, warm and genuine and fuck, he needed it, but he can also feel himself blushing crimson, because Jesus Christ, Cal, this is not the kind of reaction you should be having to this information. “I’m sorry,” he manages after a too-long moment. “I’m so sorry, oh my God, I promise I’m not laughing at you. It’s just...fuck, we’re not allowed to be that blunt, you know?”

Quincy inclines his head again, an unspoken question, and yeah, okay, you made this bed, Cal, now lie in it.

“I just mean, like...okay. Example. I’m chronically ill, right? I have asthma, thanks for that, genetics, but anyway the point is that I tell people I’m sick and they’re like, get well soon! They don’t understand that I don’t...want that. They don’t get that I’m sick, and that it’s okay! That’s fine! If you’re sick, you either have to be dying, or you have to be overcoming it or some shit. I just…I wish I could introduce myself like hi, I’m Cal, I have depression and my lungs don’t work very well. But I can’t, because that’s weird, that makes healthy people feel awkward, and our whole lives are about making healthy people feel better about our fucking lives.” He takes a breath, a little more painfully than he would prefer because it's goddamn cold out. “I just mean...I don’t know. It’s refreshing.”

Well, okay. Emotional intensity with Sweater Guy is not what Cal banked on happening today, but Sweater Guy is Quincy Washington, and now that he’s looking at him up close, he kind of feels like he’s demystifying him or...or something. The expensive sweater, he sees, is fraying at the sleeve from being picked at nervously. That annoyed expression, the one Cal always interpreted as aloof, is the face Quincy makes when his glasses start slipping down his nose. His sex hair is just...really good hair, perhaps a little mussed at the roots from a tendency to run his hands through it with the air of an exasperated father in a movie, and what’s wrong with that, really?

Sweater Guy, as it happens, is just a guy.

Anyway, Cal’s shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling the full force of the straight-up monologue he’s just delivered, but then Quincy is saying “That’s exactly it” in this relieved goddamn voice, so maybe things are okay after all. “What is that? Why do they make it so weird? It’s not as though it’s contagious.”

“Right? I don’t know. I’m just kind of exhausted of healthy people.” He inclines his head, toward his car, moving to the driver’s side because, again, it’s cold as shit and his lungs ache and he really should get Quincy that jump. “I’ll go grab those cables.” Something in the pit of his stomach grumbles at the movement, and he frowns, a reflexive hand coming up to rest on his belly. Weird.

“Oh, yeah,” Quincy says, like he’s forgotten what the whole point of this was (and doesn’t that just make something warm pool in Cal’s chest, God, he’s so screwed), and casts a withering glance toward the hospital doors. Cal looks at him for a second, shivering underneath his layers in front of his out-of-commission car, and before he can think about it any further than that he’s saying “You can ride with me there and back, if you want? It’s awfully cold out.”

Quincy positively beams. “I would like that very much, Cal.”

Okay then.

Amy is doing an honest-to-God tarot reading in the middle of the living room when Cal gets home, complete with candles and a red cloth draped over their coffee table, and isn’t that just their whole relationship summarized. He throws Quincy a put-upon glance over his shoulder, and Quincy bites his lip to keep from laughing. Has Cal mentioned that Quincy is attractive? God fucking damn it.

“Permission to enter the divination room?” he says in lieu of a hello, and Amy startles, nearly knocking over one of the candles.

“Cal!” Amy says, scandalized, staggering to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming! I would’ve gotten rid of these!”

Cal can’t help but chuckle. “I’m not going to have an asthma attack from candles, Ames.”

“You could! Go--go stand in the kitchen or something! Make your friend help me!”

Cal gives Quincy a look, a sort of see what I have to deal with? shrug, and Quincy responds with an amused smirk. “I’d be happy to help,” he says in a tone that sounds like he’s honest-to-God fucking with Cal. “What tarot deck is that?”

The kitchen is essentially attached to the living room, the two only separated by a narrow doorway, but Cal shrugs and takes this opportunity to wriggle out of his jacket and grab a soda from the fridge. He has a feeling he’s gonna be here for a while. As he reaches into the fridge, however, that strange little twinge deep in his belly makes itself known again, and he grimaces as a cramp seizes his insides. He closes the refrigerator empty-handed, leaning a suddenly-clammy forehead against the cool stainless steel. This does not bode well.

“So how do you know Cal, again?” Amy is saying just as he’s composed himself enough to re-enter the living room. Quincy has migrated to the couch, at least, albeit with his back ramrod straight, Amy apparently having been satisfied that Cal is not in any immediate mortal peril.

“He volunteers at the hospital with me,” Cal says before Quincy can say anything, and when Amy glances over at him, Amy mouths Sweater Guy over Quincy’s head. Amy’s eyes bulge, so Cal forges ahead before she can say something to embarrass him. “His battery died, so I came here for the jumper cables.”

“Riiight, the hospital,” Amy says, a barely restrained grin in her voice, and God, when Amy tells Zara that Cal brought Sweater Guy home he is never going to hear the end of it. “Did you put up the fliers, by the way? We’re really gonna struggle this month if we don’t get it figured out soon,” and Cal looks up sharply, idly placing a hand on his stomach when it protests at the movement. Why is Amy bringing up the roommate fliers now?

“I know,” Cal says slowly, trying to communicate please don’t do this now with just a glance.. He sits on the couch next to Quincy, careful to leave a socially acceptable distance between them. “I know, Amy. But...no, I didn’t.” He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, his stomach starting to churn in earnest.

“Cal,” Amy chastises, and Cal thinks he would prefer anger to disappointment. “Did you talk to anyone, at least? It’ll be easier if it’s someone we know for, like, negotiating rent and stuff.”

“Um,” Cal says eloquently, but then Quincy is saying, “Actually, he talked to me,” and alright then, that took a turn.

“Oh,” Amy says, skeptical, but her face has brightened nonetheless. “Really?”

“That’s part of why I brought him with me to grab the cables,” Cal says, because he’s rolling with this, apparently. He really is never going to live this down. “To show him the room.”

“I wanted to see it for myself,” Quincy says sagely.

“Uh, yeah,” Cal adds lamely.

Amy is giving him this proud goddamn grin, and Cal is having trouble looking at it, because seriously, it shouldn't be like this. Amy has left this whole roommate search up to him, which is a nice gesture—Amy could live with anyone, with her natural inclination toward small talk and her compulsive baking which is the least unwelcome coping mechanism and her goddamn optimism, but Cal, with his bound chest and testosterone injections, has a lot more to lose here. The thing is, Cal, for all his charm and his mock-flirting and his wolfish grins, has a hard time with people, so him bringing home a coworker (or whatever he's supposed to call Quincy—coworker doesn't feel right, and Cal's trying really hard not to overanalyze that) isn't exactly a common occurrence. Amy is a proud parent smiling at her kid for making friends on the first day of kindergarten, and Cal loves her for it, he does, but it also chafes against him like his chest binder on a hot day.

"Well, go ahead," Amy finally says, breaking what could have turned into an awkward silence. "Don't let me stop you! I'm Amy, by the way. What's your name? I’m not sure I caught it." She glances at Cal as she says with a terribly unsubtle wink.

"Quincy Washington," Quincy says in that same quiet way he told Cal. "It's wonderful to meet you, Amy. I’m a fan of tarot myself and you have an excellent eye for ambiance."

