#also i feel bad because i will have to miss a few drums lessons
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something sweet, a peach tree (mark/jaehyun)
Mark begins the summer after his junior year with an unpaid internship and no other plans. But when he agrees to go pick his baby niece up from her music lessons, her teacher, Jeong Jaehyun, catches his eye. Too bad he's off limits, and not just because Mark's niece is involved. Jaehyun is 41 to Mark's 20.
To sate his curiosity about older men, Mark decides to look into becoming a sugar baby. He could use the money, after all. And he seems to find a willing patron right away. But for the first time in Mark's like, he finds he might be in over his head.
Chapter 1 | next mlist
Characters: Mark, Jaehyun, other members of nct throughout
Genre: romance, angst, smut, age gap, sugar daddy!au
Pairing: Mark/Jaehyun
Warnings: AGE GAP (older jaehyun, younger mark), alcohol mentions, poor decision making perhaps
Rating: Teen And Up (for this chapter)
Length: 3.1k
mandatory disclaimer: I'm not trying to romanticize or condone real-life age gap relationships because of the inherent power imbalance, blah blah, I'm writing this for fun and if you don't think you'll have fun go ahead and leave now, etc.
Mark drums his fingers against the cold metal pole as the bus lurches to a stop. He checks the time on his phone—5:25 p.m. He should just make it, unless this prehistoric bus takes any longer to open its doors.
After what he swears is a full minute of ominous creaking, Mark steps out into the muggy air. It’s still only the beginning of June, but already this summer seems like it’s going to be absolutely scorching. Mark supposes he’ll be doing a lot of swimming.
He crosses the street and heads up the sidewalk to the cluster of buildings beyond a small, uneven parking lot, squinting to make out the sign. Little Hands Musical Academy. It’s smaller than he imagined, somehow, but kind of quaint.
A receptionist greets him when he enters the lobby. Though the outside of the building is a bit understated, the inside is clean and bright. Mark says hello back to the receptionist, looking around as he steps up to the counter.
“Uh, I’m here for Lucy Lee?” he says tentatively. “I’m Mark Lee, I’m her uncle. My brother said he put me on the, um, the list?”
The receptionist nods with a smile, typing something in and then looks up. “Could I just see some ID please?”
“Oh, yeah, sure, one sec,” Mark stutters, fumbling for his wallet. He hands the receptionist his passport, feeling a little silly as she leafs through to the right page.
It’s all a little silly, really—that Mark is even picking Lucy up in the first place. He can’t drive, which is mostly fine since James’ house isn’t that far, only like ten minutes on the bus and a few blocks of walking, but Mark thinks if James and Annie are that worried about safety, having an irresponsible, driver’s licenseless twenty-year-old come fetch their only child is hardly helpful.
Still, they asked, and they also bought Mark a new AC unit after his old one finally kicked the bucket the very first day it was over eighty degrees, so here he is. James doesn’t get off work until 5:30, which is the pickup time, and though Annie works from home and can come drop Lucy off in the afternoon, she said she’d rather get a head start on dinner in the evening. And Mark’s internship lets him go at 5. So maybe it is kinda helpful, as long as Mark doesn’t lose his three-and-a-half year old niece on public transport.
“You’re all set,” the receptionist says, handing Mark’s passport back to him. “It’s the classroom at the end of the hall. A lot of parents are already here, you can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” Mark says, putting his passport away and heading out of the lobby towards the back of the building.
There are many parents gathered outside the large window that looks into the classroom from the hall. Mark sidles up next to the group and spots Lucy’s pigtails instantly. She’s plunking away on a tiny keyboard. As Mark watches, the teacher—at least, Mark assumes he’s the teacher; he’s the only adult in the room—strolls by and pauses to say something to her. Mark can’t hear anything, but when the teacher walks away, Lucy is wearing a big grin.
After a couple more minutes, the teacher opens the door and gestures for the parents to file in. Mark gets his first good look at the teacher’s face and swallows. He’s hot. He’s also definitely a little older—forget Mark, he’s visibly older than James. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s fucking pretty, with handsome dimples appearing every time his expression leans towards a smile.
Mark is so busy staring that he ends up last in line, but it turns out to be a good thing because the teacher stops him at the door.
“Sorry, would you mind if I just checked your ID really quick?” His eyes are a warm brown, Mark’s brain notes unhelpfully. “I’m sure you already got cleared by the front desk, but—I just like to make sure, you know?”
“Oh, totally, no problem,” Mark says, once again struggling to extract his wallet.
“Come with me, I have the list over here,” the teacher says, waving Mark into the classroom.
“Mark-samchon!” Lucy zeroes in on him right away and totters over, pigtails flouncing with each step. “I played the piano today.”
“I saw,” Mark says, grinning at her. “Hang on, your teacher just needs to check that I really am your uncle and not a bad guy, and your Appa really did say it was okay for me to pick you up.”
“But he really is my uncle, Jaehyun-seonsaengnim,” Lucy says to her teacher.
Jaehyun, apparently, has produced his list. He gives Lucy an amused smile. “I think I’ll be the judge of that,” he replies. “Can’t let my students walk out with just anybody. Thank you,” he adds to Mark, accepting the offered passport. After a second, he hands it back. “All set,” he says. “Sorry again about the trouble, it’s nothing personal.”
“No worries!” Mark says swiftly, filing his passport away and pocketing his wallet again. “It’s cool that you’re looking out for them.”
Jaehyun gives him a somewhat wry smile, nodding. “I try,” he replies. “Well, see you in a couple days, Lucy! We’re doing percussion next time, you don’t wanna miss it.”
“I like the shaky ones,” Lucy tells Mark very seriously.
Mark’s pretty sure she means stuff like maracas. “Yeah, those are pretty neat, huh?” He holds out his hand to her and she takes it. “Thanks—ah, Jaehyun-seonsaengnim, right?” Mark’s never sure about honorifics in a mixed setting like this—they’re mostly speaking in English, and they are in America, but the area they’re in is really Korean, so he just goes for the way Lucy called him and hopes Jaehyun will correct him.
He’s right. Jaehyun’s smile turns warmer. “Just Jaehyun is fine,” he says. “It was nice to meet you, Mark.”
Mark’s stomach flops. “You too,” he replies, then hurries out of the classroom before he does something stupid like trying to flirt in front of his niece.
Mark lets Lucy chatter about class as he walks them down to the bus stop. He wants to be paying closer attention to what she’s saying, but his mind keeps drifting back to her handsome music teacher. Jaehyun. It’s not like he needed a reason to do his brother a favor—and besides, Lucy’s reason enough—but it sure as hell doesn’t hurt.
They get home in one piece. James stops working to play with Lucy and Annie tells Mark to stay for dinner. Mark’ll take a good, free meal with his family over a shitty expensive one alone in his apartment any day, so he stays and helps with the dishes, too. They send him off with leftovers, and Mark can hear Lucy’s laughter all the way down the street as he skips backwards, waving at her until the front porch of his brother’s house disappears behind a line of trees.
He sighs, slowing to a walk as he turns to face forward, dropping his hand to his side. In some ways, he wishes he was like his brother. Found his person early, finished school, got a good job, settled right down and started having kids. A life that’s small and perfect, full of little excitements and little joys.
But Mark’s not like that. He readjusts his grip on the leftovers, leaving thoughts of his family behind him as he focuses his attention on tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that. He’ll have the time for excitement later. He can settle down when he’s satisfied. For now, his life has to remain boring—busy, and boring.
And from the looks of it, that’s how his summer’s shaping up to be. Busy and boring. And honestly? Mark doesn’t mind that one bit.
///
“Damn,” Johnny says as he pulls into a parking spot. “Didn’t know you had a thing for DILFs.”
“Wha—dude, no, he’s not a—a DILF,” Mark splutters, already regretting telling Johnny anything. “He doesn’t have kids.”
“How do you know?” Johnny arches an eyebrow at him as he unbuckles his seatbelt.
“It came up once,” Mark says. “I didn’t ask! He was saying it’s nice his job is to hang out with kids, basically, because kids are fun and he doesn’t have any of his own.”
“Hasn’t it only been a couple weeks since you started going to pick Lucy up?” Johnny throws this over his shoulder before getting out of his car. Mark hurries to get out, too, so he can argue.
“Lucy has lessons twice a week,” Mark says. “So I’ve seen him three times, which is more than enough times to clock if someone’s hot or not. Woulda been four, except my fucking boss made me stay late on Thursday.”
“I’m telling you, man, unpaid internships are straight up bullshit,” Johnny says.
“If I could’ve gotten a paid one, d’you think I wouldn’t’ve gone for it?” Mark retorts, grabbing his guitar from the back and slinging the strap of the case over his shoulder. “If this shit doesn’t get me a good job after graduation, I’m suing the entire career counseling office.”
“I got a good job after graduation and I didn’t have a single internship,” Johnny points out. “You’ll be fine. Unless you let this hot children’s music teacher distract you.”
Mark shoves him once they’re through the mall entrance. “I just like to look at him, that’s all. Though, I mean—I wouldn’t say no, is all I’m saying.”
“Yeah. He’s how old?” Johnny asks.
“Shut up,” Mark grumbles.
Though they’re technically here to get Mark’s guitar looked at—one of the strings fucking snapped, he doesn’t know how—they meander through the mall on the way to the music store. Johnny ends up buying a couple of pieces of clothing and nearly convinces Mark to get a matching hat with him before Mark remembers, woefully, that he isn’t getting paid and truly doesn’t have the money to spare.
They finally get to the music store and Mark hands his guitar over, then follows Johnny away from the counter while they wait for it to be fixed up, poking through their record collection.
“Mark?” The voice is familiar, and Mark whips his head up to see Jaehyun of all people standing a few feet inside the door. He’s not in his usual casual clothes; instead, he’s dressed in smart business casual, a patterned button-down tucked into cropped pants.
Mark swallows, trying to put a single sentence together instead of staring at his waist. “Jaehyun,” he manages. “What are you doing here?” It comes out way ruder than he means it, but luckily Jaehyun just smiles.
“I own this store,” he says, tipping his head to one side and looking around at all the instruments hanging on the walls. “I founded this brand, actually.”
“Really?” Mark would’ve never pinned Jaehyun as a businessman of any kind, but here’s the proof—one of the employees at the store has come up to Jaehyun with his hand extended.
Jaehyun greets the employee, accepting the handshake. “I’ll come back in a minute,” he says, then turns back to Mark. “I wish teaching music class for kids paid the bills, but, ah…” He gestures vaguely. “Speaking of which, I missed you in the pickup line on Thursday. Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah!” Mark silences the part of his brain that immediately starts trying to make a pun about pickup lines. He can feel a flush rising up his neck, both pleased and embarrassed that Jaehyun noticed he wasn’t there. “My internship just kept me late is all.”
“Hope they don’t keep you too often,” Jaehyun says, and Mark absolutely does not know how to take that. “Lucy looked kinda put out her mom was there to get her instead of you.”
“Oh,” Mark laughs, wondering why he feels kind of disappointed. “Well, that’s probably because I’ve started bringing her snacks.”
Jaehyun nods, grinning. “That’s always a good way to win them over,” he agrees. “Well, it was a welcome surprise to run into you in my store! I probably shouldn’t keep them waiting, but I’ll see you next week—I hope.”
“Y-yeah, see you!” Mark stammers, giving an awkward half wave, watching Jaehyun disappear into the back of the store.
“That was painful,” Johnny says flatly. “You don’t just think he’s hot, you like him.”
“Shut up,” Mark hisses.
“You wanna fuck your niece’s music teacher,” Johnny continues blithely. “You really wanna fuck him.”
Luckily, the employee that was servicing Mark’s guitar appears at this moment and spares Mark from coming up with an answer. Because, he thinks somewhat miserably as he heads up to the counter to pay, the thing is Johnny isn’t wrong. But, fuck, Jaehyun’s literally fucking beautiful, and good with kids, and also apparently a rich business owner. What else could Mark ask for?
“I’m just saying, dude,” Johnny continues as they head back out to the parking lot. “If you wanna fuck that old man so bad—”
“Oh my god, he’s not old, he’s like maybe in his early forties at most,” Mark interjects, grimacing in embarrassment.
“If you wanna fuck that middle-aged man so bad,” Johnny plows on, undeterred, “at least get him to fuckin’ pay you or something. You’re young and hot, don’t waste it. No homo.”
Mark resists the urge to bash Johnny over the head with his newly-repaired guitar. “Shut the fuck up.”
///
Mark can argue with Johnny all he wants, but it won’t change the fact that he’s right. He wants to fuck that old man. It’s kind of all he thinks about, outside of basic things like work and what he’s going to have for dinner—and even then, the thought of Jaehyun is still percolating in the background, waiting for whatever has grabbed his more immediate attention to be completed so it can muscle its way back to the fore.
He sees him again the next week when he picks Lucy up and it’s all Mark can do not to drag his gaze over Jaehyun’s body as he waits for the parents in front of him to grab their kids. When he goes home, he scours Instagram until he finds him—a public account, a small mercy considering the fact that he only has three posts, but still. Mark pores over the pictures, thumb hovering over the Follow button before closing out of the app altogether and opening his text chain with Johnny.
Dude I’m spiraling <;<<
>>> The dilf?
yeah <;<<
It’s bad. fuck me man <;<<
>>> uh, pass
>>> I mean maybe you’re just horny
>>> download tinder or something
And get stuck in the talking phase all summer? <;<<
Or find someone to hookup with and it’s like their first time <;<<
I’m not teaching someone how to kiss again I know I’m just some guy but I deserve better than that <;<<
>>> ok fair
>>> if it’s experience you want……… go on one of those sugar baby websites
>>> remember what I said about him paying you
>>> your internship’s getting enough of ur free labor as it is
Mark sighs, dropping his phone on his mattress and flopping back. Maybe Johnny’s right. Maybe he just needs a good fuck and he’ll be cured. And there has to be some kind of market for gay sugar daddies who are bottoms, right? Besides, God knows he could use the money.
okay im gonna do it <;<<
>>> fuck the dilf???
NO try the sugar baby thing <;<<
>>> if it works out, gimme a cut of your profits
>>> since it was my idea and all
what are you, my pimp? <;<<
I’ll take you out to a meal, how’s that <;<<
>>> deal
So Mark does exactly that. He does a little research, chooses an app, and downloads it. He sets up his profile, just some basic information about who he is and what he’s looking for. The app suggests he not upload any pictures, for privacy, and Mark’s secretly glad the pressure’s off on that one. He’s not sure if it would help or hurt, but at least this way, the playing field is level.
He could scroll profiles if he wanted to, he supposes, but he has a feeling he’s going to start eliminating people because they don’t seem like Jaehyun, and that’s not going to get him anywhere. He’ll wait and see who’s interested in him, and go from there.
He sets his phone down instead and heads into his kitchen to see about dinner. But he’s only just pulled a couple things out of the fridge when his phone gives an unfamiliar buzz. With a sigh, he puts the eggs back and goes to his phone to see a new message on the app.
>>> Hey Minhyung!
>>> Are you new to sugaring? Know what you’re looking for?
Mark scans over his profile. CEO of his own business, dog person, plays guitar. Not looking for something too serious. Income between 600k and 800k.
Hi Yuno! Yeah, this is my first time sugaring haha but I did my research <;<<
I’m hoping for something more casual. I work during the week but my weekends are usually pretty free <<<
Not expecting a lot, just hoping to have a little extra spending money <;<<
Yuno is typing before Mark even sends the final message.
>>> sounds like we might be a good fit :)
>>> do you want to talk it over in person? We could go get coffee, get to know each other, see if we’re compatible
Sure! I’m free this weekend <;<<
>>> Perfect. How’s Saturday at 3?
Mark glances at his calendar just to double-check, but as expected, it’s empty. When he looks back at his phone, he sees that this Yuno guy has sent a coffee shop in the city, not too far from Mark’s apartment.
>>> there’s this booth in the back corner I like, let’s plan to meet there
>>> if it’s occupied, we can meet at the tall tables by the windows instead
Sounds good! <;<<
See you on Saturday! <;<<
Yuno likes his message but doesn’t reply, so Mark pockets his phone and goes back to cleaning. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, pulse jumping in his neck. It’s not like he’s in danger or anything. They’re meeting in public, and Mark likes to believe he’ll be able to tell if the guy is a total creep or not. Worst case, he wastes five dollars on a coffee he’s not even going to enjoy and has to keep searching. Besides, he’s not going to be young forever. He might as well give it a shot while he still can.
#works#nct#mark#jaehyun#jaemark#mark lee#jeong jaehyun#jung jaehyun#nct mark#nct jaehyun#mark fanfic#mark fanfiction#nct mark fanfic#nct mark fanfiction#nct jaehyun fanfic#nct jaehyun fanfiction#jaemark fanfic#jaemark fanfiction#mark x jaehyun#mark/jaehyun#markxjaehyun#jaehyun x mark#jaehyunxmark#jaehyun/mark#nct fanfic#nct fanfiction
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Business AU - Working Late, Part 4
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3
Flirt mode A C T I V A T E D 👏
As everyone else in the room was getting ready to depart for the day - chatting here and there and gathering their belongings - Vee was mostly occupied by her handbag, making sure everything was there before she would leave the place.
She did not hear when someone approached her, but she next felt the poke of an object to her right shoulder.
“I didn’t want to make you feel bad earlier,” started Donatello’s voice. “But I truly do think we’re connected somehow now.”
She looked at him, first noticing that he had been poking her with a cardboard file folder, and then she took a good look at his clothes.
Purple.
AT LEAST not the same shade. He was wearing a fitting v-neck sweater of a dark purple color, with a white shirt and a black tie underneath, his looks completed with dark charcoal pants and black shoes.
“... You’ve got to be kidding me,” started Vee with a stifled laugh. “Why are we like this?”
“I’m not superstitious, but maybe it’s destiny. We were meant to work together,” he winked. “Great minds think alike!”
Vee couldn’t hide her smile, next prompting him to get on the move for their dinner.
She first expected them to walk out of the building and head to a subway station, but she was surprised to see the turtle head towards the indoor parking lot of the building.
“Wait, you want us to go by car?” she asked, her heels clacking rapidly on the tiled floor as she caught up to him.
“Why not? It’ll be quieter that way! I don’t feel like dealing with crowds in the subway anyway.”
She had to give him that, at least. A car would smell better than a subway train...
As they made their way through the lot, she noticed Donnie getting out keys, the woman commenting:
“Huh, I thought you’d have a chauffeur or something like that.”
“Why, because I’m rich?” asked the mutant, amused. “I like driving, so I don’t see why I would leave all that fun to someone else.”
He pressed a button on a small remote attached to a key, which prompted a black SUV nearby to flash its light.
Vee was most certainly impressed by his taste, first observing the vehicle until she noticed the other opening the passenger door for her.
“The lady may take her seat.”
As she took place, her eyes scanned the interior.
The major difference she could notice from any other cars was how the driver seat was rearranged a bit further back, allowing space for the mutant’s shell most probably.
As Donnie took place next, Vee couldn’t help her question:
“Is this car completely custom made?”
The other smirked: “If it was, it’d be way cooler. ... Nah for this I only had a Genesis GV80 model slightly modified to accomodate my form. I like the look of it and I don’t need something too extravagant to go around on the streets.”
“ ‘Don’t need something too extravagant’,” quoted the woman. “You do realize that you have an expensive car?”
“Remind me to show you my brother Mikey’s cars,” added Donnie, then starting the car’s ignition. “Then we can talk back about what’s expensive.”
As soon as the vehicle was brought to life, music was heard, being none other than Dio’s “Better In The Dark” track. The turtle rapidly fumbled to turn it down, his eyes widening.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry for that,” he said once silence was back.
“... Are you kidding? You shouldn’t apologize for listening to Dio!” reassured Vee. “That guy frickin’ rocks!”
The terrapin smirked: “Ah, a woman of good taste! You keep on getting better and better.”
Vee couldn’t help her smile in return, the pair then finally getting on the move.
***
Donnie had to park his SUV on a quiet street, the duo next walking towards their destination; New York’s Little Italy.
The evening was already laying its shadows in the sky, but the streets were bright and colorful, the warmth in the air of the incoming summer days an absolute delight.
A light conversation was held as they were walking, until Vee was abruptly stopped by almost falling due to one of her heels stumbling into a small crack in the sidewalk. She was first surprised by how fast Donnie had been to catching her, a small laugh escaping her.
To feel his touch around her, his strength, all she could hear was her heart drumming in her ears.
They continued their path, Vee’s arm hooked to Donatello’s.
It simply felt like a dream at that point...
They finally arrived to the place; a small rustic looking restaurant that had been hiding from the bigger crowd’s broad sight. There were few patrons inside, the ambiance calm and somehow giving a “feels like home” kind of vibe.
Donnie seemed to know the place well, only quickly waving to the staff and already going for a table.
It was a nice little corner with a table large enough so they could lay down their paperwork. Being a complete gentleman, the mutant was quick to draw a chair for Vee to sit on, waiting until she was seated properly before settling down across the table.
A waiter was already at their disposition, Donnie already asking for a bottle of white wine, interjecting some Italian words in the bunch and ending with a “grazie mille”, to Vee’s surprise.
“You speak Italian?” she asked as the waiter was walking away.
“Non molti, ma un po' sì (Not a lot, but a little bit yes),” he answered. “Still learning, but I’m getting there.”
“Do you know any other languages?”
“I’ve tried to start learning Japanese alongside my brother Leonardo, but I’m not as proficient as him so far. I’ve also started French.”
Vee couldn’t help herself: “Donc, si je parle dans ma langue maternelle, tu devrais comprendre? (So, if I speak in my native tongue, you should understand?)”
Donnie froze for a moment, soon ruminating the words and showing a smile.
“Un peu (a bit),” he said. “But I feel like I need to practice a little more.” He did not skip a beat when adding: “I don’t know why, but I think a French Canadian’s accent sounds way more interesting than metropolitan French. There’s a certain flair to it, I can’t really explain...”
Vee was most certainly amused: “Try going into any rural parts of Québec, then you’ll feel like you’re speaking to aliens or something. Our French is unique, sometimes butchered, but it is nice indeed.” She did a small shrug. “I could help you practice, if you want.”
Their wine arrived, their glasses filled and the bottle left at their table. Donnie took his glass, pensively rolling the drink in his hand.
“You keep on giving, miss Vee, and I’ll soon feel cheap. First you’re helping me for the Lowline, now you’re proposing to help me with my French. ... My oh my, mademoiselle, I’ll have a debt to repay once again.”
“Let’s start by actually getting something for dinner,” added the woman, lifting the menu to her face in order to hide her blush. “It’ll give me time to think about if I need your help with something. What’s good in here?”
It was so hard to act casual...
“Their pastas are the best, but I’ll have to say that their tiramisu is to die for - I’m definitely grabbing one of those at the end.”
As the evening went along, Vee was finally starting to feel more at ease. The food was delicious, the wine delectable, and the company absolutely charming. They took some time to review the folder Donnie had brought along, talking about the project’s restrictions and demands. It was simple enough thus far, some ideas already boiling in the woman’s mind.
Maybe the wine was kicking in, but she didn’t even flinch when her hand brushed the turtle’s over some papers. Her body language was screaming interest, lightly hunched over the table, actively listening to him and her smile tender.
She couldn’t quite explain this attraction she felt. All she knew was that Donnie had this aura surrounding him; a welcoming and calm presence that made her feel safe and relaxed. His humor was subtle and his additions to a conversation well-placed. He was a man of many words and of a vast knowledge, although gladly giving the spotlight to any soul speaking, always listening with great interest.
Vee could only admit that she wanted to learn more about him.
***
The dinner over, the pair headed back to the SUV, Donnie at least insisting that he could drop Vee to her place.
How could she say no to a sweet smile such as his, anyway?
The address handed, the ride went on smoothly in a comfortable silence, the woman glancing at the many lights outside - not even noticing that the terrapin would sometimes glance her way and feel this lovesick knot in his chest...
As he parked nearby her apartment building, he did not hesitate to get out as well, at least considering it good etiquette to escort her to the entrance.
“I hope I didn’t make it harder for you by cramming all that information in your face?” he said as they were talking, arms hooked again.
Vee shook her head, amused: “Absolutely not. It has given me ideas, in fact.”
“Good, good.”
As they stopped by the main door, they paused, their hooked arms transitioning into a longing, yet subtle touch of their hands.
Vee finally moved her hand away, her blush faint as she removed a small strand of hair from her face.
“... This was nice, thank you,” she said. “Not the habitual work meetup I’m used to, but this was good for a change.”
Donnie quickly cleared his throat, retrieving his thoughts.
“Of course! It was quite pleasant, indeed. ... It’s not often that I get such enjoyable company.”
“You’re sweet, thank you.”
There it was, that silence as they both crossed gaze. That moment of unspeakable words and uncertain actions...
The mutant sweetly smiled, breaking that moment.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at work. ... Goodnight, Vee.”
“Goodnight, Donnie.” She felt like she could breathe again...
Yet, as she saw the other walk away, she added:
“Donnie!”
He turned back.
“I think I know how you can repay me for the French lessons,” she continued. “... How about another evening together? Not work related this time.”
Joy lightened up the turtle’s features, definitely agreeing: “Absolutely!”
And just like that, the night felt even better.
((Part 5))
#it's-a-moi#business au#man oh man oh man oh maannnn I already have some scenes planned#I'M SO PUMPED BY THIS#it's short and straight to the point - mama likes that#and of course the usual apology is there are some errors here and there#my brain is poo tonight#**if there are#SEE I MAKE ERRORS EVEN IN MY TAGS
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[CN] Shaw’s Scorching Waves Date (Eng Translation)
🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an S2 date, 炙浪之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒
Features S2 Shaw!
[ This date was released in CN on 28 Sep 2020 ]
MC: Mister, this is the place!
After paying the passenger fare, I hurriedly get off the car, but find that the entrance of Live House is already very crowded.
Sweeping my eyes across the area, I receive a shock.
Whether they are male or female, everyone here is donned in punk style: ripped shirts, leather outfits, jackets with rivets on them... A few people even have cool mohawk hairstyles.
At the side, the words “Rock ‘n’ Roll Night” are spray-painted on a wall. Below them is an eye-catching line--
"No entry if your attire doesn’t match the theme”
MC: ...
I look at my surroundings, then lower my head to look at my own officewear... Clearly, under such circumstances, I won’t be able to enter.
With uncertainty in my heart, I take out my phone and make a call.
After a few dial tones, Shaw’s languid voice drifts into my ear.
Shaw: What’s up?
MC: I’m at the entrance of Live House now.
Shaw: You really came?
His sentence ends with an upward lilt, as though a little surprised.
MC: Yeah. Over the phone last night, didn’t you tell me to come over after my meeting? Since it’s a formal invitation from you, and you’re performing a new song, of course I couldn’t miss it.
Probably not expecting that I’d rush over in time, Shaw pauses at the other end of the line for a while.
Shaw: ...you’re pretty punctual. Are there many people outside?
MC: Yeah. But the doors don’t seem to be open yet.
Shaw: Of course. After all, I just reached too. Who knew that Old Man would drag out the lesson...
MC: But what do the words on the wall mean? I didn’t know there was a dress code to watch the performance.
Shaw: You didn’t actually wear business attire over, did you?
Shaw’s laughter of ridicule drifts to my ear. Slightly angry, I grip the phone tightly.
MC: If you keep laughing, I’m leaving!
Shaw: Tch, try to leave if you can. All right, wait where you are.
Shaw pauses, and the soft sound of breathing can be heard from the other end of the line. He seems to be stretching.
Shaw: I’ll pick you up.
-
Because of the way I’m dressed, a few staff members I walk past along the corridor to the break room can’t help but cast sidelong glances at me.
Entering the break room, I discover that there isn’t a single person inside.
MC: Eh, where are the other band members?
Shaw: They’re still on the way.
Shaw closes the door, then lies down on the sofa lazily. I once again check the time.
MC: But the performance is starting in half an hour. Don’t you guys need to rehearse?
Shaw: We’ve been prepared since a long time ago. Heading straight to the stage afterwards is fine. Come to think of it...
He tilts his head, looking me over.
Shaw: This is the first time I’m seeing someone wear business attire to watch a performance.
MC: The fact that I could rush over already means a lot. Be contented.
Shaw: In that case, prepare yourself to be “saluted” by others later.
I lower my head to look at my outfit. It truly doesn’t suit the crowd.
Also, since there are so many people today, it wouldn’t be convenient to move around later on.
Just as I furrow my brows in vexation, Shaw suddenly speaks.
Shaw: Hey, I have a suggestion.
Meeting his mischievous gaze, a bad feeling arises in my heart.
MC: ...what are you planning to do?
Shaw: Since I didn’t notify you in advance, I thought of an idea.
He suddenly stands up and walks towards the wardrobe at the side.
After rifling through it for a while, Shaw takes out a black coloured leather jacket.
Shaw: Try it.
MC: ...is this yours?
Shaw: Why do you care about so many things? Just try it on.
I take the jacket from him. Skeptical, I bring it to my nose to give it a sniff - it has a faint peppermint scent. Looks like it’s pretty clean.
Watching my actions, Shaw gives me a subtle look, and releases a soft “hmph”.
Shaw: If you don’t want to wear it, forget it.
MC: Who says I’m not wearing it.
I snatch the jacket back. Although there are still some concerns in my heart, I can’t be picky considering the current circumstances.
The jacket is a little large, and hangs on my body loosely. However, it’s able to cover my short shirt.
MC: How’s this?
Shaw: The way you’re dressed...
Shaw pauses, then chuckles softly.
Shaw: Looks pretty punk.
MC: I never thought watching a performance would be so troublesome... Why did you guys suddenly think of having a theme?
Shaw: Because it’s fun.
Shaw responds instantly.
Shaw: People who watch the performances range from working adults to students - all sorts of people. But after changing their outfits, no one will care about their identity. Before music, nobody’s different.
I look at Shaw, a little surprised. I originally thought this activity was just a spur of the moment for them, and didn’t expect that there’d be such a meaning behind it.
Just when I’m about to say something, the lights above my head suddenly flicker.
MC: What happened? Is there a problem with the lights?
With a glance, Shaw answers indifferently.
Shaw: The voltage isn’t stable, that's all.
Before I can probe further, a series of knocks come at the door. A staff member opens the door, and tells Shaw--
Staff: Get ready, the performance is about to begin.
-
In Live House, there are a mass of bobbing heads as the restless crowd congregate near the stage.
After a short while, I’m pushed to the back.
MC: Do I have to squeeze through the crowd...
Looking at the crowd before me, which is so packed till there isn’t a single crevice, I'm at my wit’s end, and stand in place.
Man A: That bass player is quite interesting. My girlfriend likes him a lot.
Man B: Oh? You’re very magnanimous. Not jealous?
Man A: She just appreciates his musical abilities. He plays really well. See for yourself later.
The conversation between the two man standing in front of me drifts over to my ears. I can’t help but laugh.
If Shaw knew how he was being commented on, I wonder what he’d think of it.
I whip out my phone, taking a few pictures of the scene.
“There are so many people here today! Seems like quite a number of them are here for you.”
After penning my text message, I send it to Shaw along with the photos.
The performance is about to begin. Despite thinking he wouldn’t reply, my phone suddenly vibrates.
A sentence flashes on the screen.
Shaw’s message: Why are you so far behind?
After a few seconds, another message appears.
Shaw’s message: Don’t move around. I’ll look for you later.
I’m just about to reply. At this moment, the lights extinguish. The entire venue dives into pitch darkness, and the background music stops.
Without the hyping up of a host, and along with a flurry of shrieks, the band members enter the stage.
Purple light streams down slowly, shrouding the entire stage together with faint mist.
Shaw walks in last, his steps indolent. But his figure is tall, straight, and proud.
He hangs the bass over himself casually. Exchanging a glance with his bandmates, his fingertips flit across the strings lightly.
Along with the first sound from the drums, the performance officially begins.
Without unnecessary cushioning or embellishments, the music goes straight to the theme. The rapid and fierce melody propels the hearts of everyone to beat along with the rhythm and notes.
I’m standing below the stage, my eyes fixed on the people above it.
Just like the first time I watched him perform, I almost forget to breathe in the midst of the shocking music.
Shaw’s fingers fly back and forth on the strings. He is so skilled in his techniques that even if you were to keep your eyes wide open, you wouldn’t be able to see how he moves his fingers clearly.
The lights and shadows intersperse like an illusion. He sways along with the rhythm, the light in his eyes even fiercer than the swift melody from his fingertips.
I grip the jacket on me. In the crowd - as what Shaw said - I have forgotten my own identity in this very moment.
Just like a normal rock lover, I can’t help but raise my hands in the air.
The climax gradually nears, and the entire crowd waits for the explosive point, their insuppressible shrieks surfacing one after the other.
At this point, the lights hanging on stage suddenly release a “PA” sound, and sparks appear in the air.
The audience in the front row cry out in alarm. The lights continuously flicker, and the buzzing sound of electricity can be heard.
Audience A: !! Did something happen?
Audience B: Seems like a problem with the lights. Could this be a stage malfunction...
People on and off the stage seem to notice this unforeseen event, and chaos erupts in the venue.
Suppressing the panic in my heart, I lift my head to look at Shaw.
In the middle of the flickering lights, I see a bewildered expression on his face too.
After a moment, he seems to think of something. He suddenly lifts his eyes and looks at the audience, his probing glance sweeping across them.
My heart jolts. Subconsciously, I give him a wave.
The surroundings are filled with the clamour of people. After sweeping past numerous profiles, Shaw’s eyes fall on me.
The moment our eyes meet, his frown smoothens out. Under the ever-changing lights and shadows, he reveals a flamboyant smile.
Shaw: Scared?
What’s there to be afraid of? Baffled, I shake my head.
Shaw holds back his smile for a moment, and he seems to be making a soft “tch” sound.
The crowd is still in chaos. Quite a number of them even squeeze towards the entrance, planning to leave the venue.
A staff wearing a name-tag is currently maintaining order in front. My eyes brighten, and I hurriedly squeeze myself over to him.
MC: Hello! The lights have been flickering, and I think it could be because the circuit over there has some issues.
Staff: All right, thank you!
The clamour from the crowd seems to cover the music. I lift my eyes to look at Shaw, and discover that he’s currently staring at the flickering lights, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking about.
Suddenly, he lifts his hand, and a bright light reflects from the pick between his fingers.
Shaw: Hey, catch up!
He steps on the pedal, matching the rhythm of the flickering lights. A few band members start to react.
The drummer raises his drumsticks in the air, tapping them together a few times. The band members exchange glances, cooperating with the rhythm to commence a spontaneous performance.
When the audience notice that the performance is continuing, they start cheering enthusiastically. Without realising it, I also start to cheer.
Shaw pulls out the wire connected to the bass. He walks to the side of the stage, his gaze sweeping across the crowd slowly.
He stretches out his index finger, pointing at the most raucous part of his audience, his eyes burning with fiery light.
The mood of the audience is instantly ignited, and they respond to him with gestures.
Shaw takes two steps back. Then, he turns around fiercely, jumping into the air.
At this moment, the hanging coloured balls open and countless ribbons drift downwards.
The glaring lights stop flickering, and they are all focused on Shaw.
Standing at the back, I see Shaw being lifted by the crowd. Along with the surge of the crowd, he draws closer to me.
The performance on the stage continues. The turbulent music excites every single cell in one’s body in an unparalleled manner.
The performance reaches its peak, and everyone excitedly waves their hands in the air. It’s as though the earlier incident was nothing more than for performance effect.
Shaw and I exchange glances. Even though we’re separated by the crowd, he looks at me with an unbridled smile.
My heartbeat speeds up in my chest along with the sound of the drums.
The thin coat of sweat on his collarbones, his intense gaze, and that hand reaching towards me--
All of them render me unable to avert my gaze.
-
In the break room, I shut the door, cutting myself off from the merriment outside.
With twenty minutes left for the performance, Shaw suddenly handed his bass to me, and asked me to wait for him in the break room.
I look around my surroundings, but don’t see Shaw.
MC: Why is he always like this - deciding things for himself...
I sigh softly, looking at the bass in my arms. My mind flashes back to images of him performing.