"Thanks!" Amy beams, and Cal wrenches himself off the couch and ushers Quincy down the hallway before Amy loops him into a conversation about the history of tarot or some shit. Cal loves her to death, but knows she’s practically chomping at the bit. He won’t be surprised if she’s texting Zara as he speaks.

"You did me a solid, there, Quincy," Cal says quietly when they're far enough down the hall to be out of Amy’s earshot, hyper-aware of how sluggish he is. "We can just waste a little time and then I'll get you that jump."

"May I see the room?" Quincy asks, and Cal's heart just about stops entirely. "I'm glad to have done you...a solid, but I do happen to be looking for a room to let." His voice catches strangely and unfamiliarly around the slang.

Cal stares at him for a second. "Seriously?"

"I am very serious. If you'll have me, of course," Quincy says then, rushing through the second sentence and looking self-conscious about it.

"No, I just..." Cal says in something like disbelief, then shakes himself off. "Anyway. I guess I'll show you the room, then?"

"Please," Quincy says, so Cal leads the way.

"It's kind of small," he says apologetically, pushing open the door and flicking on the lights. They're Edison bulbs, and they cast the room in buttery yellow. "And obviously we'd move this stuff out of here if you moved in."

Quincy doesn’t say anything, and Cal turns to see that his face is frozen in genuine, slack-jawed awe. It's more than a little endearing, and Cal tucks his fond little grin away before he speaks. "You're a book guy, huh?"

"You could say that," Quincy breathes, and moves forward a little. "May I—?"

"Go for it," Cal says, and Quincy reaches out to touch one of the bookcases.

The room belonged to Zara until she moved out, the smallest room by far but also the one with the most windows, all against the far wall looking out toward the main road. Pushed against the opposite wall are three wood-paneled curio cabinets that Henry once used as bookshelves, packed tight with the books he cared about most in this world. Many of them are leather-bound and there is more than one special edition, all of them older than Cal's grandparents.

"They're beautiful," Quincy finally says after a moment, "but why do you have rare books in your apartment?"

Cal snorts, because it is so contrary to what he was expecting, but also because this is a valid question. "Honestly," he says, "I just couldn't bear to part with them. They were my dad's." The words are out before he realizes he's just dropped the dead dad bomb, so he forges ahead. "Uh, like I said, we'd get them out of here before you moved in."

"Or you could leave them," Quincy murmurs, eyes darting back and forth as he scans the titles. "God, is that a livre d'artist?"

On some level, Cal registers that this a very pretentious question, and also that there is just something strange about the way Quincy speaks, like everything he says has been polished beforehand. On another, baser level, he finds it frustratingly hot. "Uh, that sounds like a question I should maybe know the answer to, but honestly, these were my dad's thing. I haven't opened up any of the books since he died. I keep the shelves dusted, but I'm not much of a literature person."

"Are you a book person?" Quincy asks.

"Come on, you can be one or the other. People can like books without liking capital L literature," he says, turning to look at Cal with this ridiculously excited expression. It's kind of heartwarming. "You know, people who hate Hemingway but loved Twilight."

Cal may or may not have the entire saga on the much smaller, far less decorative bookshelf beside his bed, but Quincy doesn't need to know that. "Interesting distinction. Yeah, I guess I am."

"I knew it. Team Edward or Team Jacob?"

"Wow I hate this conversation."

Quincy smirks and turns back to the shelves with a quiet sort of reverence that makes Cal smile. It also makes his heart ache a little because it reminds him so much of his dad, but it's an ache that has dulled with the passage of time.

"So," Cal says, trying to sound casual, "Are you a student?"

"Yes," Quincy replies, still scanning book titles with a feverish intensity that skirts perilously close to lunacy. "I'm a senior. Are you?"

"Yeah," Cal says thinly. There's still a chance, he tells himself, and has to catch his breath as his stomach cramps again. A low rumble has begun deep in his gut, like someone set it to simmer, his stomach doing lazy barrel rolls that make him swallow hard. "Senior, too. Pre-med."

"I'm a double major. Classics and Theology. Not the most practical, I know," Quincy says, sheepishly, like he's used to people reacting poorly to it.

Fuck. God fucking damn it.

"Oh!" Cal says, forcibly infusing his voice with something akin to enthusiasm. "That's really cool. Um. Side note, just by the way..."

Quincy looks at him inquiringly. Fuck. All at once, his stomach cramps harshly enough to have him seeing stars, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead again, and he can’t quite stifle a pained moan, clutching at his roiling insides, leaning against the doorframe for support.

“Are you okay, Cal?” Quincy takes a step toward him, evidently not too worried about whatever Cal was going to say, looking more concerned than Cal would expect from someone who avoided the fuck out of him prior to today, and he gives a pained nod, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Something bubbles in his lower belly painfully, and it hits him all at once.

“Fuck,” he hisses, noticing all at once how his stomach is puffy, poking out under his shirt and over the waistband of his jeans, how the cramps are accompanied by a near-constant rumble and oppressive waves of nausea. “Sorry, I’m--I just forgot to ask for—” He swallows again, hardly able to think about the damned chai tea latte, presumably made with full fat milk, churning around inside him. “I’m...lactose intolerant,” he manages, painfully aware that this is happening in front of Sweater Guy of all people. “I forgot to ask for almond milk instead of regular.”

“Are you alright?” Quincy sounds alarmed, eyes darting from Cal to the door and back again. “Should I get Amy? Is it an allergy, or—?”

“No, no,” Cal manages, laughing lightly. “You sound just like her, though. It’s just—” He grimaces, clutching at a twinge of nausea— “Just a pretty gnarly tummy ache. I’ll be okay.” He allows himself to rest a hand on his belly, straightening up through immense willpower. “Seriously, let’s just...move on, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Quincy murmurs, still looking rather concerned. It’s endearing, Cal thinks, even through the fog of nausea and the embarrassment tinging his cheeks red. “I believe you were saying something?”

“Oh,” Cal remembers, and looks at the floor. "My dad's name was Henry Kline?"

Quincy freezes. To his credit, he reigns in the incredulous expression relatively quickly.

"Cal," he says instead, very sincerely, turning to look at him with sad, sad eyes. "Cal, I am so sorry."

"Don't be," Cal mumbles, looking down, rubbing at the back of his neck. His stomach lets out a loud, angry rumble, and he flushes an even deeper shade of crimson. "I just, uh, wanted you to know from me. 'Cause if you live here, you gotta understand that people are gonna talk. They always do, about us. 'Specially when they hear our last name."

"Cal Kline," Quincy realizes all at once, and then, with that painful sincerity again, "I wouldn't listen."

Cal smiles despite himself. "Thanks, Quincy."

Quincy clears his throat, straightening up from where he's been crouched to pour over the books. Cal is sort of impressed at the sheer muscle tone it must’ve taken to forget he was doing a deep squat. "Cal, I have something to tell you as well."

This is it, Cal thinks. He doesn't want the room. Doesn't want to live with the bereaved Klines. It's too much. Just give him the jump and go back to never speaking again. The anxiety stirs up his upset stomach, and he clamps down forcibly on a burp that tries to burble up. His stomach lets out a low groan in response to the air being forced back into it.

"I was studying under Professor Kline," he says instead, and oh, okay. Which is to say, what the fucking shit, how many motherfucking coincidences can there feasibly be in one 12-hour period, but okay, it's better than what Cal was expecting. "I was a teaching assistant, and I was helping him restore his book collection." He glances back to the shelves. "I should have recognized them immediately, but I never saw them on the shelves..."

Cal's glad Quincy isn't looking at him anymore, because he can't vouch for what his face is doing. The ache Henry left is healing, dulled with the passage of time, but it still hurts if Cal picks at it. Quincy studied with Henry. Quincy knew him in a way Cal never did, never will, his brain screams, and something about that is just, well. His stomach flips, something cramping low and urgent in his belly.

Quincy is beautiful, and he is wearing a yellow sweater, and he likes Cal's car, and the only reason he cares that Cal's last name is Kline is because he doesn't want to be inconsiderate to Cal.

So, fuck.

"Well, now that we've got the awkward parts out of the way," Cal says, and Quincy flashes him a genuine smile that is positively blinding. He recovers from his seven consecutive heart attacks before continuing, "I can show you the rest of the apartment."

“Are you sure?” Quincy glances dubiously at Cal, who still has an arm curled around his belly. “You’re awfully pale.”

“That’s, uh—” Cal laughs nervously, feeling sicker and sicker by the moment. “Yeah. Maybe you could just...show yourself around?” At that moment, a low whine fills the apartment, a sure tell that Amy has gotten into the shower, and Cal’s stomach tightens. “Minus the bathroom, I guess. Sorry, our pipes do that when we use the shower. I’m just gonna, uh, have a seat in the living room.”

Quincy doesn’t question this, and Cal sends up a silent cry of gratitude to whoever may be listening. He settles into his favorite crease on the sofa, looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure Quincy is occupied with checking out the patio before pressing both hands to his grumbling stomach, feeling irritable movement beneath his palms. Oh, it hurts, cramps squeezing at his lower belly like a vice, a sticky, hot nausea plaguing his tummy. He tries in vain to soothe the ache, rubbing his hand across his bloated stomach as gently as possible, but the touch only sends up a dangerous belch that leaves him panting, hanging over the edge of the couch, the taste of chai and stomach acid coating his mouth revoltingly.

Quincy’s self-guided tour doesn't take long; their three-bedroom student apartment doesn't exactly contain multitudes. Cal has thankfully composed himself before Quincy pokes his head into the living room. “I have seen what I need to see, I believe,” he says with that stiff formality that seems to crop up occasionally.

"Yeah, that's the place! Nice and straightforward,” Cal says brightly, as convincingly as he can without moving around too much. “Any clutter you see is mine because Amy is an android, probably."

Quincy smiles, and Cal's cardiac health continues to worsen, God those fucking smiles. "Can you prove it?"

"Irrefutably. Evidence: runs for fun. Consumes spinach, also for fun. Wakes up and goes to bed at the same time every day. Possibly irons her clothes, but I'm still not sure on that one."

"She sounds...pretty human. Perhaps you're the android."

"No, I just have depression," Cal says before he can stop himself.

Quincy throws his head back and laughs, and it makes Cal feel so fucking warm. Has he mentioned recently that he is completely screwed in a way that has nothing to do with his cramping stomach?

"God, Amy hates when I joke about it. It'll be nice to have someone who understands around here when you move in."

Quincy straightens up. "When I move in?"

"What can I say. You sold me. If you want to live here, I want you to live here." He smiles, small.

It was kind of a done deal when you said you worked with Henry Kline, Cal doesn't say. The way you talk to me like I'm a normal person and the fact that you're fucking gorgeous are just bonuses.

"There is one more thing," he says, steeling himself. Much of his life is spent steeling himself. He pauses, waiting for Quincy to make a joke, to grin another heart-stopping grin, but he just looks at Cal curiously. "I'm trans. I wasn't born a male but I am and always have been a boy. I bind my chest and live as a male and use he/him pronouns. If you don't understand it, that's okay, but I will demand a certain level of respect in my own home, and it'd be preferable if that respect was voluntary." The speech is well-oiled from use, but Cal's voice still shakes.

"Is that all?" Quincy says, and Cal feels his entire body slump in relief, straightening back up a little when his stomach protests. "I mean, of course, Cal. I'm not ignorant."

"Oh, yeah, right. Thank you, gentle cis man. I worship at the holy altar of your allyship." He says it like a joke, but it takes effort to get out, because despite everything, it's taken him years to give this speech to a receptive audience and not feel like he's been granted a favor.

It's taken him years to say I'm here and not have it come out as I'm sorry.

When he told Zara, it was this whole thing, Zara reaching across the table to clasp one of Cal's hands in both of hers, you know I'm here for you, right? Cal's Facebook messages are full of Zara sending him every post she sees with the word trans in it, and like yeah, Zara, you're very sweet and supportive, but sometimes Cal just wants to be Cal, you know?

It's just that Cal's known Quincy for all of a few hours and he already feels so goddamn understood.

"I'm happy to pay whatever Zara’s share was," Quincy says, "And if you would be willing to leave Professor Kline's books, I would be honored."

"Consider it done," Cal says, smiling a little. He’s almost able to forget about the slow, sinister ache in his stomach. Almost. "Though get ready for Amy to talk about it all the time. She’s really not on board with them being here."

"I mean...religion isn't my cup of tea either, believe it or not, but I saw an original King James Bible. That alone has to be worth at least twenty grand. Literature person or not, that's...a really valuable thing to be keeping in your rented apartment."

Cal's eyes flit to the tiled floor, and he can feel Quincy's gaze on him, and he knows he's biting his lip, something he does often enough that one side of it is slightly larger than the other.

"Oh...Cal, I apologize. I didn't mean to intrude." It's that stiff formality from their almost-collision at the hospital again, and when Cal glances up, Quincy is backing away from him, hands folded behind his back. "I'm sure they're insured, or...even if they're not...I just mean, it's your business, of course. I apologize."

"No, it's fine." Cal clears his throat nervously. "You're right. Zara and Amy just kind of went a little crazy helping me get rid of his stuff when he died, and they wanted to donate them to the university. I probably should have let them, but..." He shrugs, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, presses his lips together around another burp that he forces down, wincing at the added pressure. "It's not like these are even all the books he had. There are probably hundreds in the storage unit. But I'm ridiculous, and they were just his thing, and for some reason the thought of them just sitting in a dusty room with boxes of his old clothes and the lawnmower and literal cobwebs just didn't sit right, so."

"So you brought them here." Quincy looks at him like he understands, and isn't just that the worst fucking thing? "I get it."

"I kind of do want to donate them, as it turns out," and wow, okay, Cal didn't realize that until he says it out loud. "I'm just a little worried because I haven't exactly been...maintaining them, or whatever. I wouldn't even know where to start. If I'm going to let the university open up the Henry Kline Memorial Library or whatever the fuck, I don’t want to give them dusty books with cracked spines, you know? He would've hated that."

Quincy clears his throat, licks his lips a little, and wow, okay, Cal's feeling things again. "I don't know if this is something you'd even be comfortable with, but...I could continue the work I was doing with Professor Kline. We were in the middle of restoring his collection, and I learned his technique well. I still have access to the labs. I could take it one book at a time. With your approval, of course."