I can't help but raise my hand. Based on the melody in my recollection, I try plucking on the strings, humming the tune softly.
??: Hey, you’re out of tune.
I jolt. Turning around, I meet Shaw’s sly gaze.
MC: ...didn’t you manage to recognise what I was playing? It shows that I’m not lacking in talent.
Lowering my head, I continue strumming the strings in indignation. But my wrist is suddenly grabbed from behind.
Shaw: You can use one finger to pluck the strings. That way, the timbre will be more even.
Before realising it, Shaw is already standing behind me. I feel his breath on my ear, and it carries the same fresh peppermint scent as the jacket on me.
I pause, then follow his advice on how to play the bass, realising that there’s indeed an evident change in the timbre.
Shaw: How is it? Isn’t it much better?
Before I can respond, footsteps are heard at the door.
In the next second, the door is pushed open. A band member enters, teasing him good-naturedly.
??: Shaw, are you able to rush your assignment before the deadline...
His voice suddenly halts. The moment he sees me, a few band members freeze.
When they notice the jacket on me, their expressions abruptly change, looking as though they’ve seen a ghost.
Adam: Isn’t that...
Jensen: All right, let’s not disturb their interaction and studies.
Jensen’s voice is genial. A few of them who tacitly understand his words start laughing.
Jensen: Shaw, catch!
A silver coloured object flies in an arc through the air, and a set of keys fall squarely in Shaw’s hand.
Jensen: We’re off. Remember to lock the doors.
In the blink of an eye, they’re all gone.
MC: Is there something about this jacket?
Shaw rolls his eyes, walking over to the side to tidy up.
Shaw: Don’t bother about them. Let’s go.
-
There’s nobody in the main hall of Live House - a complete opposite of the lively atmosphere just now.
The loudspeakers and musical instruments on the stage have yet to be kept. A sole spotlight is turned on, and messy electrical cables are on the floor.
Thinking about the nice yet interrupted new song just now, a faint sense of regret surfaces in my heart.
MC: Shaw, could you play the bass again?
Shaw pauses in his footsteps. He turns his head to look at me, his expression baffled.
MC: That new song today - you only played it halfway before having to stop. I want to hear you play the full song.
Shaw: Right now? You really know how to order people around. Forget it, I'm in a good mood today. Wait here.
Shaw: Wait here.
He tosses his bag at me, then takes large strides to the front, hopping up onto the stage.
He picks up the bass casually. Plugging the wire in, he lowers his eyes and sweeps a glance at me.
Shaw: This time, you’ve got to listen carefully.
With this, a melody gradually flows from his fingertips.
Although it’s the same song, it’s different from his performance earlier. He plays every beat unhurriedly, his posture casual and relaxed.
I’m sitting on the floor, quietly listening to the low sounds of the bass, humming along with the music.
The timbre of the bass beneath his fingers is low and unruly. The occasional pauses and increases in speed are reminiscent of himself and how he does things as he pleases.
There’s a strange tugging of my emotions as memories of the past echo--
A very long time ago, underneath similar dim lights, I had watched Shaw’s performance for the first time.
I tug on the jacket over me, immersing myself in my thoughts, not noticing that Shaw has furrowed his brows above the stage, slightly upset.
Shaw places the bass to the side, then suddenly jumps off the stage.
MC: !
The thud of his feet making contact with the ground pulls me back to the present.
Amid the blurry lights and shadows, the image of him hopping off the stage and the image before me overlap.
In the quiet evening without a restless crowd, Shaw walks towards me, every step especially clear.
He stops before me. I lift my head to look at him, but am caught off guard when he flicks my forehead.
MC: Ah!
Shaw: You couldn’t keep your eyes off me when there were many people around. Why do you start losing focus when there are fewer people?
Shaw: Tch, you don’t know how to cherish this.
His face is within reach. My heart beats erratically in my chest once again, just like it did when he was surfing the crowd towards me.
MC: When was I unable to keep my eyes off you...
Shaw arches his brows, his expression reading: “Don’t even think of denying it”.
MC: I was just wondering why you thought of hopping off the stage earlier.
Shaw: What?
MC: Just now, during the performance. If you had waited for the staff to fix the lights, you wouldn’t have needed to go through such trouble, right?
MC: Also, do you like getting off the stage like that? Isn’t it good to use the stairs?
Shaw: But it’s cooler like this.
Shaw’s tone is confident, and the corners of my lips tug upwards involuntarily.
Shaw: Also, this time is different from before.
MC: How so?
Shaw: It isn’t an accident this time.
He takes the bag in my hands, then walks towards the entrance.
Shaw: Why are you still standing there? Let’s go.
-
The streets in the wee hours of the morning are tranquil and empty. The streetlights outside Live House cast small, round halos.
Shaw doesn’t speak. A lively melody drifts from his earpieces, and he’s humming a certain song from his band softly.
Shaw: Hey, your car’s here.
I nod, my eyes falling on the skateboard beneath his arm.
MC: You don’t plan to ride the skateboard home today?
Shaw: The board needs waxing. Oh yes, remember to share your location with me when you’re in the car.
We bid each other goodbye with a wave, and I enter the car. With the clinking sound of metal buttons, I realise that I’m still wearing that black coloured jacket.
I roll down the window, and exclaim at him.
MC: Shaw, thanks for your jacket!
Shaw appears to pause in his steps. After a while, he lifts his hand and waves it in the air casually. He doesn’t turn around, carrying the bass.
Shaw: Remember to wash it before returning it to me next time.
Moonlight falls on the ends of his hair, coating it with a tender halo. Shaw steps into the tranquil night, and it seems like his footsteps have become slightly lighter.
-
🎸 MOMENTS 🎸
Shaw’s Post: The first time seeing someone wearing business attire to watch a performance.
MC: You’ve already said it once!
Shaw: Saying it twice isn’t enough to express my surprise.
-
Shaw’s Post: The first time seeing someone wearing business attire to watch a performance
MC: And with high-heels. My feet were close to giving up when I reached home...
Shaw: You should have mentioned it earlier. I have a pair of shoes in the break room.
-
Shaw’s Post: The first time seeing someone wearing business attire to watch a performance
MC: Are you touched? To watch your performance, I didn’t even have the time to change my clothes.
Shaw: A little. Hope you can continue in your efforts the next time.
-
Phone call: here
#mlqc#mlqc cn#mlqc spoilers#mlqc shaw#there's a reason why shaw once overthrew gavin's top spot in my heart hnghgnhg#charismatic little brat
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nervous // g.w
Hi babes!
I’m finally posting the George fic that I was talking about and I am so excited for you to read it!
please, reblog if you like it, it helps me grow
disclaimer: my knowledge of werewolves is based only on a little internet research and the tv series named teen wolf, the episode named Anchors inspired me to write this
pairing: george weasley x werewolf!fem!reader
word count: 6k
Y/N - your name; L/N - last name; Y/F/N - your friend’s name
warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, (kind of) panicking
summary: y/n is afraid of who she became, thinking that now she’s unlikable, but her new abilities prove her wrong, making her hear the boy’s talking and... the beating of his heart
“Hey, he’s staring again.” Your friend noticed the boy, who was standing across the hall with his brother and their friends.
Who was she talking about? George Weasley, of course, the person whose heart you could hear from miles away.
You met him a while ago, wandering through the halls at night, trying to sort some things out while he and his brother were bringing their another prank to life. Of all people attending Hogwarts, you bumped into them.
You never thought that someone, besides Prefects, would be seen in the corridors so you didn’t pay attention, focusing only on your thoughts. No wonder you got quite overwhelmed when you hit your head with something, and it definitely wasn’t a wall.
“Are you okay?” The redheaded boy asked you, worried about your well-being. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t take my eyes off that Zonko’s new item. Are you sure you are fine? I can walk you to madam Pomfrey.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me.” You said, looking at the moon. “I’m heading to my dormitory, don’t want to bother you and your brother.” You nodded at him, so he told you his name.
“I’m Fred. The more handsome one. Also, the funnier one, because I’ve just made out an amazing plan. Care to join us? I swear you will not regret it. ” He encouraged you, and you didn’t want to be rude, finally agreeing to go with them. A couple of minutes more outside the dorm can’t hurt you, right?
The thing is, you spent almost the whole night preparing pranks with them and idly talking, joking about Snape and Filch.
The problem is, you haven't talked with them since that accident. Sometimes you exchanged a few words in classes you had together but nothing more.
So then why did George have a crush on you?
You asked yourself that question many times since you first heard him confessing his feelings to Fred. Every time this boy got closer to you or touched you accidentally, his heart was beating so fast like a drum. Your heart has been just as fast as his, but he couldn’t know that. You didn’t even know if it was because you shared his feelings, or did just knowing what he feels towards you, made you that anxious.
“I know. I’m still not able to control these new super senses. I saw him a while ago. Not to mention that his heart makes my ears hurt. ” You admitted, holding your head because all these sounds were giving you a headache.
“Well, maybe if you’d finally talk to him, your senses wouldn’t be a big problem. Perhaps if you can’t manage to control them, you should ask someone who might help you. Go to professor Lupin.”
“But he doesn’t know that I’m a werewolf. I’m still not comfortable when someone mentions that. ” You said, scared of what you’d become. You knew that sooner or later you were supposed to reach for help, but you felt insecure and didn’t want to recall that night when you were bitten.
“He’s coming over here.” Your friend interrupted your thought, reminding you of George.
“No way, we have to run.” You started packing your bag, standing up from sitting on the bench.
“Too late.” She added, making you turn around.
“Hello girls, how’s your day?” He asked nicely, staring at you constantly.
“Bad.” You whispered.
“Getting better.” Your friend interrupted you, because she knew how much you wanted to walk away, and she couldn’t let you, knowing that you have to confront him anyway.
“Great, I wanted to ask you a question.” He pointed at you, smiling widely. “Would you go on a date with me?” He scratched his back, getting stressed. You heard his heart pounding, which made you even angrier. The sound was so loud that you weren’t able to hear anything other than that, feeling like you could pass out at any moment.
“She would love to.” Your friend took the lead, which made the boy wonder why you weren’t responding. “She’s just as stressed as you are. Sorry for speaking in her name, but she talked about you for so long. I hope you understand.”
“Oh, no worries. Meet me after the lessons on Friday. I’ll be waiting near to the great hall. ” He explained, addressing it to you, adding a short “see you later” after his brother called after him.
“You should thank me.” Your friend addressed you, asking you to sit down.
“Gosh, his heart was beating so fast. I couldn’t focus.” You told her, relaxing a bit. “And no, I will not thank you. Can’t you understand why I’m avoiding him? I thought I told you.”
“No, I can. I just think that you’re wrong. ” She told you, winking at you.
“Think about it. If he’ll find out who I am, he won’t talk to me again. I’d rather stare at him, being miles away and aware that he likes me too than admitting who I am and getting rejected, him not being able to look at me again.” You admitted, hearing your voice cracking slowly.
“You idiot. You really think that werewolves are some type of creature that cannot function normally? You’re here for centuries, managing everything somehow, I bet that there were werewolves married to Muggles, to wizards, and many more. Don’t think of yourself as a beast, some kind of unlovable creature. That’s not what you are. You’re perfectly normal. By the way, bold of you to assume that he’s the first one to judge and won’t accept you.” She gave you a speech, trying to cheer you up.
“That’s exactly what I think. Can you blame me? I’m still not used to this, I never really talked with any other werewolves.”
“Then stop! See, you’re also prejudging him. There’s only one way to find out what he’s thinking about you. You’ll tell him the truth. But for now, we have to find Lupin.”
—
You were not ready yesterday, so after your friend spotted Lupin, you decided to hide. You wanted to be prepared for every topic that he will discuss with you, deciding that you’ll ask him to stay for a little talk when the DADA lesson finishes.
“Can I speak with you for a moment, professor?” You asked, trying to sound quiet.
“Yes, you may. What’s the problem, miss L/N?”
“If you’re going to ask questions, then I might stay here for a little longer than ‘ a moment ’.” You joked, secretly being scared of admitting the truth.
“Anyway. As you may know, I am a werewolf. Before you ask, I prefer not to tell you how it happened. I’m still learning, and you’re the only one that came to mind. I thought that you might help me.”
“You should’ve come earlier. Weren’t you curious earlier about your abilities and how to control them?”
“I was. But I was also too afraid to say something. Werewolves aren’t considered as the nicest creatures, I wanted to avoid gossip. I still want to. ” You started a monologue, watching closely if Lupin is paying attention to you. “The main reason for me coming to have a little chat with you is not only to ask about my abilities. I’m invested in hearing. Because I cannot understand why some sounds are clearer and come to my mind often? What makes them so?”
“Do you have something specific in your mind?” He asked, being eager to help you.
“Someone’s heart beating. I mean, I hear a lot of sounds, but this one is haunting me, even if that person is completely in a different place. Am I losing my mind? Or did this happen to you as well?”
“This person is your anchor, then. The one who can calm you down, who can help you control all of your new skills. But it might change through the years, you don’t have one anchor for eternity. Everything is based on your feelings. ” Remus explained calmly.
“Who was your anchor? You don’t have to tell me if you’re not feeling comfortable with it, after all, I’m just another Hogwarts student. ” You asked out of curiosity, wishing that he will open up to you.
“It used to be someone who was my friend. I don’t think I have an anchor anymore. ” He answered, being rather peaceful and not bothered by it, however, you wanted to comfort him, asking for permission to hug him.
“You’ll find another anchor. You said that we can have it more than once, right? I bet that somewhere there is someone special, whose ability is to calm you down. ” You smiled shyly.
“Um, eh, we’re not here to be upset. Let’s focus on your issue.” He said, wanting to change the topic. “What you need to control your abilities is physical contact with that special someone. I can’t assure you that it will work after the first attempt, but it certainly might help.
“But that takes time, I think I was able to control most parts of it after months. Still, some things are not under my control. Anyway, don’t worry about that, everything has its flaws. If you’ll excuse me, I have an important meeting soon, I don't want to be late. If you want, we can meet again after one of my lessons.” Lupin bid you goodbye, making you leave his classroom.
As you were left alone, you started thinking about the conversation that happened seconds ago. It did not make sense to you.
How could George be your anchor?
Sure, you had a crush on him for a while, but nothing ever happened between you two. That one night, which you spent preparing pranks with twins was fun, nothing else. You decided to not make any more friends, because you remembered how Y/F/N reacted when you said that you’re a werewolf. So you drifted away not only for your own good, but also for his.
Why him? Why isn’t it your friend, or even someone from your family who is your anchor? And how are you going to explain it to him? “Hey, I’m a werewolf, and you’re the only one that keeps me sane? You have to stay with me forever, otherwise I might go crazy?”
No way. You couldn’t see it.
At the same time, George was calmly waiting for you next to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. He noticed that you stayed for a little talk with Remus, but he also was eager to talk to you.
Your date was supposed to happen tomorrow, and he wanted to make sure that you’re comfortable with him, and that you have something to talk about. He was afraid that maybe somehow tomorrow you guys will be stressed, so chatting the day before, no strings attached and just getting to know each other might lighten the mood.
“Hey.” He started the conversation without thinking about it. ‘Hey’? Couldn’t you think about anything better? Something more creative? Now she will think that you were stalking her, you dumbass, he thought, standing in front of you.
Never was he that close to you, or maybe just didn’t pay attention when you were around, but now he noticed the height difference between the both of you. He found it really hard not to kneel down, so he could see your eyes gleaming. Although he considered it cute and funny, he decided not to mock it. Well, not right now, since he had other reasons to talk to you and was so fixated about it.
“Hello George, what could have brought you here?” You asked, not bothering to look at him, because you would have to keep your head up.
“We just had the same lesson. I sit in front of you. ” He explained, thinking that you didn’t notice that detail. If the tall, ginger boy can be considered as a detail.
“Oh, I know. But the lesson ended 20 minutes ago. ” You said, wondering if he will say what he has in mind or will just play pretend.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Nothing deep, only to diffuse the tension before our meeting tomorrow. ” He scratched his head, walking slowly by your side.
“Meeting you say, and what’s that?” You teased him a little, finding it funny and adorable that he was afraid to use the word ‘date’.
“You know, when a group of people, two and above, meets somewhere. God, I was scared that I’m going to be the dumb one. Now I can relax. But I have to admit, I expected more from you. ” He joked, coping with his fear.
“Okay, so what’s the pre-meeting topic that made you come to me?”
“Actually…” He began, but you interfered.
“Shit. My friend is there.” You pointed at the end of the corridor, where she was talking with a Ravenclaw from your year. “We have to hide, I’ll explain.” You pushed him to the next door that appeared in front of you, finding yourself in Filch’s office. Great.
“Can you explain now? I thought that you like her. ” He asked out of curiosity.
“I do, but I don’t want her to interject in our conversation. Shh, I think someone’s coming. We should hide. ” You advised, being pretty sure that it’s Filch. Who else would come to his office? You made George hide behind the huge bookshelf, noticing how little space there was.
“You know, we could also say a spell to make us invisible.” He laughed at you, trying to find a comfortable position.
“Too late. Shut your mouth. ” You both tried to stay silent, hearing the sound of someone opening the door. George was almost sitting, because if he would stand normally, his head could be seen above the bookshelf.
His eyes were focused on you and your face in general, which made you hold your laughs way harder than you thought it would. If either of you made a sound, you’d end up in detention, and Filch would make sure that you get the worst punishment.
Fortunately, he only came to get one thing from his desk, so as soon as you heard the door shut, George suddenly moved, hitting his head on the shelf.
“Shh.” You said, listening closely to the steps that were getting closer.
“Ah, Mr. Norris, I forgot about you! But you didn’t have to hit the door so hard. I hope you forgive me. ” He said to the cat that stayed in his office, but this time he took it with him.
While they were going out of the office, you had to silence the boy, who was struggling because of pain. It was not your intention to show your werewolf abilities, however, he looked as it really hurt him, wanting to scream.
“Show me the back of your head.” You demanded, when the two of you went out of the hideaway. You slowly took his head with one hand, the other one intertwining with his fingers. He had no idea what you were doing. It was clever of you to take his hand, making it look like you were comforting him, while you took some of his pain away. Fortunately, you were wearing your long robes, so your veins were not visible. Otherwise, the boy would’ve seen how you were taking the sore, making the veins look blackish.
If it weren’t for your location and the cause of his headache, both of you would be on the way to the hospital wing. But how could you explain that George hit the bookshelf in Filch’s office? Well, you couldn’t. Good for you that the boy did not question your methods, he probably didn’t even notice the thing that you had done.
“That was weird. But also hilarious.” George admitted, laughing way too loud, when you carefully opened the door to check what’s going on outside the office. After you made sure that no one was staring, you took his hand again, making him go after you.
While wandering through corridors, you noticed it is almost empty.
“Why is no one here?” You asked, not expecting the ginger boy to answer.
“You know, I think everyone is having classes. We’re going to be late.”
“Oh no, we’re not going at all.” You replied quickly. “Not in the mood to get all the attention today, apparently the world is against me. We gotta be smarter, let’s play truant.” You tried to encourage George, but he already seemed to be in.
“That sounds great! Now I really do feel like we’re soulmates.”
“You doubted it? Wait, you never even mentioned that to me. ” You craved for an explanation, while George wasn’t so fond of telling you more.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a silly word. I intended to ask you something. Why didn’t you say anything when I asked for a date? Is it because you didn’t want to, or find me too intimidating?”
“Do you want the answer that will make you look bad, or do I have to take all the blame?”
“Depends which is the correct one.” He replied teasingly.
“I mean, I did think it was a little weird that you asked me, because after the pranks that night we talked only occasionally… how could I possibly be your soulmate? How could you grow to like me when you don’t know me at all? ” Yeah, you might regret that later, but you had to be honest.
“Merlin, I’m going to sound like a weirdo, but I do know you. At least I think so. You showed the real yourself that night, being careless and funny, besides in most of my classes I’m focusing on you, not the topic. I’m definitely sounding like a psycho, but you always sit in front of me or behind me, joking with your friend and I cannot help but hear more than a little and laugh quietly. I’ve liked you since that damn night and got to know you, in an unusual way, but still felt like we’re similar. That’s why I had to shoot my shot. Please don’t leave. ” He said, grabbing my hand, afraid of the vision that I might freak out.
“Can you shut up?” You replied in a harsh way, later realizing what you had done. “Shit, I didn’t mean… I just… you can speak. I’m just… Can you calm down? It sounds like your heart is going to run away from your body.”
“Am I sweating or what?” He asked, curious how did you notice that his heart was fluttering.
“Oh no I actually… I can hear your heart beating. Very, very fast. And that you’re swallowing now the gulp of saliva, because you’re scared. I even hear professor Flitwick explaining the cheering charm to the 3rd years. And that Hagrid is coming, I think he’ll appear in this corridor in two minutes.”
“Your eyes have just changed from their natural color. What is going on? Is something wrong? I am worried, I want to help you darling. ” He tried to comfort you, so you didn’t even notice the nickname. “Are you an Animagus? Metamorphmagus?”
“I’m a werewolf. I’m a werewolf, George. I’m so sorry, I know, I should’ve told you earlier. ” You admitted the truth, now being the one who’s afraid.
“No way! That’s so cool! I’m glad that I know! How many people know? Is this why you talked with Lupin? Can you show me your claws? And your transformation? ” The ginger got way too excited, so your job was to tone him down.
“Shh, remember that we’re in corridors, when we should be in classes. No one can know that we’re here. I’m so sorry for saying this, but I can’t show you. Not only is it irresponsible, but.. I can’t control anything since I was bitten. It might be because I’m that creature for the short term. I haven’t learned to control it yet, no one was kind enough to show me. Oh wait, the only werewolf that I know and trust is Remus and I told him the news just today.”
“But you told me that you hear my heart beating... It’s one of your abilities, right? ” He asked curiously.
“Yeah, it is. See, I either don’t know how to do things or they’re out of my control. I can smell like everything in this corridor right now, and trust me, when it’s mixed, it’s awful. I told you, I hear not only you, but even what’s happening in the charms classroom that is in front of us,” you took a deep breath, trying to gather your wits,
“I also see the flying lessons from that window and I can recall every face of the students that are now attending that lesson. The problem is, that I don’t want to. This information is totally not needed by me, but I can’t control it.”
“I can’t decide yet what I want to smell or hear… it’s really hard. That’s why I couldn’t answer you when you asked me on a date. I heard your heart, and it caused my headache, that’s why my friend took the lead and talked with you that day.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it! Now that I know what was happening, I can relax. Should I say sorry for the sound of my heart? I didn’t want to…”
“It’s okay.” You interjected, comforting him, while it’s you who needed the comfort. “It’s not that bad, since you consider us soulmates, me, remembering how your heart beat sounds, it’s quite romantic.” You smiled shyly, avoiding eye contact.
“Can I?” George started, but took a break, wishing that you know what he has in his mind. You didn’t, so you stared at him with interest. “Can I listen to your heart? I wish I could remember yours too.”
You nodded at him, but the boy was too awkward to start this. You took his hand, leading it slowly to your chest, getting out of your comfort zone.
“You know, maybe you should rest your head on me. It won’t look as weird as you're almost touching my breasts. ” You started laughing, wondering if you’re taking this too far.
“Alright then.” He got a little more confident, doing as you told him so. “And I was hoping that we were going to have sex.”
“And you’re my soulmate?? Man, I would never do it in public. In front of the charms' classroom? What if Flitwick or students… I can’t even say it. You’re something else, Weasley.” You patted him on his head, which was still resting on your arm.
“I was going to tell you something really important. But since you got too cocky, you’re gonna have to wait ‘til our date. ” You started, feeling ready to explain to him about the anchor. You didn’t change your mind, because you will tell him anyway. Since the two of you got way too comfortable around each other, you decided to tease him a little.
“Oh please, don’t leave me hanging on. I can give you… something. ” He tried to convince you, taking some sweets from his pocket.
“No way, I know what you’re giving me. It’s Zonko’s hiccough sweet. Won’t happen. ” You replied, declining his offer. The bell ringing made you realize that the lesson has ended and the two of you should hide or at least make an excuse why didn’t you show up to your classes. Not only for the teachers, but for the friends' curiosity. What were you going to say? It seemed easier to just disappear than explain everything.
“I’m sorry, but Fred is watching us and I think we have something to talk about.” George got up, waving to his brother. “See you tomorrow then? Please, don’t be late” He added, lending you a hand in case you wanted to stand up, but you kindly declined it, deciding to sit for a little longer.
“Where were you? I was freaking out until I noticed that George was also absent. Good for you that it’s the transfiguration you had missed, not potions. Snape would kill you, or make you clean his class. Now, tell me what happened. In detail, please. ” She begged you, making you sigh at that statement, knowing that you two will probably miss another lesson, talking about your new friend, or, more like, soulmate?
—
The date was about to begin in 30 minutes, you were sitting calmly in your dorm, listening to your friend’s rambling.
“What do you mean by saying that you have ‘a lot of time’? Is thirty minutes a lot? You aren’t ready at all! At least change your shirt.”
“Well, I wanted to dress up. Then I started thinking if I should wear something casual, since it’s just Friday night, and we’re staying in school, or should I wear something elegant, to make this date more serious. Next I had a little panic attack for the same reason. Finally, I decided that I’m not gonna dress up. Too much pressure.”
“So you’re going in the same clothes that you were wearing for the whole day?” She asked you, wishing you’ll decide to change.
“Yeah, I don’t want to make it official. We’ll see what is going to happen.”
“At least brush your teeth for Merlin’s sake! I bet this boy is ready for something more than listening to your heart. ” She joked, making you terrified.
“Damn, what if he really does? What If I won’t be able to control myself and change into a werewolf? That would be so humiliating.”
“No! I’m sorry, don’t panic. I think he’ll be excited to see you in that way. You mentioned that he was very cool about that. ” She tried to calm you.
“No, you don’t understand. I can’t control myself. What If I harm him? I don’t want to... If something like that happens, then for sure he won’t keep in touch with me. ” You said, pacing around the dorm to not freak out.
“Oh trust me, this boy is weird. And he likes taking risks. I bet that he will laugh about it and get excited. ” She summed it up, wishing that it might cheer me up.
Because of her, you finally decided to get up and change clothes. You still wanted to be comfortable, hoping that casual clothes would fit in that situation, whatever it may be that George has planned.
After saying goodbye to your friend, you found yourself in the corridors, walking slowly, focusing on breathing slowly. There’s no need to worry, right?
A couple of minutes later you noticed George, standing in front of the Great Hall, just as he said to you earlier, leaning against the wall. He was looking down at the floor, bouncing his head, probably to the song that he couldn’t get rid of. You did not want to interrupt, enjoying the view from afar, but you knew you had no choice.
“Stressed?” You asked him, watching as his eyes slowly looked upon you.
“Not any longer. You came. ” He smirked, asking for permission to take my hand.
“Why wouldn’t I? Yesterday was fun. ” You admitted, being curious where the two of you are heading to.
Before you realized you were outside of Hogwarts, George led you to the location where everything was prepared. You couldn’t help but wonder what he has in his mind. Is he worried that you may not like that? Is he excited to show you? Is it still a date or just a friendly meeting?
Seconds later the view was starting to get familiar the Black Lake was for sure mesmerizing, but what amazed you more was a huge, colorful blanket with so much food on it.
“Did you make it?” You asked, noticing that a flower crown was also laying on the blanket. “Which charm did you use?” The boy flushed at this question, feeling embarrassed.
“Oh, I didn’t use any charm. I got anxious after everything was prepared, so I had to get my hands busy. We were making flower crowns when Ginny was little, so I was worried that I might not do it properly, because it was long ago, but I’m actually proud of that one. ” George explained everything to you, starting to gain his confidence back, seeing that you liked what he had done. He helped you put it on your head, and then you sat down, looking at swans swimming in the lake.
“Do you think that we will eat everything? It looks like a feast for the whole school, or at least for one of the houses. ” The food in front of you was disappearing very, very slowly. Although George was eating all the time, the blanket was still full of all kinds of food. At first, you weren’t eager to try this food, knowing that George might have done something with it, but when he reached for the snacks, you followed his actions.
Talking with him was really pleasant, you felt weirdly comfortable around him, but still the anchor thing was haunting you. Sometimes you couldn’t focus, thinking how are you going to explain it to him. It wasn’t that hard to make words come out of your mouth. What worried you was the commitment. Do you have to be his girlfriend immediately after that confession? Does that strengthen the bond between you two? Or will it mean nothing to him?
You could admit that you liked him. A lot. But those words sounded like you expected him to be more than your friend, and you did not want to rush things. Maybe you’ll consider telling it to him after the date? Depends on if it’s going to be good or end awkwardly?
You decided to brush it off, asking out of nowhere.
“George, what’s like to prank people? Do you feel excited or embarrassed while making them?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never pranked someone.” He said seriously, but seeing your face made him realize that you weren’t joking as well.
“No way. We have to prank someone together. Get up. Plans are changed.” He ordered, making sure that you do what he told you to, and then throwing the spell that made the blanket disappear.
“Did someone get under your skin lately?” Weasley said, probably having the plan already made in his head.
“Filch is yelling at me every day. Apparently Mr. Norris is not fond of my Kneazle.”
“And you’re letting him treat you like that? We gotta do something.”
Going back to Hogwarts was quick and exciting. You never pranked anyone but you heard a lot of stories about the twins doing it, and having a chance to make it with one of them next to you, made you hope that it’s going to be fun. George decided that you’re gonna make a potion that will make Filch speak nonsense, it is Babbling Beverage.
To do this, you had to sneak into the potions classroom, which wasn’t the easiest task, but definitely the interesting one.
Joking with Weasley was really easy, this boy was a comedian. Spending time with him opened your eyes, that not everything has to be taken seriously in life. He could make fun of anything, yet you felt comfortable with him, because he knew when he should stop.
Collecting all the things needed to brew this potion created a silence between you two, because you focused on the responsibility to make it perfect. Considering the fact that neither of you were good in potions, doing all of this was a challenge. But you knew it was worth it. For all the things Filch said to you, offending you every day, you waited for the sweet, sweet revenge.
Finally, feeling ready, you broke the silence.
“George, I have to say something. Please don’t make fun of me.”
“No worries darling. I literally came to you and asked you out even though we didn’t talk much. If you didn’t make fun of me, then I won’t do it to you.” He admitted, taking the ladle out of your hands.
“How much do you know about werewolves?” You started slowly, not wanting to get to the point so quickly.
“Not much. Just that you and Remus are the ones. And that something happens when there’s a full moon. Do you want to say that I should learn more? Because I could do that for you. ” He replied, like it wasn’t a big thing, but it made you smile wide.
“Oh, you don’t have to.” You said, not wanting to put the pressure on him. “You know, there’s a thing called an Anchor.” You started, taking a deep breath to think what you should say.
“And what’s that?” He asked out of curiosity, wishing that you could explain everything now, because he hated living with the unawareness. “You can trust me.” He added, taking your palm in his and rubbing it slowly with his thumb.
“I don’t know how to say this. I’m nervous. It... it’s a thing, or a person... actually, it is a person, who can calm the werewolf. They don’t have to be next to the creature, just the thought of them makes the werewolf control everything, making them able to not transform into the beast... you know. ” You started messing up the words, feeling incredibly stressed, and the fact that George was staring deep in your eyes, didn’t help you at all.
“Sorry to bother you, but we have to wait one hour for this ingredient to get warmer. We can sit in the storeroom then.” He took off his jacket, putting it on the floor to make the place a bit more cozy.
You sat next to him, staying silent, knowing that when he interrupted you, it could mean that he’s not interested in the werewolf things. “What you said about the anchor... I think it’s pretty romantic. But why did you mention it to me?”
“Don’t make me say it Weasley. I really don’t want to. I don’t even think I can. ” You tried to make it obvious that it’s him, but he clearly wanted you to admit it out loud.
“No way, is it Snape? That’s why we’re sitting here? Or is it Filch? And you want to show him the affection through the pranks? You're a weirdo, Y/N.” He laughed.
“And you clearly don’t know what I have in mind.” You said, getting the confidence you gained lately.
“Do you mean you’re going to change tonight? Should I run? Or try to keep you calm? ” He was asking.
“If someone’s going to be that dumb, I might harm him. Just in case. ” You tried to tease him back, not wanting to say those words.
“Can I kiss you? These threats sound so hot when it comes out of your mouth. ” He asked, so you nodded quietly, watching as he was leaning closer. “Just don’t bite me, or do it. I would be the best werewolf, and the most handsome one. ” He whispered between the kisses.
“Your heart is so freaking loud. Maybe we should stop, we don’t want you to die or have a heart attack. ” You replied, showing that you care.
“We don’t? I didn’t know that. Also, I thought that you can’t hear it anymore. Since I am your anchor, and all you do right now is think of me...” he said confidently, admitting the things you were scared to say.
“Glad you finally understood. But it doesn’t work like that...” You were eager to explain everything once more, yet George had the courage to interrupt you again.
“Shh, we will have the time for talking. I’m now stuck with you forever, to be your Prince Charming and hero when you won’t be able to control yourself. But you are able now, and the night is long…”
“Don’t be so sure.” You interjected, moving closer and deciding to sit on him.
As George said, the night was long. The two of you forgot about the potion you were making, focusing on something else.
The worst thing was how easy the two of you fell asleep.
Snape seeing you that morning, sleeping, covered with your robes, was quite surprised. And furious. He yelled at you, making you wake up, not knowing where you are and what you were doing last night.
It was obvious that he’s going to serve detention for you.
But what could possibly go wrong, now that you have your anchor beside you?
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@whumptober2021 Day 4: Taken Hostage / Pushed / “Do you trust me?”
Fandom: Batman
Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd
Tags: Hurt Tim Drake, Kidnapping, Protective Jason Todd, Accidental Brother Acquisition, Jason is Robin
Words: 7.826
Summary:
“Batman will come for you, right?” Tim only realizes that is the wrong thing to ask when Robin’s face falls.
“I don’t need Batman to get out of here,” Robin insists with a stubborn tension in his shoulders. “I’m just saying we don’t have to wait.”
Waiting is the thing Tim does best. For the perfect picture opportunity, the best angle. For his parents to come home. He can sit tight for hours and days and become all but invisible.
But Tim agrees anyway. Why wouldn’t he? Robin is a hero. His hero. And he’s lucky they were kidnapped together. Now they only have to get out this cell in one piece.
---
The shove comes out of nowhere.
Tim has gotten good at navigating Gotham’s rooftops nearly blind, a camera pressed to his face. He has also learned to make sure nobody is around to catch him. What he does is not strictly illegal, but he is taking pictures of vigilantes at night and enough people take offence at that. He is not wearing a mask himself, but he still cannot be found out here. His parents are already not happy that he has not given up photography – a mere waste of time that will neither get him into a prestigious college nor bring the Drake name any profits – even without knowing about his nightly activities.
The roof was empty when Tim climbed up on it to get a better angle of Robin. It is a rare enough occurrence that Robin is out alone without the protective shadow of Batman hovering nearby and Tim does not want to miss a minute of it. So, he is crouching on the roof, his camera trained on Robin, when someone appears suddenly next to him and shoves him over the edge.
A sound escapes Tim’s lips, half a gasp due to the force of the unexpected push, and in the brief second he is hovering in the air, he can see Robin look up searchingly – and then he is falling.
Tim has a lot of experience with falling, but he will never get used to that navel-jerking feeling of tumbling into the unknown, those first moments of blind panic at having lost the ground beneath his feet. He clings to his camera, curls like he was taught to, and hopes fervently that he will not break anything. Bruises are easy to hide and something he has dealt with dozens of times before. Broken bones, however, need a bit more than his first-aid kit has to offer – and cause more questions than he cares to answer.
The falling is over as soon as it began. He was not too high up but the impact is still painful. The crack of plastic thunders in his ears and that is what throws his momentum, makes him tense too much as he tries to save his camera, and he feels his ankle bend.
Pain flares up, sudden and hot, before he comes to a panting halt on the pavement, a sharp throbbing in his foot and right side. He just lies there for a long moment, afraid to move his ankle but glad that his lungs still work as they are supposed to. The roof above him is empty. Nobody is looking down after him.
But – Tim did not just fall from nothing, did not trip. Somebody was there and pushed him. Just as he is sitting up, determined to have a look at his camera and then his foot before he gets out of here, he hears footsteps coming closes.
“Well, what do we have here?” a muffled voice asks.
Tim whirls around, but all he can see is a fist flying towards his face. And then nothing.
---
Tim comes to slowly. That in itself is a warning sign that something is wrong. He has a rather conflicted relationship with sleep and he does not slumber. Either he is awake or not. This in-between is strange, making his thoughts all sluggish.
He blinks, his vision curiously blurry, and wonders about the cracks in the ceiling – and then the pain hits. A low, insistent pounding like drum beats fills his head, growing worse with every breath he takes as if the miniscule movement alone is aggravating it.
With a rush, Tim remembers what happened. The rooftop. Being shoved. The cracking of his camera.
He shoots upright, battling the way the room spins before his vision settles. Bile rises in his throat but he swallows carefully, unwilling to give into the panic rising inside him. Perhaps his father’s lessons will have their use, after all.
His ankle throbs, but Tim ignores it for now in order to find out where he is, because this is somewhere inside instead of outside in the streets, and he definitely did not make it home.
The room is small and bare. Cracks run through the grey cement covering the ground and walls and ceiling. There is no window, but a lone light bulb dangles in the middle of the room, offering a bit of light. The ground is stained in places, the origin of which Tim does not want to think too closely about. No furniture, just a heavy metal door and Tim himself being cuddled into a corner.
This is bad. If his father finds out what he was doing, why someone managed to snatch him right off the street – he hopes this is not a play for ransom. His parents are out of the country and the last thing he and his father did before they left were yell at each other. Tim is not at all sure they are willing to pay a single dollar to get him back. And if so, likely only to preserve the family name.
Of course, Tim does not want to think about what other reasons there are for someone to kidnap him. Children go missing from Gotham’s streets every day, and only a few of them are found again. Mostly, they do not have anything to look for them. Tim does not, either.
The pounding in his head grows worse. With some effort, Tim pushes the growing panic down. Before he gives up on himself, he should try to find out more.
Carefully, Tim gets to his feet. The room starts spinning again, which is rather worrying, but it snaps into sudden focus when he puts some weight on his right ankle. A whimper breaks over his lips, echoing hauntingly in the empty room, as he sinks back to the ground.
Don’t be broken, he thinks as he pushes up the leg of his trousers. The ankle is swollen and the pain intensifies when he applies pressure. When he is careful, though, he can move it in every direction and he cannot feel any bones obviously out of place. That does not have to mean anything, he knows. Ever since he started following the masks around, he read up on first-aid, aware of how many things can go wrong. Hopefully it is just a sprain, although that does not make it any less painful, and it might still mess his leg up for good.
Before Tim can convince himself to get back up and try again, he hears a key being shoved in the lock and then the door is yanked open, making a terrible screeching noise that grates in his ears. The light outside is much brighter, stabbing Tim’s eyes so he cannot make out much of anything as he scrambles backwards, trying to get away from whoever has entered the room. Something big is thrown in and then the door slams shut again without explanation.
The something is a person clad in yellow and green and –
“Robin.” Tim’s voice breaks halfway through the name. His mouth is suddenly dry and his thoughts come to an abrupt halt.
This has just become so much worse. Someone did not just push Tim off a roof just because they could or for ransom, but they got Robin, too. Either Robin wanted to help and was overpowered, or they were after him and Tim is just collateral damage. Either way, he is doomed. Because he is not hard to catch, crawling around the city at night to take pictures of vigilantes. But Robin is in an entirely different league.
Robin looks up at him, eyes wide behind the mask, then untangles himself into a more dignified position even though his suit remains rumpled. “Oh good, you’re awake.”
Tim does not know what could possibly be good about that if this is the reality he woke up to.
“What happened?” he hates how weak he sounds, how young. His father would have his hide for that – but his father is not here because Tim had to do something forbidden and get himself caught. He breathes. In and out. In and out.
Robin is here. That means not all is lost. If nothing else is certain, Tim knows that Batman will come for Robin and they will not leave him behind, even if they find out about the pictures. They are the good guys. They might tell his parents about it – which will undoubtedly not end well for him either – but they will not leave him to die in this place.
“These assholes want me to help them out.” Robin makes a rude gesture at the door, then looks a bit sheepish at Tim. “Sorry you got caught in the crossfire.”
A weight drops off Tim’s shoulders. It is not his fault that Robin was caught. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it does not sit right with him, still.
“They went after me first,” Tim says, remembering clearly that Robin was still free and unbothered while Tim was already falling. He might have even gotten it on camera, that last, searching look around at Tim’s yell. But his camera is not here. They might have left it broken on the ground when they took Tim. It is unlikely he will ever see it again.
It is stupid to be bothered by that. It is only a camera and he can afford to buy a new one. But it is the one thing that brings him joy.
“Yeah.” Robin runs a hand through his hair, putting it into complete disarray. “You’re supposed to be my motivation.”
Oh. “They took me hostage to make you help them?” Tim is no stranger to being pulled into other people’s games. His parents’ business partners do that all the time, either hoping to gain something for the company or to get some advantage over his parents. It is almost familiar, to be used for his worth to other people instead on his own merit.
“Seems like it,” Robin says and sounds apologetic. He is also watching Tim very closely as if he expects him to have a breakdown. But Tim has been taught to appear calm even if he feels anything but.
“That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know me.”
Tim should be glad. If all goes well and they do not die here, his parents might never find out what happened. He does not have to tell Robin his last name. He is just a nobody who had bad luck. Once they are out of here, he can just vanish. If they get out of here.
Robin cocks his head to the side, concern crossing his face. “You’re a civilian,” he explains then puffs out his chest and points at his suit. “That’s what this whole thing is about. Protecting people.”
Perhaps people who do not stalk them and take pictures without asking, who do not put themselves in danger constantly just because they are hoping for the right shot.
But Tim believes him anyway. He was raised by a cynic but he knows Robin. Knows him through endless nights of watching him do the right thing, of putting his life on the line for others.
“What do they want you to do?” Tim asks, changing the topic without much finesse.
He is also not sure he wants to know the answer to that. What if they are asking something terrible of Robin, like killing somebody. Tim cannot be the reason for Robin to do that.
But Robin scoffs, caught between amusement and annoyance. “Rob a bank or five.”
That is surprisingly mundane. Banks are robbed every day without the help of vigilantes. Some even successfully. “What do they need you for then?”
To his surprise, Robin pouts. “I could totally rob a bank, and probably better than them, too” he says, entirely missing the point.
Despite their situation, Tim finds himself grinning at Robin’s offended tone. He imagines him as some kind of modern Robin Hood, robbing a bank and then making it rain money right outside of it.
Then he sobers. They are still locked up in some cell and he has a busted ankle and a possible concussion. “Well, you shouldn’t do it.”
Robin’s expression grows serious, too. “They said they’d hurt you if I don’t,” he says in that same tone Tim’s father does when he is testing Tim, fishing for a reaction.
Now it is Tim’s turn to be offended. “You’re Robin,” he exclaims.
Robin nods but does not give an answer. Instead, he leans forwards, seemingly unconcerned with their situation. “What’s your name?”
Tim could lie. He is good at it and it would surely save him a lot of trouble. But it is not every day that one meets their hero and despite the circumstances, he wants this interaction between them to be real.
“Tim,” he says, hesitating long enough to make Robin frown. He still holds his last name back. That does not have a place here, and there is a small chance that Robin knows their next-door neighbours are called Drake and have a son named Tim, even though his life is certainly interesting enough to not bother with who is living down the street.
“Do you trust me, Tim?” Robin asks, his voice gentler now as if he does not want to spook Tim. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
With a start, Tim realizes Robin thinks he is afraid. Well, he is, but for the entirely wrong reasons. They are in a bad situation but it could be so much worse. For one, Tim could be here alone.
He nods because that seems like the thing to do. He is cold and in pain and his hero might be forced to commit a crime to keep him alive. While he is aware of all of that, he can barely touch those thoughts, like his head is underwater but he is seeing lights on the surface, jumping out of reach whenever he reaches for them.
Tim is fine. Beneath the mask, Robin is just a kid, too, and Tim will not make it harder on him by whining. Or panicking. That will not do either of them any good.
“Batman will come for you, right?” It is a mistake to ask, Tim notices that right away when Robin’s shoulders stiffen.
He does not understand. Batman and Robin are a team. They have each other’s back and, of course, one would come running when the other is in danger. Right?
“I don’t need Batman to get out of here,” Robin says, crossing his arms in front of him only to let them fall again a moment later.
That certainly puts a crack in Tim’s picture-perfect idea of his favourite vigilantes. He knows better than most that things are seldom as calm and shiny as they appear on the surface, but Batman and Robin – nothing is supposed to taint that.
“I’m sorry,” he says because he is not sure what else to do. His mother taught him that other people’s weaknesses are there to be exploited, but he does not want to be that kind of person.
Robin looks at him, then sighs. “No, you’re right.” He sounds conflicted, making him sound even younger. Like that, he is more human, mask or not, but that is not helpful in the situation they are in. “I’m just saying we don’t have to wait.”
Waiting is the thing Tim does best. For the perfect picture opportunity, the best angle. For his parents to come home. He can sit tight for hours and days and become all but invisible.
“I can’t fight,” Tim points out, afraid that he will be the reason Robin gets hurt, after all. He had some training, bullies and his family name made that a necessity, but he is no Robin, no hero.
“You don’t have to,” Robin says, full of conviction. “I’ll protect you.”
Tim wants to ask how but he has learned that too many questions only make things harder, at times. Instead, he offers, “You could pretend to be me.”
He is not sure where it comes from, but a plan is forming in front of his eyes. Tim is a bit smaller than Robin and a lot scrawnier, but people tend to look only at the suit. And they only needed a few moments to jump the kidnappers anyway. As soon as an actual fight begins, the ruse will be up.
“They’ll notice,” Robin scoffs. He does not quite dismiss Tim, but Tim knows that tone very well. It is hard not to let it get to him because some part of him desperately wants to impress Robin, but he has practice with that, too. “And what good would that bring us anyway?”
“We’ll swap clothes,” Tim explains, shamefully eager at the very idea of touching the suit. “They don’t think I’m a danger, so when they come back, they’ll go right for the suit and ignore you. So, you can take them by surprise.”
It is a good plan, or as good as they will likely get. They are locked in a windowless room that does not stop spinning before Tim’s eyes, and only one of them is really capable of getting them out if Robin does not want to wait for Batman – and Tim does not want to either, yearning for some pain meds, an ice pack and his bed. Taking the bad guys by surprise is their only chance, really. Otherwise, they are simply two children sitting in a trap.
“I’m Robin,” Robin insists as if Tim has forgotten that. As if, in addition to taking his clothes, he suggested stripping him of the title as well. “I can’t take off the mask.”
There is that, true. Tim opens his mouth to say Robin can keep the mask, that they will just keep their heads down until it is too late for the kidnappers to realize the wrong boy is in the suit. What falls from his lips instead is, “I know who you are.”
Robin moves quicker than Tim’s probably concussed brain can follow and then he is right in from of Tim, shoving him against the cold, unforgiving wall. The impact knocks the air out of Tim’s lungs and, before he can react, Robin’s arm is pressed against his throat, not quite choking him but a definite threat.
“What did you say?” Robin growls in a clear imitation of Batman, a few decades too young. It still causes a shiver to run down Tim’s back.
“I’m sorry,” he pushes out, only to have Robin increase the pressure. How did things go so wrong so quickly? He just – masks, secret identities. Tim has gotten so comfortable with following them around that he forgot nobody is supposed to know who they are. “I live next door to you,” he blurts out, not caring anymore about keeping his last name secret.
For the first time since waking up in this room, he is afraid instead of just panicked. When he started following Batman and Robin around, he knew he could never let them catch him. They might be the good guys, but they do have their identities to protect, and he has seen countless times what Batman does to the people that cross him. He did not even try to find out who they are. It just made sense.
“I haven’t told anyone,” Tim croaks, growing desperate when Robin does nothing but stare at him, never relenting his hold. “I won’t.”
“How?”
Tim whimpers when Robin shoves him again, aggravating his headache. This is not supposed to happen. He never thought Robin would like him, really, the kid with stalkerish tendencies, but he did not think meeting his hero would go quite like this either.
“I’m running BatWatch.”
That stupid blog that started as a challenge to himself but has quickly become the centre of Tim’s life, uploading pictures and commentary on Gotham’s very own vigilante bats. All complimentary, of course, because they protect the city and certain journalists just do not know what they are writing. Tim just tries to put the Bats back into a more positive light. Sometimes, it makes him feel like a hero in his own right. That is his secret identity.
After a long, tense moment, Robin’s hold loosens, even if he does not take the arm away. His expression is still closed off. “You? The blog has been around for years.”
Tim takes pride in that. It grew from a few blurry pictures every other week to detailed articles. People like to complain about Batman, and Tim just wants to remind people of all the good the vigilantes are doing.
“You’ve been Robin for years,” Tim shoots back, voice still more of a croak from the shock. He is not sure the danger is over.
Robin sits back. His hands are still on Tim but not quite as threatening anymore. That can change again any moment, Tim knows, so he clears his throat and just breathes.
“You know who Batman is and you never told anybody?” The incredulity in Robin’s tone is insulting, but Tim guesses a certain paranoia is part of the job.
“You’re heroes,” Tim exclaims and winces inwardly. That made him sound entirely too young. There is no hiding he is still a kid but he does not have to act immaturely, too.
“And you want me to believe it is a mere coincidence that you were in the right place to be kidnapped along with me?” Robin says, sarcasm dripping from his tongue, which Tim does not fully hear because his mind is stuck on right place. “How do I know you’re not working with them?”
The accusation hurts worse than the shove earlier, although it leaves him just as trapped. “I would never,” Tim says and glares in the best imitation of his mother as he can manage.
Feeling, cornered, he bats Robin’s hands away with what little strength he has left, pain and disappointment having taken their toll. To his surprise, Robin lets him go. He gets up and ignores the way his vision swims and the pain in his ankle flares up. There is nowhere to go. The room is still bare and the door is still locked. But he needs to get away from Robin and his accusations, so he limps to the far corner and sinks rather ungraciously back to the floor.
Somewhere in the depth of his mind, he can hear his father laugh at his naivety. What did he think would happen? That Robin would be impressed? That he would expect a scrawny teenager to be good for anything? He had been dreaming about meeting Robin for years but – well, he should have listened better to what his parents say about dreams.
“You’re hurt,” Robin says, sounding sheepish.
Tim glances over his shoulder and sees that Robin stood up, too, but he thankfully does not come closer. In fact, he looks a bit lost, all suited up with no way to escape.
“It’s nothing,” Tim mutters, looking back at the wall. A crack runs through it right in front of his face. He imagines digging here and finding nothing but more cement. A grave in the middle of the city.
“You were limping.”
What does that have to do with anything? “Just a strain.” And definitely a concussion. He should better not mention that, he is already enough of a liability.
“We can’t get out of here if you can’t walk,” Robin says, sounding almost agitated, but when Tim looks at him it does not show on his face.
So, this is how it is. He knows this game very well. “Then you had better leave me behind. That’s safer anyway if I’m one of them.”
That cutting tone is from his mother. Any other time, he would hate how much of his parents he recognizes in himself, but it does come in handy every now and then. Although it does not bring him any satisfaction to watch Robin flinch. Tim is the faulty one here, the obstacle to overcome. It is better to just take him out of the equation.
He does not want to be left behind, of course. Chances are low that the kidnappers will simply let him go when they do not need him anymore. And he has no particular desire to find out where Gotham’s lost children end up.
“I’m – I won’t leave you here.” Robin has come closer, looking down at Tim with a seriousness that hurts.
Tim smiles, but it feels all wrong, hollow yet sharp at the edges. It should not surprise him that he does not measure up. Just because he looks up to Robin does not mean that Robin will find anything worthwhile when looking back. Something about him always turns people away, he is never quite enough.
“They won’t need me once you’re gone,” Tim points out and does not say that he is very aware that this will likely end with a bullet in his head. It is not like he can change that. He is tired and, for once, wants nothing more than to go home – without putting Robin in more danger.
Silence stretches between them for a long moment in which Tim thinks he really is doomed. Then Robin says, “Come,” his jaw set with new determination. “I’ll need your clothes.”
Tim does not move, even as Robin begins to take off the suit, no trace of hesitation left in his movements. In the privacy of his mind, Tim has longed for years to wear the Robin colours. But not like this, not here, not when the real Robin has already made his judgement of Tim.
“What about the mask?” Tim asks quietly, intent on reminding Robin what a stupid idea this is.
“I can’t let them see my face, so I’ll keep it on,” Robin says matter-of-factly, as if this very problem did not end in a physical altercation only minutes before. “But you can stay with your back to the door and I’ll jump them before they can notice anything.”
That is what Tim thought they should do earlier, but now he is full of doubt. Turning his back to the door alone fills him with uneasiness. He might not be a fighter, but it feels wrong to serve himself on a silver platter, too. And, since Tim is the hostage in this scenario, what if they do not go for Robin, which would squander their element of surprise. What if Robin will not be able to deal with whoever is coming for them? What if there are too many opponents? What if –
“Hey.” Suddenly, Robin is right in front of Tim, one hand on Tim’s shoulder and blatant concern on his face. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise.”
Tim takes a deep breath, concentrates on the ground beneath him and the warmth from Robin’s hand and even the way his ankle throbs. The situation is not ideal, but he is alive and mostly intact. He is not alone.
He believes Robin. What would life be if he could not trust his hero anymore? Robin helps people. It is his job.
But Tim has been following Batman and Robin around for a bit too long. He has seen them share street food during long patrols. He has watched Robin jump around in circles around Batman when bored and limp home after a bad fight. Beneath the mask, Tim knows very well, is just a boy not much older than him. Jason Todd, child of Gotham’s darkest streets, full of foul words and endless bravado.
This is not a heroic story. Tim is not behind the camera taking pictures. He is not a bystander, sequestered safely away on a rooftop. This is real. And Tim might have dreamt of himself as Robin – or at least as Robin’s sidekick – but not like this. He is acutely aware of how inadequate he is.
And yet, Tim nods. If he knows anything, it is how to pretend, how to keep his head held high. His hands, when he unzips his jacket, are shaking. If Robin notices, he does not comment on it. That makes it easier, if only slightly.
It is hard not to stare as the Robin suit lands piece by piece on the ground, rumpled and nearly unassuming, just flimsy looking material in too bright colours. The shaking gets worse as Tim reaches for it, but he does not allow himself to hesitate. It is now or never.
The suit does not quite fit. Tim is too small and too scrawny. Worse is the way his skin burns, touching something forbidden. He guesses he will not have those dreams of being Robin anymore, considering how miserable he feels while pretending for even just a moment.
“You look good,” Rob- Jason says. Because in Tim’s clothes he looks altogether too young, just another boy stranded in a bad situation. Tim cannot detect any condescension in his tone.
Still, Tim scoffs and avoids looking down at himself. “Let’s hope it fools them.”
He would be surprised if it does. He certainly feels like a bad impostor, radiating his uneasiness for everybody to pick up.
Robin opens his mouth, doubtlessly to tell Tim some more reassuring lies, but Tim turns away, effectively cutting him off. He just wants to get this over with.
He lies down on the ground, trying for a posture that is not too conspicuous while still allowing Jason to blend into the background. Even though all his instincts scream that it is wrong, he turns his back to the door.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jason put his hood up and mess up his hair until his face is shrouded in shadows and the mask is not so obvious anymore.
And then, they wait.
Or, rather Tim plans to wait. Jason apparently does not deal too well with silences because he first shifts around impatiently, then huffs. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “Hey, Tim –”
“I’m fine,” Tim cuts him off. This is his one-in-a-lifetime chance of being cooped up with Robin, but talking did not turn out too well before, and he would rather not make things worse. “You don’t need to keep asking.”
It is also not a lie. The pain in both his ankle and his head have dulled to a low throbbing and the panic is under control. He is aware this will change once they are moving again, but for now everything is all right.
Jason hums, clearly not believing him, but then he says, “Actually, I wanted to know why you never said anything.”
Tim closes his eyes briefly. “About what?”
“Who we are. If you knew all this time.” Of course, Jason will not let this go. Perhaps he has a right to, considering how carefully Batman has hidden his identity all these years.
“It’s a secret.” Tim cranes his neck to stare at Jason. He admires Robin and would never endanger him like that. But if Jason is still not fully convinced Tim is not working with the enemy here, his doubt should be expected.
But then Jason asks, “Why didn’t you talk to us?” His tone is way too innocent for such a loaded question.
Tim is silent for a long moment. The truth would be that he did not want anyone to stop him from going out at night, but he can hardly say that. Jason Todd might understand the lack of parental supervision that lets Tim do as he pleases, but as Robin, he might ask questions that Tim really does not want to answer. And Batman surely would not let that stand. He is happy with things as they are. Getting a glimpse of all the excitement from afar is enough.
He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “You have better things to do.” Better than indulging Tim’s stupid dreams.
He feels Jason’s stare on his back but does not look up again. “Well, what if someone kidnapped you and made you tell them?”
The veiled accusation sits like hot coals in Tim’s stomach. He wants to snap back, say that nobody would kidnap him. But the very fact that he is sitting in a locked room with Robin right at this moment makes that argument void.
“I’m sorry,” Jason says when Tim does not answer. He should not apologize when he is right.
Footsteps come closer, effectively cutting their conversation off. Saved by the very real possibility of being killed, Tim thinks and tries to relax his tense muscles.
The door opens with the same screeching protest as before and Tim feels woefully unprepared. All he has to do is lie here and let the real Robin do the work and yet his hands start shaking again.
“Have you thought about our offer, little birdie?” a voice asks, sounding too close for comfort already. “Or do we need to make the kid scream?”
Don’t go to Jason, Tim thinks fervently, even as he forces himself to keep his face turned away. The entire game will be up before they can even make the first move if they recognize him.
There is another set of footsteps, perhaps two, but Tim cannot look up. He has to give Jason the chance to get them out.
“Ignoring us won’t –” The man cuts off with a grunt and Tim looks up just in time to see him doubling over while Jason whirls around him, using his leg as a ladder to jump up and kick at the second guy before punching the first in the temple with his elbow. The man goes down like someone cut his strings.
All Tim can do is try to not get crushed and watch as Jason never loses momentum but makes short work of the other two men. It is over so quickly that Tim is left with too much adrenaline in the sudden silence, his heart beating as loud as a war drum and his hands balled into fists he thankfully did not have to use.
“Yes,” Jason exclaims. His grin is very much out of place but Tim still finds himself answering in kind. He did not even do anything and yet he feels victorious. “The credit goes to you, of course, since it was your idea.”
Tim wants to say that they are not yet out of here, but his face heats up and he lets his eyes drop. Looking at the unconscious men is better than to meet Jason’s undeserved praise.
“I mean it, Tim,” Jason adds, putting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “You were already thinking up plans while I wasted time on being angry. You kept a cool head. Not everybody could.”
The warmth from Jason’s hand and words spreads right into Tim’s core. They should not just stand around but get going but Tim cannot help himself. He does not get compliments like this, barely does anything worth noticing. Even ignoring the whole kidnapping, this is a night he will never forget.
“We should make sure they won’t be able to follow us,” Tim says, still feeling the glow in his cheeks. “And we should probably change clothes again.” Silently, he prays Jason will agree that there is no time for that. Even just pretending, the suit is a comfort now that they survived the first hurdle of getting out of here.
“Let’s stay like this. The colour suits you.” Jason winks but gets serious a moment later. He leans forward and fishes two pairs of handcuffs out of a pocket of the suit. “Put these on two of them. I’ll take care of the third.”
It is strange to move the unconscious bodies, even though they are definitely breathing. There is not even blood. Tim hurries to finish the task and then watches Jason string up the last guy with his own shoelaces.
“Ready to go?” Jason asks as he gets to his feet, looking strangely energetic for someone in their position. “I think I know the way out, so follow after me. We’ll try to avoid running into any more of these idiots.”
So, there are more. Their victory quickly turns sour at this reminder that they have not yet escaped. But Tim nods. He is very much out of his depth and really, really glad he is not alone.
At the door, Jason pauses again. “Will you be okay with your ankle?” Concern passes over his face and he looks Tim up and down as if he considers carrying him.
“I’m fine,” Tim says quickly. He will not slow them down and he will not make this harder on Jason. It is bad enough that he had to be rescued.
When Jason turns away, thankfully believing him, Tim takes a probing step. His ankle hurts and he knows it will only get worse from here on out. But he stands by his word. He will manage. Once he is safely at home, he can put some ice on it and recover. And home is so much more within reach now.
Jason hurries ahead, light-footed and with the easy elegance of a fighter. Following after him, Tim feels clumsy and loud. He closes the door to their cell and then looks cautiously down the hall. It looks identical on both sides but Jason never hesitates over which way to choose. That has to be enough.
They make it out without issue. Tim’s chest hurts as if he held his breath the entire time until they finally step out into the night air. He breathes and feels a smile spread on his face. They did it.
Jason touches his elbow briefly, motioning him to keep walking. Of course, they are not out of danger yet. So, Tim follows, down dark streets then up to the roofs. It is different to walk Gotham next to Robin, even if Tim is still the one wearing the suit. It feels like nothing in this city can touch them.
The throbbing in his ankle has turned into a constant burning. He does not say anything, though. It is still manageable and they are not yet safe. Still, he is glad when Jason is finally content with how far they have come and signals Tim to stop.
“How’s the foot?” Jason asks and reaches out for it almost as soon as they are sitting down.
Out of instinct, Tim withdraws. He is not used to being coddled, so they do not need to start now. “It’s fine.” At Jason’s blatantly unbelieving look, he adds, “I’ll put some ice on it and it’ll be right as rain.”
Jason clearly does not like that. “We should do an x-ray, just to be sure.”
“No hospitals,” Tim refuses immediately, the vehemence in his voice biting. If his parents find out about this they will never again let him set a single foot out their house unchaperoned.
And since they got out without anybody learning who Tim is, chances are good that he can keep this entire night secret. His parents will likely not come back before his ankle is healed, and even so he could lie to them. A sudden hospital visit, on the odder hand, is not so easily explained away.
Jason narrows his eyes but wisely does not decide to ask about the hidden implication. “We’ve got all we need at home.”
With home Jason means the manor. Bruce Wayne’s manor. Or even the rumoured Batcave.
“I can’t go home with you.” The mere thought has his brain sputtering to a halt. He needs to go to his own house, sort out his ankle and concussion, and then probably look for something else to take photos of. Batman cannot be made aware that he has a stalker, especially not a kid running around rooftops at night. “And you can’t tell anybody about me.”
He is not making a very good case for himself here, Tim realizes, feeding into Jason’s suspicions about him.
“I feel like that’s my line.” With a pointed look, Jason asks, “Is anybody even waiting for you at home?”
Tim hates the way his shoulders straighten automatically. Jason has no reason to suspect that his home life is anything but orderly and normal. Apart from him being out alone at night. Plenty of children do that, certainly, sneaking out of their window with no one being the wiser. They would not want their parents to find out. Nothing here indicates that Tim’s parents are away from home more often than they actually sleep in their own beds or that Tim has been managing his own life without anybody’s input for years. Nothing indicates that, one of these days, Tim’s father will run out of patience and beat some sense into him instead of just shouting and throwing things, or that his mother’s disappointment in him will simply grow too much to bear and she will not come home at all anymore.
Tim plasters a smile on his face and rolls his eyes. The effort is wasted, certainly, but appearances must be upheld. “I very much hope they’re not waiting because then they’d know I snuck out.” If he times it right, he will even miss the housekeeper who’s coming in the next day, and then he will have all the time in the world to sort himself out.
Jason does not believe him. He stares at Tim, looking suddenly much older than his years. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like “How do you do this, Alfred?”, but Tim does not know who Alfred is or what he has to do with this, so he ignores it.
Finally, Jason nods, even if he does not look happy about it. “I’ll bring you home.”
Tim already told him that he is living next door, but that does not mean he wants Jason to come. “You can’t –”
But Jason shakes his head, interrupting him. “I’ll drop you off outside your door, then we’ll exchange numbers. And you will call me if you need anything.” It sounds like a threat more than an offer of help.
Tim should be elated. He has met his hero, got out of their adventure together more or less intact, and he gets Robin’s number out of it, even if he already knows he will never use it. He also got to wear the Robin suit, no matter the reason.
“We should change our clothes,” Tim says because he will not be tricked into going to the Wayne house after all because they put this off.
He realizes his caution was right when Jason starts grinning. “Oh, no,” he exclaims far too happily. “You will keep that on and I’ll pick it up tomorrow when I check in on you.”
Check in – the only person checking in on Tim is the housekeeper, who is paid handsomely for it and for not telling anybody that Tim’s parents are constantly out of the country. “You don’t need to check in on me,” Tim says, barely able to comprehend the concept. “I’m perfectly fine.”
He is. Or he will be if only people stopped putting their noses into his business.
“It’s non-negotiable, Tim” Jason says and cocks his head. “Now, do you want to stay stubborn and let me carry you or can I call someone to drive us?”
Neither of these, Tim thinks. Especially because the only one Jason would call that Tim can think of is Batman. Then again, Jason did not sound so eager to have Batman come for them, earlier, so perhaps that is an empty threat.
“You don’t have to carry me,” Tim says pointedly but does not make a move to get up. He will when they get going again. Until then, he is happy to rest.
Jason clicks his tongue. “I’m not going to let you limp,” he says as if that is the worst thing that happened this night. “And to stop your next argument, they guy who’ll pick us up knows all about the suit.”
So, not Batman? But it does not matter. He is fine, and he really cannot have anyone else see him and find out about this night. “I can –”
“Listen, Tim,” Jason cuts him off and puts that damned hand back on Tim’s shoulder as if he knows how grounding that is. “I’m not the motherly type. That’s what we’ve got Dick for. But this was a stressful night and you’re hurt. Let me please make sure that you get home in one piece.”
He sounds earnest, but also like he is reaching the end of the rope. And Tim does not want that. It was a stressful night. “Fine.” If he is honest with himself, giving in is a relief because he really does not want to get back to his feet and his vision is still swimming, although he better not even hint at that if he wants to get Jason off his back. If he is that concerned about a busted ankle, he will definitely not let Tim out of sight if he learns about the possible – definite – concussion.
“Great, I knew you’d see reason.” Jason claps his hands and gets to his feet, seemingly not at all tired. “Now, let me make a call and then you can give me your number.”
Tim hums and leans back, desperate to just rest his eyes for a moment. His heart is still beating too quickly, not yet reassured that the danger is over. He listens to Jason talk on the phone and then to him telling some stories about too big manors with perfect banisters. Tim wishes he could take a picture of this moment, the two of them on this roof, but his camera was lost somewhere in that basement or on the way there. He will grieve for it tomorrow. Right now, he is just glad that he is alive, happy to let Jason talk and bask in the surrealism of this night.
Perhaps he dreamt this whole thing up. Exhaustion might have caught up with him and he slipped at home, hit his head. Perhaps – but then Jason nudges him awake and says, “Alfie’s here.”
They climb down the roof and into a car and the old man who introduces himself as Alfred has the warmest concerned expression that Tim has ever seen.
No, he decides, this was real. He is in the Robin suit and tomorrow Jason will visit him and pretend to believe whatever lies Tim will make up about his parents. Swimming in the exhausted void left behind by too much adrenaline, Tim grins at Jason, carefree and just happy to be alive. With a conspiratorial glint in his eyes, Jason grins back.
Yes, very much real.
#whumptober2021#no.4#do you trust me?#batman#fanfiction#tim drake#jason todd#jason is robin#hurt tim drake#My writing
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—make it right 1 (m.)
⟶ pairing: jung hoseok/reader
⟶ genre: smut (coming in second part!), angst, fluff
⟶ word count: 19k+ (this part)
⟶ tags/warnings for part one: hip hop dancer!hoseok/drummer!hoseok, ballerina!reader, enemies to friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slowburn, mutual pinning, sexual tension, course language, drinking, hoseok’s hot bandmates, oc rolling her eyes at hoseok every five seconds, some banter and sarcasm, etc.
⟶ summary: he was a punk, she did ballet, avril lavigne sings, but truth to be told, there’s so much more than meets the eye about jung hoseok besides his drums, killer dancing skills and unexplained hatred for tattoos and piercings. because, under the layers of leather jackets and washed out joy division shirts, he’s still just a boy who tries to find his place in this big world.
or, alternatively: ballerina meets certain hip hop dancer slash musician who’s on a mission to win her heart with coffee dates and drumming lessons.
⟶ read second (and final) part here
The first time you met Jung Hoseok, it was raining.
September had just begun, welcoming the citizens of Seoul with copious amounts of not-so-summer-like weather. And at this point, after three days of non-stopping rainfalls, you were convienced that mother nature was trying to drown the whole city.
It was Saturday afternoon, last remains of August were still in the air, hidden underneath greish clouds covering the whole sky. That didn’t seem to be any problem for the tourists though, emerging from every single corner with smartphones glued to their hands.
You were running late for your ballet dance teaching class with an umbrella in one hand and your gym bag in another, maneuvering between puddles in white trainers, praying to whatever gods that existed not to soak them through and cursing yourself for constant bad outfit choices when it came to weather. Scorching hot afternoon with friends? Let's wear something black, your brain would suggest. Rainstorm? White converse highs is a great idea!
Your mother would choke you with bare hands probably if she saw you right now.
On your way to the studio, you bumped into some old lady carrying bags of groceries. You threw quick apologies, ignoring the screams of “watch out!’’ along with deathly glares that other people were sending in your direction you, until you finally reached your destination. Exactly five minutes before the time.
Just Dance dance school, located approximately twenty-five minutes long underground ride from your flat (which as a broke college student you highly appreciated), appeared in front of your eyes.
It was a modern building, situated in a part of the city that smelled like soy sauce and burnt meat, but during four months you had been working there you got used to it. There was a nail salon on the first floor and tailor on the second, but the whole third floor belonged to the school.
You started working there on Fridays and Saturdays a while ago, after completely coincidentally stumbling upon an offer found online. The school was looking for someone who could teach kids ballet on weekends. A young, energetic person with experience and, obviously, great patience and sympathy for children.
The only thing you were lacking of was background in teaching. But the manager, Choi Jisoo, did not mind that at all. A row of gold medals and trophies sitting on your shelves was enough to convince her you’re worth giving a chance on a probationary period. After few weeks of proving your skills as the best ballet teacher miss Choi would ever think of, you had got in.
And that was how you dumped your part time job at the petrol station to teach kids at Just Dance twice a week. Friday evenings and Saturday afternoons for a decent amount of money for a college student struggling with real life shit called university fees and rent, that even scholarship couldn’t entirely underwrite.
Now, climbing up the stairs with the speed of light, you knew you couldn’t bring yourself to lose this job because of your silly daytime nap that made you run late for classes.
You bursted into the locker rooms quickly, practically undressing in a hurry. After short examination in front of the mirror and fixing your usual mess of a bun, you spared a quick glance one last time at the clock. Four minutes of delay.
“Fuck!” you muttered to yourself, jogging to the practice room.
The halls, usually quite, now were filled with child-like chatter and bubbling. You frowned. That's strange, you thought to yourself. Your astonishment grew even bigger when you reached your destination, spotting a group of kids, your kids, in front of the practice room, bickering with each other.
“Hey!’’ you shouted, silencing them effectively. “Why aren't you already warming up and stretching inside?”
One of the kids, a little girl named Jiyho, stepped forward. “The room is occupied by some other group, miss. They were here when we came.” she said.
You raised your eyebrows. Did you perhaps messed up schedules and forgot there were some changes? No, that couldn’t be it. “What do you mean ‘occupied’?” you asked. “That's impossible, we've been having this classes every week here, in this room, for three months. I would know if there were any changes.”
Kids looked at you helplessly, shrugging their shoulders.
You sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, of course it's not your fault. I had a really crappy day and now this,’’ you drawled, pointing your hand at the door to the practice room. “Wait here. I’m gonna try to explain this quickly.’’ you added, smiling reassuringly at them.