Cal blinks. "Um...yeah. Yeah, okay. That's super cool of you, thank you."

"Are you kidding?" Quincy blurts, and then scratches the back of his neck a little like he's embarrassed. "I mean, it's just that you're doing me a favor. Henry Kline's book collection...I'll admit that I've missed them."

Cal can't help the little smile that tugs his lips up, and seriously, he has to get these feelings under control, God, the guy hasn't even moved in yet.

Before he can say anything, Quincy's face softens into that aching sympathy again. "And Cal...I miss him, as well. He was a good man."

Cal kind of wants to cry, so suddenly and desperately that it takes his breath away for a second. His stomach churns audibly, and Quincy looks at him in alarm.

"Quincy," he says when he gets his voice back, "How soon can you move in?"

Quincy beams. "How soon will you have me?"

When Amy gets out of the shower, Cal is sprawled across the couch, openly groaning, clutching his stomach with both hands.

"What happened to Quin--Cal?” Amy blurts out as she enters the living room, rushing over to the couch when she takes in Cal’s sickly pallor.

“Finally drove him back and jumped his car," Cal groans, still marveling that he was able to hold it together long enough. He may or may not have had to pull over on the way back, heaving up a trickle of stomach acid and chai tea latte onto the side of the road, at least as much due to anxiety as it was to lactose intolerance, but Amy doesn’t need to know that. "Says he'll take the room…"

“Okay, that’s great, we’ll unpack that later,” Amy says, sitting gently at Cal’s feet, “But what’s going on with this?” She doesn’t wait for permission, laying a soft hand on Cal’s bloated belly, kneading gently at a cramp, ushering up a soft burp. Amy is sort of a miracle worker.

"’S gonna pay Zara’s share,” Cal murmurs, leaning into Amy’s touch, grimacing as the pressure ushers up a burp that brings up a wave of stomach acid. He swallows hard.

"Again, that’s great, but,” Amy says, rubbing his belly in wide arcs, maintaining a steady pressure that does wonders for the cramps. “What the hell?”

“I got anxious getting my latte,” he mumbles, letting his eyes slide shut. Amy’s ministrations are easing the worst of the nausea, and he is so, so thankful for her. “Forgot to ask for almond milk.”

“Cal,” Amy says, all faint disapproval and warm concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were showering,” he whines, then whimpers a little at a particularly strong cramp, and Amy moves closer, applying a bit more pressure as she kneads at the cramp, massaging her other hand gently over the burbly places in his lower belly. “I made him show himself around. He didn’t even mind.”

“Sounds like a dreamboat,” Amy says, her voice light and teasing.

Cal doesn't know what to say to that that won't be self-incriminating, so he just says, "He really likes yellow."

"I noticed that,” Amy agrees. "When does he move in?"

Cal keeps his eyes shut, studiously avoiding eye contact. "Tomorrow."

"Oh, wow, so soon! I can't wait to get to know him." Amy’s tone is completely genuine, probably working out what she can bake that properly conveys a message of thanks for living with us! She applies a bit of firm pressure unexpectedly to the bloat beneath Cal’s ribs, and he groans, feeling a flutter in his stomach as it tries and fails to expel a rush of trapped air. “Oof--please don’t do that again,” he manages, clutching at his chest.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Amy says, sounding genuinely sad, and Cal slowly opens his eyes. “Just seems like you’ve got quite a lot of air stuck in there. Would you like some tea? Not chai, I guess...”

Cal groans, shoving a couch pillow over his face. “I know. I’m an idiot. Oh, my tummy—”

“Let me make you that tea,” Amy says lightly, giving his tummy a little pat before wrenching herself off the couch, and Cal loves the fuck out of her, has he mentioned?

"I think you'll like him," Cal calls as Amy moves into the kitchen, deciding to take this opportunity to drop the bomb, adding more quietly, "Oh, and, small world, he worked with my dad."

The rustling in the kitchen pauses, then starts again almost as suddenly as it stopped. "Does he...?"

"Yeah, I told him. Didn't seem to bother him. He really likes the books."

"The books," Amy murmurs, and oh God, not this again, but Amy is already following up with "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do with them?"

Cal takes a deep breath and feels it stutter a little in his chest, reminding him he's been binding for a bit too long. "Yeah, actually. They were working on restoring the books when Dad died. He said he'd help me get them back into shape and I think I'll donate them to the university."

"Oh," Amy says, pleasantly, and Cal reminds himself that Amy is good, that Amy is only doing what she thinks is best, what Zara told her would be best, that most rational people would question the wisdom of having cases of books worth thousands of dollars in an apartment not known for its impenetrable security measures. "That's really cool. He sounds like a really neat guy, Cal."

Cal thinks of yellow-tinted glasses, of that scar on his face and the way he looked at Cal like he understands him. "Yeah," he says softly. "He really is."

“Ginger or mint?” Amy calls, and Cal is thankful for the change of subject.

“Ginger, please,” he calls back, carefully cupping his stomach with his palm, and takes a very deep breath.

A long while later, Amy has fallen asleep on his shoulder, a hand still splayed across his slightly-less-bloated belly, old episodes of The Twilight Zone streaming at a low volume on the TV. Cal can’t be bothered to move, too comfortable, too deep in thought, the churning of his belly finally soothed by Amy’s ministrations and a few shamefaced trips to the bathroom.

Cal thinks about his dad every day, and that is no euphemism. He sometimes drifts past the extra room (Quincy's room, he thinks, something blooming in his chest in a way he doesn’t want to deal with right now) and sees his books, or catches sight of the scar on his knee he got the first and last time he and his dad went fishing when they were supposed to be studying for Cal's math test the next day, when a stray hook went straight through and he needed stitches, remembers the ice cream after, I'm not going to say don't tell your mom, but I'm going to say I won't if you won't, and he smiles, just a little (he didn't tell his mother). Every night he lays in a bed across from a desk that's been flush to the wall underneath the window since the day his dad built it, the one they picked out together at IKEA before Cal moved in, the one that had him muttering profanities for three hours on a blisteringly hot day in August while Zara’s mother, Virginia, poked her head in intermittently, how are those PhDs treating you, Dr. Kline? Cal thinks about his dad all the time.

It's just that he can't remember the day he died.

It's just that he knows that he's the one who found the body, that he's the one who, somehow, called 911, who clung to Amy when the ambulance came, but he knows it the way you know stories about your fourth birthday party or your first day of school—more retelling than memory. Something you know because you're told.

If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can remember what his uncle was wearing that day, what the perfume of the hospital secretary smelled like, but he can't for the life of him remember his dad's face, what the last thing he said to him was. And when it comes down to it, maybe he doesn’t remember what his uncle was wearing at all, maybe he just remembers him saying at the funeral, he bought me this tie, you know.

You'd be surprised how many people come to a funeral for a professor, how many handshakes and hugs Cal got just for losing someone. How many looks of pity he got (gets) when they hear his name: Cal Kline, the guy who found his dad dead.

And he can't even remember it.

Psychogenic amnesia, Dr. Hodge told him in one of their first sessions, because yeah, when you're trans and you find your dad dead and can't fucking remember it, the one thing you spare no expense on is a really badass therapist. His brain couldn't handle what happened. He repressed it. It was the emotional shock, was the trauma, was the pain, yeah, Cal gets it.