When you opened the door, loud music filled your ears; some newest Drake's track you couldn’t remember the name of was playing from the speakers. Inside there was a group of kids, slightly older than the ones you were teaching, practing some hip-hop choreography.
Their teacher's back was facing you so you couldn’t distinguish if it was someone you knew from the school's crew. His dark hair with blonde highlights weren't familiar to you though. He was swaying to the rhythm of the music, counting the moves.
You cleared your throat loudly and there was no response. Of course no one could have heard you, not over the loud bass blasting through the speakers. You spotted the cause of your problem, a mobile phone charging in the corner of the room, so you went there and turned off the music entirely just before Drake could sing the chorus.
You cleared your throat again and this time everyone, including the dance teacher, heard you without a doubt.
Kids stopped dancing immediately and turned around, wide-eyed with heaving chests. Their teacher looked in your direction too, and now you were sure he had to be a new employee.
He was not much older than you, probably around your age. There was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead he wiped out with the back of his hand, his white t-shirt with the name of some punk rock band you didn't recognize was slightly sticking to his toned chest. He was good looking, you couldn’t deny that, and there was something devilish in the way he eyed your figure up and down with a smirk plastered on his lips.
You almost blushed under his gaze.
“Is there any problem, miss primaballerina?’’ he asked first, not even hiding his mocking tone.
You straightened up, ignoring his choice of words. “A problem?” you scoffed. “You and your group took the room where I have my classes every Friday and Saturday, so yeah, there is a problem.”
“The room was empty when I came here, so I just took it, it's not a big deal.” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.
“It is a big deal. Are you blind? This room is made directly for ballet dances. See this thing beside the wall?” You pointed behind him. “It's called barre. We used that for stretching in ballet. Of course you don't know that, how an ignorant hip-hop choreographer wanna be like you would know.” you snorted, chuckling to yourself.
In the corner of your eye you saw your kids peeking through the door, clearly interested in this unusual situation.
He narrowed his eyes. “I know what this is used for, princess,” he countered. You rolled your eyes at the pet name he used for you. First primaballerina and now this? Touché. “But I still don't see the point of your outburst.”
You were slowly losing your patience. The amusement in the eyes of his dancing group started to get on your nerves. It was a battle for the life and death and you weren’t used to backing away and losing. You had kids to take care of, rent to pay and new season of RuPaul's Drag Race to watch.
So you picked up a new strategy.
“Are you perhaps new here?” you asked, startling him.
“I am, why are you asking?”
“Because if you weren't new, you would know that there is only one practice room with barres in our school. This one, which also happens to be the room where I have my ballet classes every week.” you said triumphantly with a glint of not-so subtle satisfaction in your voice. “So, can you kindly take your kids and go somewhere else?”
That's it, you praised yourself in your thoughts. You got him, he doesn’t have anything up his sleeve.
The guy, however, seemed very much unaffected by your words. If anything, he was even more pleased, making your stony facade broke in seconds as you were losing your former confidence.
“No.’’ he said simply.
You gaped at him. “What?”
“I said no, princess. I need ten more minutes to finish this practice and I’m done.’’ he replied, reaching for the water bottle standing beside the wall. “Ten minutes, and you will have your bars or barrels all to yourself.”
You ignored an urge to correct him, taking a few tentative steps until you were right in front of him. He outstanded your height for a few solid centimeters, making you feel even smaller than you already were.
In addition, you hated him even more for looking this good even up close.
“Ten more minutes?! I should have started my lesson fifteen minutes ago! My kids are waiting!” You outstretched your arms in the direction where your group was watching the situation cautiously. They looked like tennis match spectators, turning their heads left and right as the argument progressed.
“So are mine,” he snapped back in calm tone, his lips twitching in an amused smile. Your nostrils flared.
“Miss? We could use another room today. We don't mind.” one of the girls from your group, Jihyo as you assumed, proposed shyly.
“But I do mind! I’m not gonna leave it like that!’’ you said firmly, still looking straight into your new rival's eyes.
“Geez, loosen up your primaballerina skirt a little maybe.”
“It’s called tutu, you ignorant assh–!”
“What on Earth is going on here?” the manager, Choi Jisoo asked, entering the room. She was a middle-aged woman, once a contemporary dancer, now leading the school on behalf of her husband. Her red high heels were clicking loudly on the polished parquet surface as she was coming up in your direction. “I heard shouting, so I came to check. Can someone explain me why aren't you having your classes now?”
You immediately rushed to the manager, taking her hands in yours. “Miss Choi, I will explain everything. This man right here,” You pointed at the cause of your anger with distaste written all over your face and he simply rolled his eyes. “took my practice room and I have no place to have my classes.”
Miss Choi turned to look at the choreographer as well. “Is that true, Hoseok?’’ she asked.
The guy, Hoseok, nodded. “This room was empty, so I just took it. I didn’t know someone was supposed to teach here later.”
You scoffed. “There's a graphic hanging on the wall when you enter the building, you should've just–”
“Silence!” miss Choi said loudly and you stopped speaking, face flushed from the embarrassment of being scolded like that by your boss. “Jung Hoseok is indeed new here, so I will let that situation pass. And you, Y/N, will take another room for today’s practice.”
“But–”
“There's no buts. I’m sure Hoseok will know from now on in which room he should have his dance lessons. Go back to your groups, you are dismissed.” she added and left the room, leaving you to stare at her disappearing figure with wide eyes.
You clenched your fists by your sides, breathing deeply to calm your nerves. “Kids, go to the room 23.” you uttered, eyes focused on Hoseok.
He smirked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “See you around, princess.” he half-whispered and winked.
Beginnings are always tough, and that was why after your first encounter with Jung Hoseok, you were certain you absolutely, undeniably hated his guts.
The second time you bumped into Jung Hoseok, it was Friday evening two weeks since ‘the accident' and you were walking out of locker rooms after your practice.
When you opened the door and heard strangled cry of “Ah, fuck!” you rushed to blurt out quick apologies to your victim. “Oh my God, I’m so–” you started but immadietly shut your mouth when you saw the person who you just hit.
Jung Hoseok, in his full glory of another The Clash t-shirt (you googled their music your first encounter with him and the only nice think you could say about them was that Jonathan played their song in Stranger Things first season) and yes, grey sweatpants (did he even own other clothes?) was standing before you, grinning in the most annoying way you could ever think of.
You wished you could wipe his smug expression off his face with sand paper.
“Fancy seeing you here too, princess,” he trailed off, leaning against the door and making you roll your eyes like every time you saw him on the halls of Just Dance. Even though you were avoiding him like a plague, he seemed to appear wherever you were. A true pain in the ass.
Maybe you were too stubborn, maybe it was your shitty coping mechanism, but decent conversation with someone like Jung Hoseok wasn’t your favourite part of the day, not after the way you were humiliated in front of your boss and underaged students.
Last week you walked past Hoseok's group and some of them giggled. You could swear they were already making jokes and memes about you behind your back.
And, the worst of it all, an absolute peak of your devastation, was the fact that even your own kids, those who were looking up to you, started to be more reserved around you. Jihyo baked some muffins because she had birthday the other day and didn’t treat you. Jihyo, the girl who once had told you she wanted to be like you in the future.
But none of this anymore.
You turned on your heels and started to walk away but Hoseok followed your footsteps. “Hey, it's rude not to apologize. My right hand hurts now, you know? I need you to kiss it better, princess.” he called, again in the same mocking tone he had used before.
And that was the moment you decided that if choking people to death had been legal, Jung Hoseok would have been already lying dead on the floor.
You ignored his words the best you could, acting like he was invisible. Avoiding the problem wasn’t the best idea you could ever think of, your mum would say but she wasn’t there, so you concluded it was better to act like Hoseok and the situation with practice rooms two weeks ago had never happened.
Hoseok, on the other hand, had very much different outlook on this. “Are you still mad about this thing with practice rooms?’’ he asked, looking at your right profile. You clamped your mouth shut, staring forward. He chuckled. “Christ, I didn't know you're that picky. Are all primaballerinas like this? Right, you are giving me silent treatment, I forgot. But can you please stop and listen what I have to say for a moment?”
After hearing his last words you actually stopped in your tracks, causing Hoseok to do the same.
You sighed heavily. Maybe he was right after all. You were a bitch sometimes, you couldn’t handle the defeats well and above all, you had probably the worst coping mechanism ever.
That was not the end of the world, somebody would say. Don't worry, be happy, Bob Marley would sing if he hadn’t died. Sparing one minute for Jung Hoseok wouldn’t make the ground to open in half underneath you.
“Go on, I’m listening,” you said, choosing casual tone of absolute unbotherness.
Hoseok took a deep breath, before he started speaking. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened two weeks ago. It wasn’t intentional, I swear. As you know, I’m new here and you can argue or not but people sometimes deserve second chances,” he remarked, observing your reaction. You should stop rolling your eyes at everything that came off his mouth. “So, I thought we can go for, uhm, a coffee maybe? Tomorrow, after our classes.”
You raised your eyebrows, gawking at him.
“It's all on me. As an apology.” Hoseok added sheepishly.
A coffee? With Jung Hoseok? A hip-hop dancer who didn’t know what barre was? You opened your mouth to snap “am I joke to you?” but you stopped eventually.
To be fair, you had nothing to lose. He wanted to apologize after all, he was the first one to approach you and maybe that was how adults should act.
You looked at him once again, more intensely this time, trying to find any sort of fake politeness in his expression. But in his eyes there was nothing but genuineness. Maybe Jung Hoseok really just wanted to treat you in lieu of apology.
Finally, after a minute that seemed to last forever, you softened. “Fine.”
Hoseok's eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. Stop staring at me like that or I will change my mind.” you grumbled and he grinned at you boyishly, in the way he probably made people fall for him. Because with that kind of aura he emitted, it was hard not to. Thank God you could easily resist his charms.
“That's settled then. Wait for me after your practice in front of the locker rooms.” he said, while walking away backwards. “See you tomorrow, princess!”
When he disappeared behind the corner, you muttered to yourself, “See you too, asshole.”, adjusting the straps of your gym bag.
It was a good while after that day when you realised that some people really did deserve second chances.
And Jung Hoseok was one of those kind.
Your third meeting with Jung Hoseok was a date. Actually, it wasn’t a date at all. You called it ‘coffee for the peace’. United we stand, divided we fall, they said.
Or to paraphrase Fergie: little coffee never killed nobody.
You found yourself standing in front of the mirror in the locker rooms, eyeing yourself with contorted look. Your hair was a mess, which you blamed the weather for. Even though mother nature stopped bombarding the city with rainfalls, the humidity was still there, lurking around the corners and waiting for the right moment to attack. You didn’t even know why you cared so much about your appearance. It was just a coffee, nothing more, nothing less, for God's sake.
With a sigh, you bent over to tie your shoes, and then you heard a voice coming from behind you. The same low, teasing tone that could only belong to–
“Didn't know you've been hiding this under your ballerina skirt all time,” Hoseok mused. “What a waste.”
You twirled around with a speed of light, facing him with slightly pinkish cheeks. It wasn't everyday that someone non-explicitly talked about your ass, especially someone like him. It wasn’t even on full display because you had your leggings on and you knew he was joking but still, your face felt hotter.
“What are doing here? You aren't supposed to be here, it's ladies locker room!” you hissed.
Hoseok shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve been here forever, so I decided to check if you didn't slip on your point shoes and died.”
You raised your left eyebrow. “Very funny. Now give me a minute and we can go wherever you want.”
“Watch your words, princess, beacuse I might take your offer seriously.”
He couldn't see you but you rolled your eyes hearing him say this regardless. You took your bag from the porch and turned around to face him with a bored expression written all over your features.
“Don't act like you're doing this as a punishment. You won’t regret, I promise,” After climbing off the stairs, Hoseok opened the door and you embarked on a street. “This place isn't far away from here, just a ten minutes walk.” he explained, choosing a direction you didn’t know.
To distract yourself a little, you started to observe the neighborhood. It was less crowded here, the usual smell from cheap restaurants was less palpable now. You were walking down the street you weren’t familiar with, you hadn’t had a chance to explore it like that yet.
It was dead quiet between you despite the hustle of the city. You weren’t used to this kind of silence and even though you certainly weren’t a master of small-talks, at least you had to try loosen up the heavy atmosphere a little.
“So,” you trailed off, “You seem to know this part of the city pretty well.”
Hoseok hummed, taking another turn that seemed to be some kind of a cutoff. “My old dance school I used to go is here, in this area,” he said. “I moved to the boarding school in Seoul from Gwangju when I was sixteen beacuse I wanted to pursue dancing. My parents weren’t very fond of it, but I told them that high school I chose had a very promising programme for kids who wanted to be business majors in the future as they wanted me to be.”
“And did you do something with that? Business, I mean,” you asked.
He scrunched his nose. “Nah, not really.” He looked like he didn't want to elaborate on that more, so you didn’t press him further. “Enough storytime for now. We're here.”
There you stood in front of a simple coffee shop like many others. Blue Side, signboard said in swirly fonts and English spelling. There was nothing distinctive about it, just an ordinary place you could find in neighborhoods like this in every single city, but you knew places like this one sometimes had living souls inside, telling their own stories.
Blue Side indoors looked exactly like the name was saying: azure walls, paired with modern white chairs and tables, grayish cloths adoring them. Classy, tasteful decor, someone would say, but one thing seemed completely out of place: big, framed pictures of sunflowers, your favourite plants, hanging on the walls like on a blue sky.
There was something bizarre about it, they didn’t match the rest of the decoration at all but at the same time they seemed to fit perfectly. They were bringing strange kind of calmness and halcyon aura to the place, marked with cold tones but broken through the yellow warmth.
Hoseok lead you to the table by the window. There wasn’t a lot of people beside you here, so a young looking waitress with dyed pink hair approached you pretty quickly, handing menus. She grinned broadly at Hoseok, too courteous for your liking, and for a moment you wondered just how many coffees the waitress served him before. Probably a good amount, judging by the way he returned the smile.
You looked through the positions briefly, before deciding on a simple espresso. Hoseok didn’t even open his. Regular customer, you thought to yourself, flesh and bones.
Awkward silence fell between you again and this time Hoseok was the one to break it.
“It's weird seeing you without your ballerina outfit,” he said, startling you. “And your hair isn’t in a bun today,” He pointed at the top of his head, tracing invisible circles in the air.
“Is that a bad thing?’’
Hoseok’s smile was smug when he spoke. “Not at all. You look good like this. Not so dramatic.”
You huffed. “I'm not dramatic.”
“Says the person who almost kicked me and my kids out of the practice room, and called me hip-hop choreographer wanna be.”
You opened your mouth to snap a witty response at him but the pink-haired waitress came to collect the orders. Maybe you were losing your mind but you could swear her lips weren't tainted in fuschia before.
“Just an espresso for me,” you said, sending the waitress a forced smile.
“Caramel frappuccino with–” Hoseok started, but the waitress interrupted him.
“With extra cream, got it.” she finished his sentence, clearly proud of herself.
You bit your bottom lip, trying to suppress an urge to chuckle. Hoseok sent a polite smile to the girl and averted his gaze to you. The points of his ears were slightly flushed in red.
“So yeah,” he uttered, scartching the back of his neck. “Where were we?”
For a moment you thought about teasing him a little more, but eventually you resigned. He looked enough flustered right now and you’re not that devil as you had thought.
“We were talking about me looking dramatic with a bun and tutu on,” you prompted instead.
“You know that's not what I meant.”
You ignored him. “Anyway, you too don't look today like a hip-hop choreographer wanna be.”
That was true, he didn’t remind you of the sweaty Hoseok in grey sweatpants you were seeing every Friday and Saturday on the halls of Just Dance after blasting Spotify Global Top 50 for a whole hour.
This Hoseok who was sitting in front of you was wearing ripped jeans and leather jacket paired with ankle boots you wouldn’t mind buying for yourself in a smaller size. Daredevil, that was a good word to describe him. Dangerous, daring, and maybe d–yeah, dumbass, your brain suggested.
Yet, one thing was still the same about him.
“What's with you and those t-shirts?’’ you blurted out before you could stop yourself.
Hoseok snorted at that. ‘’I like the band, so I wear t-shirts with their name on. It's as simple as that, princess. But I don't expect you to understand since you probably don't know who Joy Division is.”
You placed your palm on your chest, more offended by his words that you would like to admit. ‘’Of course I know who Joy Division is. I'm ballerina, not stupid,” you scoffed. ‘’Love will tear us apart is their song, isn’t it? I’ve been through this edgy phase on Tumblr in 2015. I know what I’m taking about.”
Hoseok looked at you with raised eyebrows and there was something in his eyes you couldn’t put your finger on. Was it amusement? Curiosity?
You didn’t have a lot of time to think about it though, because the waitress was back with your orders. Again starstrucked by Hoseok. Again smiling sweetly like kpop female idols on music shows.
While she finally put your coffees on the table (she spent definitely too much time doing it) and walked away, you spoke once more.
“I don’t get it,” you said and Hoseok muttered “what?”, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve never seen someone doing a choreography to Drake's song and be dressed like cliché rock band member the next day.”
Hoseok placed his cup down and looked at you with a smirk. “I have many faces you don't know about yet, princess.” he warned. Dangerous, daring, dumb–
“And when am I going to find out?” you countered.
“If you keep going for a coffee with me after our practices, I might reveal more of myself to you. As long as you are going to do the same in return.”
At that, you raised your eyebrows. Hoseok's eyes were challenging, asking you to pick up the dare and get to know him more and more, slice him layer after layer. Your subconscious was telling you there was so much more than meets the eye about Jung Hoseok than his annoying retorts and edgy t-shirts. And you were there to witness all of it.
“Fine,” you finally agreed, eyes narrowed. “We can hang out after classes. Sometimes.”
Hoseok grinned. “Great. Now, let's start getting to know each other!”
You're eyes widened comically. “Woah, slow down, boy. You know my name, know that I teach ballet and that I like espresso. What else should I tell you on our first dat–meeting?” you corrected yourself quickly. Date was a sacred word. Definitely not reserved for a man like Jung Hoseok.
“Oh, please. I also know it's better not to get on your nerves,” he pointed out. Smartass. “Tell me about how all of this happened. How did you become a ballerina.” he suggested.
You took a big sip of your coffee. “That's a quite long story,” you said languidly.
“I don't mind. We have time.”
You stared at him for a moment. He looked slightly out of picture, sitting in a quiet coffee shop, drinking a cup of the sweetest drink you could ever think of, while wearing clothes that made him look like he belonged to shady bars, where he could be surrounded by sleazy people sipping on their scotch whiskeys. There should have been a cigarette caught between his lips and fumes of smoke swirling around his features, but there was solace and the smell of caramel. Jung Hoseok, with a picture of sunflowers behind his back looked like no one you had ever met before.
And this kind of enigma that was this boy inflamed a strange curiosity in you.
So you picked up a dare.
“Well,” you began, “It all started when I was in kindergarten. You know how it is, when you are five years old and your parents want to divert their unfulfilled ambitions into you. You could say I was this type of kid, kinda. My mum was a ballerina when she was young, so was her mother, but when she got pregnant with me in very early stage of her relationship with dad, she had to stop her career and took care of me. Dad was constantly working, travelling here and there to gain as much money as he could for us,” you explained.
“Mum always told me that my grandparents weren’t quite fond of their relationship. Especially my mum's. You know, dad used to be some kind of a bad boy back then,” you chuckled, remembering the pictures mum showed you. Leather jackets, motorbikes and self made cigarettes. “Grandma constantly blamed him for ruining mum's dreams, for debauching her and then, I happened,” you paused to gulp a sip of your coffee and continued. “So yeah, my grandma never forgave dad. However, after years she had grown to tolerate him to the point she didn’t throttle him during Christmas.”
You smiled, thinking how your dad and grandma avoided any unnecessary conversations between them. It was all civil, good mornings and goodbyes spoke in casual tone, but the tension was so thick that any sudden impulse, like dad talking about old times after a few glasses of wine, could break everything they had built through years.
“It was actually my dad who took me to the ballet classes first. My mum never wanted me to follow her footsteps but dad somehow tried to, I don't know, redeem himself? He felt responsible for a long time and when I think about this now, he just wanted to make his daughter a next little ballerina so my grandma could be pleased.”
Suddenly Hoseok interrupted you. “But don't you think it's unfair your parents did that to you because your mum couldn’t, you know, continue her career anymore?” he asked and you were pleasantly surprised to see him intrigued by your little story.
You hummed, contemplating this for a second before you answered. “You’re right, maybe it is slightly unfair but I actually grown to love ballet while the years passed. And seeing my mum happily watching my performances is enough for me.” you said. Ballet was your whole life, it always had been, there was no point of denying it.
“What about your grandma then?”
“She died a few years ago. But I think she was proud of me. She never told me that verbally though. She was pretty bad at expressing feelings, but I know she was proud. I saw it in her eyes after my first big étude.”
It was in middle school, back when you were living in your hometown. Your group was performing Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker and you got one of the leading roles. You never forgot the look in your grandma's eyes when she approached you after the performance.
“And what now?” Hoseok asked and you looked up at him. “What are your plans for the next, few years?”
“Now, I still have a couple of years to double major from ballet dances and psychology. And what would come after, we will see. I have a big performance in January that will determine something really important for me. And as for the future-future, teaching kids ballet seems really nice.” You smiled lightly.
You didn’t like to talk about your big performance aloud, since you weren't quite sure of what future was going to bring. It determined if you would get into four-months-long international scholarship in Russia or not. Only one person could win this. And you were strong-willed to at least try. You dreamt about it your entire life. To finally dance on the stage of Bolszoy Theatre, maybe go on a whole tour around the world with their crew. But that was for now a matter of your own luck and abilities.
“Wow,” Hoseok mused. “You have this all planned out, princess.”
You rolled your eyes. “That's just a goal, not actual plans,” you grumbled sheepishly. “What about you? Are you really a hip-hop choreographer wanna be?’’ You giggled but stopped abruptly when you saw his expression seemed to have changed. Gone was cocky, grinning boy he was just minutes ago. Now in Hoseok's eyes was some kind of sadness and melancholy that wasn’t there before. It didn’t suit him. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“No plans. I’m just living the moment.” he said matter-of-factly, like he was trying to play it the most casually he could. It was strange behavior.
Maybe Hoseok was right. He did have a lot more hidden underneath the layers he put on everyday. He just didn’t want to show it. Not yet.
The atmosphere condensed between you. It was thick and heavy with strange tension. You tried to loosen up it a little. It was probably your personality trait your friend would directly connect with your zodiac sign. “So,” you chimed in, “for how long this waitress has been giving you heart eyes?”
Asking that was completely unplanned but you had to think about something quickly, offhand. Hoseok’s features brightened a little and you didn’t know if it was because the question was about the girl or because you were the one asking him it.
Ironically, you hoped for the latter.
“Chaeyoung, you mean?”
Oh, he knew her name. Interesting.
You tightened your grip around the cup unconsciously. “Is there any other waitress here who has a crush on you?”
Hoseok smirked after hearing your snarky remark but chose not to answer that. “Actually I’ve never had more explicit conversation with her, unless it was about the coffee. Maybe I should try, what do you think? She seems nice.” His eyes wandered for a moment to the place where the waitress stood, talking to a customer.
You smiled but there was no true politeness in this. Why though, that was something to think about on another occasion. “Yeah, you should. Totally.” you gritted through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, totally.” Hoseok agreed, nodding.
For a minute it was mute but then he glanced at your empty cups and a small smirk appeared on his face. “So, where are you taking me next?” he asked out of the blue.
You blinked. “What?”
“I treated you this week, your turn is next.”
‘’I’m not gonna buy you food, the fuck. You treated me as an apology! I don't-” You stopped your outburst when you saw him snickering at you. “Why the hell are you laughing?’’ you snapped. There was probably a blush on your cheeks and you cupped them briefly with your hands to cover it.
“Because I was kidding. You don't have to buy me anything, I can pay for myself. Relax, princess.” Hoseok grinned. He didn’t seem to be as uneasy as before, so you scoffed at him. “But honestly, where are we going next weekend?” he asked, entirely serious.
“What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you?” you challenged.
He just sent you his signature, cocky grin. “Am I that bad company?” he teased.
“Decent. You’re decent company, Hoseok.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Don't be. That's just me trying to be civil.” you warned, pointing your index finger at him.
“Great, I’ll text you about it soon then, princess,” Hoseok announced simply, ignoring your surprised expression. He reached for the menu still lying on the table and opened it. “They serve good lemon tarts here, want some?” he proposed, going through the other positions briefly.
You furrowed your eyebrows, still processing what he had said earlier. “You don't have my phone number.”
“I do, actually,” Hoseok mumbled and his lips twitched.
Your eyes narrowed into slits. “How did you get my number?”
“Soyeon. I asked her and she gave me.” Hoseok answered simply, shrugging his shoulders.
A shocked gasp left your lips. “Soyeon, the receptionist? You swooned her over to get my number? She's married!” you exclaimed, staring at him in disbelief.
Now it was Hoseok's turn to roll his eyes. “Not my fault she couldn't resist my smile and sweet words.”
You sighed heavily. He was really testing your patience.
“Well, what about those lemon tarts?”
You tossed your head back, groaning in frustration that was probably heard by every single person passing by the coffee shop on this September afternoon.
However, you missed the way Hoseok's lips stretched out in a warm, sincere smile.
You did end up having those lemon tarts that day.
You couldn’t explain why or how, but in some way coffee meetings after dance lessons on Saturdays were no more just them. They turned into late dinners on Fridays and random text messages when you were bored during your lectures, which most times were eventually escalalting to Hoseok sending you tiktoks and memes you had saw million times before yet you laughed at them anyway.
It was a start of promising friendship, someone could say. Unexpected, with not so smooth beginning but blossoming into something much more than simple hanging out in your free time. But none of you seemed to notice it, not yet.
Before you could even blink, summer was officially over and fall started to make her way into the weather. Warm cups of coffee started to feel more and more reasonable with each passing day and one time you found yourself holding one while visiting Hoseok at his work.
It was Wednesday, you didn’t have any classes at uni that day and he texted you if you could come to the address he had sent. And you did, ignoring the cold wind and forgetting about the warmth between your sheets you had to leave. Which had been surprising even for you; a sacrifice for someone like Jung Hoseok, but again, you weren’t categorizing it like that yet.
That’s how you found out about Hoseok's other job. He worked at the Suga's Record Shop, where, as he had described it: you could buy legendary pieces of music while listening to another million dollar hits. He’d said he took the position at Just Dance because the actual interest in buying vinyls unfortunately wasn't increasing, so the guy who owned the shop, Min Yoongi was his name, had decided to reduce Hoseok's salary.
The shop looked like pulled out straight from 80s movies, with tons of records of probably every single artist you could think of. There wasn’t anyone beside you inside, so Hoseok walked you around, picking up different albums, classics, as he had said and showing them to you. He kept talking about them with true admiration written on his features, babbling about how Joey Ramone and his band invented punk rock and you found yourself watching him with amusement glittering in your eyes.
Days, weeks passed and it was already October approaching, turning green parks into wide range of colors that could only be described as autumnal.
You kept discovering more and more similarities between you and Hoseok than you would like to admit. One of them being your laicsm when it came to manga and anime. The solidarity was made one Friday after practices, when you both agreed on not understanding the hype after seeing some poster hanging out randomly on the street.
Music taste however, was another cup of tea. It was something Hoseok took his pride in, that was why he kept sending you various tracks encouraging you to listen to some good stuff until one day, with raised eyebrows, he learnt how wrong his previous assumptions about you had been.
“Oh my God, my song!’’ you exclaimed, when The Neighbourhood’s Softcore started playing while you were sitting at the Blue Side. It looked like the pink-haired waitress was absent, so were the latest k-pop tracks she constantly played in the coffee shop.
“You know them?’’ Hoseok asked, looking at you with bewilderment in his eyes.
You snorted at him. “Told you I had that edgy vibe in 2015 when everyone listened to Sweather Weather. The t-shirts are long gone but my love for Jesse Rutherford stays untouched.”
You started mouthing the lyrics but Hoseok interrupted you. “I thought you would be into some k-pop type of shit.”
He received a roll of your eyes in return. “Hey, don't disrespect k-pop like that! There are nice songs out there, people just choose the worse ones usually and complain how trashy they are.” you said, pointing your index finger accusingly at him.
Hoseok lifted his arms in defending pose. “Fine, fine, don’t cancel me. What about classical music then. Since you are dancing ballet and all,” he drawled.
“Do you want to know a secret?’’ You leaned over the table and whispered, earning a nod from Hoseok. “Most ballerinas know nothing about classical music unless they are pieces we use for our routines. Ask them about their favourite and the answers would probably be Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. I'm most ballerinas.”
There was a moment of silence before you both erupted into laughter.
For people looking at you from the distance, laughing together until tears formed in your eyes, teasing and throwing playful snorts, you might have looked like you had known each other for years.
Something was ending, leaves were falling off the trees and sun hid behind the greish clouds but in the warm embrace of a small coffee shop two people found themselves in a hold of affection they couldn’t escape, no matter how hard they tried.
Because love sometimes comes into people’s lifes unannounced, tearing apart their souls and making them vulnerable for others’ healing touch.
It was late evening on Friday, when you were sitting at your favourite ramen place, bonding over food like it was the most natural thing to do, talk between next chews, bites and occasional slurps of Hoseok's mouth.
Miss Lee's ramen was cheap, not fatty and what was the most important – not popular among other residents of your neighborhood, so not many people decided to show up that evening as well. That became the reason why you had suggested meeting there with Hoseok after your lessons.
You were in the middle of playing 100 questions game, a new found way of getting to know each other better. It was completely Hoseok's idea because he seemed to be the most eager man to learn more about you that you had ever met in your entire history of dating which, sadly, wasn't impressive.
Last time someone asked you so many questions, you were doing personality tests on Buzzfeed.
Now it was your turn to ask something and after discovering that Hoseok poured milk before the cereal, liked green the most from all colors and was scared of needles (that's probably why he didn’t have any piercings, you thought to yourself) you decided you were really bad at this game.
But then, you recalled the interview you had recently watched with some k-pop group and after swallowing a generous amount of pasta, you aimed the target.
“What's your most prized possession?’’
Hoseok, however, answered without a second thought. “My drums.”
Your eyebrows furrowed and you looked at him in confusion. “Drums? Like the instrument?”
“No, like the cannisters.” he snorted sarcastically.
“So you can play?” you continued, ignoring his witty retort.
“Yes, I do. I started learning when I was a kid. My dad owned a music shop. He was renovating old instruments from time to time and that's how I was gifted drums on my 10th birthday. The same ones I have till this day.”
You hummed. “So you’re hip-hop dancer slash drummer? And what, you play in a rock band too?” you laughed but stopped right away when you saw his serious expression. You gasped. “Oh my God. You do play in a band! And you didn’t tell me sooner?!” you exclaimed loudly. Young couple sitting few seats from you sent you deathly glares. You mouthed “Sorry!” and directed your attention to Hoseok again.
He simply shrugged his shoulders. “There wasn’t an opportunity before,” You shook your head in disbelief at that. “Told you I’ve got a lot more to reveal.” He smirked and fuck, you hoped the blush that covered your cheeks right now was from the spice noodles you had eaten.
So Jung Hoseok and his love for leather jackets and old bands wasn't unreasonable. You hated yourself for wanting to see him play, sweat covering his forehead and lips bitten in concentration. What a sight it could be. Truly mesmerizing.
You had to stop your brain from wandering through such dangerous territories.
“So,” you started after clearing your thoughts, “Are there any other hot musicians in your band?” you asked, regretting your choice of words as soon as they left your lips. You wanted to slap yourself mentally.
“Did you just call me hot?”
“In your dreams. Now tell me about your rock band,” you blurted out quickly and let out a shaky breath afterwards. That was very much close to a catastrophe.
Yet you didn’t miss the way Hoseok's lips lifted up in amusement, trying to hide the laughter blossoming in his throat. “We are actually a punk rock band. There’s four of us. Namjoon, electric guitarist and the leader who sticks us all together since 2016. Jimin, in charge of vocals and bass guitar, and the youngest member, Jungkook, vocalist and bass guitar player as well.”
“How did you all meet then?’’
You weren’t even hiding your curiosity at this point. You justified yourself by thinking it was your only chance to be as close to the real (punk) rock band member you would ever be.
“You probably won’t believe me, but we all met at the university. I was studying business for a year before I dropped out of it and that's how I met Namjoon, who’s been my roommate ever since,” Hoseok said. “I met Jungkook and Jimin through Namjoon. He introduced them to me saying they all took part in some underground concerts for amateurs and after that they started hanging out together. You might say it was a coincidence we all met like that but I don't believe it. I think we were meant to come across each other eventually, you know, to save punk rock together.” He laughed to himself after finishing his little story.
You smiled at him genuinely and there was no mockness in this, it was true sympathy and probably something else, not so easy to describe.
You imagined four boys, with head full of dreams and hearts filled with raw passion, doing something the world didn’t believe in, but they had enough faith in themselves to prove everyone wrong.
“So how’s the band called?” you asked.
“Punk’s Not Dead.” Hoseok responded, cheeks bright red with mortification.
“Punk’s Not Dead,” you mused to yourself. “Sounds nice. Clever, I would say.”
“It's actually a name of the movie. It was Namjoon who made it up. He's the smartest from our group. After all he isn’t studying law without a reason.”
Your eyebrows lifted in interest. “A future lawyer playing in a punk rock band? I thought nothing is gonna surprise me after hearing you, hip-hop choreographer wanna be, are also a drummer. What about the others? Doctors? Stripteasers?”
Hoseok chukled lightly. “No, none of that. Jungkook and Jimin both work together as mechanics,” he answered, reaching for his now empty ramen bowl. You gaped as his calloused fingers adored with rings curled around the item, moving it to the side. Hoseok had pretty hands, you noticed. Hands of musician.
Sudden idea popped up in your head. “So when am I gonna hear you playing live?” you asked, smirking at him.
“Soon actually.”
“Soon?”
“Yeah, soon. We are having a gig next Saturday at Namjoon's brother bar. You should come.” Hoseok suggested.
What kind of hollywood movie plot it was, you didn’t know, but you found yourself enjoying the main female protagonist's role probably too much.
“Next Saturday,” you mumbled to yourself, counting days in your head. Right, it was the day your best friend was coming back from Los Angeles and you had to pick her up from the airport.
You bit your lip. Ah, fuck it.
“Fine. I’ll come,” you said. ‘’But can I bring my friend as a company?” you added and Hoseok smiled broadly.
“The more people, the better.”
It was a while after the concert when you learnt it wasn’t entirely a good idea but right now, with Jung Hoseok and his cocky grin he was flashing you, nothing else mattered.
Incheon International Airport was a place utterly unfamiliar to you.
Last time you had visted it, was when you had been in ripe age of ten, welcoming back your aunt Jia from her ‘life journey’ to Tibet.
Aunt Jia was an extraordinary lady, she had proved it announcing the whole family her departure to Tibet for a six months long ‘detox’, nearly giving your mother heart attack when she had talked about bonding through the nature and finding her inner peace in a temple among Tibetan monks.
But it was years ago, now aunt Jia was older and her interest in buddhism was way more sustainable, limited to buying different Buddha figurines in art decor shops.
So today, you were at the Incheon International Airport for the second time in your life, again welcoming, this time your best friend Hana from her almost two years long stay in United States.
You met three years ago, both freshly graduated from your high schools and starting a new, adult life in Seoul as roommates. You had become close friends pretty easily, sticking together through ups and downs of dealing with real life shit, as you used to call it.
Ballerina and soon to be actress, both too dramatic for this world but getting along just fine through a whole year, until one day Hana had announced over a bowl of cereal she had received an opportunity to go on an international scholarship in USA she had always dreamt about. A lifetime chance, one in a million, as she'd said. Learning acting from American professionalists, walking down the never ending sunshine streets of California. Something only outstanding people can experience.
That was how Hana had ended up in Los Angeles, the City of Stars and the world's factory of make-believe. Thousands of kilometers away from home. Today, she was going to step on her country's ground for the first time in two years since she had been gone and you were more than thrilled to see her again in person.
She hadn’t exactly told you why she was back, neither she had explained for how long or, what was the most important and disturbing: why this was happening all of a sudden. And something was telling you it was all too suspicious, a perfectly wrapped half-lie.