It's just that the one thing you should be allowed to hold onto are lasts, and Cal can't even remember his. He thinks of his dad and sees fishing, sees the lectures he sometimes sat in on, sees a receding hairline and eyes just like his and of course I still love you, sweetheart, daughter or son, you're family, and it aches.

He wonders if Quincy's lost someone, if that's why he looked at him like that, eyes soft and understanding but not pitying. I get it, he said, and Cal believes him.

Cal rolls that around in his head like a marble.

I get it. I get it. I get it.

Yellow's an awfully pretty color.

#timeline #Cal #Zara #Quincy #Amy #okay yeah i forgot to write a bio for zara we'll get to that later #i. did not proofread this #belly rubs #spot the myx shoutout :P

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sovonight · 6 years

Text

also for the dating sim, i originally wrote a final final date for ford back in september 2017, when i still had the energy to entertain a longer farewell.

this got cut, of course, and honestly it’s more suited for the last day of an entire summer with ford instead of the last day of 2-3 weeks, but it happened in my heart:

The week is coming to its end, and with it, your time in Gravity Falls. You can't help but feel uncertain about the end; will it come with a sense of promise, or finality?

<<<<<<<<<

This really began w the abducted by aliens bad ending idea but. the extended train of thought im goin for is:

ford takes u to see the ufo as a dual "sending u off w a grand sight" & "trying to convince you that gravity falls is worth coming back to-- and he is worth coming back to, too"

ford seems to show the place off to ppl particularly close to him so. rite of passage lol

TBH i dont know what ford would possibly have to show you that’s just This but it’s like one of the more mindblowing gf things and the most visually impressive location even if it is just a husk of its former self

if u did badly & continue to do badly then you call this alien stuff stupid and underwhelming and press a dead button or two to demonstrate and summon an alien prison bot thing. ford tries to keep u calm but too late, ur gone, whoops. BAD END: you rot in ancient unused alien prison

THAT SAID i'm probably gonna keep tossing ideas out and seeing where things can fit, not totally sold on this one

<<<<<<<<<

Last evening, you had lingered with Ford after dinner, having found another rare moment in which to enjoy his company. He'd asked to show you something, if you woke before dawn to accompany him there.

(PERFECT) (look up sunrise times) You wake before dawn, of course, the sky outside still dark. It is another few moments while you get dressed, and just as you finish putting on your shoes you hear the familiar weight of Ford's footsteps.

You open the door just as Ford's hand is poised to knock, and surprise crosses his face before it is replaced by a steady smile.

ford "I see you're eager. All set to go?"

(OKAY) KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

You wake groggily to a couple hard knocks at the door, and sit up on the mattress in vague confusion for a few moments. You hear a door-muffled voice that you recognize, at length, as Ford's.

ford "[playername]? Are you ready?"

Oh. Oh, right! You were supposed to be going with Ford on some morning walk or other. You look down at your rumpled blankets and sleeping attire, and realize you have about five minutes to pull this off. You call out towards the door.

player "Almost! Just give me five minutes!"

You get dressed in record time, all as you imagine Ford impatiently checking his watch outside. You'd planned to wake up earlier, you really had, but things just didn't work out that way.

You open the door to a Ford who looks patient but perhaps a little exasperated. Oh, no-- that was way more than five minutes, then, wasn't it? Ford folds his hands behind his back, but you see his watch peeking out over the cuff of his sweater sleeve.

ford "All set to go?"

(BAD) You wake up at your usual mid-morning time to a sense of having forgotten something. You can't imagine what it could've been, but as you walk out to get breakfast, something slowly comes back to you.

Oh. Oh, no.... You were supposed to wake up early to join Ford for a walk. It can't be too late, can it? You don't see Ford anywhere, though, and as you look you run into Stan, who looks..a little disapproving.

stan "Lookin' for Ford? He left for one of his loner thinking spots in the forest."

stan "I don't know where it is, so don't bother asking."

The day is open to you now, but you're not sure how you feel about having stood Ford up.

player "Well, I'm dressed, but I wasn't sure what to bring."

ford "Just bring yourself. I've made preparations for the both of us, don't worry."

He offers his hand to you, and you take it.

Ford leads you out of the shack, and though the steps are as familiar as that first day you accompanied him on his search for Mothman, the warmth of his hand in yours brings an elation to your heart that you can't explain. You only realize you're smiling when Ford comes to a stop and looks back to you with a chuckle.

ford "I don't think I've ever seen someone so happy to be up so early."

ford "Here-- where we're going is usually a two day scenic hike, but I found a shortcut last summer that brings the journey down to a matter of hours."

player "How is that possible?"

ford "I don't know! Not yet, anyway. I have a hypothesis on how it works, but haven't had the time to devise an appropriate experiment. You see..."

"Ford continues talking as he leads you deeper into the forest, the faint path underfoot fading into the underbrush the further you walk. He holds onto your hand the entire way, a touching gesture that seems to become a necessity as the alternating sunlight and shadow crowd into your vision."

"There is a weight, and an emptiness, and a confusion, in the depths of the blur of the foliage you pass through. You think that if Ford hadn't been holding on to you, you would've lost him."

ford "Still with me?"

"You find that Ford has led you to a sunny, open space upon a cliff, with a view of the entire town."

player "..Yes. Yes, I think so."

ford "Good! Any thoughts on my hypothesis now that you've experienced the phenomenon yourself?"

"What? Oh no-- you'd been too preoccupied with the sensation of passing incorrectly through time and space to remember what he'd said! Time for a change of subject."

player "This view of the town is amazing! Were we going to watch the sunrise from here?"

ford "What? Oh-- Ah, the /sunrise/. Because it's before dawn. No, I just consider this the best time to travel."

ford "Though if you'd like to, nothing else I have planned is time-sensitive."

menu:

"Watch the sunrise together":

watch sunrise

"Let Ford lead on":

lead on

watch sunrise

"You move to sit on a conspicuous rock just a short distance away, and Ford joins you, a small smile playing on his face."

<he's amused 'cause now his ufo introduction can be even better>

"A comfortable quiet settles in, and though it might just be the early morning chill, all you can focus on is Ford's constant warmth by your side. Your gaze lingers, for a moment, watching him watch the sky, until you find his eyes meeting yours."

"You turn your gaze quickly back towards a view of the sky, where it belongs. At your left, Ford chuckles."

ford "You can look, you know."

"You know you should feel a little more shame at being caught, but what grows in your heart is a bright, tentative excitement."

player "And miss the sunrise?"

ford "[playername], there are plenty of sunrises left for you and I. But moments like these? They only come once in a while."

ford "It doesn't hurt to cherish them, while they last."

menu:

""You and I"?":

"Ford seems to catch himself, cheeks reddening in the brightening light of the early sunrise."

ford "I mean to say, we'll both see many more sunrises in our lives. Separately..or not."

"There's a lot of potential in that "or not"."

"(Kiss him)":

"I wish this moment could last forever."

ford "The earth would have to stop spinning, my dear, and then we'd be flung across the earth at the speed of its rotation."

"...The moment just ended."

"The sun comes up over the horizon, <something beautiful about its pink orange hues>"

ford "Now. Ready to see what I wanted to show you?"