Hana said someone from her old friends from acting school had told her that the National Theater was preparing to do Victor Hugo's Les Misérables and suggested she should try her luck with castings, since she had played the main role while being abroad. It sounded convincing though, how wouldn’t, she was a good actress after all.
That was Hana’s version of events. How really was, you didn't know, not yet. But you were sure something about this whole situation was too strange to be true. And you were determined to find out exactly what.
It was late morning in Seoul, foggy and with definitely too much humidity in the air. You were standing in the arrivals hall holding a self-made sign, produced out of boredom and your true love for DIY Pinterest ideas. Besides your friend’s name, you had painted palm trees on it and added glitter that was still stuck to some parts of your bedroom floor. You probably looked ridiculous holding it in your hands but you didn’t care, shifting from left foot to right. Waiting.
When you were about to check the time, you saw people coming up in your direction with suitcases in their hands. And then, among a crowd of nameless passengers, you saw a familiar blonde pony-tail and black polka-dot suitcase that could only belong to one person.
You could feel the roll of your best friend's eyes before you actually saw it, Hana shaking her head and chuckling to herself because of the absurd sign you were holding.
When Hana was approximately ten meters from you, you cleared your throat and half-yelled in flat english, “There she is! My California girl!”
People around looked in your direction with both distaste and amusement but Hana only sighed, until breath was knocked out of her lungs from the sheer force of your hug.
“Oh my God, I missed you so much!” you mumbled into the material of her grey coat.
“We talked and face timed each other practically everyday,” Hana grumbled but deep down, even if she didn’t say it, she missed you too.
“That's not the same!” you protested. “Lemme look at you properly,” You pulled away from the hug, putting your hands on Hana's shoulders and eyeing her carefully. She looked skinnier than three years ago when you had met but that was a question for another occasion. Her skin, gingerly touched by Californian sun, made her look like she had just come back from holidays abroad. “You're definitely too tanned for October,” you pointed out, earning a chuckle from her.
“Come on,” Hana said, tiredness clearly apparent in her voice. “Let's get away from here.”
Back in the Uber that was driving you to your place, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Unspoken questions were lying at the tip of your tongue and you wanted to let them out instantly but you knew better. No rush, one information at the time. So you started from the simplest one, or you just thought it was.
“Did you tell your parents you're back?” you asked and Hana visibly grimaced after hearing it. Of course she didn’t, there was no point of lying.
“Not yet.”
“When are you going to tell them then?”
There was a pause on the other side of the seat and followed by a heavy sigh, Hana responded. “They still think I’m in California because my scholarship physically ends in two months. I will visit them home as soon as I’ll settle down in Seoul again.”
Settle down? You furrowed your eyebrows. She was going to stay for good here?
“So what are your next plans?’’ you wondered aloud.
“Go to that try-out in the theatre next week, see if my stay in America was actually worth something,” Hana chuckled dryly, almost bitterly. “I was also thinking about finding some part time job so I could afford a place on my own once I get back to acting regularly in theatre. I don’t want to overuse your kindness.”
“You're not using–” you started to protest but Hana cut you off.
“I am practically throwing myself at you because I don't have a place to live. But don't worry, that's not for a long time.” She smiled lightly and you reciprocated the gesture. Hana then turned her head to the window, looking out of it for a while as you passed the streets. She murmured something about the weather that you didn’t hear well because your thoughts were somewhere else.
You tried to digest all the revelations your friend had just told you. It looked like Hana wasn’t planning on coming back to Los Angeles any time soon or she wasn't going to do it at all, but that wasn’t the most puzzling issue about the whole situation. It was strange because she’d never said anything about staying abroad for longer, not even once, until she met him. That happened to be some kind of an anchor for her, a reason why she had started questioning openly her further life choices. Had something happened that she changed her mind completely?
You caught in the corner of your eye the sight of Hana absentmindedly playing with the ring on her finger and you decided it was now or never, you had to ask her or you will never be able to muster up the courage.
“What about Taehyung?” It seemed out of the blue, vocalized so suddenly but deep down it wasn’t. And Hana knew that. Her fingers ever so slightly tightened around the ring and then pulled away. “Does he know you’re staying?”
She didn't visibly flinched, didn’t scrunch her eyebrows or purse her lips, didn’t protest. Maybe it was because she had been taught how not to show any emotions, maybe it was because she didn’t want to show any emotions at all. Her face was blank when she spoke, eyes distant and thoughts probably far away from the small space of the car.
“Taehyung recently got a role in some new Netflix series. One of the main roles actually, so it's going to take him some time to finish recording.” she said, not answering the question and she was well aware of it. It was right there on the tip of her tongue but she hesitated. Maybe the realization was too much to handle for her.
“So he seems to enjoy his stay in America,” you trailed off, watching as Hana smiled lightly but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Yeah," she nodded. “He is.”
And that was enough of an answer for you.
You had been watching Hana falling for Taehyung for solid two years since she had left grey streets of Seoul to drown in Californian paradise. They met in acting school and got the scholarship together. The most divine, the most talented students the school had. Somehow over the thousands of kilometers of homesickness they started dating. And you were happy, you couldn’t be more glad seeing your beat friend chasing her dreams with a person who cared about her by her side. But the news about engagement few months ago had come as a shock to you, although you had not said anything. Hana's smile when she had showed you the ring had been enough to convince you of her happiness.
Right now, sitting by her side and listening to her talking about it so emotionless, so blankly, you were sure that in every single Hollywood fantasy there was a crack.
“So, here we are.”
After opening the doors to your apartment there was a slight pause, before you spoke again. “I know it's nothing special but for that price and in location so close to my uni I couldn’t find anything better. It's small but–”
“Can you please stop rumbling for a second?” Hana interrupted you abruptly. She was literally standing in the door with the suitcase still in her hand because you didn't let her in any further. “I told you it's okay. You allowed me to stay here even though there's barely enough space here for one person.”
“But still, the bathroom is like the smallest I have ever seen... Oh, and there's a soy sauce stain on the wall in kitchen because I still haven’t figure out how to remove it and–”
The door banged loudly and you jumped from the sudden noise.
“What the fuck! You know how easily I get scared!” you exclaimed, placing a hand on your chest, calming your rapidly beating heart.
Hana shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve had enough of your stupid complaining. Now, show me where will I sleep beacuse I feel like passing out any second now.” She placed her suitcase on the floor, taking off her coat and kicking off her boots.
When you were living together as roommates, Hana was the one who organized the chores and yelled at you after making a mess and not cleaning up. She had been doing it as a matter of habit even during her absence.
“Sleep, yeah,” you muttered to yourself, shrugging off your coat as well. “Technically there’s no second bed here but you’re going to sleep here,” you explained, pointing out at the small sofa that was standing in a place you called ‘living room' just because it was connected directly to the kitchen. Beside the sofa, it consisted of the lamp and a tiny glass table where usually was a mess of your belongings but right now it was all cleaned and polished.
Hana slumped down on the sofa, closing her eyes. “God, I missed that. There was some yelling kid on the plane and their parents couldn’t shut them up,” She sighed tiredly. “Now I can nap for the rest of the day. And night.”
You bit your lip, looking at her slumped body. Today was Saturday, the day of Hoseok's band concert you had been invited to and you still didn't prepare your outfit or, what was the most important, for the whole week you hadn’t messaged Hana about the fact that she was, in fact, invited too. You felt guilty asking your freshly out of twelve hours long flight friend to come with you but you had no choice.
“Hana,” you started and it already sounded pleading, not casual. She cracked one eye open. She knew when you had some buisness to her and it seemed like that now. “I know you’re tired, jet lagged and all but what would you say to a power six hours nap and going to a punk rock concert tonight with me?” you blurted out quickly.
Hana opened her eyes completely and now was looking at you dumbfounded expression on her face. “What?” she stammered out.
You moved to sit next to her on a sofa and took a deep breath. “So here's the thing. You know I work at the dance school now right?” you began and Hana nodded slowly. “I met a guy there. He teaches kids hip-hop. His name is Hoseok and he actually isn't only a dancer, he's also a drummer. And it might sound stupid but he plays in a band too,” you explained, avoiding her burning gaze you could feel on your skin. However, if you looked in her direction, you would see the soft smile adoring Hana's features. “We kinda started hanging out about a month ago and recently he invited me to his band's concert. And I really want to go but I thought you could accompany me cause I don't wanna be there alone all the time so, yeah.” you trailed off sheepishly.
There was a bit of silence and you were waiting for Hana to scold you but instead you received reaction you weren’t expecting at all.
“You’re dating some guy and you didn’t tell me?!” Hana bursted out. She had a mixture of disbelief and probably a little bit of betrayal written across her face.
You held your arms up in defending pose. “We aren’t dating!” you protested, scandalized someone could ever put words dating and Hoseok's name next to yours. “It's just some casual hanging out after work, just friends. Friends.” you repeated.
Hana rolled her eyes at that. She knew you better than you would like to admit but she decided not to tease you about it any further. “So, is he hot? He must be, he's a drummer after all and they are hot in theory,” She wiggled her eyebrows, nudging you with her elbow while you groaned in frustration.
“If that will make you happy, yes, he is good looking,” you sighed. There was a tiny bit of blush covering your cheeks. “But as I said, we’re just friends!” you emphasized the word again, looking at Hana intensely like you were trying to embed it in her brain so she wouldn't think something else.
“Will you go with me then? Please? I need emotional support.” you pouted. “Besides you owe me for letting you stay here.” you added and it might have been a little unfair move to maake but you didn’t care about that.
Hana sighed heavily, like she was really contemplating the decision even though she had made it a while ago, just to keep you in suspense for a little longer. She fought and urge to ask about said emotional support while Hoseok was only a friend and instead she nodded her head.
“Fine, I’ll go,” she said, lifting her index finger before you could crash her body in a hug. “But I need to take this nap first.”
You grinned at her. “Thank you, thank you,” you kept mumbling, cuddling her body tightly against her protests.
“Now lemme wash and sleep.” Hana grumbled in annoyed tone but you knew she wasn’t mad at you at all. Deep down, even after layers of well trained, measured actions she had a good heart.
“Punk’s not dead? What kind of name for a band is this?”
You were standing before the door to the bar, side by side, watching as different people, mainly young, were passing you and coming inside. Hana eyed the pink poster that said ‘Free entrance!’ with her arms crossed over chest.
“That's the name for the punk rock band.” you said with a glint of annoyance in your voice, not even sure why somehow affected by your friend's words. You liked the name, it wasn’t obvious and sounded catchy. For you at least.
Hana snorted. “I hope they are worth my jet lagged self that I’m sacrificing here for you.” she sighed, averting her gaze from the poster hanging on the window and pushing the door inside.
The bar, Dionysus, was Namjoon's brother’s property, as Hoseok had explained to you. They played their mini concerts here since they had met, actually gaining money from this because the owner was letting them take some part of the earnings from alcohol buying. Also, there was always a small box on the bar counter where people could throw their money inside if they wanted to support the group directly.
Inside, there was a respectable amount of people already standing before the stage where everything seemed to be set up, except for the actual band members that weren't present, apparently hiding at the ‘backstage’ until their main entrance. You spotted drums standing at the back of the stage and you suddenly felt not so sure of yourself.
“There's a whole stage here? Geez, they didn't come to play,” Hana wheezed to herself, taking in the surroundings. “Do you want to drink something first?” she whispered into your ear.
You glanced at your phone to check time before answering. “I don’t know. I kind of want to be by the stage when they start playing.”
Hana nudged your side. “Relax, I will push my way through those girls in leather skirts for you. Come on, let's warm up a little.”
You looked in the direction of the stage once again but eventually gave up, letting her drag you to the bar. Maybe the drink wasn’t a bad idea. You didn't quite know if you could survive the evening completely sober.
The tall, handsome looking bartender smiled at you cheekily when you sat with Hana by the bar.
“What can I get for the lovely ladies?” he asked, eyeing you both misheviously.
“What do you recommend?” Hana leaned her head on the hand, smiling at the man as well.
“I could make you my absolute speciality: Aphrodite’s nectar.” the bartender suggested.
“Go on, surprise us.” Hana said, earning a confident smirk from the man before he turned around to make your drinks. She rolled her eyes, pulling a few bills from her purse and throwing them to the self made money box with ‘Thank you for the support – Punk's not dead’ caption.
“I could pay for myself, you know,” you muttered under your breath but loud enough for Hana to hear.
“Shh, don't say anything and let me support your friend with a generous tip before the actual show. Hope they’re worth it.” Upon her words, the bartender handed you your drinks with “Here you go.” followed by the cocky grin.
Hana frowned when she saw pinkish liqueur poured to the vodka-size glass. “Seriously? This is his speciality? Pink coloured vodka? Isn’t that supposed to be called sex on the beach?” she scoffed and drank the substance in one go, flinching after she swallowed. “I've had better.” she commented dryly.
You followed her actions, drinking up the alcohol as well. You coughed a few times before you asked, “Can we go now?” It sounded like a childlike pleading but you didn’t care.
Hana nodded after exhaling loudly and you both made your way to the stage, like she had said earlier – pushing through the crowd of other people. There were shouts of swears and insults thrown at you from every side but Hana didn’t give a fuck, practically dragging you by your hand while you were muttering quick apologies to every single girl in leather skirt.
When you reached very front of the stage, Hana grinned at you. “See? Told you we’ll be in first row. God, I haven’t been to punk concert for a very long time.”
You furrowed your eyebrows. “You've been to a punk concert before?” you asked, confused with her words. Hana seemed to be taken aback by this question, like she just realised she had said something she hadn't indent to.
“Yeah. In high school. Like I said, long time ago.”
“Why didn’t you–” you started but immadietly stopped, when the lights went out followed by the oooh! from gathered people. “Oh my God it's happening,” you half-whispered, clutching Hana's hand.
“Youjust referred to The Office without watching it.”
“Shut up!” you muttered, ignoring Hana's giggle.
Next thing you knew, sharp lights shimmered and few, firsts accords of electric guitar resonated through the bar. You absentmindedly squeezed Hana's hand tighter. Then, more lights flashed, along with the thumbing sound of drums and the whole stage illuminated with bright, silver colors.
You didn't even realise you were holding your breath the entire time. You eventually got back to your senses when one of the boys started singing an unknown to you song, probably self-written by them. His hair was pink and you recognized him as Jimin, remembering the photo Hoseok had sent you where he had captioned everyone. Jimin was leaning towards the micstand lazily, like he was purposely doing it this way. His guitar was dropped on his back nonchalantly.
Next was Jungkook, the youngest in the group. His mop of black hair was nodding along to the rhythm of the music, his eyes and attention solemnly focused on his guitar. He didn’t wear any jacket and his muscles on ink-covered arms flexed with his every move.
On the other side of the stage stood Namjoon, the one who Hoseok lived with and referred as the leader of the group. He also had some tattoos on his forearms but not as many as Jungkook. He smiled lightly at the crowd when someone shouted his name, showing the tiniest of dimples on his cheeks.
And there it was the last member. Hoseok.
Your breath hitched in your throat. You had seen him dancing a few times before in Just Dance, ever so passionate but this was different kind of passion. He was fierce, completely devoted to what he was playing, hitting the notes like his life depended on it. He didn’t had any tattoos adoring his skin and his ears weren’t pierced like his friends' but he had an exeptional energy in him, power that he emphasized with every move, every tap of his drumsticks. For you, he was the most divine of them all, the brightest spot on the stage. A born performer, flesh and bones.
The song was catchy, something quite similar to the ones Hoseok had sent you after many ‘pretty pleases' from you. Jimin and Jungkook's voices were blending together just fine and you found yourself bopping to the rhythm of the music until you felt Hana's hand on your shoulder. You turned around in her direction with a smile that quickly disappeared when you saw her expression. She looked like she had just seen a ghost. Even in the dimmed lighting you could distingiush she was paler than before.
She leaned towards your ear and half-yelled, trying to outshot the crowd, “I need to get some fresh. I don't feel well.”
You looked at her with worriedly. “I'll go with you,” you declared but Hana stopped you.
“No, stay here,” she protested firmly. “Enjoy the show. I'll wait for you outside until it's over.”
“You sure?” you asked, earning a nodd from her along with a light smile that didn’t look much convincing but before you could say anything else, Hana was making her way through sweaty, bouncing bodies again. You watched anxiously as her blonde hair disappeared between the mass of nameless people and then, the song was over. You released a long breath and glanced at the stage.
Namjoon took the mic and tapped on it a few times. “Ehm, hi. We're Punk's not dead, as you know probably,” he chuckled lightly, making you smile, despite the uneasy feeling in your chest about Hana. “I'm Namjoon and I’m the leader of the group. I thought it could be nice if I introduce everyone before we start so... here we go. On the left, there's Jimin,” He pointed at the pink-haired man and audience, mainly female attendants, cheered loudly. Jimin smirked lopsidedly.
Namjoon continued, “Next there's Jungkook,” The youngest lifted his head and smiled boyishly in bunny-like manner, scrunching his nose in process. He looked familiar, you thought to yourself. Strange.
“And, our amazing drummer: Hoseok!” Namjoon presented and you screamed upon hearing Hoseok's name before you could realise what on Earth you were doing. Hoseok stood up from his seat and grinned broadly, waving to the crowd. Then, miraculously, his eyes landed on you and if that was even possible, his smile visible widened. You thanked whatever gods that existed he couldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed.
“Thank you for coming here today. I hope you'll have a great time,” Namjoon said. “And now, we are going to play our new song called Cigarettes after sex*, written and self-composed by Jimin. Enjoy.” he finished, nodding to his friends.
The song was beautiful, it carried the lash of melancholy and sadness behind every single word that Jimin sang and he visibly felt it too, making it seem even more real by the sheer emotions of heartache written on his beautiful features.
They played a few more songs after that one, some of them were covers of the bands you were familiar with thanks to Hoseok and his signature t-shirts. Before you could blink an eye, it was over and Namjoon was thanking everyone one more time for coming and then they disappeared behind the black curtains after receiving a loud applause for their performance.
You stayed like that for a while, still basking in aftermath of everything that had just happened, humming to yourself some melody from one of the songs you had heard tonight. You turned your back to the stage, watching other people leaving the bar. Lost in your own world, you definitely didn’t hear footsteps behind you.
“Did you enjoy your time, princess?”
You jumped in your place, twirling to the direction of the voice you knew so damn well. Hoseok was smirking at you while crouching down on the stage. His friends were also there, behind him, packing their stuff.
When you calmed down your breathing enough, you shouted, “What the fuck, Hoseok?! I told you to not do things like that to me!”
He only chuckled in response, smiling cockily at the furious flush on your cheeks. “I asked you a question,” he reminded.
What was it? Ah, right, he asked about the concert. You pursued lips, crossing your arms over chest. You wanted to say it was showstopping, spectacular and all those adjectives Lady Gaga had used in that famous meme video of hers but you didn’t.
“It was decent.”
A smirk appeared on Hoseok's face. “Decent, huh? Wouldn't say so, after seeing you cheering so loudly in first row,” he teased. ‘’I'm flattered. I’ve never had such devoted fan of myself.”
He thought that pink blush which colored your cheeks was cute. Fuck, you were cute, trying to cover your embarrassment with an unamused expression.
“I cheered for your friends, you know? Not you.” you mocked but it was pointless, he was already standing up from his position, knowing what was the truth.
“Come on, let's go to the backstage,” He made quotation mark on the word backstage while saying it. You grimaced. “There’s nice after party setting up there,” he tried again, this time pouting slightly and you eventually gave up. You had promised you would come, after all. Hoseok grinned when you followed his footsteps, walking to the supply base at the back of the bar.
“Jungkookie!" Hoseok shouted before he twisted the knob, whirling around for a quick moment. Jungkook lifted his head up in Hoseok's direction. “Don't forget to close the door when you finish packing!”
The youngest member nodded, going back to his previous work.
Beside you and Hoseok's bandmates, inside the ‘backstage’ was the same handsome bartender from earlier, Namjoon's brother as you assumed, and a woman with dark, shoulder-length hair that stood next to Namjoon, leaning into his body. He had his arms wrapped around her, talking to his brother about something. She introduced herself as Minhee, Namjoon's girlfriend, extending her hand to you in friendly gesture when you approached them with Hoseok.
“Oh, we met before, by the bar. I’m Seokjin, the owner of this lovely place.” Namjoon's brother, Seokiin, said, shaking your hand.
“Hyung, you can't give it a miss, can you,” Namjoon grumbled behind his back but Seokjin ignored him. That wasn’t probably the first time he flexed about owning a bar, you thought to yourself.
“How did you like the concert, darling?” Seokjin asked you suddenly.
You rushed to reply. “Oh, it was really nice! I’ve never been to anything like that before but I enjoyed it very much.” you responded. Hoseok muttered something about you being a liar under his breath but you acted like you didn’t hear him. “I really liked the second song, the slow one.” you added, averting your gaze to Jimin who was sitting with his head bowed down in front of the vodka bottle.
Seokjin patted him on the shoulder. “Yah, did you hear that Jimin-ah? You’ve got a fan of your sad songs here!” he said, breaking into laughter but Namjoon stopped him by sending his brother a warning look. Jimin though barely even acknowledged his or your words, lifting his head up for a brief moment and eyeing your figure without any emotion on his face. Then he got back to the glass of alcohol again, pouring the substance into his mouth in one go.
“He broke up with his girlfriend like six months ago or something and still hasn’t quite move on,” Hoseok whispered into your ear. You let out an “Oh,”, sending one last apologetic smile to Jimin, even though he wasn’t looking at you at all.
Hoseok motioned you to sit by the table with others and you positioned yourself between Namjoon's girlfriend and Hoseok. The only absent person seemed to be Jungkook who was probably still fumbling with packing their stuff.
The conversation was oscillating around the concert. Hoseok mentioned that the audience had been much bigger than the last time and Namjoon kept babbling about some technical issue with his guitar that you couldn’t understand.
“Don't worry. I've been with him for three years and I still know shit about what he's talking about too," Minhee said to you, probably after seeing your clueless expression. You both bursted out into laughter.
You were supposed to ask her how had she and Namjoon had met but Seokjin interrupted you, walking in with a bottle of champagne.
“Where the hell is this kid Jungkook?” he grumbled. Hoseok quickly explained he was packing their stuff on stage when he last had seen him. Seokjin hummed and placed the bottle on the table. “And what about your blonde friend, darling?” he directed next question to you.
You froze in place.
Holy shit. You completely forgot about Hana.
You didn’t respond to Seokjin, so he assumed you hadn’t heard him and went back to opening the champagne bottle.
You pulled out your phone from the pursue and cried out in mortification after seeing the messages.
[22:11pm] Hana: I was at mcdonalds across the street lol im heading to the bar now
[22:11pm] Hana: come up for me please
[22:15pm] Hana: ???
10 minutes ago.
“Fuck!” you muttered under your breath, frantically typing a response.
“Is everything ok?” Hoseok asked, his voice laced with concern.
You shook your head. “I forgot to come up for my friend after the concert. She wasn’t feeling well so she left and stayed outside.” you hastily explained, already standing up from your seat, clutching your phone in hand. Hoseok followed after you.
You pushed the door open, although the sight you saw behind them wasn’t anything you could ever expected. The surprised words escaped Hoseok's and your mouth simultaneously.
“Hana?”
“Jungkook?”
They stood facing each other, looking like they were interrupted by you mid conversation, probably in too close proximity for people supposed to be strangers. Hana's astonished face leaned out from behind Jungkook's tall body in the direction of the voices. Slowly, like she didn’t expect to be caught this way. And that was weird, beacuse she looked like she didn’t want to be seen in Jungkook's presence by the others, like their close proximity was something that shouldn't have been acknowledged.
Jungkook turned around as well, however ever so recultanty. And then, when you saw his face clearly now, jet-black hair and inked arms, it all crashed you like a wave. That was why he seemed to look so familiar. You knew him, maybe not personally, but you knew who he was. The boy from Hana's photograph she had pinned to her cork board when you had been living together. A beach with crystal blue sea behid their backs, the same boy yet with less tattoos than now, carrying your friend on his back, both grinning to the camera like it had been the happiest moment of their lives. Until one day Hana was gone and so was the photograph.
You felt like you were interrupting something too intimate for you to step in with your shoes like that. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but Hoseok helped you out instead. And you thanked him for that mentally because you weren’t sure of your mouth anymore.
“Looks like your friend is safe and sound.”
Hana snapped out of her previous shocked haze upon hearing his words and automatically composured herself. She took a few meassured steps away from Jungkook. Gone was the slight shock on her face, she was back to her calmed persona. “Yeah, I'm all good. I was about to text you I’m going home.” she said, her words directed to you. She then exchanged quick glances with Jungkook, glances that could look the simplest from other people’s perspective but not for you.
Hoseok though, fortunately, didn’t seem to feel something was apparently off here. It was for the better he thought like that. “So you won't stay to celebrate with us?” he asked Hana.
Jungkook’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. He was still standing there, unsure of what to do
Hana shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m still tired and jet-lagged from my flight so I will just wish you great time and go.”
“You sure? I can go with you too, if you want,” you suggested after containing yourself enough to finally vocalize some thoughts. But Hana only smiled at you. Forcefully, which didn’t miss your attention.
“It's okay. I want you to have fun. I already called a cab for myself anyway” she reassured.
Hoseok protested. “Someone could drive you home. I’m sure Jungkook wouldn't mind–”
“It's fine, really.” Hana said firmly and you knew by the clench of her fists she was slowly losing her patience. At the same time, Jungkook's eyes flickered ever so slightly after hearing his hyung's words and then went back to his previous unreadable stare.
Seeing Hoseok opened his mouth to protest, you took his wrist, hoping he would take the hint and not add anything more.
“I must really go now. Take care of Y/N and have fun.” Hana smiled politely, looking at Hoseok and he reciprocated the gesture. She didn’t really acknowledge Jungkook at all, even though he had somehow his gaze fixated on her the whole time. But Hana did that all pursposelly, so Hoseok couldn’t suspect anything. She wasn’t stupid after all. Well crafted actress knew how to act.
She came up to you, hugging you briefly. “We'll talk tomorrow.” she whispered into your ear because she knew that you couldn’t be fooled so easily, that you felt something was not right from the very beginning since she had announced her comeback from the States.
Hana waved one last time to you, exiting the bar. You could swear Jungkook's eyes lingered on her figure a little too long to be considered unbothered, until he turned around and went back to the stage. You prayed Hoseok wasn’t going to ask him what had he been talking about with Hana or why did he even decide to approach her like that.
“Come on. Let's go back. Jungkookie will close the door.” Hoseok said instead.
You listened, letting him take your wrist and walk to the supply base for the second time tonight. You wondered for a moment if Jungkook was going to chase after Hana, but you shook your mind from those thoughts. It wasn’t your life to make decisions and judge them.
A little while after you sat on your seat again, Jungkook came back as well and you somehow felt the rush of relief swimming through your whole body. He slumped down next to Jimin on the couch and said something to him you couldn't make out exactly, but pink-haired man laughed bitterly at that, filling his best friend's glass to the brim.
Next two hours you spent there passed like a blurr. You kept talking with Namjoon's girlfriend practically the whole time. You found out Minhee was studying medicine and she had met Namjoon through some discussion club she had joined in her freshman year. It had been attraction from the first disagreement, as she described it cheekily.
When Namjoon called for Minhee to talk about something on the side, you averted your attention to Hoseok who was sitting in front of his empty glass and scrolling through the phone, clearly discontent with you intentionally avoiding his attempts to tease you about something you had said, or avoiding him in general.
“Aren't you drinking anything?” you asked him with raised eyebrows.
Hoseok snorted. “Someone has to drive you home, princess.”
“Bullshit. I can take the cab.”
“Well then, I don’t feel like drinking anyway.”
You eyed him carefully and then it hit you. “Oh my God,” you blurted out, trying to stifle the giggles blubbering in your throat. “You are not drinking because you are a lightweight!” you accused, not even hiding your amusement now.
“That's not true,” Hoseok grumbled but his red ears gave him away. He was a bad liar.
You pushed his chest with your index finger. “Admit it!”
Hoseok looked at the ceiling and sighed heavily. “Fine, I am. And what about it?”
You giggled. It was probably some champagne mixed with wine you had drank with Minhee speaking through you but you didn’t falter when you said, “Nothing at all. That's cute.”
Hoseok frowned. “Cute?”
“Yeah, cute. You're cute when you're flustered.”
Hoseok parted his lips in both disbelief and annoyance because relatively speaking, you took it out from his mouth. It was his remark, for God's sake, he was the one supposed to say things like that to you. He hadn't drunk even a drop except one, symbolic glass of champagne yet he wanted to argue with you about it like five years old child. Because if anything, you were prettier and yes, cuter than him, and he had a sudden urge to spell it out for you.
Yet he faltered for a moment after hearing abrupt glass crashing from the other corner of the room. You looked in that direction too, seeing half-conscious Jimin slumped down on the couch, Jungkook sitting next to him and saying things to him you didn’t hear. You could make out only “hyung” and “please, calm down” falling from younger's mouth.
Jimin seemed like he had no idea about what was going on around him. When he opened his eyes for a moment they were bloodshot and glassy, probably from too much alcohol he had drank before, or maybe even from something else entirely. Then he murmured something to Jungkook and black-haired boy sighed, standing up from his position and approaching Namjoon and Minhee furiously talking about something in the far corner of the room.
“Here we go again,” Hoseok breathed next to you and you scrunched your eyebrows, focusing your attention on the scene in front of you.
“Hyung, please–”
“No, Jungkook. We can't do that again.”
“Please, I swear it's the last time. He won't let me take him home unless it's with her,” Jungkook pleaded. “It'll worsen anytime soon. I don't want to see him like this."
Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you think I don't know that Jungkook?! Last time was supposed to be last. And now it's happening again. We can’t continue it like this,” he said, looking in Jimin's direction where Seokjin was trying now to convince him to let go of the half empty vodka bottle Jimin was clutching tightly to his chest.
“Hyung...”
“Stop arguing. I already texted her like 20 minutes ago when I heard he started talking about her again. She's on her way,” Minhee interrupted. “But this has to end. He–they can’t live like that.” she said and Jungkook breathed out heavily with relief, thanking her over and over.
Hoseok hummed next to you, making you jump slightly on your seat from the sudden sound so close in your proximity. “What's happening?” you asked him and he let out a long sigh.
“I don't think you want to see that. I should take you home.”
But before you could answer, someone banged loudly on the back door. Seokjin moved from his seat and opened them, letting inside a girl around your age, dressed in all black. Her hair was dyed in red and she didn’t have any make up on, assuming by the ungodly hour she might have been woken up or she hadn't gone to bed at all.
“Who’s that?” you whispered to Hoseok’s ear.
“That's Nari,” he answered simply, like her name was carrying all the needed information without giving into other details. “Jimin's ex girlfriend and probably the only source of light in his life.”
Nari moved automatically, like it definitely wasn’t the first time she was in similar situation. She crunched down on the floor in front of Jimin's slumped body and touched his thigh lightly, murmuring his name. Jimin's eyes snapped open at that and he blinked a few times, focusing on the sight before him, like he couldn't actually believe she was there, with him, like his head was messing with him and betraying the bloodshot eyes.
“Nari,” he muttered and it sounded unsure, pained. “You're here. You came.”
“Yes, I’m here.” she replied with a soft smile, standing up to sit next to him on the couch.
Jimin's hands reached for her, cupping her face in his shaky palms, thumbs stroking rosy cheeks, checking if she was really here, flesh and blood. “You dyed your hair,” he said softly with croaked voice, putting a strand behind her ear. “You look beautiful.”
It all felt too intimate for you, like you were stepping into a scene you weren’t suppose to be in. You quickly averted your gaze somewhere else. In the corner of your eye you spotted Jungkook looking at what was happening in front of him with blank expression. He had seen it probably many times before, after all. Suddenly, strangled sobs echoed through the room and everyone involuntarily snapped their heads into direction of it.
Nari was hugging Jimin's shaking body, rocking him back and forth as he cried out words into the material of her jacket.
“Please, don't leave me.”
“I won't. I’m here. It's okay,” she kept murmuring to his ear until his breath slowed down enough so she could say, “Let's go home.”
She motioned for Jungkook and he obliged, helping her lift Jimin's limp body from the couch like he weighted nothing. They left without a word, just like that, and heavy silence fell in the room. No one was in right mood to continue celebrating, not after everything that they had just witnessed.
Namjoon was the first one to break the silence. “We will be going. It's been a long day.” he said, placing his hand on Minhee's waist.
“Indeed.” Seokjin agreed. “I’m gonna go upstairs to my place too. I’ll clean up in the morning.”
Hoseok also stood up from his seat, putting his palm on your shoulder. “Come on. It's time for us too.”
You nodded, rushing to bid everyone goodbyes.
Outside, in the middle of the night, where all the demons had left humans bodies making them vulnerable for the bracketing world, you took Hoseok's hand in yours. It was warm, despite the coldness of the air.
“What would you say if we took a walk by the river? I need to clear my mind.”
The puffs of air around your face when you spoke were telling you it was a bad idea, but Hoseok smiled in response.
“I’ll lead the way.”
Long walks by the river were meant for warm summer nights when sun set lately and rose in the very morning before you could blink an eye open. They were meant for the steamy nights, when people didn’t have to worry about the coldness, when they could wander under the starry sky with bare shoulders and heavy eyelids.
October absolutely wasn’t reasonable time for the walks in the middle of the night but this time he weather was kind, merciful. There was no sight of the frost and even though it wasn’t the most pleasant aura, even though hands had to be tucked deep in pockets of the jackets, everything could be bearable.
Maybe somehow, when you reached that point in your life, circumstances stopped being the most crucial, as long as you were with the right person.
Boulevards by the Han River were common spot for the citizens and tourists but not in this time of the year, not when fall was threatening everyone as a trailer of the winter. Colorful lights illuminating themselves on the surface of the water were always the same, no matter which part of the year it was; always mesmerizing, always spectacular even for the people seeing them every single day.
This night however, they seemed to shine not as bright as the stars.
“I feel bad for Jimin and this girl,” you said, breathing out the puffs of air in the process. It had been silent between you and Hoseok since you had left the disaster of a party until this very moment, when you finally gathered up enough courage and inhaled cold air to clear your mind and vocalize your thoughts. “Do you know why did they break up?” you asked Hoseok.
“I don't know the details, just overall,” he answered, keeping his gaze ahead of him. “The only person who knows the truth is probably Jungkook but he had never told us anything.”
You hummed, digging your fists into the pocket of your jacket deeper.
Hoseok continued after a while. “I didn’t lie when I said she was the only source of light for Jimin. Beside her and music, he has nothing to cling onto in his life. There's no Jimin without music. Always has been.”
The images from the previous hours shimmered behind your eyelids. Jimin onstage, feeling himself, singing like he wanted to burn his throat dry, playing the guitar like he wished his fingers grated on the strings. A fierce passion in his eyes, as if he wasn't doing it out of the habit; losing himself in the drumming rhythm because that was his only ability. Then you saw the energy slowly draining away from his body, you saw a broken man, vulnerable to the world he had never had any intention to care about, now caring about him.
You wondered about the others. Was music their one true love and burden?
“What about your friends then? Is music really that important for them too?”
Hoseok thought about an answer for a little while until he decided to respond. “Jungkook grew up with Jimin in the same hometown. Childhood friends, always sticking together through ups and downs, younger doing exactly the same after the older. Jimin always took care of Jungkook and now Jungkook is watching by Jimin.”
You let your mind wander for a moment to Hana. How did she meet Jungkook? There was no doubt they knew each other before she had become your roommate. Did she know Jimin too, if they were raised in the same town? Another couple of questions you were yet to ask but this could wait for now.
“The band and music it's their whole life. They aren't like Namjoon, level-headed with actual plans after he finishes his law studies. Music is just a hobby he's going to put off once he's out of uni.” Hoseok added and there was some sadness about the way he did it, like they were another words at the tip of his tongue he wouldn't dare to say aloud because when unspoken, they hurt less.
“And you?”
Hoseok raised his eyebrows. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. Who am I talking to?” you sassed lightly. “How do you see yourself in three years from now?” you asked and Hoseok chuckled the same way he did when you questioned him about it a month ago in Blue Side. Bitterly.
You motioned for him to sit on one of the benches standing by the boulevards.
“Do you have everything planned for the next three years?” Hoseok countered instead of actually answering you. He waited for you to roll your eyes but you did the exact opposite.
“Well, my mum always tells me that it's good to set up your goals. Even though sometimes you might disappoint yourself when they turn out all wrong.”
Hoseok chuckled. “There's a ballerina speaking through you, princess. And motivational speaker, too.”
“Maybe, but that's not my point,” you fired back, twirling around on the bench so you could sit cross-legged in front of him. “So, Jung Hoseok, hip-hop choreographer wanna be and passionate drummer, will you tell me what are your plans for the future?” you asked again. When you saw him hesitate, you added, ‘”Come on, pretend it's like our 100 questions game. I asked you a question and you shall answer.”
Hoseok sighed heavily. “I think I told you once that I just live the moment,”
“But everyone has some dreams,” you complained. Go on, tell me something boy, are you happy in this modern world,” you sing-songed, breaking into loud laughter in the process that made him chuckle shortly.
Hoseok stared for a few seconds blankly into the calm surface of the river before him, watching as colorful lights changed from blue to green. Sadness blending into hope. He took a deep breath before he spoke.
“Remember when I told you I had moved to Seoul to attend dance school there?” You nodded. “And how I told my parents I was going to study business really hard so they could allow me to learn dancing?” Another nod. “Well, my parents were never quite fond of my passions. First it was drums but they knew from the beginning I treated it more like a hobby than a future career, so they let me do it. Then dancing came. I found something I really wanted to pursue in my life and they, how to put this, never quite accepted my choice.” he said, looking at his hands folded on his lap.
You had never seen him more uneasy, the smiling Hoseok who teased you and and spoke about music with glint in his eyes was long gone and you didn't like this version of him at all.
“You know, I’ve got an older sister. She was-is the apple of my parents eyes. The better child, the best daughter they could ever imagine. She studied abroad, speaks English and Japanese, has a well paid job that makes her afford a nice apartment in Seoul on her own. They wanted me to be like her too, but I guess I never came up to their expectations.” The words he never willed to tell, slipped from his mouth just like that, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.
There was a sadness coming from his voice and you found yourself wishing you could swipe it off his face because it didn’t suit him, because gone was Hoseok that made you laugh and played his drums like his life depended on it. Hoseok who conveyed his fierce passion for dancing to the kids he was teaching. All the layers he was putting on every day were slowly slipping off him.
And in that moment you thought how unfair this world was. Your parents gave you wings to fly, to make your dreams come true but his parents were trying to cut them off his whole life.
“I went to the university so I could finally please them, so they would say: ‘Hoseok-ah, we’re so proud of you!’ but I eventually realised it's not for me. That I can't live like this. I met Namjoon, then the rest of the boys. We made a team and I've never felt more free,” Hoseok confessed and for the first time this night, he looked you in the eyes honestly, deeply. “So if you asked me, what's my dream, I would say I just want to be happy. I’ve never wanted to be the best. I just wish I was doing what I love the most, dancing and music.”
You opened your mouth to say something but he raised his hand, stopping you. “If you want to pity me, don’t. I don’t need this.” he said, but it was your turn to shake your head.
“No, I want to say something,” you firmly protested. You lifted your index finger up, pointing at the blackboard sky. There was determination in your voice, a need to convince this boy he was worth much more than he thought. “See those stars? There are literally millions of them on the sky, looking exactly the same from our perspective yet we all admire them. And I’ll tell you more. Every single one is different, special on its own terms,” you said, all the time beating the air with your hands. You ignored the way Hoseok stared at you with raised eyebrows and continued, “Now think about the sun. Yes, it is the biggest star, giant thing and the centre of our solar system but it’ll burn your eyes if you look at it for too long. Those significant stars won't do it and we all wish our dreams to come true while looking at them falling, not at the sun.”
A small smile appeared on Hoseok's face and you reciprocated that, sighing softly. “What I’m trying to say is that you don't have to be the greatest to be admired and respected. You are your own star.” you trailed off, almost whispering the last words like you were afraid of vocalizing them.
You were staring into each other eyes for a whole minute, before you got insecure and looked away with flushed cheeks. “I'm sorry. That was my probably still a little drunk self speaking, don’t mind me. Hana would say it is also my zodiac sign's personality trait.” You put your hands on your cheeks, finding them warm from embarrassment despite the coldness of the night.
If you glanced in Hoseok's direction, you would see him grinning broadly. Who was this girl, he had no idea. He just felt she was going to be someone special for him. His own green flashlight illuminating on the clear surface of the water.
“No, it's okay. I really appreciate that. Thank you.” he said, making you hesitantly turned to face him with raised eyebrows.
“You're welcome. I guess.”
“So,” Hoseok drawled, pointing his chin at you and then on the sky. “How do stars align tonight for Aquariuses?” he asked out of the blue. You thanked it was the middle of the night, so he couldn’t witness the way you furiously blushed.
“Why don't you look for yourself?” you whispered, staring up at the dark, starry sky.
But why would he look at the stars, if for him all of them hid in your eyes?
At some point, next weeks turned into a blurr while gloomy November was approaching, blending everything into grey reality. Life seemed to move on its own and it could be thought that things went back to normal again but deep down, behind set up facades, there was so much more left unspoken than revealed, lying bare and exposed on the table.
You balanced your life between classes at the university, ballet rehearsals after hours and doing your part time job on weekends. With the midterm exams getting closer and closer, you somehow still managed to find time to hang out with Hoseok.
It was weird for you, to spend so much of your free time drinking coffees at Blue Side, eating ramen after practices on Fridays or just listening to him babbling about some other hilarious story involving him and his friends as you walked together to the underground station, with your hand in his under the umbrella, referencing to Rihanna's song probably too many times than necessary.
And normally, looking at you from afar and up close, seeing the intimacy you shared in your stares and muffled laughters, someone could swear you were already dating, that this hanging out carried so much more meaning than you would like to admit. But for some reason, neither Hoseok nor you wanted to speak about this aloud, to give your relationship a label much more bigger than simple friendship.
People around you noticed, obviously, it was hard not to. Some of them teased, others decided not to bring up the subject for the sake of not starting a storm in a teacup.
And life went on like that, day by day, as fall was cleaning the world from the last remains of summer, behind blurry windows a new spring was blossoming for two people.
In the middle of November Hana moved out from your appartment after composing her life enough to afford a place on her own. She got a role in a theater, doing rehearsals every weekend and keeping her mind busy with work during weekdays, because she indeed had a lot to handle since she had come back. And certain raven-haired boy being present again in her life wasn't helping in this situation at all. If anything, his position in the equation made everything much more twisted and complicated.
While your friend was burried deep in her scripts and old blurrs of memories, you were equally engulfed with paper work for your exams. You would have been probably still staring at the same pages for the whole night, if you hadn’t received a message from no one other than Jung Hoseok himself.
[18:56pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: get your ass up from the couch and go out with me today
[18:56pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: theres some punk rock concert today organized on the campus of YOUR uni
[18:58pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: namjoon gave me his tickets since he cant go with his gf
[18:59pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: actually im surprised you didn’t tell me anything about this concert. shame on you princess
There was a string of emojis after the last text and you rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your heart fluttered in your chest when you read go out with me, but you eventually composed yourself. Because after all this time, you thought it meant nothing. Simple hanging out, nothing more, nothing less.
[18:59pm] me: fyi i need to study
[18:59pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: come on one free night wont make a big difference
When you weren’t responding for a while, leaving him on read, he typed:
[19:03pm] hip hop choreographer wanna be: pretty pleaseee
But he didn’t know you were already in the bathroom, notes long forgotten on the couch.
“They were sooo bad!”
“Hey, don’t be mean. At least they tried!”
“Oh please, I’m not punk rock expert but I know this Paradise City cover sucked.”
You were walking out of the small campus venue for the concerts, laughing until your lungs burned and cheeks hurt from smiling. The concert didn’t last long, just a few covers and one self composed song, more was actually happening right when you decided to go, leaving the ongoing party behind your backs.
“But they organized free beer. I think I might forgive them,” you added, slurring your words a little and occasionally bumping into Hoseok in the process of trying to stay steady on your feet.
Drinking wasn’t probably the smartest idea you could think of after considering two facts. One: Hoseok hadn't drunk even a sip beacuse he was driving. Two: you had an awful habit of becoming too honest under the influence. And combining those two things was like sitting on a bomb and waiting for it to explode any minute.
You sat in Hoseok’s car with heavy exhale of relief. “Remind me to never drink that much again when I have to study the next day.” you mumbled, closing your eyes and leaning your head on the window.
“Noted.” Hoseok sat down as well, smirking to himself. He reached for the keys but your next words stopped him.
“Can we like, stay here for a while? In your car I mean.” you asked with hesitation in your voice and Hoseok's eyebrows rose high.
“Why?”
“Because it feels nice here. And maybe I don't wanna go back just yet.” The words slipped out from your mouth so casually that you didn’t even noticed the change in the atmosphere. To hell with consequences and aftermaths, to hell with becoming vulnerable when alcohol was swimming in your veins.
Hoseok smiled, even though you couldn’t see him. “Fine. But puke in here and I swear to God–”
“Geez, I hadn’t drink that much,” you snapped, opening your eyes. “Turn on some music, mister drummer. Hit me with that punk rock hits.”
Maybe you had drunk that much after all.
Hoseok chuckled to himself, opening his Spotify and connecting it to the car's radio. “What do you have in mind?”
“Do I look like an expert?” you retorted for the second time this night and Hoseok rolled his eyes. “Just put it on shuffle and I’ll tell you what I like.”
He did as he was told and soon the heavy beats of something that said Stairway to Heaven lighted up on the screen in front of you. You scrunched your eyebrows. “Stairway to Heaven, Highway to Hell, what’s next? Freeway to Purgatory?”
There was a moment of silence before you erupted into laughter. “Fuck, that was funny. Admit it.” you said, wiping the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes.
“I'm pretty sure someone had come up with this joke before.”
“God, you’re no fun. Only intellectuals can understand this type of humor and unfortunately, you aren’t one.”
Hoseok ignored your words, changing the song and this one you recognized more than well. “Leave it!” you blurted, causing him to smirk.
“Ah, right. I forgot you’re that original,” he said in mocking tone.
Your lips turned into a scoff. “Hey, don’t disrespect Arctic Monkeys’ AM album this way. That's a masterpiece of modern discography, better than your ‘classics’ sang by old dudes. Alex Turner is hot at least.” You pointed your index finger at him accusingly. When he was about to disagree, you added, “Besides, you have this on your playlist, so don't try to bullshit me right now. You like it as well.”
Hoseok sighed in defeat. “Okay. I wanna be yours it's a nice song. I admit it.”
“Yeah. It is,” you breathed, closing your eyes for a second, basking in the moment. “I always wanted someone to fuck me to Arctic Monkeys.”
Before you could stop yourself, the words escaped your mouth and your heartbeat immediately quickened in panic. Fuck, had you really said that out loud? The look of pure surprise mixed with amusement on Hoseok's face were telling you that you indeed revealed that you wanted to get dicked down while Arctic Monkeys played in the background. And of all people you knew, you had to do it in his presence.
Screw your drank thoughts and fantasies, screw stupid string of fate that always played games with you, even now.
You tried to compose yourself a little, acting completely nonchalant about what had just happened. You wore a disguise of unbotherness as best you could (which was pointless, your flushed cheeks and uneasy way you squirmed on your seat said it all for you).
You wished Hoseok didn’t react, that he somehow had misheard your drunken rumbling but it was all foolish hopes.
“Careful what you wish for, princess, because you might just get it.” he whispered and you could swear his voice was lower now, it carried husskiness that weren’t there before. It wasn’t a warning.
It was a threat.
You gulped, your face heating up instantly even more, if that was possible. Suddenly it was hard to breathe in a limited space of his car and you wanted to get out, to run away from him as fast as you could muster and hide, not standing face to face with him ever again.
But at the same time you couldn’t shake off the thought how good and right would it feel if you pressed your lips against his now, run your tongue through the seam of his mouth just to hear him groan in response, just to feel his teeth nipping the skin on your neck while his fingers were digging marks on your hips.
You wanted him, oh, God how much you did, but you had to stop yourself before you made a big mistake.
The atmosphere was thick and heavy with unresolved tension, ready to snap in a minute if only someone made a wrong move. His words rang in your head and you wished you had never left your house that night in first place. Was he for real? Or had he said that only to make fun of you after?
You were too scared to look in his eyes but if you did, you would see in them the raw desire swimming in his dark orbs. And if you did, you would know just how sure of his words he actually was.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you regained your composure as best as you could and muttered, “I don't feel well. Can you drive me home now?” Your tone wasn’t probably much convincing, if anything it sounded weak and strangled, so you added to lighten up the mood, “You don't want me to puke in here, do you?” and forced out a chuckle.
Hoseok only nodded in response, reaching for the keys and turning on the engine. If he was disappointed, he hid it pretty well. After a few minutes of ride back to your home, there was mute between you, except for the music still playing from the radio. His words not even for a second left your head and you replayed them again and again just to make you more and more confused with each time you tried to understand the hidden motive behind them.
Hoseok was hard to read, you realised that since he had became strangely silent after you asked him about his plans for the future on your first coffee meeting at Blue Side. Now you knew why. He’d said he had a lot to reveal about himself yet, after all.
When you bid him short goodbye and finally reached the doors of your apartment, you crunched down on the ground after closing them and shut your eyes tightly. Somehow, tears started to ran down your face and you found yourself clutching your phone and dialing the only number you could think about in this moment.
“Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” Hana's voice was hoarse, she had been woken up from her slumber without a doubt. “You know I go to sleep earlier than you,” There was a sniffle on the other line and she changed her tone immediately. “What's wrong, bub? Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying,” you tried to protest shakily but there was no point in denying when you sounded like that.
“What happened?” You heard Hana asking softly.
Another wave of tears jolted your body, smearing mascara all down your cheeks and when you calmed down enough to speak clearly, you mumbled, “I told Hoseok that I always wanted someone to fuck me to Arctic Monkeys.”
“Okay…? And how did he react?”
Another sob. “He said I should be careful what I wish for.”
There was a bit of silence before Hana sighed on the other side of the line. “That's not the end of the world. You’ve done worse things in your life.”
“But that's different this time.” you cried out hysterically.
Hana smiled to herself even though you couldn’t see her now. She knew why it was different. She was aware for a while now, but she needed you to say this out loud.
A loud cry echoed through the quiet apartment before you finally said what had been lying on the tip of your tongue for a while now.
“It's different because I think I really like him.”
And fresh fall of tears streamed down your cheeks.
---
a/n: aaaah! it’s finally here! i was supposed to post this by the end of february but my laptop got broken and i got a new one yesterday so im sorry for the delay:( i hope you like it!
ps. second part is coming in two or weeks! love you, julia. xx
#hoseok smut#bts smut#btswritingcafe#ksmutclub#bangtanarmynet#smutcentralnet#btsbookclub#bangtanhq#btswriterscollective#hyungsmutsociety#hoseok fluff#hoseok angst#bts scenario#bts fanfic#hoseok x reader#hoseok fic#my writing
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ONE TIME BOY [SPACE] FRIEND
👠Pairing: Jimin x fem! reader
👠Genre: makeover au, best friends to lovers au, gender bender au, beauty contest au
👠Warnings: light smut, semi-public oral (f and m receiving), mirror kink, cameo crazy girl hungry to be miss universe lol
👠Summary: Rejected by your long-time crush using the excuse of not being girly enough your best friend offers you his shoulder to cry on, his eyes land on the daily newspaper advertising the local beauty contest and he gets an excellent idea.
👠Words: 10k
👠Masterlist
”Man, I’m impressed you got an A in Mrs Hoster’s class. It’s notorious that she’s a real bitch with gradings.” I hear the rustling of papers and an oddly familiar laugh overpowering the previous noise the corridor is empty despite those two and me apparently. I stop in my tracks not intently but hiding behind the corner, they have no idea I’m here it’s a blind spot but hearing his voice getting stronger they need to be walking this way.
Mrs Hoster? I’m in her class too. I peek around the corner to see to whom this voice belongs to it’s badly familiar.
”Y/N helped me write the essay so it was an easy job.”
I turned around just in time to avoid getting caught. I closed my eyes for a split second the cold white wall helped me to steady the beating of my heart. It’s Han and his friend I recall his name is something Wu? I’m not sure I don’t interact with Han’s friends he’s the one who always hangs around my friends.
”Did you slept together?” Wu asks and my face turns red immediately. How vulgar not that I’m surprised just caught off guard. Han laughs again.
”No, I’m not interested in girls like her. She’s like a boy.” Looking down on my clothes the baggy shirt and ripped jeans my hair is long at least. I know I’m not the most stylish girl on campus but calling me a boy was a bit harsh considering I wrote everything in that essay of his the only thing he did is writing down the title but I’m not going around school telling my best friend he’s stupid.
”I know, I can’t believe she’s roommates with Jimin maybe he thinks she’s another dude or something too.” The audacity.
”Don’t mention him he keeps his guards on whenever he sees me with her it’s annoying. I’m lucky she’s wiped because knowing that guy his humanitarian soul already told her she’s used and I need my grades. The only thing she’s usable for is homework.” The annoyance is evident in his voice I don’t need to look to imagine how he pinches his nose between two of his fingers while talking.
My teeth clashed together with anger. Calling me a boy is one thing but pulling the honey string before my nose is something only a jerk would do. Yes, he’s handsome I admit that and I hoped for something to go forward between us and how foolish I was to think that. He wanted to think we stand a chance it was his plan all along and he used me. Jimin warned me. He told me this will happen.
"Are you seriously going to stop being Han's little puppy?" The question stirs me awake I feel like someone under a spell after what I witnessed I became awfully quiet around my friend and she noticed the change in my behaviour immediately. We arranged this meet up before I overheard the conversation with Han in fact I was on my way to her when it’s happened my mood was pretty good. I can’t tell the same half an hour later.
I stop mid-bite and aim my sauce-covered index finger to poke her nose but she dodged it before I could ruin her makeup. I abandon the plan and instead I use a napkin to clean my hands I look down on my plate which is still full of comfort food I thought that if I drown myself in junk food it would lift my mood but I couldn't be any more wrong about this.
Rori almost doesn't catch the sound of my tired sigh because of the Mcdonalds’ heavily crowded space by the time lunchtime rolled around the corner it's a miracle that we were able to find a tiny table with two seats inside.
"I wasn't his puppy." I spit the words out gnashing my teeth. Not very ladylike but bloody hell that I would care since I’m a boy I may act like one. "Also it was just a silly crush not that it will ever be more. It's time to move on. I'm too old to have this stupid high school like interest." Yes, I’m a grown-ass woman studying at a University.
"Uh-huh." Rori rolls her eyes suspicious about my sudden change of heart if I'm going to, be honest, there is nothing more that could go wrong on this day I tripped in front of at least 10 people when I was going to the toilet just before I was going to tell my friend how I was humiliated by my crush of 2 years. A very good day if you ask me.
"Jimin knows about this?" I look her dead in the eye conveying the message without words knowing where this conversation going I abandon my food entirely I nibble on my straw drinking my medium-sized coke occasionally. "So he doesn't." She states it sarcastically with her light green gel polished nails annoyingly drumming on the surface of the table.
"It's none of his business anyway." I drink the last drops of the coke before tossing the empty cup on the tray nearly knocking the fries out of their container.
"Why the sour face Y/N. He would be upset if he heard that. Aren't you guys are like besties and stuff?"
Now is not the time to be jealous.
"He's not a cry baby Rori. And we are best friends without the 'besties and stuff'. I thought you liked him." She nods in confirmation stealing one of my fries chewing them in a manner that makes people disgusted.
”We are besties and stuff.” I tell her with a grin and she finally smiles too. We’re like two peas in a pot the memory is still vivid when I first bumped into her quite literally. I was panicking since I didn’t know the route to my first class and on top of that I overslept on my first day she was no better.
”But back to the topic, girl, I’m on your side Han is a five-star shit head. I’m glad you finally realised that.” She’s right like always.
”The resident fuckface, huh?” I sent her a lopsided smile and she raised her hand to give me a thumbs up. Her favourite game is to give people alternative names. Han’s called the resident bad boy around here, she has an alternative option that I begin to like more and more.
”That’s the spirit. Want a ride? It’s going to rain soon.” Rori uses the napkins to clean our mess on the table. There’s no need for sherlock to see why we are still single. We eat like a pig starved for days. Looking out the window her words seem to be accurate the clouds covered the sun and the temperature decreased.
”Nah. I’m just going to be like the protagonist in your favourite rom-com and walk home in the pouring rain sadness devouring my soul while I drench like a homeless.”
Rori rolled her eyes at my dramatic response. ”That was awfully specific.” I shrug, getting up to dispose of the leftovers into a nearby bin.
With my eyes glued to the screen I pop another sickeningly sweet caramel popcorn into my mouth I surrounded myself with fuzzy blankets enjoying the late afternoon with binge-watching my all-time favourite series. Warming my cold feet under the comforter I remind myself not to forget to turn down the heater around the time Jimin comes home.
My hair is wetly clinging to my back soaking the headrest of the sofa I take a glance outside it’s still raining hard. As soon as I got home I changed my clothes but let my hair dry itself without making any effort it doesn't matter if I get sick or not. This way maybe I can avoid Han for a few days at least. Walking in the rain like a kicked puppy was not something I anticipated while waking up this morning but I guess I have to work with what I have.
After I was beyond the sadness the anger came, remembering all the times when he asked me to help with his essays or research projects and like a fool, I went out of my way to do that. It's for the better honestly if I observe the situation from a different perspective he was just using me and it's time for me to get over this silly crush of mine. I don’t even know what was I thinking.
Knowing what’s best is one thing but I'm still hurting I was pinning after him for over two years we share the same classes and we run in the same circles of friends. How can I possibly avoid him when I have to see him every day and skipping classes is not an option? It’s ridiculous and I’m not five anymore to solve my problems cowardly.
The only thing went right this day that Jimin is caught up with his classes so he won't be coming home until late. He sent me a text earlier that his professor wanted to keep that lesson which was cancelled last week so he won't be home as usual.
I didn't want him to see me like this so I embraced all of my pent up frustration and let everything out so I can act as if nothing happened when it’s time to face him. I can imagine how pissed off Jimin would be if he knew I didn't take a shower after arriving home in my soaked clothes and instead I rummaged through our apartment to seize up every gift and memory regarding him to throw it out. The passerby’s probably thought I’m some kind of a crazy chick throwing out my boyfriend's stuff from the 8th floor into the rain as a form of revenge and maybe they’re not so wrong considering that I just yelled through the window and told everyone to fuck off. He’s not my boyfriend but it felt good enough not to care.
I don't want to tell Jimin what I overheard since he always told me Han is a jerk and I shouldn't have wasted my time on useless scumbags like him. The plot twist is that he was right but I don't need to hear that I stopped denying that I knew that deep down but too stubborn to admit it.
I wanted my high school crush to notice me and have my silly happy ending. But in fact, this is not a Disney movie and I’m not a princess with a destinated prince charming. Knowing Jimin’s kind heart he would never rub salt into my open wound he would rather sit with me and watch sappy romcoms saying those sweet nothings like I'll find someone who deserves all of my attention and stuff like that. He would never say ‘I told you so’ in a mocking tone spicing it up with an eye roll like Rori did not long ago.
"Gilmore girls? Uh-huh, I smell something fishy here missy." Surprised to hear my roommate I glance away from the tv giving his form an attentive look. Jimin shakes the droplets out of his hair placing his umbrella next to the pile of shoes by the door after he got rid of his boots the keys metal clinking heard as he dropped them into the bowl on the counter. He stops in his tracks taking in with his eyes my torn up appearance.
"Why is your hair wet? You didn’t walk home in the rain, did you?" He hastily takes off his jacket and throws it on the couch sitting down next to me.
I was so distracted by my own thoughts that I didn't hear when the front door opened. I shrugged, indicating that it's no biggie I glance away from him and stare at the tv watching as the romantic scene unfolds on the screen. Fucking perfect even my favourite show is making fun of me.
"Did you forgot to bring your umbrella again? I told you this morning that it'll rain sweetheart." Distracted by the sweet words of worry I let his comforting heat envelop me as our sides pressed up together on the couch. To an outsider, it would seem like he lectures me on my goldfish memory but I see it in his eyes how worried he looks the soft glint in them always tells me how much he cares about me. Jimin envelopes me in a hug stroking my arm up and down in vertical movements attempting to warm me up.
"I'm fine." I tell him I bury my nose into the juncture of his neck the cold touch awakes goosebumps along his skin he shivers but pulls me closer to his warm body. It’s nice being here with him I would go that far saying that I could almost forget why I was in a bad mood before.
"You're freezing cold Y/N." So warm I could sleep like this even though I turned up the heater the cold seeped into my skin I was struggling to keep myself warm maybe it was a mistake that I didn't head for the showers after arriving home. But throwing his stuff out felt so good knowing myself I would do that again, call me impulsive.
"Sorry." I murmur it into his skin he chuckles as he circles my waist with his arms to push our chests flat against each other his warm palms stroking my back the warmth trickles through the thin t-shirt I'm wearing. So this is how it feels like to have your personal heater suddenly I’m jealous of his previous girlfriends.
Not that I was ever not. Jimin is like a living equivalent of a beautiful enigma. Handsome like he was sculpted by the gods itself paired up with a very sweet and honest heart he is a jackpot well hit. And then there’s me not particularly pretty or nice and he still calls me his little angel or nowadays he seems to call me in all sort of sweet names, princess, shortcake, baby name it all he said it.
"Will you tell me why are you upset, baby?" Here we are with the nicknames again I wonder if he noticed it or he does it subconsciously. Of course, he knows something is up with me he reads me so well that it's kinda scary sometimes. Am I an open book to him or is he this generous and caring?
I always envied his caring personality in campus everyone likes Jimin he acts like an angel he listens well and gives good advice he encouraged me when I was planning to leave my studies and drop out on my second year. We are roommates since my first year here he is a year above me and through friend’s advice, we moved in together.
At first, I was resisting intimidated by the thought that he is a senior and I was just a newbie but he never stopped trying even though that I didn't show any reaction at first he kept talking to me and showering me with tiny gifts like cute notebooks and one bite foods he did most of the housework too since he claimed that being new to all of this I should focus on my studies until I got the hang of everything telling me that he was very stressed in his first year so he understands my struggles. I often think about if he is true or not that he is not just existing in my delusional head because he’s an amazing friend and an even more amazing roommate. It feels unreal that I have him.
"It's stupid." I hide my face I try to enjoy the rhythmic sound of his chest heaving lulling me to sleep. I don’t want to burden him with my rant.
"Nothing is stupid for me in the regards of you." The soft words make me keen he aligns our faces so he can meet my eye I scowl at the lost contact and he smiles seeing it. I'm sure he is aware of the reactions he extorts out of me.
"Do you want a punch?" I poke his forehead using my index finger trying to get rid of that charming smile but it just grows wider. My plan always backfires.
"Always so violent." He grabs my finger scraping it lightly with his teeth playfully seeing the horrified look on my face he smirks after attaching my soul back to my body I pull my finger out of his mouth yelling and smearing the excess saliva onto his shirt in disgust.
"Ugh! What is wrong with you?" I yell moving to the far side of the sofa looking at my finger in disbelief. He stands up clearly entertained by my reaction but he turns back before entering my room.
"Where's your blowdryer? You'll get sick if you leave your hair like this." Folding my legs under me I lock eyes with his waiting ones.
"In my drawer." I tell him and he gives me a confirming nod in return.
He comes back after a couple of minutes he has my drier in his left hand motioning for me to face away from him on the sofa so he could get access to my hair. I get comfortable as he plugs in the electric part while delicate fingers comb through my locks untangling the knots before turning the device on.
"I wish you would take better care of yourself Y/N. What would you do if I weren't here?" I lean into his gentle touch loving the way he rubs my scalp it feels like a massage not like how I usually blow dry my hair.
Now that I know what it's like I want him to dry my hair every day. But that's how Jimin works he always makes sure I'm alright he puts extra care into his motions silently helping me unwind. He’s like this with everyone and I’m aware of that but manages to make me feel special every time I guess it’s a special skill he has.
I scoot a little closer to Jimin’s body while walking which didn't go unnoticed by either on Han’s or Jimin’s side but it’s not enough to halter Han's wide smile as he greets me. As usual, he ignores Jimin and the feeling is mutual nothing out of the ordinary. I greet him back but lacking the enthusiasm which used to lace my tone. Now it’s something out of the ordinary.
"Hey Y/N, so when are we going to do that project I talked to you about? I'm free after classes today how about we meet up at our usual spot in the campus cafe?" Jimin was going to excuse himself from the situation as he did every time before but this time I hold him in place by his long sleeves I gritted my teeth holding back my witty comeback alongside the punch I want oh so badly to deliver, but what would I get out of it? He'll just jump to the next girl with better grades to help his ungrateful ass and I'm sure he won't give a flying damn about me or my feelings.
"Actually I have plans later with Jimin." I tell him holding onto Jimin's shirt for emphasis. He's lost for words for a second I never told him no before but he composed himself quickly offering a smile but this time a little tight-lipped.
"Oh, I see. Then how about tomorrow?" I let out an annoyed huff. Just who does he think he is?
"Listen to me very well resident fuckface because I'm going to tell you this once." The threat apparent in my voice he automatically steps back not used to the tone I deliver while I step forward. In the corner of my eye, I catch Jimin’s silhouette keeping his laughter inside because of the name Rori got him. It felt good to finally say it to his face.
"I heard you. Was it funny to use me? You're saying that I'm ugly and ungirly for you to date but happily let me do your homework since it's the only thing I'm useful for. Yes, I had a crush on you and yes I knew you were using me but it was a bit too much even for me to hear you laugh with your friend saying that you are not interested in fucking a boy." By the time I was done talking Jimin's protective hand found mine but I was too furious to appreciate the gesture to its full potential.
"What? I .. I didn't mean .. that Y/N I was just fooling around. Don't be a baby about it." Hearing the response angered Jimin he stepped protectively in front of me and grabbed him by the collar. I was afraid that he's going to hit him but I wasn't worried about Han. I was worried about Jimin he's too nice to hit someone.
"It's ok Jimin. Let's just go." I place my palm on his shoulder I felt calmer since I let out all my pent up anger he looks back seeing my worried expression he lets Han's shirt go.
He must mistake my worry since he strides to the building where his morning classes are held with a sour face. I go after his retreating form ignoring the yells from Han he is not important at the moment.
We planned an early morning coffee together what a shame we had to collide with Han on the way now we don't have time to grab it but I don't want Jimin to think I was protecting Han because that's not the truth. Jimin was always more important than him and he should know that. What would be even nicer than that to not voice it out and still being understood. Where is his mind-reading power when I need it?
"Jimin!" I yell his name I caught his arm as he was about to enter the building I dragged him to the side not wanting to make a scene out of the situation or block the entry.
"Can you listen to me for a second." I plead in a calm voice he looks at me with an unreadable expression on his face. He's not angry nor happy he looks completely neutral which is scarier to see than him acting all angry.
"I didn't want to meddle with your business Y/N because it's not something I have the right to do but I can't watch it anymore that you let this pathetic crush of yours destroy you. He was toying with you the whole time and you didn't care. Are you stupid or something? And even now you are worried about him. He deserved a punch but I guess since it's ok with you.."
"Stop." I warn him. He acknowledges the hurt in my eyes but it's too late. He regrets how rude he was I can see it in the way he shamefully hangs his head low.
"I wasn't worried about him! I was worried about you! Even though he deserved that punch I didn't want you to be the bad guy at the end." I tell him the reason. Knowing Han’s spineless nature he would have spread rumours about Jimin being aggressive or even worse.
"Baby." He starts but I shake my head not letting him comfort me with his touch. He's going to be late anyway. He needs to go to class his teacher is strict on punctuality.
"Don't baby me. Is that what you really think of me? A fool?" Onlookers started to form in the vicinity the only thing missing was the popcorn in their hands. Why everyone here lives for the drama?
I know I wasn't always reasonable but Jimin should know best that it was a crush and I never had a real relationship to compare it to and I was, yes, foolishly preserving the false hope that someday maybe we could be something.
But it happens to all of us, no? I just wanted what everyone else has someone to call and introduce as my boyfriend.
I'm lonely. But hearing it from him from all the people I know Jimin was the one I was comfortable with talking about this since I knew he wouldn't make fun of me.
"I'm just concerned about you. Please Y/N don't look at me like that." He wrapped his fingers around my palm stroking the flesh with his thumb hoping to get back to my right side. He has a habit of being touchy in reprehensible situations.
"Let's talk about this later. You'll be late for class." I take a glance at my wristwatch taking it as an opportunity to shake his touch off.
"I don't want you to leave angry." He catches my wrist before I could walk away. We rarely fight so Hoseok is stunned into silence when he sees us in this position.
"Hi Hobi." I greet him before taking my leave this time Jimin doesn't stop me.
"I appreciate the attempts Jimin but you know it's not edible right?" I look up with hopeful eyes that I don't need to take a pity bite. He's very sweet but he definitely doesn't get the skills in terms of cooking and I would like to live a happy and long life.
"I know. I'm sorry. I just didn't know how else to ask for your forgiveness. We never fight and I didn't know what to do."
I take this chance to really look at him. He has my apron tied around his waist with bold letters the words 'kiss the cook' labelling the front I remember I got this for my birthday last year from him he's kinda cute in it I admit that. He fidgets in his spot in front of me taking my silence as a bad sign but I'm not someone who holds grudges for long and Jimin is one of the few people I can't even do that with even if I tried. He's just too nice.
"I know you were just looking out for me. I know you didn't mean it because I know you." I tell him offering a smile along the way so he won't overthink it and in hopes of we can get rid of this plate of trash he dares to call food.
"You're very important to me you know right?" He murmurs the words into my hair he hugs me tight and I hug him back stroking his back reassuringly. The angle is not the most comfortable one considering that I’m still in a sitting position so I had to twist my torso to hug him back and he’s taller too.
"Of course I know Jiminie." I beam.
"You never call me Jiminie unless you want me to feel better. You should be angry with me and flipping the dining table on my face." The way he pouted while talking made the situation funnier.
I laugh at the image.
"I know I'm a bit violent sometimes, but you don't think I would really shove the dining table into your face right?" I gently push him back to see his eyes I'm actually concerned if he knows that or not.
"I know." He nods giggling at how concerned my face looks.
"Good. Now that we talked about this, clean this mess up so I can cook something that can be consumed." I shoo him to start cleaning.
”Have you ever entertained the idea of reaching out for the military to get this listed on the biohazard weaponry?” I playfully ask and he gives me a glare. It was worth it.
He pecks my cheek before he begins loading the burnt food inside the bin. "What would I do without you?"
I hope it’s not an actual heart I see in his eyes because maybe I have to consider flipping that dining table.
"You would be still relying on the emergency food your mother sends you." I reply with the same playfulness he momentarily stopped every movement to look back at me, surprised that I know about his little secret.
"Who told you that? It was Hoseok, wasn't it?" He manages to look at me with narrowed eyes.
"It's fine. You do a lot of stuff for me so cooking for you is really nothing. And I love how you eat like a pig it means you really love it." The narrowness dissolves into a big grin and dilated pupils.
"The girls I dated didn't phrase it like that." He chuckles.
"What did they didn't like about that? You are so adorable when your cheeks are full of food. I mean I was going crazy about your munching noises but I'm used to it now." I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly I remember how at first I wasn't able to sit at the same table as him I always disliked the sound of munching but now I don't even notice it sometimes.
"I know what Han said hurt you Y/N. But you know it's not true right?" He asks in a more serious tone the previous light atmosphere went gloomy so fast.
"Which one? That no one would want to fuck a tomboy like me? Or that I'm only good for making others homework?" I say it jokingly but he was buying none of my bullshit. He knows I'm still pretty upset about it.
"Neither of those." I'm flattered how severely he stated it at least one of us are confident in me.