"You nod, and accept the hand he offers to pull you up."

player "Is it further ahead?"

ford "Try below your feet. Stand aside, now--"

"He pushes the rock aside with ease, and you can't help but marvel at the strength he holds. He must be dedicated to his exercise regimen, whatever it might be."

ford "Together, we've tracked down a cryptid, battled through fictional dungeons, and faced Mabel's matchmaking. I thought having one more adventure together would be a good way to send you off."

ford "And..."

ford "I was hoping this would show you there's still more to discover about Gravity Falls than you might think. That perhaps you'd find that this place is worth coming back to, someday...even with all its faults, and weirdness."

menu:

"So you brought me to this husk of a place? It's a dump!":

"Oh, Ford...":

"Ford gives you that familiar warm smile, though the look in his eyes remains tentative."

"Consider me convinced!":

"Before you realize it Ford's swept you up into an embrace, lifting you off the ground for a joyous spin before returning you to it. He holds you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, grinning."

ford "--But wait, you understood the metaphor, right? The town as a metaphor for--"

player "Yes, Ford, I'd want to come back to see you."

"Ford laughs in relief."

ford "Did you know that the concept of a metaphor doesn't exist in some dimensions? It's ridiculous! Nonsensical! Who came up with those things?"

"His joy is infectious, you can’t stop smiling yourself."

player "Those dimensions, you mean?"

ford "Yes! I have some choice words for whatever cosmic events laid out {i}those{/i} plans."

#i just constantly operate on the assumption of a solid established relationship and that was my main weakness here really #sovo writes

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jungnoir · 6 years

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just to continue off of that yukhei head canon, jungwoo as a florist or part of the school gardening club? thank you :) (also love u so much this is the shy anon who thinks ur ethereal but can not show her love as well as she wants to❤️🌹)

(jungwoo requester) also i’m sorry i never specified what i wanted it as but tbh anything you’d like to do because you’re amazing and i have full trust no matter what you do:)❤️

a/n: here you go!! my dumb self accidentally lost the first half of this yesterday so i tried to recreate the magic as much as possible. and ok!!! i was super excited to get going on this when i got this message!! i love you too omg and dw!! i’ll make these headcanons to keep up with the bad boy!yukhei ones. I hope you enjoy~ the bad boy!yukhei headcanons in question are here. also, i’ll stop blabbering soon, but i recommend listening to this song when you read this :)

jungwoo got into gardening because of his parents influencing him from a young age

jungwoo’s parents were v v much crazy about nature and grew up in the countryside, so when they moved closer to the city, they severely missed having all that open space and being surrounded by green

no matter where jungwoo’s family lived, they always had a garden and they always employed jungwoo’s help

whether he was carrying tiny potfuls of dirt across the yard or whether he was watering the plants, he was always doing something with his parents out there

as he got older, he started doing more heavy labor

in fact, by the time he was thirteen, he could tell a farmer a thing or two about a thing or two ok ok

also by thirteen, his parents gave jungwoo a small section of the backyard where he could start his own garden

while he loved to plant flowers, he also liked to plant veggies and herbs and the like

he has this cute little aloe vera plant that has gotten quite big recently (!)

he makes a lot of homemade remedies and things

now, being best friends with bad boy!yukhei, he also knows a variety of plants that can be used to treat cuts, burn, bruises, you name it

sometimes yukhei just shows up at jungwoo’s door and his parents are like “jungwoo!! he got hurt again!!”

and jungwoo just quietly leads yukhei into the bathroom, sits him down on the toilet and has a lil upset expression on his face as he treats yukhei’s scraped knuckles with salves that he made himself for things,,, just like this,,, cause goddamn it wong yukhei u are a mess

it doesn’t happen as often seeing as yukhei is like. Large and scares most contenders off pretty easily with his words and those thick eyebrows but sometimes a dude gets a lil brave every now and then and yukhei has to show ‘em a thing or two

yukhei always likes to be cute tho, just to convince jungwoo not 2 be mad

yukhei: u kno,,, jungwoo, ur my best friend :)

jungwoo: unfortunately

yukhei: whenever u help me out like this i just think abt how like,, u and me? we’re an iconic duo u kno???

jungwoo: what

yukhei: ur like the village mage and i’m the humble but emotionally motivated warrior protagonist u kno

jungwoo: yukhei i don’t know what you’re trying to SAY

yukhei is kinda mad that jungwoo doesn’t appreciate his analogies but i mean,,, it’s Fine that’s just the problem with being best friends with the village mage and not sidekick #1

even tho jungwoo acts absolutely exasperated with yukhei and yukhei loves to tease the eldest, they’re both fiercely protective of each other

like yeh yukhei will avoid abt 95% of the fights that ppl try to start with him bc all he has to do is buck up and ppl run but like?? one time a fool came up to him and started talking shit about jungwoo’s gentle persona and long story short yukhei was almost expelled and that aforementioned fool switched schools the following week

Nobody Disrespects Jungwoo In Yukhei’s House

and while jungwoo is definitely not the fighting type (he much prefers using his words to get his points across), he also has done a lot of research and has access to several recipes for poison so like don’t fuck with yukhei is what i’m trying to say

don’t ask why he has those just don’t fuck with yukhei and u won’t have to worry about it

anywho :)

it wasn’t until jungwoo started his first year at school that he realized that he’d always,, gardened by himself

and it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy his solitude!! it was just that he’d never really realized that he wanted to share his hobby with anyone until he got to high school

even tho yukhei was his best friend, they clearly didn’t share the same hobbies as yukhei would rather rot inside all day than go outside and “let the sun cook me from the inside out while doing physical labor”

and even though his parents gardened, they didn’t do it as often anymore

so!!! lil jungwoo just decides to pitch his idea to the school about starting a gardening club

at first, there’s only jungwoo so the school isn’t totally sure they should even bother but then jungwoo brings along a few friends who are interested in joining and they let it be

and the club absolutely flourishes over the next four years

it rapidly collects members of all types and backgrounds, people who lived in rural areas and people who had been at their closest to plants in a flower shop

jungwoo is just so bright and friendly and sweet that a lot of ppl join when he asks despite not knowing a thing about gardening

and by the time jungwoo is about to graduate, he’s got such a following and ppl who are just as passionate as him who want to take over when he heads off to college (yukhei told him he better take a gap year so they could go into college as freshmen together but that choice was still pending oops)

the school had seen how passionate they all were so early on and decided to devote a part of the land at the school to the club to do with as they wished, so jungwoo had the great idea of creating a mini garden paradise

they all pitch in to decorate the garden so it has a beautiful stone walkway with trees that line it and flowers planted all around. benches are placed every couple of feet and it is the Perfect place for students to come whenever they feel particularly stressed during the end of the school year and need somewhere that’s just not hectic

the cool thing about this lil garden is that on holidays, they dress it up!!

so for the christmas eve, they string lights through the trees and hang ornaments on them while the school choir sings carols the whole night

and on valentine’s day, they also string lights through the trees but add little foam red and pink hearts to hang from the branches and on each heart, you can buy one and write a name of someone you love

it can be your family members, your best friend, a crush, or your significant other

it can even be ur cat!!!

(jeno has been doing this for the last three years and we’re honestly all concerned he loves nothing else)

the cool thing about these hearts is that you can either write the name of who you love anonymously and hang it on the tree (and whose ever name you wrote gets to take the heart home with them if they’d like) OR you can sign it ;)))

the tradition is, if you sign the heart and that person finds it and brings it to you, that means they accept your confession

despite jungwoo being the key organizer of this v-day event, he’s never participated

however

that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been confessed to more than a dozen times

when his mom saw how many he’d brought home with him since sophomore year she asked him if she could make a collage and hang it up in his room but he was like mom!!! no!!!! that’s lame

so he keeps them all in a shoe box under his bed

and when he feels a little down or ignored, he’ll pull the box out and remember that some people out there like him a lot

there were all unsigned, but sometimes jungwoo would wish that one of them would be signed at least

part of him would feel himself grow expectant every time someone came to his table to get a heart and he’d wonder “is that one of them?” “will they do it again this year?” “is this the year they sign it?”

the other members would often joke with him abt how his eyes would light up when someone would buy one and would always fidget a lil as he thought about all the possibilities

you had joined jungwoo’s gardening club your second year when your counselors started encouraging you to join clubs to meet people

honestly, there were a lot of strange clubs around

you had almost joined the gaming club but then you found out about this school gardening club, and something abt it just,, called to u

your first time you went, you found a piece of paper crudely taped to the door of the classroom they were supposed to meet up in and all it said was “outside”

so, you went outside

and sure enough, in the back of the school in the large expanse of land back there, you found a bunch of students near this garden all crouched down and doing… Something

you made your way over, a little confused, and tapped the shoulder of the person nearest you

they have a huge ass sun hat on so when they turn around, you weren’t really expecting such a,, good looking guy,,, oh. hm

jungwoo narrows his eyes at you, but it’s only bc he has to look up and the sun is getting into his eyes “hello! can i help you?” he asks cheerily, pushing himself up from the ground and clapping the dirt off his gloves

he’s much taller than you expected, so you step back a little and try to remember what u had even came all this way to do in the first place lol

“ah! uh… this is the gardening club, right?”

jungwoo was smiling before, but now he grins so wide that his front two teeth resemble bunny teeth

cuteeeeee

“it sure is~ i’m jungwoo, the head of the club. did you want to join? i promise, you’ll have a lot of fun” he promises this to you and you absentmindedly think that even if he tried to sell you rat poison under the premise it was candy, you would believe him

but this club is rlly candy in this case bc once you’ve told him your name and joined, you find that it’s so much more fun than you had expected

you had really just wanted to be able to tell your counselors you were into something but now,, now u were really passionate about this

something about how jungwoo ran the club made you so interested in gardening

he taught you the basics from the ground up, but it wasn’t super hard???

he was always very simple and forward with what you needed to do, so you had v lil chance of messing up

he was also v friendly and was constantly asking questions abt your life

he always sounded so interested!!! even in the lil things

like what was your last class of the day? what flower appealed to you the most?

he helped you plant your first “honorary” flower as a member of the club

on the walkway, each member gets a flower to take care of up until graduation, after which then the other members will keep it alive to remember them and their contributions to the club

jungwoo just has a lot of sappy cute traditions ok

he tells you that you can plant anything, so you choose the flower you like most and he tells you you can plant it right next to his

even tho… there’s tons of space…. jungwoo…… it doesn’t have to be…. next to yours

this also means that when you all go out to check on the garden, you have to stand right next to him to check on your flower

your knees touch his as you water them together, make sure they’re getting enough light, etc

he always loves to talk to you about the flowers

honestly sometimes he just chatters and chatters and you’ve noticed over time that it’s a nervous habit of his

it was,,, rlly cute

since it was fall when you joined, jungwoo informed you that it was important to care for the flowers so that they wouldn’t be too affected by the weather change

you remembered one cloudy october day when the club couldn’t meet bc of the expected rain storm that evening

you had been about ready to head home for the day when you saw something strange through the windows, where the garden was

there, you could see a very frustrated jungwoo trying to set up tarps over the garden to protect them from the harsh weather

he hadn’t quite gotten it set up right

it was supposed to stand like a small tent over the flowers that weren’t covered by the trees, but it kept slipping off the middle post

rushing out to the patio, you drop your backpack next to the back door and sprint over to help jungwoo steady it

he’s surprised you’re there, but smiles appreciatively and gets back to work hammering it in the ground on the other side

“thanks,,, i honestly thought i could do this myself but i guess not” he rubs the back of his neck and laughs shyly

you just chuckle, “i saw you struggling and couldn’t help but come over”

jungwoo clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “where would i be without you, (y/n)?”

you bite your lip and look away before he can see how flustered that comment alone makes you

somewhere along the way, he’s gotten the tarp set up correctly, so he’s just about ready to call it a day when all of a sudden,,, it starts beating down rain

Hard

jungwoo, in surprise, grabs an extra tarp he’d taken and throws it over his shoulders before coming over to you and handing you the other side

all he tells you is to “run!” and you just start sprinting toward the cover of the trees because it’s the closest thing to you

and,,, you’re standing awfully close to each other

you don’t register jungwoo is laughing until he unknowingly presses his chest against your shoulder, the vibrations from his laughter shocking you out of your concentrated stare on the crazy rain that forced the sky to be dressed in a dreary grey

you look up at jungwoo and find him grinning at you, “why’d you run this way and not toward the school?”

the rain is beating against the tarp despite the tree cover, but it’s not nearly as much like it is out on the open grass

“oh,,, uh,,, well it was closer and.,,, uh,,,”

yeh no u can’t even find the logic in your choice

but jungwoo doesn’t seem so bothered by it

he looks around the garden and sighs, “i’m glad you came to help me when you did… otherwise the flowers would be in trouble”

you just nod, trying not to focus on how warm his skin is against your own

he suddenly crouches down so you’re uneven and you blink at him, “jungwoo, what are you doing?”

“do you wanna run out there again?”

“uh,, not right now, no”

“then let’s just sit here and watch the rain. it looks really nice like this”

to be honest, you couldn’t see how pretty it could really be sitting outside in the rain, but he was also holding one half of the tarp and it wasn’t like you could really leave him like that,,, so u sit down

you both have to cross your legs so the rain won’t get you wet, and while you’re both sitting on the walkway and looking out as thunder rumbles and flashes of lightning show in the distance, jungwoo says very softly “most people don’t like this kind of weather because it’s wet and cold and disruptive… but i find it kind of peaceful. even though it isn’t very nice for my garden, i still like it in a way. it’s like the world telling you to stay in for the day and rest”

you look over at him once more, but he’s focused on the sky, eyes alight with the same kind of admiration that he has for his flowers

he looks captivating

you smile almost instinctively, “a gardener who likes gloomy weather?”

he chuckles, meeting your eyes, “if you know plants, you know that they don’t just need sunshine all the time. they also need rain. you come to appreciate both and set up protection when needed. kinda like people… though it takes us longer to realize that for ourselves in comparison to plants.”

you’re not sure what to say after that, so instead, you scoot minutely closer to him and start to look at the rain through the same rose-colored glasses that he does

you don’t realize how long you’ve stayed out there with him until one of the teachers leaving for the day catches sight of you both and tells you to come inside before it gets too late and the storm picks up more

reluctantly, you walk with jungwoo until you get under the patio and its overhead roof, and when you grab your phone out of your bag, you find that you’ve got quite a few missed calls from your parents