"How would you know that? I didn't do either of those for you." I roll my eyes anyway I'm not that easy to convince. Self-love and rainbows and shit are not something I'm currently feeling. Saying nice things is what flows through Jimin’s veins more than blood. He is that nice.
"You are beautiful Y/N and I have an idea of how we are going to get back at Han." The lunatic laugh he does scares me but I curiously ask what he meant by that.
"What's that?" I ask straining my neck to see the advertisement. I shouldn't have done that. The article on the front page alarms me with bold letters. Under the words a girl with very white teeth on display putting the toothpaste commercials to shame. The catchy slogan seeping out of her mouth ’try out your beauty here and don’t forget the most important thing is not winning but also to gain experience’ What a full of crap saying. Only the ones who don’t win say shit like that.
My skin pales as soon as I see the way Jimin eyes me.
"The hell to the fuck no. A beauty contest? Are you insane? I'm not going to do that." Only for my words to fell on deaf ears.
"Is this really necessary Jimin?" My voice is full of uncertainty. I don’t remember the last time I went to see a hairdresser maybe when I was back in my hometown. And if I remember correctly it was for my high school graduation. Time flies fast.
"Yes, it is babe. You're going to look the best I'm sure you'll rank first place and make your ex-crush poop his pants." I roll my eyes but I can't help the laughing noises escaping my sealed lips. The assistant shows me the seat that I take with a shy following ’thank you’. I’m suddenly feeling nervous about this.
"At this point, I would rather do this because of you. I want to make you proud of me." I avoid his eyes I feel bashful enough that I dared to say it out loud for him to hear.
"But sweetheart I'm already proud of you." His palms rested on the back of my chair we were still waiting for the hairdresser to start her magic on me. We lock eyes through the mirror in front of me due to the eye contact Jimin’s eyes turn darker with a feeling I can’t truly decipher I haven’t seen him acting like this. I open my mouth to question his stare when the assistant’s high voice interrupts me.
"How long have you been guys dating? You're such a lovely couple." I catch Jimin’s widening smile he’s watching me not rushing to correct the girl like I do.
"Oh. We are not dating! Just friends." I tell the truth blushing.
"My pardon, I thought..."
"Anyone would be lucky to have such a cute girlfriend." Jimin cuts the girl’s apology making me focus on him again. Why is he like that? It’s not normally how he is. No, he’s just being nice again, right, that’s the reason.
"I don't know about that." I shyly comment. Don’t know what else to say.
Only then I can finally breathe when the lady arrives Jimin takes his place further away sitting down on one of the chairs in a row before the wall at the other side, scrolling through his phone since the professional said it will take some time to finish.
”Do you have something in mind?” I think for a while before shaking my head I haven’t thought about that honestly. It was Jimin’s idea in the first place.
”Um, curling it? Cutting the dead ends?” I offer and the lady nods with a friendly smile she starts working soon.
After the hair salon, we went shopping for a dress. He did all the reading while he applied for me and made a list of things we needed to get done before the Pageant. The first was to get my hair fixed the second one is to find a dress for the ending ceremony.
I struggle to bound the backside of the dress but to no avail, I can't reach the zipper on my own.
"Jimin?" I call his name rather uncertainly but it's the better option since I don't want the guy shop assistant with the rude attitude to touch me plus I trust Jimin. It's just a dress he saw me dressed up before so I don't know why I can't calm down the stupid pounding of my heart. It’s probably because of the way he stared at me through the mirror I tell this to myself.
"Yes princess, do you need help?" Now is not the time to think about inappropriate thoughts it’s Jimin we are talking about. A friend. I clear my throat before speaking hoping that the words will come out steady.
"Actually yes. I can't get this dress up can you come in and help me?"
I hold the front of the dress not to reveal too much skin this dress is so tight that I needed to get rid of my bra since my body won't fit in the front of the dress otherwise, I'm pretty sure the line of my panty shows as well but it felt too much to remove.
"You look beautiful." The praise made my heart melt his eyes shimmered in adoration as he found my gaze through the mirror he maintained eye contact while he reached for the zipper of the dress he touched the upper part of my ass accidentally my cheeks flushed in pink he rested his other hand on my shoulder keeping the dress together. What’s with him and mirrors? He seems to act differently when one’s around.
"Thanks." I whisper bashfully the tiny booth suddenly feels too hot not sure if it's from embarrassment or from something else I cannot put my finger on. He steps back admiring the dress and how I look in it with the help of his hand still resting on my shoulder he turns me to face him he looks up and down memorising my body seeing his gaze I feel exposed even though I know I'm wearing clothes. Partially.
"Hmm. So pretty." He slides his fingers down the length of my arm with gentle motions stopping at my elbow pushing my body flush against him my back collides with the booth's thin wall with a soft thud as I tried to gain back some distance.
The sweet cologne hits my nose with his eyes hooded he looks down mere centimetres away from my lips. He licks his telling me without words that he wants to kiss me looking between my lips and eyes for confirmation but he is soon done waiting.
I was about to protest when he leaned in which results in that our teeth clash but it doesn't deter him from kissing me harder connecting our lips together firmer with the pad of his finger Jimin caresses my jawline guiding my face to follow his lead. I can feel the soft press of his warm tongue asking for permission when the shopping assistant calls for us.
"Everything is alright?" He asks I'm sure he has his own ideas what's happening in here. We pant into each other's mouths we separated as soon as the assistant's voice reached our ears but Jimin didn't step back as I thought he would.
"Yes. The zipper was stuck but it's fine now." Jimin tells the guy and he seems to let that stay at that not intruding further. Jimin's cheek appears to be as pink as mine which makes me a little less nervous.
"I don't want to do this." I protest what feels like the 100th time this day.
We are currently sitting in the library and looking up topics for me fashin magazines littered in the tiny table and for almost 30 minutes since we got here Jimin's knee painfully touching my thighs under the table but I'm too afraid to voice it out.
Am I a bad person? Moving on this fast and pinning after my best friend like an affection starved bitch. Han was a jerk but Jimin is very nice which makes it ten times worse.
After our shared kiss in the changing booth, Jimin seems too normal. Am I the only one affected by it? I’m at the conclusion that it wasn’t even real and my head just played tricks with me cruelly. What frustrates me more is that I haven’t got a full taste and it’s affecting me nonetheless.
”Hmm.” He hums distracted not paying attention to my whining. He turns a page his face lit up as he positions the magazine to let me see its content. There’s a tall girl in a nice dress and each side there’s an article about manners. I almost roll my eye at that. Manners and I are not very familiar with each other.
”What about it? I thought I just have to say I want world peace and cry a little but you actually think about the topic I have to talk about?”
I remember him saying that in one of the rounds I have to talk about a chosen topic for ten to fifteen minutes. He’s more serious about this than I thought at first. Why do I find his determination cute and hot at the same time? Something is clearly wrong with me.
”World peace? It’s not Miss Congeniality Y/N.” He puts the article down laughing with his head thrown back but soon composes himself when the librarian warns us to be quiet or we have to leave.
”Yes, Jimin be quiet.” I retort however my smile vanishes when he leans closer his hand flat against my thigh.
”Did you say something?” His breath fanning my face he keeps his voice down this time. I don’t dare to look down his hand is awfully close to where I don’t want it to be and especially not in a library.
It’s like a switch is turned off and on in him at the most unexpected moments.
"You're being touchy again. Are you going to glare at every single male until we are done?" The corridor is busy with people and Jimin refuses to leave my side opting for helping me find the sitting room.
I wasn’t feeling nervous when I woke up this morning but getting closer and closer for the competition to end the nerves making my stomach flip in an uncomfortable way was getting stronger with every second.
"I'm just making sure you are safe, sweetheart men are wolves you know." He secures his jumper to cover my front. This bikini wasn't even that revealing for fuck's sake. Although he’s unnecessary protectiveness was enough to channel my focus into something else.
"You are a man." I state the obvious looking deadly into his eyes articulating the word ’man’ for emphasis.
I'm kind of done with his overprotective behaviour. He kissed me and now he thinks he is some kind of older brother for me. I honestly don't know what to think. And the way he teased me in the library. There’s no way he wasn’t aware of his hands on my body.
"But I'm allowed to look at you they're not." The little whiny edge in his voice doesn’t melt me this time he’s being childish. It sits on the tip of my tongue to say what makes you think that you have my permission, but I refrain from doing so.
"Jimin it's like the same when we are at the beach it's just a bikini and they will see it eventually when I go on stage." I decided to use another approach instead.
"I'm suddenly not sure about this. How about we get out of here?" The hand holding the jumper up strengthens on my body.
"Calm down. You made me do this so we're going to do this." I say it like there’s no room for discussion.
Two people were eager to make their existence visible while we were bantering I can’t say I was dying to see Han and his new puppet. Han wasn’t even aware it’s me next to Jimin I guess a little dress change and makeup do wonders.
"What a pleasant surprise to see you here?" I can’t say the same. Despite the thought, I remain silent but thinking again I straighten my back and call her out on her words. She’s a year above us I remember this girl because she’s always noisy in class. She retakes one of our classes that’s why my year knows her in the first place.
"Are you asking or stating it?" I roll my eyes Han's hand curves around the girl's waist holding her close.
Really her? He must be fucking her because there’s no way she can write his essays for him.
"Y/N?" Han's unsure voice makes me satisfied. Call me now ungirly you prick if you dare. But I can’t relish in the feeling because her highness speaks again.
"I meant it's nice that you are here since there will be a winner and we always need a loser." I’m not going to mention how unreal this girl looks. Her hair is blonde but it’s the doll-like artificial kind of blonde. It’s stereotypical but her voice is making me cringe it’s like she swallowed a toy duck the kind which whistles when it’s clenched.
"Hold your fake tits Y/N's going to win." I never heard Jimin using explicit words before I'm shocked beyond belief. Han’s eyes linger on the way Jimin holds me close, it looks like he knows something I don’t.
"5 minutes!" Hearing the yelling of the staff it's our cue to leave.
"What was that?" I'm struggling to hold back my laughter. We finally arrive in front of the door where a huge sign says the sitting room.
"She insulted you. I'm not going to watch this chick looking down on you." It’s just now that he releases his hold letting the jumper fall.
"And I'm thankful. The only validation I need is from you Jimin. Do you really think I look ok?" I’m nervous it’s totally out of my league to be here. The thoughts about those two leaving my brain easily.
"Look ok? You look gorgeous. Keep that in mind that after this day no matter what happens you'll remain the winner in my eyes." He massages my shoulders his fingers dig into my flesh in a calming manner.
"That means you’re going be proud even if I'm last?" He shakes his head in disbelief he has more faith in me than I have in myself.
"Don't say that. Have a little faith in you darling."
I smile as soon as I saw Jimin's figure lingering by the door our eyes met in the reflection of the mirror I put my flowers down on top of the dressing table reaching for him to receive a congratulation hug. I can’t say I'm disappointed that I'm not finished in the first place but I'm kind of happy because I ranked third place which is quite the achievement on my part and it all thanks to Jimin.
Grabbing my hips when he gets close enough he crashes our mouths together in a hot kiss moving his lips skilfully against mine with unconcealed eagerness like he waited years to do that. He steps closer traping my body between his body and the dressing table angling my head to slip his tongue into my mouth. He’s not as gentle as before.
"Jimin." I pant. "But I didn't get first place." I reason but he shuts me up with another kiss on my abused lips he gets my lower lip between his teeth basking in my reactions I let my eyes flutter open seeing his face this close he looks like an angel the only thing giving him away is that his eyes hid not so innocent thoughts.
"I told you. You're a winner in my eyes. Do you want your reward sweetness?" He kisses my earlobe after releasing my lip whispering into it before he moves down to pepper the exposed skin on my neck with wet open-mouthed pecks.
"Jimin, we are in public. Someone might see us." I try not to give in so easily but it was hard controlling my needs since the sexual tension grew tenfold after our little kiss inside the changing booth and the library. Shit, his mouth feels good on my heated skin.
"They're celebrating the winner no one will search for us for a while. How about we hold our little celebration as we wait?" The suggestion makes my eyes roll back into the back of my skull my legs shake in anticipation and he grins seeing my lust-filled expression.
"You're unbelievable. Do you want to fuck me in a dressing room while anyone could see us? Is that a kink of yours?" My head clears a little as he backs away looking at his reflection behind us in the mirror.
"I'm not going to fuck you here baby." His eyes focus on me again caressing the skin on my waist the gesture is lovely but I can't help feeling disappointed hearing his words. Of course, he wouldn't want to fuck me what was I thinking. We are talking about Jimin he could have everyone, of course, it's not me who he wants.
"Oh." I cannot help but let out a disappointed yelp he must sense my anxiety since he continues.
"This is just the foreplay don't be disappointed cheesecake. I'm planning on worshipping your body and we have no time for that here. I'm willing to wait to fuck you till we get home until then I just need a quick taste." He plays with the band of my underwear showing his intentions he undoes just the right side of the bow keeping the material in place revealing a part of my skin there.
"Bold of you to assume I'm going to let you." Hearing my mocking voice he places his palm against my heat making me moan out with how precisely he moves his fingers. It was embarrassingly easy to make me shut up and he loves it.
"Did you say something? I didn't hear you." He never falters his ministrations his index finger slips under the fabric feeling the wetness that gathered there he moans into my ear after he places a quick kiss to the underside of my collarbone.
"I said hurry the fuck up." I take hold of his biceps the slow-motion his one finger provides soon feels not enough to satisfy me.
"Since it's your prize I'm not going to tease you this time." He slowly drops down to his knees seeing him in front of me is enough to moan out and he cannot stop the light chuckle leaving his lips the lips he’s going to wrap around my heat.
"I was waiting to get you out of those the moment I saw you in them." He plays with the other side of the bow which is still in place. Once it’s undone he shoves the material into his pockets. I realise that I don’t know much about him at all in the field of sex. We never talked about it but I knew he’s not a virgin.
"Hmm, that's why you were covering me the whole time? It was not because of the boys, was it? You covered me so I won't give you a boner while we wait for the staff's call." He chooses this exact moment to lick a long drawn out stripe up my folds sucking on my clit in a teasing manner. He hooks a hand under my leg to position it and lift it onto his shoulder for better access. My long-nailed fingers pull on his hair.
"You figured me all out, baby. Now less talking and more moaning." Ending his statement he dives in my legs shake due to the pleasure he sure does know his ways around a women body. I wonder how many partners he had but I need only one finger to slip inside to forget every thought I had. I whine at the stretch not because it’s uncomfortable but because it’s not enough I’m so wet that I could take him right then and there.
”Please, Jimin. Please.” At this point, I’m not even sure what I’m begging for but luckily Jimin knows exactly what I need. The neediness not only evident in my voice and soft mewls but in my body as well in restless shaking it makes Jimin smile against me he caresses the inner side of my thigh his tongue on my clit draws eight shapes his fingers slow but reaching deep it’s obvious he’s trying to extend my sweet torture.
At first, only using one finger then it’s quickly turned into two scissoring it occasionally making me ready for his cock the thought of him being inside of me automatically makes me clench around his fingers. The way he emits little sounds of appreciation while going down on me is a huge turn on. I doubt he feels better than me right now but sure does it seems like he enjoys it a lot more normally guys do.
”J-Jimin.” I stutter his name his tongue and fingers starting to feel too much for me to handle I fidget as much as I can while Jimin’s hands holding me in place I can’t hide away from the feeling and he doesn’t stop.
He speeds up his movements not listening to my silent pleas to stop the way he licks up every drop and welcoming the new waves of wetness makes my head spin. ”I’m going to cum.” I warn him I grab the side of the table I need something to hold on tight to ground myself against the intense feeling of my fast approaching orgasm. ”Ah J-Jimin.” He hums with his mouth wrapped around my sensitive bud I close my eyes so hard that I start to see red dots in my vision. He doesn’t stop even though I reached my high with shaky fingers I can finally pull his head the sight I see when he looks up to take in my fucked out face almost makes me push through another orgasm itself.
Jimin uses the back of his hand to wipe off the leftover wetness gathered around his mouth and chin it was glistening in the sun provided light. As he gets up from the crouching position he slowly lets my leg touch the ground again he starts doing calming smooth circles on my hipbone delivering light kisses on my lip waiting for me to get back to my senses.
He gives me the sweetest smile I have ever seen on him. Almost makes me forget how he was between my legs a few minutes prior.
"B-baby what are you doing?" I could hear the ragged breath he sucked in through his nose it takes time to get on my knees since they’re kinda shaky I grabbed his hipbone to steady myself on the ground looking up at his face with a proud smile.
I caressed the soft flesh under his shirt I could feel the muscles contracting under my light touches. I look in front of me to study the outline of his dick he’s hard and he’s hard because of me.
"It's not fair of me to take and not give back the favour don't you think?" I palm him through the rough material of his jeans he moans significantly loud it earns a huge grin on my part and an embarrassed smile on his. Cute.
"This day is all about you. I'm going to show you how proud I am because of you." Despite his words, his opposition was weak he let me palm him he wasn’t able to keep his eyes open when I applied more pressure. I love the way he’s so responsive to my every touch and the high pitched tone he moans in the back of his throat. The whiny edge of it encourages me to do better because I certainly want to hear more of those.
"By letting me blow you. Pants down." I raise one of my brows waiting for him to remove his pants for me. His eyes reopen when he doesn’t feel my hand on his body he looks down where I’m sitting on my legs knees bent he sucks in a shaky breath, pupils dilated and he finally nods he clears his throat to sound more collected.
"Shit. Fine."
"In any other situation, I would love to hear how vocal you are Jiminie but right now you need to keep quiet for me. Can you do that? Hmm?" I tease him I take a good look at his member his grith is quite impressive he’s thicker than it seemed when it was inside his boxers. Before I could change my mind or make Jimin embarrassed because of my staring I wrapped my fingers around him there are a few inches I cannot reach and It shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does.
"This feels so g-good." I collect the precum to help me move up and down his shaft, after a louder whiny moan on Jimin’s part I decide to hold him firmer he throws his head back both of his hands grabbing the table’s edge he’s holding back not to thrust up into my hand the pulsing vein visible as he bares his neck.
"A-ah please slow down, i-it's too much." Reciprocating the favour I lick at the tip while speeding up my jerking motions the double pleasure forces a loud whimper to escape his parted lips.
A knock interrupted our moment Jimin's body goes rigid afraid that we'll be caught. I withdraw my ministrations letting his shaft leave my mouth with a wet pop. Despite the risky situation, I can see it on him it requires a lot of self-control on his part not to thrust back into my mouth.
"Yes?" I answer going back to deliver a kittenish lick to his tip not letting the newly released precum go to waste Jimin stutters biting his lip hard not to whine out. My voice sounded worn out but the staff member didn’t pay attention to it.
"The closing ceremony will start soon." So she’s here to inform me.
"When?" I ask between licks I found the throbbing vein at the underside of his cock following the line up from the base to tip a low grunt leaves Jimin's lips I automatically gaze at the door but thanks to the noises of the people outside of the door the sound is lost within these four walls.
"15 minutes."
I hum against his dick in acknowledgement the vibration shoots another pleasurable wave up his spine immediately Jimin's fingers strengthen in my hair. "I'll be there." I pull away for a second to offer my answer to the assistant. She leaves after that.
"Let's bet Jiminie. Do you think I can make you cum within 15 minutes?" His eye flutter shut groaning when I apply pressure again using my hand to pump his full length this time it's easier due to the spit from the previous help of my mouth.
I use the heel of my palm to smear down the newly formed precum leaking from his tip he's extremely sensitive to my every touch I continue licking the tip circling my mouth around the head of his cock the pretty high pitched moans getting significantly louder but I let him he's close anyway.
"Y-you don't have to s-swallow it."
"Shit. You swallowed." I liked the way his eyes darkened by the discovery the salty taste won't be my favourite flavour but it was alright also this way it left less of a mess.
I need to be presentable soon. My jaw hurts because of the long use but it worth it seeing Jimin's fucked out state he looks even prettier with a sheen of sweat coating his spotless skin. It makes me proud knowing he’s like this because of me.
"Are you alright?" I comb my fingers through his messed up hair his fringe sticking to his forehead looking me up and down behind his long locks framing his eyesight with bedroom eyes slightly closed still trying to get down from his high.
"More than okay, baby. More than okay."
Circling his hands around my waist he pulls me closer until our bodies fully pressed together he rubs his nose into my pulse point kissing it I feel the faint pressure of his teeth that I grab the back of his head to pull it away. He whines because of the denied access but lets me pull him back.
”I can’t have a hickey Jimin, I don’t want everyone here to know what we did in this dressing room.” I reason but he seemed to like the idea, I hit his chest with a serious expression at that his wide smile starting to piss me off.
”Fine, fine. I’m surprised you still have the energy to be this violent. Jeez, woman.” Jimin wets his lips with his tongue his face shows satisfaction and cockiness. I wonder how many girls were able to see this side of him.
”We have limited time Jimin. I need to get that dress on.” I decide to ignore the smirk and move I don’t have much time before I need to get back out there and this dress is so tight to get on and now I’m sweaty too. ”I need help.”
”I would rather get you out of it though.” I turn my back to him so he can get the zipper up.
”Of course you would.” I roll my eyes following the sarcastic sentence.
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WIP Title Tag Game
Edit: Lesson learned, I should not answer asks while at work because I’m distracted :p earlier I said I was tagged by @erinisbadger but I was not. I was actually tagged by @wyvernquill who I also adore! <3 I have the best memories of working with wy for the Good Omens Big Bang a couple of years ago and the artwork wy made is so, so good
Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.
I am saying in advance that I am so so sorry for how long this is because I have... a stupid amount of WIP’s because I cycle through fandom obsessions like crazy. Also a lot of these don’t have actual titles because sometimes I don’t title until I finish the fic, so I always just go with the ship name until then.
Anyway, here you go guys. Have at it and ask away!
1. 5 +1 Merthur
2. Barduil
3. Blair and Chuck
4. at the end of the line
5. come away with me (and I’ll never stop loving you)
6. Do you believe in soulmates pt 2
7. Dwangela
8. Full Circle Piece (this title is going to be changed, i named it this because it’s a Good Omens Ineffable Husbands fic idea inspired by the Full Circle series by Hekateras on AO3)
9. Future Drarry
10. Geraskier
11. Gigolas Letters
12. i loved you, i thought you knew
13. Kitty
14. Malec
15. Merthur
16. Mondler
17. Run
18. Sometimes the Bad Guys Win
19. the quiet there that sang like a drum
20. Untitled PJO
21. Titanic AU
22. Turning Page
23. Yuma
There is no way i can tag 23 people, so I’m gonna say any of my followers who want to do this feel free! I will tag a few mutuals who I know create some stuff, sorry if I miss anybody.
Tagging: @yourstrulytaaay, @mego42, @camelotsheart, @erinisbadger, @thebookluvrr1816 and anyone else who wants to do it!
#ask games#thanks for the tag!#feel free to ask me about any of these you guys#maybe it will give me motivation to actually start working on them again#maybe get a few finished up#the sad thing is i finished a whole bunch of wips lately#and i still have this many to do#edit bc i am actually dumb and mixing up my mutuals#to both wy and erin i am so sorry for the confusion#i adore both of you!
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Higurashi Gou final thoughts pt. 1
(Spoilers go under a cut:)
Taking this by arc:
Onidamashi-hen: The best executed first cour arc by a significant margin. Probably not coincidentally, it stays the closest to the structure of the OG arc and thus keeps more of OG’s tension ratchet than the other Gou arcs. I have two main issues, and I’m pretty sure both of them can be firmly pinned on the anime staff rather than Ryukishi07 himself. First, it pulls its punch on the stealth sequel aspect. I’m not entirely sure that going for a stealth sequel was the correct decision (it’s a cost/benefit tradeoff), but if you do you’re going for the wham of the sequel reveal, and the anime undercut this by putting the Rika/Hanyuu scene at the start of episode 2 rather than the end of the arc. Second, it overdoes the final Rena fight, making it so over-the-top that it’s difficult to take seriously. Neither of these issues exist in the manga (which has a believable amount of stabbing and has the Hanyuu scene at the end of the arc where it should be), and in the former case we also have a Ryukishi07 interview indicating that this was a change requested by the anime staff, so this goes on them. (Interestingly, by way of contrast I think this approach might actually work well for the Mieruko-chan adaptation that Passione has coming out later this year.)
Watadamashi-hen: The core issue here (above and beyond fridge logic after Satokowaski-hen) is the finale, which landed like a wet fart. It both escalates from zero to 100 *way* too fast and has the worst case of “tell don’t show” in the neo-question arcs - we learn about every single dead body in the arc from Ooishi’s end-of-arc narration. That’s relatively defensible for three of those bodies, which we only learn about secondhand even in OG Watanagashi-hen (though IIRC in OG two of those bodies have foreshadowing from rumors earlier in the arc, and unless I’m forgetting something that’s absent here), but all five? Yes, keeping Keiichi locked away from the final showdown removes fridge logic issues, but you have prominent security cameras - you can at least have him see the aftermath of the showdown on the screens (and freak out because of it). Adding insult to injury, the Keiichi vs. door scenes are also so over-the-top as to damage willing suspension of disbelief. The 0-to-100 issue is harder to fix, because the one thing Watadamashi did right was put the Rika-loses-it scene as an end-of-episode cliffhanger, and “Keiichi et. al. are about to enter the Saiguden” probably wanted an end-of-episode cliffhanger as well for discussion purposes (it might have been able to get away with using the commercial break). The simplest fix is the same one @tsuisou-no-despair floated: cannibalize an episode off of another first cour arc.
Tataridamashi-hen: Amusingly, I think Gou has retained OG’s tradition of having the Tatari- question arc being the weakest question arc. As I see it there are two interlocking core issues here which boil down to the same issue. Tataridamashi-hen goes for a very unconventional method of building tension: it doesn’t, instead relying on the viewer’s realization that something bad has to be coming to do so for it (the old “that can’t be right, we’ve still got twenty minutes left in the episode” reaction I more commonly associate with things like police procedurals). The problem is that this runs into the Endless Eight lesson: even flawless metatext should not be used at the expense of enjoyability of the actual text. And while the arc got some leverage out of “when exactly is this going to diverge?”, there’s a point much like Endless Eight itself when you realize where it’s going to diverge (i.e, not until the end) and that until then you’re sitting through the same events you remember from OG. It works about as well as it did for Haruhi. (Unless you’re a new viewer, but in that case staying too close to Minagoroshi-hen has other issues.) Worse, unlike Minagoroshi-hen itself (which did something similar to build tension but a) non-source readers hadn’t seen it before so it wasn’t foregone the same way and b) you had several more episodes after the subarc for the main event) the arc ends almost immediately after this. (The simplest fix here might have been cutting down on the arc time by speedrunning Minagoroshi events, reducing the amount of time you’d have to wait. You could even have a couple of obstacles collapse faster than expected; this late in the first cour it would serve as foreshadowing for Satokowashi-hen, and would also deal with unfortunate implications concerning the village’s prejudice considering that the staff knew Satoko was going to be the culprit. Trimming an episode would also neatly solve the issue of where to get an additional episode for Watadamashi-hen from!) The good news is that the final confrontation is the best of the first cour arcs (it’s somewhat more realistic than the other two, actually not that far behind some of the more memetastic OG moments except for Teppei’s eyes, and not showing Ooishi’s rampage is forgivable given that they knew they would be actually showing it in Nekodamashi-hen), but that’s damning with faint praise.
Nekodamashi-hen: The best Gou arc. The episode 15 jump cut is the stuff of legends and the best scene in the show by a sizable margin (the one thing the director does well is black humor, it seems), while the rest of the arc isn’t as good, it’s far shorter on demerits than the rest of the show. The one really, really obvious demerit is that they really didn’t need to spend half an episode on the intestines-ripping scene (if Ryukishi07′s comments are to be believed, once again we’re pinning this on Passione), but effects on my stomach aside there are worse issues to have.
Satokowashi-hen: And here we have the other side of the coin; this is the worst Gou arc, and it’s the one spot where I’m pretty sure Ryukishi07 himself gets some of the blame. There’s a few issues here. First, the single most obvious dangling plot thread from Matsuribayashi-hen (Satoshi’s fate) is effectively dropped despite being directly relevant to the other dangling thread that was picked up (how Rika treats Satoko and vice versa); this includes missing an opportunity to show Satoko’s character arc through different responses to learning about Satoshi’s condition. Secondly and compounding, Shion is also dropped along with the Satoshi thread; AIUI this is kind of understandable given final Satoko/Shion interaction in the Matsuribayashi-hen VN (which IIRC never made it into the anime), but dropping her without explanation still leaves something that looks awfully like a plot hole since a single conversation with Shion is potentially enough to stop the events of this arc from ever happening. (”Character X had information that would have stopped the tragedy but never had an opportunity to tell anyone” is a classic tragedy trope, but you should really have a *reason* for that character never having the opportunity as opposed to just having them vanish without explanation.) Finally, there’s just the general issue that while the ending points for both Rika and Satoko are reasonable the path they take to get there just doesn’t quite add up. I can kind of get there via a combination of “blame the director” (the loops montage could and should have easily shown Satoko’s deteriorating mental condition as she watched - using interlaced cuts to her face with changes in facial expression is a classic method) and mind caulk (Rika was exaggerating for effect when she described her desire to go to St. Lucia’s as a long-time thing and it only really kicked in after Matsuribayashi-hen, Satoko originally only planned to suicide in Matsuribayashi-2 and only took Rika out with her as a crime of passion after feeling betrayed, hence the next few loops lacking her murdering Rika) but being mind-caulkable is not the same as actual good execution.
I mean, I’ve banged on this drum before, but... the basic concept works. Really well. Satoko’s abandonment issues and Rika’s treatment of Satoko are two of the major dangling plot threads from OG Higurashi (*eyes both Minagoroshi-hen and anime-only Yakusamashi-hen*). It makes perfectly good sense that the latter comes back to bite Rika, especially in a sequel literally titled “karma”. I already suspected Satoko was on the autism spectrum based on OG, her being ADHD in addition to or instead of that makes perfectly good sense given those conditions often overlap. Rika’s desire to escape the well morphing into a desire to escape Hinamizawa entirely? Sure, just present it as that. Satoko steadily losing her support network as her friends are torn away from her by changing life circumstances, then going to a boarding school that she hates, that strips the rest of her support structure for her and starts to take even her one remaining friend (her childhood friend, no less - and one that Satoko is at this point attracted to romantically in true osananajimi fashion) away from her, and then starting to snap with some prodding from a certain witch? That’s a compelling story idea! But as present it just doesn’t quite work, and that’s on the execution.
(Side note: I wonder if some of what went wrong with Gou was just the kind of production issues endemic to modern anime, amplified by the pandemic. I remember at least one comment/blog post somewhere in the wake of WEP’s issues noting some of the effects that production issues can have on an anime, and one of the things they noted was excessive slavishness to the source material as a time-saving measure; that sounds awfully similar to some of Ryukishi07′s comments about how he didn’t expect Passione to take his script quite so literally, and to my admittedly untrained eye it sure looked like there were a bunch more other animation studios than usual mentioned in Gou’s credits...)
Final score: depends on your exact rating system, but given the range I’m looking at I can’t see how I can give it any score other than 3.4/5 for obvious reasons. (Pending Sotsu, anyways. It’s possible that Sotsu will resolve some of these issues - in particular, Ryukishi07 always has struck me as the kind of author who would get a kick into baiting us into falling for the same twist twice; it’s not impossible that the apparent lack of unreliable narrators so far is a double bluff, and that could affect the “question arc” scores in particular. More on this in a forthcoming solution space post.)
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you showed me faith is not blind (miracles happen)
Pairing: Alex/Willie
Words: 6,242
Rating: T
Chapter Warnings: panic attack, later on a character expresses past worries about being followed
Chapter: 7/11
read on AO3
Chapter Summary:
The stares don't start until a couple hours in the next day. Everyone is too tired in the morning to be paying attention in the hallways. On the way to econ though, after meeting up with Luke and Flynn, he can see people stop and double take when he walks past, he can feel the eyes on him, hear the whispers.
(*)
The stares don't start until a couple hours in the next day. Everyone is too tired in the morning to be paying attention in the hallways. On the way to econ though, after meeting up with Luke and Flynn, he can see people stop and double take when he walks past, he can feel the eyes on him, hear the whispers. A pressure starts building in the middle of his forehead and there's acid in his throat. Luke and Flynn notice when he starts to lag behind them, his eyes focused on the floor, even though they're not really focused on the floor because everything is kind of… blurred and hazy. He thinks he's stopped walking by this point. He can still feel the eyes on him.
"Heeey," Luke's voice sings, coming up on Alex's right. "Hey, buddy, I'm gonna grab your arm so I can take you over to the wall, okay?" Alex thinks he nods. He still feels the eyes on him. Luke gets him to the wall and presses his back against it and tells him to sit down. Alex slides down until his butt hits the ground then closes his eyes. He draws his knees up to his chest and even though he can't feel the eyes anymore, he can remember the whispers over the rushing of the blood in his head. His throat burns. "Hey, Alex," Luke says, close to Alex's ear. "I'm gonna count for you, and I need you to breathe with the numbers, okay?" He then starts in on one of Alex's breathing exercises, and Alex goes with it, even if he can't quite make it to eight on the exhale because he doesn't have enough breath and his chest burns with the lack of air. Oh, god. He doesn't have enough breath. He draws in a deep, gasping breath to fill his lungs but it doesn't feel like enough. He can't get enough—it's not enough—there's not enough—
He doesn't remember going under water, but he's drowning now. He doesn't know when he got here. He doesn't know how he got here. He doesn't know where the surface is and how to swim up to it. He feels weighted down. His limbs are heavy and—and he can't even feel his fingers. Oh, god. He can't feel his fingers. He tries wiggling them but nothing happens—nothing except an increase of noise under the water. He vaguely registers his heart beating in overtime, trying to keep up with his body. His body is trembling, of that much he's sure, but it's not disturbing the water around him, because there are no ripples, there are no waves. He's shaking but everything around him is calm.
"Alex, can you hear me?" Alex lifts his head and opens his eyes—the water got into his eyes. Either that or he's crying—to see two people in front of him. One is crouching beside him and one is standing in front of him and holding her backpack on the side that the other isn't on, blocking him from sight of anyone who might pass. Alex draws in another breath, filling his lungs as full as they'll go. "Can you hear me, Alex?" Alex looks at him. Luke. He looks up at the girl. Flynn. He nods. "Sweet. Can you tell me five things you can see?" Backpack, board, locker, garbage, orange. "Orange? Wh—oh, my hoodie, yeah. All right, four things you can feel?" Dirt on floor, wall against back, rings on fingers—didn't he not have fingers?—, shoes against toes. "Three things you can hear?" Luke's voice, desks moving around, and the front office phones ringing. "Two things you can smell?" The chemicals from the bathroom right behind them, his Old Spice deodorant. "And what about taste?"
Alex sits up straighter. "I'm good now," he says.
"Uh-uh," Luke shakes his head. "You've got one more. You're finishing this, come on. Please."
"Mint, from my gum earlier."
"Good, buddy," Luke praises. "How you feeling?"
"Like shit," he admits.
"Do you want to go to the nurse?" Flynn asks.
"No. No. He can't do anything. All he ever does is has me sit there for a few minutes and then sends me back to class anyways."
"We could go to the front office instead then," she tries. "They could call your mom or dad—"
"No," Alex shakes his head. "I don't—I don't. I don't want to bother them. I'll be fine."
"They're your parents," Flynn frowns. "You wouldn't be bothering them."
"We can just skip econ," Luke says. "Go hang out in the music room, Mrs. Harrison would let us. We've already missed the first fifteen minutes. And Mrs. Lewis would understand why we skipped too, she's chill."
"I… I couldn't…"
"Yes you could," Flynn says, "and you are. You need a break, Alex. If you won't go to the nurse and won't go to the front office, then we're doing this."
Flynn and Luke drag him across the school to the music room where Mrs. Harrison is setting up for the lesson. When Flynn explains what happened, Mrs. Harrison offers to email Mrs. Lewis and explain the situation, so Alex relaxes. She gives the three of them free reign and Alex makes his way immediately to the drums. He's exhausted, but the drums are his happy place. The drums will rejuvenate him. He starts out with a steady beat, trying to give his heart something to follow, and then starts to add on to it. Luke joins in on the guitar and then Flynn on the trumpet, and they have a small jam session, just the three of them. It almost makes him completely forget that he'd just been drowning for the better part of fifteen minutes.