“i really should go, my parents are probably pissed i missed their calls” “ok!! i’ll see you tomorrow then?”

he lets the tarp fall, and his hair is a little mussed from the rain that got on him before you both found shelter

his skin is dewy from the humidity

but he looks just as handsome as he did the first day you met

“yeah… tomorrow… hopefully we don’t get caught in the rain again” you joke

jungwoo suddenly turns bashful, “i… wouldn’t really mind”

that’s probably the day you fell for him tbh

you kept your feelings mainly to yourself, and when you found out about the valentine’s tradition, you thought that maybe,,, maybe you could just get those feelings out and be free of them

so you made your own heart instead of buying the ones you guys were selling and put it up on a random tree when you were sure jungwoo wouldn’t see

only, ,, you had expected to be the only one

it turned out that when you and some of your friends went walking through the garden to see if anyone left any for you, you found the trees decorated with so many other hearts that had jungwoo’s name

yours was the only one that was different

before you could go back and snatch it down however, jungwoo had already found it

“why’s this one look different?” you’d heard him ask his friend yukhei, who had begrudgingly tagged along

“idk dude, maybe they wanted to be special. you’ve got like a thousand fans around this school u know”

you don’t know why your heart felt so,,, pained when you heard that

after all, you just wanted to “confess” and get it out of your system in some way so you could move on

why would you care so much that other ppl liked him too? you couldn’t control that!!

however, you went home with a few hearts that your friends had left for you and decided that you would just leave it at that. the next day at school would be as normal, and you would start getting over your crush on kim jungwoo

except,,, it didn’t happen that way

if anything, the years that dragged on only made you more in love with him

and so, every year, you would leave another heart (always homemade, always the only one of his confessions that was different in some way)

and you never dared to sign them

you would stay anonymous and hope that by the time you graduated, your feelings would somewhat dissipate with age

look bih!!! it’s not working!!!

plus,,, it seems like ppl just keep catching on the longer it goes on

especially yukhei

you had never even talked to the guy but he had caught on to you after the first valentine’s incident almost immediately

he just spotted you in the hall, walked up to you, and said (in a very not subtle voice) “so you like my best friend!!”

you had to shush him and pull him around a corner where there were less students

and he’s just grinning like a fool, “you seem cute! don’t hurt him tho or you’ll wish you hadn’t”

and ur just like ;-; pls don’t threaten me i’m just tryna live my life as a simple lovestruck human being

but then he shakes his head “i’m just kidding, i know you wouldn’t hurt him,,, but why,,, won’t u tell him��

u: !!! i’m fine being just friends

yukhei: LOL yeah no really why won’t u tell him

feeling like you can’t continue to lie, you tell him that you feel like you won’t have a chance, what with the fact that he has so many admirers already and you don’t want to take any chances bc i mean,,, u really really like him

and you’ve already become his friend so why jeopardize that

but then yukhei is like “well,, i understand that much, but i think that you should still tell him. if not now, at least before it’s too late. you’re just going to keep feeling unsure and if you miss your chance, you won’t forgive yourself for that…. i know that it’s scary, but i will tell you one thing and you can figure out what to do with it: there’s a great chance your feelings aren’t as one sided as you think”

then he drops his eyelid down in a wink and pats your shoulder and leaves you like that

yet, still, you don’t confess

at least, not yet

you continue to just be friends with jungwoo and leave him that same unique heart in the garden every valentine’s but that’s it

you continue to keep yukhei’s words in mind, but haven’t yet decided went to act on them

fast forward to graduation, everything is all over the place

ppl are getting ready to head straight off to college, others are planning parties to celebrate, and others are just unsure of what to do

jungwoo knows that he’s going to miss this school with his everything

he’s already crying harder than his parents when he wakes up the morning of LOL

yukhei also comes over early that morning just to threaten remind jungwoo that he should wait for him so they can go to college at the same time

jungwoo: who even said you would get into the same college as me?

yukhei: do you think i don’t have my ways. we’re going to college together you fool

for some reason,,, jungwoo just pulls out the box of hearts he’s received

and he sets out the three unique ones he received

he had honestly tried his best to figure out whose writing it could have belonged to, had tried to rule out ppl who bought the hearts the club made, etc.

he never got to find out

he had once jokingly asked yukhei if he made them for him but yukhei just grinned all knowingly and told him he needed to look a lil deeper

and jungwoo was ???? but really anxious to know

but today was the last day for this mystery person to personally confess, and he felt a foreboding feeling. like it wouldn’t happen

he goes through the ceremony, taking pictures and the works

yet, the whole day, he hasn’t seen you

sure, he’d seen you walk the stage, but you had disappeared into the sea of people as soon as the ceremony ended

he had sent you several messages but you hadn’t answered any of them

he had taken his last pictures with the rest of the club and had elected the next leader of the club in a very emotional goodbye

he decided he would find you later, maybe see you before the day ended after he finished having dinner with his parents

he had one last thing he wanted to do before leaving, and that was in the garden

he looked at it now, a beautiful, ever-growing thing that had come a long way since ninth grade

now he was leaving it, and he couldn’t quite believe it

he wandered down the stone walkway and found his flower, right next to yours

he couldn’t help but snap a few pics of them, sending one or two to you in the process

when he had finished up reminiscing, he found himself just sitting on one of the benches and watching as the wind swayed the branches of the trees, distorting the sunlight that filtered through the leaves

he felt himself quietly laughing to himself as he recalled when you and him had gotten caught in the rain here all those years ago

it felt so far away now

tugging his cap off his hair, he leans forward on his knees and sighs

until something pink appears in his vision

it takes him a second to realize there is a little cut out heart in front of his face, hanging from a red string that dangles off a familiar finger

on the heart is his name, in that familiar handwriting that he had never been able to recognize

and underneath his name,,, it was signed

with your name

jungwoo follows the finger to your face, a nervous twitch in your smile as you hold the heart out to him

“i meant to leave this for you before you got here but… yukhei told me you’d beat me to it”

jungwoo breathes out in disbelief before reaching into his pocket for his own homemade heart with your name on it

“i guess we both have funny timing” you laugh, watching him stand from the bench to take your heart from you

jungwoo blushes, “the fact that we’re both here tells me our timing is good enough”

you watch as he puts both your hearts on a branch next to each other, watching the wind blow them back and forth in the breeze. the strings they’re hanging on tangle and it feels like a sign

he looks at you with that same look he gave his flowers, the same look he gave the angry, stormy sky as it shamelessly rained down on the both of you. his hand reaches for yours

“yeah,” you say softly, letting him pull you closer, “i think you’re right”

jungwoo captures your lips in a small kiss that feels like the last three years of longing finally finding a home

you suddenly don’t feel so bad about waiting for the right moment, because had you not, you might not have met jungwoo halfway like this

and it feels so, so good

also yukhei is totally taking pictures from behind a bush but dw about it

#also anon you're so sweet i can't stop reading ur message asuffijs #jungwoo scenarios #jungwoo imagines #jungwoo au #gardener!jungwoo #kim jungwoo #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct au #gardener!nct #nct #jungwoo fluff #nct fluff #majwrites #sbmusings

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