He manages to make it the rest of the day without another panic attack despite all the eyes on him. His friends all walk him to class, even though he doesn't have public speaking or biology with any of them, and he's grateful for that. But by the time he makes it to the consulate that afternoon, he's still mentally and physically exhausted. It's Tuesday, so his first thing to do is therapy, and he's… not exactly looking forward to that. He is planning to ask about how to overcome his anxiety so he has a chance at being prince if he decides, but after today, he's not sure if that's even possible. But, according to his therapist it is.
"Right, we'll get to that, but you told me the other day that you think your friend Julie had a good point about your social anxiety, can you remind me what that was?" his therapist, Tessa, asks.
"Uh—she thinks, when people are looking at me with the band, or with other people, I don't get anxious, or as anxious, because I think people are perceiving me in relation to the people I'm with, and I think they're seeing me as I see the people I'm with. But when people are looking at me as me, they're looking at me how I look at myself."
"And how do you look at yourself?"
Alex snorts. "Badly?"
"What do you mean by 'badly'?"
"Just… I'm anxious, I worry about things that normal people don't worry about and I have fears that normal people don't fear and I'm wired really tight. And I'm boring—I feel like I'm not interesting and all I talk about is music, and now Beasiga, and sometimes school, and the books I'm reading which are someone else's thoughts, not mine. I have weird thoughts, like those weird fears I mentioned and just… weird things running through my head that I wouldn't want to tell other people and I constantly worry that I'm accidentally going to say one of those weird things but I also feel like people somehow know what I'm thinking anyways like they can read my mind? And then I can be mean to good people, like when I met my grandma I just… I ran out on her and I didn't even give her a chance, y'know? And I make snarky comments at my friends sometimes that sometimes can cross a line and I don't mean to, I just… I don't have as much patience as I feel like everyone else has? And I'm gay, which isn't… that's not bad but some people think it is so sometimes I hate that I am, especially because my parents aren't okay with it. I say things that sometimes make me sound stupid or just… absolutely wild, and I always feel out of place, like everyone else belongs and I just don't have a reason to be there. … And my friends are such better people than me that I'm not sure how I ended up being friends with them," he says, the words tumbling from his mouth with barely any thought.
Tessa nods, and Alex wants to laugh. Anyone else that he unloaded that on would have stared at him with concern and maybe asked if he was okay, but she just. She just nods. "So you value your friends very much?"
"Very much."
"And their opinions?"
"Yes."
"And yet you question their choice to have you as a friend?"
Alex frowns. "Not… not exactly? I just… More like I don't know how I got so lucky."
"But you value their opinions."
"Yes," he says, cautious now.
"So if your friends have chosen to be friends with you, they must see something in you, much like you see something in them, meaning they think very highly of you as well. And if you value their opinion, then… perhaps you should ask their opinion on you, and put some stock in that," she suggests. "Perhaps start viewing yourself as they see you instead of… badly."
Alex frowns. All the negative thoughts about his friendships creep into his brain at her suggestion: what if they're just friends with him because they don't know how to break it off? What if they lie to him? What if they're only friends with him to use him for the band? What if they're just genuinely too nice of people that they let him stick around?
He shakes his head.
If there's one thing he knows, it's that his friends love him. For fuck's sake, Willie and him just started dating, and Willie easily could have just turned him down or walked away instead of kissing Alex. It's cruel of Alex to think so negatively of his friends, and his stomach twists with the thought of them ever finding out. They'd be hurt at his lack of trust, which is that last thing he wants.
"And what, it's that simple?" Alex asks her. "I ask my friends how they see me and then I stop having panic attacks when people look at me?"
"No, not even close," Tessa says. "That's just a starting point. No, you have to learn to recognize what's happening, realize why it's happening, and then find the coping mechanisms to reevaluate the situation in real time." Alex stares at her and tilts his head. "Take today for example," she says. "If you had these skills you would have been able to recognize you were panicking because of the staring and whispering, realize it was because you thought people were looking at you critically, and then reevaluate—tell yourself that people were looking at you because of the news articles and their stares were out of curiosity rather than judgment."
"That… makes sense," Alex says.
"Another skill would be exposure therapy, which I think you're going to be getting whether you like it or not, even if it's not exactly… monitored or traditional. But a lot of eyes are going to be on you, and while it's going to die off soon enough—they're high schoolers, they lose interest quick—, use it to your advantage. When you start to feel overwhelmed, recognize what is going on, realize why, and reevaluate the situation that you're in. And don't get frustrated if it doesn't work the first time, or even the first few times. It's a learning process, and it will take time."
He surprises himself the next day when he stops a panic attack in its tracks, needing no help from his friends. His anxiety is still there, but even when he sees a girl point and her three friends turn around and look at him, it remains only anxiety. Once that anxiety does happen to pass, it leaves him on a high, so high that he looks at Willie at lunch and asks, "you're out to the entire school, right?" and when Willie says yes, Alex kisses him. When he pulls away, Willie is absolutely fucking beaming. They kiss a few more times throughout lunch, and then in the hallway after lunch, and people are staring at Alex again but Alex thinks: people aren't staring at him to judge him, they're staring at him because he kissed Willie. And isn't that awesome? He'd stare at whoever was kissing Willie, too.
The next two school days pass uneventfully, despite all the eyes on him. He has a few close calls with anxiety attacks, but no panic attacks, and either his friends or his new coping methods are always there to keep him breathing steady. The only other noteworthy thing that happens is that his dad has actually starts speaking to him again by Thursday—no mention of Alex's coming out on Monday, though. Alex thinks he expected this, to be honest. See, his mom thinks that because she's not calling him every slur in the book or kicking him out that she's not being homophobic. She thinks that she's being supportive. She had said the other day "just because I support you doesn't mean I have to be okay with your choice" even though she… clearly did not support him. Still, she still loved him even if she didn't support him, and that's more than a lot of kids who came out to their parents got, so Alex… he dealt with it. But… his dad.
Alex knows Mike, and he knows that he's going to ignore it, and then maybe find a girl to set Alex up with. The subtle 'I'm telling myself I've forgotten about this but I haven't actually at all, I'm just pretending it never happened' classic Mike move. He's done it before, and Alex knew he'd try it in this case if given the chance, so he is hoping to get the chance to introduce him to Willie sooner rather than later. Chances are he'll stop talking to Alex again, but at least Alex will be able to be with his boyfriend without the looming threat of being set up with a girl. (He's not sure when he stopped caring about having the man he viewed as his dad in his life, but he's pretty sure it probably started the night he walked away from Alex's coming out without a word.)
When seven pm comes around Friday night and it's time for Alex and Willie's date, their first date where Alex will actually be able to kiss Willie, Alex is all too eager to hurry out the consulate's front door to Willie's Honda as it pulls up and jump in the front seat. Just—he's a little confused this time, because as he puts his bag at his feet, he notices Willie turning the keys and pulling them out of the ignition. Alex looks over at Willie.
Willie sighs. "Can we go talk to your grandma?"
Alex doesn't know how to reply, so he's left stammering out, "uh, y-yeah. Yeah! C'mon."
They both get out of the car and Alex leads him to the door. Alex watches as Willie gets patted down by security and waved through, and then grabs his hand to take him back to the library where he had just been with his grandmother. He hopes she's still there.
Thankfully, she is, and when they reach the library, she looks up from her book. Her eyes widen. "Alexander! I thought you'd left. And who is this?"
"I'm Willie, ma'am—er, Your Majesty," Willie greets, stepping forward without thought. Only Alex's hold on his hand keeps Willie from going any further ahead.
His grandmother gets up and walks over to them. "Oh, you're Alexander's friend—" she dips her eyes down to their hands "—boyfriend?" Willie nods. "No need for the formalities, dear. Louisa is fine. William, you said your name was?"
"Uh, Willie."
"Willie," she repeats back. "I'm thankful to meet you."
"Me too," Willie nods. "But there's, uh, there's actually a reason?" Alex tightens his grip on Willie's hand. Willie squeeze's back and Alex isn't sure if it's reassurance or if it's grounding Willie.
"Oh?"
"Yeah," Willie nods. "I wanted to talk to you and Alex both at the same time. I might have just had Alex tell you about it, but I wanted your opinion too, so, I just—I'm sorry, can we sit?"
"Of course," she says, and motions over to the couches in the corner. "Sit wherever you'd like." The three of them migrate over and take their seats, and then his grandmother returns her attention to Willie. "You were saying?"
"I was in Hollywood this afternoon running an errand for my mom and a man approached me. He didn't approach me like a stranger though, he knew my name. Or, he said, 'Willie, right?' I didn't know him. I still don't, but—I didn't really know how to get away. I couldn't just tell him to uh… uh… go away. I didn't want to be rude. And we were in public, so I wasn't in danger," Willie says this with a squeeze of his hand, and Alex knows it's for him. The more Willie has been talking about the situation, the more anxious Alex has been getting. Willie clears his throat and continues. "But he started asking me some stuff about Alex, like personal stuff about who he was as a person and his family life… And then some stuff about Alex and Beasiga. He started getting… really specific about Beasiga too—like stuff that I only know because Alex has told me. I was as vague as I could be, I didn't even answer most of them, I promise. But, he was really pushy. He wanted to know, really bad, to the point where he was nearly bribing me? Something about skating the streets of Hollywood? Which, yeah he might have just said because I was literally skating the streets of Hollywood, but… It… I know there are obsessive people out there, I do, but what I don't know is how to handle them. Especially not when it comes to someone else. I know because I'm connected to Alex the things I do could be connected back to him, so I can't just… be rude to people. I mean, not that I would want to be. But, I don't know what to do in these situations."
"I'm so sorry," Alex murmurs, turning to face Willie and putting his free hand on Willie's knee.
Willie turns to look at him. "No—don't be. It's not your fault, okay?"
"Yes it is—"
Willie lifts his hand to Alex's face and brushes his thumb along his cheekbone. "No. It's not. Now be quiet. I'm here to speak with Louisa." He drops his hand and turns back to Alex's grandmother. "Do you have any… advice? on how to deal with this in the future?"
"Yes, I do," she says, "but first, was the man who approached you in a suit?"
Willie nods. "Yeah."
"Did he have a rather extravagant jacket? With crystals embedded in it?"
Again, Willie nods, this time with narrowed eyes. "Yes…"
"That was Mr. Covington, I'm afraid." Alex feels his hand clench reflexively around Willie's. Willie whips his head around to look at Alex, but Alex is focused on his grandmother. His grandmother stands up and walks over to a shelf on the far side of the library. She pulls a book off the shelf and makes her way back. "Alexander, we haven't covered the Covingtons yet, but they're a grand family, and an important family in our country's history. Beyond the Mercers, the Covingtons are one of the most respected families in Beasigan history. Thomas Covington was the main author of our Constitution."
"My mom mentioned Covington," Alex says.
His grandmother sighs. "I supposed she might."
Willie looks between them. "Okay, his family is important, but who is he?"
"Caleb Covington is next in line for the Beasigan throne should Alexander decline," his grandmother says.
"W-wait. That guy?" Willie asks. "That guy will be running the country if Alex chooses not to?"
"And he wants to," Alex mutters.
"Oh, he really wants to," his grandmother huffs, pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table. Alex would drop his jaw, but he thinks he's too shocked to even move the muscles to do that. He's never seen his grandmother lose her composure, has never even dreamed of it happening. "He wouldn't stop pestering me for weeks about it. He threatened me that he was going to contact you if I didn't do it myself. It was either force a sixteen year old boy into a role that he didn't want to be ready for, or end up having that sixteen year old boy hate me for the rest of my life because a loathsome man told him about me and didn't give me a chance to explain myself." She stops her pacing and puts her hands to her forehead. She shakes her head. She looks up at Willie through her hands. "I'm truly sorry he approached you Willia—Willie. Clearly, not only does the man lack manners, but also discretion."
"Don't be sorry," Willie says. "It's not your fault."
"Nevertheless," she sighs. She looks at Alex. "I doubt he would dare to think to approach you, but I'll gather a picture of him and have John send it to you so you can be aware of who he is. You can also send it to your other friends so they can seek to avoid him as well. Do warn them not to let him know they know who he is, though. You either, Willie. If he knows you know, he won't have any reason to refrain himself from pressing even further. That being said, you don't have anything to fear from him other than persistence. He'd never risk his standing in Beasiga—he still holds a high title even if he does not become king and he will not readily give that up. He may crave power but he already holds power and he's not a stupid man."
"You… really don't like this guy," Alex says.
His grandmother looks at him and laughs a small laugh. "Was I being obvious?"
"A bit," he smiles. "But it was good for me. Really humanized you."
"Was I not human before?"
"No, not really," he admits. "You're like, perfect."
"Oh, Alexander, I'm far from perfect," she shakes her head. "Remind me to tell you some stories about my early days of royalty with my husband sometime. Those will humanize me."
He grins. "Looking forward to it."
"Well," she says, clasping her hands together, "I don't want to keep you two here all night. Unless… is there anything else you need or want to discuss, Willie?"
"No, I'm good. Thank you so much for listening and figuring that out. It was really freaking me out, so…"
"But of course," she says, waving him off. "It's no worry at all. I'm only sorry you had to go through that. And I do hope I'll see you around more? Please feel free to stop by to say hello, or even join some of Alexander's lessons if you have the time and feel like it."
"I'll take you up on that offer, definitely," Willie says, standing from the couch. Alex gets up as well. "It was really, really nice to meet you, Louisa. Again, thank you, so much. We'll leave you to your reading now though. We'll see you around."
"Bye, Grandma," Alex says, and then tugs Willie out from the space between the couch and the coffee table. His grandmother calls out a goodbye after them and they send waves over their backs.
They're quiet on their walk through the consulate and out to the car. It still remains silent as Willie turns on the car and they get strapped in and Willie puts the car in drive, but as soon as he goes to pull into the street, Alex feels himself break.
"Why didn't you call me?" he demands.
"I knew you'd freak out," Willie says, shooting him an apologetic look. "Besides, I called my mom after, so I could talk to someone because I thought—kidnappers don't take people on phones, right?"
"You were worried about being kidnapped?!"
"Not—not really?" he shrugs. "I was more worried he was going to stalk me to get to you. So I've been pretty hyper vigilant all day. I drove twenty extra minutes before I came to pick you up today just to make sure no one was following me. No one even was following me. But… just in case."
Alex blinks. On one hand, after Willie's experience today, that's a completely understandable reaction. On the other… "I think, like, by dating me, you're getting some of my anxiety." Willie leans his head back and laughs. "No, I think it's a thing. Like, every time we kiss, a little bit of anxiety leaves me and goes into you. It's why I've been doing better lately."
Willie reaches over and puts his hand on Alex's thigh. "You've been doing better lately because you're doing better. Not because of some magic kisses."
"You saying our kisses aren't magic?"
Willie squeezes Alex's thigh, hard, and when Alex looks over, he can see Willie's cheeks darkening a shade. "I'm—I'm saying, I'm proud of you, you know that, right?"
"Oh." Alex blinks. "Hang on, how did we go from you worrying you were going to get kidnapped to you being proud of me? How is that a logical progression?"
Willie laughs again, and Alex falls back into his seat, helpless.
They end up at Chipotle, sitting in a back corner booth on the same side of the table, thighs pressed flush together, shoulders brushing as they eat their bowls and watch YouTube videos on Willie's phone. They overstay their welcome, but no one kicks them out. It's just… they're just not sure where else to go. With Alex's lessons not ending until seven and the sun setting far before then, there's not too much to do on their Fridays besides sit and talk and goof around somewhere. But then Willie has an idea and pulls Alex out to his car.
"I don't know why I'm only thinking of this now," he says as he's driving down a residential street. "It feels like the obvious answer for a Friday night hang out," he says, right as he turns into a driveway. Willie shuts off the engine and gets out of the car and Alex follows, slower.
He's never been here before, but he's pretty sure this is Willie's house. If he's right, and he realizes he is as Willie unlocks the door, then that means Willie's family is inside, or at least some of them… probably. Alex has met Willie's older sister Taylor, since she was a senior when Alex was a freshman in high school. She had driven Willie home the day they had met at the beach. After that, sometimes at lunch she'd come bug her little brother and steal a chip from him and give him trouble and she always said hello to Alex and the others. But Taylor was off at NYU now. Willie's little sister Jamie doesn't go to Los Feliz High School since she isn't in performing arts but Alex has met her in passing. Willie would drive her places when he was meeting the group, and then she'd go her own way, and they'd go theirs. But Willie's parents? Alex has never met them, not once. And now, with no preparation, he thinks he's about to.
He follows Willie inside and looks around. It's definitely Willie's house—there are pictures of him and Taylor and Jamie dotted all around what Alex assumes to be the living room. He tries not to let his eyes linger on any of them too long, not wanting to intrude on any of their family memories (though, he supposes they're displayed for a reason). Willie slips his shoes off so Alex does too, and he follows him through the house.
They slow down when they pass an archway, and Alex looks in to see a sewing machine set up, fabric flowing out of it as it hums violently. There's a woman sitting behind it, staring down at what she's working on with intense concentration. On the other side of the room is a man sat behind a computer with a gaming headset on, leaning into the computer with focus.
"Hey," Willie says casually, and the noise of the sewing machine stops. Both the man and the woman look over and smile.
"Hey," the woman greets. "You're home early. How was your day?"
"Good. Alex and I ran out of places to go, so I brought him back with me," Willie explains, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to point at Alex. The woman's eyes flick to Alex. "We're gonna go watch a movie or something."
"All right," she says. "Let us know if you need anything. Alex, it's nice to meet you."
"Uh, it's nice to meet you too," he says. And, well. Huh. That wasn't bad at all. What was scary about that?
He follows Willie again until they're into what Alex assumes is Willie's room. As soon as Alex closes the door behind him, before he even has the chance to look around, Willie is dropping his backpack on the floor and walking towards Alex. "Hey," he says, putting his hands on Alex's hips and walking Alex back until Alex's hips and back are pressed against the door.
"Hey," Alex says back. He's surprised at how cool his voice sounds when in reality his heart is trembling.
"Wanna watch a movie?"
"… not really."
"Huh," Willie huffs. He leans forward, resting all of his weight on Alex. Alex's heart isn't just trembling anymore—his insides are completely rattled. "Well what are we supposed to do, then?"
"I dunno," Alex mumbles. This time there's a waver in his voice, but his tone is still strong, his voice is still confident. He traces a hand up Willie's side and around his back. His hand comes to fall on Willie's shoulder blade, his fingers reaching to brush the area in the middle of his back. His eyes flick from Willie's eyes to his lips and then back again. "Guess we'll have to figure it out, huh?"
"I think I have monopoly around here somewhere," Willie suggests, bringing his hand up to curl around Alex's neck. Alex feels a shock go through his body. The hand slips around so Willie's got a hold on the back of Alex's neck rather than the side of it, and Willie's eyes turn dark. He uses his hand to bring Alex forward a bit, but because of their position—Willie's body pressing his to the door—it ends up just tilting Alex's head back. Willie nudges Alex's chin with his nose and grins.
"Too boring with two players," Alex says, straightening his head again and tilting it down so the few inches he has on Willie stop feeling like a barrier. It's just… he doesn't lose himself with Willie, he just… feels vulnerable, feels like he's being taken apart piece by piece only to be put back together in an even more beautiful, sensible way. He shifts his weight on his feet, moving their entire position against the door, and then slips his hand that's still by his side beneath Willie's shirt and strokes his side. He feels Willie shiver lightly beneath his fingers. "What about scrabble?"
"You're much better with words than I am, not a fair game," Willie hums, and grabs Alex's wrist to stop him from caressing his side. Alex pushes down a feeling of smug satisfaction of finally getting through to his boyfriend. Willie presses Alex's wrist against the door and pushes their foreheads together, shutting his eyes as he does so. Alex lets his fall shut as well. "How about… tic-tac-toe?"
"Hmm… no, too predictable. What about hangman?" he asks, then, limited in his options with one hand pinned to the door, curls the fingers he has resting on Willie's upper back, digging his fingers in as deeply as he can. He's not expecting that to be what makes Willie break, but it does. As soon as his fingers press into Willie's back, the other boy is diving into Alex, connecting their mouths for a frantic kiss. Alex isn't prepared for it, had been expecting Willie to come back with another suggestion, so he gasps into the kiss. Willie mimics him, parting his lips as well, and then Alex can feel Willie, taste Willie. Alex's heart pounds in his chest and his blood rushes through his veins and the symptoms of… this are so similar to the start of a panic attack but during a panic attack Alex feels like he's drowning and now… now he feels like he's flying.
Willie uses the hand behind Alex's neck to pull him away from the door as he steps backwards, knowing the layout of his room so well that even while his attention is focused entirely on Alex, he can lead Alex slowly while walking backwards until they reach the bed. At that point, Willie breaks the kiss and hops on to the bed, looking at Alex with a clear invitation, but there's also uncertainty, as if moving to a bed is somehow a huge step. And Alex supposes in a way it is. They've only ever managed kissing in a vertical position and in public, which in turn, has kept all of their kissing more… tame. Simple. Mellow. They've never gotten to be a teenage couple and just… make out. Still, it's cute that Willie has had this pause, is so obviously waiting for Alex to make the next move. So Alex does.
He climbs on the side of the bed, staring at Willie, and knee walks over to him until he has one knee on either side of Willie's hips so he's straddling him. Willie stares up at him, hair fanned along his pillows, and his face is several shades darker than usual. Alex bites his lip to stop himself from grinning, and instead leans down to bump their noses together, careful to keep their lips separated even as Willie tries to kiss him. "I like your room."
"You haven't even seen my room," Willie says, eyes flickering between Alex's eyes and his lips.
"Sure I have." He flicks his eyes to the side. "You've got blue bedding. And monopoly, somewhere."
Willie groans, scrunching his nose. "Are we really doing this again?"
"I don't know," Alex hums. "I like affecting you."
"You always do," Willie tells him. He slips a hand up and cups Alex's jaw. "Always have."
"I like being able to see it," Alex admits. "I feel like I'm always the one giving in to you. Half the time you kiss me out of nowhere and I just—I don't know how to react after. You make me stupid."
Willie grins and huffs out a laugh. Alex is so close he can feel Willie's breath wash over his face. "Half the time I kiss you out of nowhere because I'm gone on you, dude. Most of the time, me kissing you is me being affected. You probably just did something hella cute."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh," Willie says. "Like, god, like right fucking now. 'Oh,'" he repeats with a roll of his eyes, and then surges up, locking their lips together. This time, Alex is at least a bit more prepared. He kisses back immediately and tries to take control this time. It takes Willie a minute to notice Alex's goal, so there's a bit of a battle between them—Willie leading subconsciously and Alex trying to sway it into his favor, until suddenly Willie realizes and backs down without any more of a fight. Willie relaxes back into his pillow, his hand drifts from Alex's jaw to his hip, and he brings his other hand up to slide beneath Alex's shirt to just rest on his stomach. Meanwhile Alex cards his fingers through Willie's hair, using his hold to gently guide Willie's head to where he wants it to be. He's propped up by his elbow on one side of Willie's head, so he uses that hand to play with strands of Willie's hair mindlessly. And slowly, his lips work against Willie's, and Alex wants this moment to last forever, wants to live in this feeling of being loved, being wanted, being held, being desired, being Willie's. Realistically he knows it won't last forever.
For right now, tonight's enough.
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My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore
My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore
COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong to Attack on Titan.
NOTES:
Sunday, January 24th
chapter twenty-seven: save me from this january gloom
Mikasa truly hated driving.
She kept her eyes on the road and blared her music.
Zeke’s house was truly in the middle of nowhere.
The mailbox read JAEGER as the GPS told Mikasa she was in the right place.
Zeke’s van and car were both sitting in the driveway. Zeke himself was standing out there smoking.
Mikasa pulled up to the three story home and parked in the driveway. She got out, grabbing her backpack.
“Eren’s inside. The girl in there is Pieck. Don’t mind her, she just broke up with her boyfriend,” Zeke said as he pointed to the door.
Mikasa made her way to the front door along with Zeke and stepped inside. There was a brunette girl that Mikasa guessed was Pieck.
“You’re Mikasa from all the pictures. I’ve heard a lot about you. You were pretty in the photos but you’re even prettier in person. I’m Pieck,” she said as she extended her hand.
Mikasa shook it.
“Hi,” Mikasa replied awkwardly.
After a moment, Pieck let go of Mikasa’s hand.
“Pieck, don’t be weird to Eren's girlfriend,” Zeke sighed as closed the door behind him.
“Do you see her bone structure? Not to mention the photos I’ve seen! She’d be perfect!”
Zeke sighed again, “you’re making it worse. She doesn’t want to be one of your models. She’s also friends with your ex boyfriend.”
“He’s not my ex boyfriend.”
“Okay, I believe that,” Zeke scoffed.
Mikasa felt like she was missing something.
“Upstairs, second floor, third door on the left,” Zeke informed her.
Mikasa walked upstairs and found the room Zeke was talking about. Should she knock?
“How did you win again?!” She heard Eren say through the wall. She took that as a sign that it was safe for her to open the door.
Eren was sitting on his bed, playing video games. A headset was on his head, plugged into the controller he was using.
“Oh hey, Mikasa,” He said, giving her a little wave.
Mikasa dropped her backpack, took off her coat, and kicked off her shoes before sitting on the bed next to Eren.
“Jean and Connie say hi.”
“Hi, Connie and Jean,” Mikasa said as she leaned over close to the mic.
“Yeah, I’m getting off, bye.” Eren said before exiting out the game and powering the console off.
He got up and put his headset on his desk. Then he sat back back down next to Mikasa.
“How are you?” She asked.
“I’m okay. Had therapy this morning so that was fun.”
“Oh.”
“We talked about my dad. I kind of had to...with everything.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“I know but you’re you. I mean we’re not keeping secrets anymore, right? Besides, you saw first hand the down spiral I went through when he died.”
“I’m sor-”
“Please, don’t. I know everyone says they’re sorry he’s gone but as fucked up as it sounds, I’m not,” he leaned back in his bed, his head hit the pillow. “I wonder if mom hadn’t died if he would have smashed my guitar eventually too.”
“Eren-”
This time he cut her off by grabbing her waist and pulling her close to him. He made sure her head hit the pillow next to him.
“Eren!” she squeaked in surprise.
He laughed, “I’m okay, really. You can ask Zeke. I just don’t…..want to end up like him. I know, I know. That was my whole problem before but now I’m just telling you. I’m not…..”
“Running away like a coward?”
“Yeah, that. He’s ruined enough for me, about me. Zeke grew up in spite of him. I failed at that part.”
“Did he ever apologize to you about hiding the fact you had a brother?”
“I never heard him apologize to anyone, not even my mom. Whatever was wrong with him….he didn’t want help for it. I think he was drowning in it, like I was. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to smash a guitar or leave my family.”
“Kind of already did the last part.”
“Yeah, I know. My therapist is pretty proud of me for telling you everything.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, said I was pretty lucky to get this chance. Most people don’t and to not fuck it up again.”
“I doubt that they said that.”
“Oh, you have not met Dr. Magath.”
Mikasa and Eren laughed.
“You are laughing and the door is open. I am taking that as my cue that you are not having sex and I can come in,” Zeke said as he entered the room from the hallway.
Mikasa and Eren both immediately went red. They both remembered when Zeke had walked into Grisha’s house on New Year's Day.
“Anyway, Pieck wants lunch so get your coat. We are meeting up with the Galliards and Reiner,” Zeke informed them.
"What are you? My mother?" Eren asked.
"Someone has to be."
"Where are we going?"
"Fuck if I know."
"Eren, if you don't hurry up, I'm going to become a cannibal," Pieck said as she entered the room. "Are you joining us, Mikasa?
"She goes where I go," Eren replied as he swung his legs to the floor.
"Another girl! Finally! And one who isn't trying to date Zeke for his money!"
"Why do you constantly have to bring her up?" Zeke groaned.
"Because your reaction amuses me,” Pieck said as she booped him on the nose.
Zeke flicked her in the ear causing her to jump.
Pieck immediately grabbed his glasses and ran away.
"Pieck! I cannot see without those. I will fall down the stairs and die."
"Then die," her voice called from the hallway.
Zeke sighed as he left Eren's room.
A thud was heard right outside of Eren's room.
"Ow! You knocked me down!"
"Maybe because I cannot fucking see without my glasses."
"You're buying me lunch."
"When do I not buy you lunch?"
"Are they….." Mikasa asked after they heard the footsteps retreat.
"No, not to my knowledge. Pieck was hooking up with Jean until recently. They broke up the other day. She’s not taking it too well.”
“Jean? Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve been talking to him about the whole thing. He gave her a chance to be more and she didn’t take it. He seems pretty heartbroken by it. I kind of feel bad for the guy.”
“Why?”
“Because he finally moved on from you for real this time and she broke his heart while breaking her own.”
“Well, that’s depressing,” Mikasa muttered.
-----------------------
The restaurant was mostly empty.
"Why do you assholes have to come here? Not you, Pieck and Mikasa," Niccolo asked as he leaned on the podium.
"Because they just love you so much," Pieck replied.
"Zeke better tip well. How many?" Niccolo began to gather menus.
"Let's see, Marcel, Porco, us, Reiner, and Gabi."
"So seven, you want a table or a booth? And how is Gabi holding up?"
"Either. I'm not sure about Gabi. I imagine as well as someone who’s mom is dying can. I can’t believe it after losing her dad…”
"I'll give you a table."
Niccolo led them to a table in the back.
Mikasa sat down on one side of Eren while Zeke sat on the other.
Pieck sat down on the other side of Zeke.
"Niccolo! Come wait on us!" A voice called from the front of the restaurant.
"Porco…….I'll wait on you alright. We're over here!" Niccolo yelled back.
A tall blonde man and a brunette man made their way over to the table.
"Porco, Marcel, this is the infamous Mikasa. Isn't she super pretty?" Pieck asked.
"There you go making it weird again, Pieck." Zeke sighed.
"Hey Mikasa, I'm Marcel,” the brunette man said as he sat down.
"And I'm Porco. Good to meet the girl behind the songs. Don't let Pieck scare you off. She's just...someone who appreciates beauty,” the blonde said as he sat down next to Pieck.
"And she's a photographer. She tries to recruit people to model for her,” Marcel replied.
“Zeke! Pieck! You here yet?!”
That was a voice Mikasa recognized.
“Back here, Reiner!” Zeke yelled.
Reiner made his way to the table. He looked a mess. There was a young girl getting a piggyback ride from him.
"You look like shit," Porco replied.
"He does look like shit," the young girl replied.
"Don't say shit, Gabi," Reiner scolded.
Gabi and Mikasa's eyes met. Then Mikasa realized she was the girl from the video of the kids dancing.
"You're the pretty keyboard lady!" She exclaimed. "Reiner, put me down! I want to talk to her! Can I sit next to you?"
Mikasa remembered what Niccolo had said. This girl had one parent while another was dying. She’d be an orphan soon, just like Mikasa was.
"Sure," she replied.
Gabi squealed before she took the seat next to Mikasa.
"Hey, how come you don't freak out when you see us?" Niccolo asked.
Gabi ignored Niccolo and launched right into talking to Mikasa. "Hi. I'm Gabi Braun. I'm starting a band with my friends. My friend Falco can play the piano like you and I'm going to be the lead singer. Mr. Zeke is even giving me guitar lessons! Then my friend Udo is learning the drums and Zofia is going to play bass and we're going to be just like you!"
"Take a breath in there sometime, Gabi," Reiner scoffed as he sat down on the other side of Gabi
"And you're really pretty! All of you are! Just like me!" Gabi smiled at Mikasa.
Mikasa's face turned red. She wasn't used to this type of attention. "Thank you," she said.
"You all want drinks or am I just supposed to stand here all afternoon?" Niccolo said.
As the table ordered their drinks, Mikasa realized she hadn't even looked at the menu.
When it got to her, Mikasa felt very self conscious.
"I like the strawberry slushie lemonade,” Gabi informed her.
"Yeah, okay. I'll take that,” Mikasa told her.
Gabi beamed at the fact that Mikasa listened.
Eren smiled at Mikasa, “your first big fan!”
"Oh! I forgot they have those! Niccolo, can I change mine, please?” Pieck asked.
“Sure,” Niccolo said, “Eren? What do you want?”
“Blue raspberry slushie lemonade,” Eren replied.
“I’ll be back,” Niccolo said before he walked away.
Mikasa looked at the menu. She was trying to figure out what she was in the mood for. Gabi seemed to have calmed down with all her questions. Eren leaned over to Mikasa.
“Her dad died a few years ago. Her mom went into the hospital last week,” he whispered.
“How?”
“Dad was a soldier, died in an explosion. Her mom has cancer. Reiner’s mom will probably get custody of her.”
Mikasa looked over at the small girl to her side.
The story was all too familiar.
An explosion.
What had killed Levi’s squad and given him scars, mental and physical.
The rest of the table was happily chatting among themselves. Gabi, who may have seemed okay to some, seemed to be exhausted. The excitement of seeing Mikasa was wearing off.
“So who is going to write your songs then?” Mikasa asked.
Gabi lit up as she looked at the older girl. “Me, of course! Falco wrote a love song and I’m not singing that shit.”
“Gabi, don’t say shit,” Reiner scolded her again.
Niccolo returned with a tray of drinks. He passed them out to everyone.
“You seem to be in a shitty ass mood, Niccolo. What’s up with that?” Marcel asked.
“Don’t worry about it. You ready to order?” He asked.
“I am,” Pieck said.
The orders began and Niccolo stormed away from the table after he was done.
“What the fuck is up with that?” Porco asked as he sipped on his drink.
“Sasha and him had a fight. I think they broke up,” Pieck replied.
Mikasa remembered what Sasha had told her. She felt a little guilty being her in that moment. Then again, it was not like she had planned to see Niccolo.
After ordering, Mikasa pulled out her phone and began to text Sasha.
Mikasa Ackerman:
Hey sorry I’m at lunch and Niccolo is here. He’s waiting on us. Zeke and Pieck picked the place...I think.
Sasha Blouse:
Not a big deal.
Mikasa Ackerman:
I still feel bad.
Sasha Blouse:
Don’t.
Mikasa Ackerman:
:(
Sasha Blouse:
You worry too much. Just don’t say anything about me. K?
Mikasa Ackerman:
Done.
Sasha Blouse:
Ily. Now go enjoy your lunch. Don’t text me back. :)
Mikasa put her phone back into her pocket.
“I’m just saying a love song is a bad idea. What does Falco even know about love? He’s only twelve! Besides, who could he be in love with?” Gabi argued.
Reiner looked over at Mikasa.
“Remind you of anyone?” he asked.
Eren had said the exact same thing about Mikasa.
“Be nice to Falco, Gabi. He cares about you a lot,” Reiner said.
“Yeah, he’s a good kid,” Eren said before he took a drink.
“I am nice to him! He comes over everyday! We walk home together. We take turns carrying one another’s books! I’m super nice to Falco!” Gabi protested.
“Maybe he is in love with someone but he isn’t ready to tell them yet. That’s what I did,” Mikasa reassured Gabi.
“I just hope it’s not Zofia because that would be….I dunno what it would be but I wouldn’t like. I don’t want him to be in love with somebody.”
“She’s just as clueless as my brother,” Zeke muttered.
“Still not as clueless as Pieck with…..” Porco said.
Pieck stomped on Porco’s foot as hard as she possibly could.
“What the fuck, Pieck?” Porco said to her.
“We’re not talking about him!” Pieck yelled.
“Why are you so loud?” Niccolo asked as he returned with the food.
------------
Once Zeke paid for lunch and they were on their way out, Reiner stopped Mikasa.
“Thanks for listening to Gabi. I know she’ll talk your ear off but this is the first time I’ve seen her smile since her mom went into the hospital She really loves your band,” Reiner confessed. “She’s a good kid. Reminds me a lot of….”
“Me?” Eren said as he walked up to them and wrapped his arm around Mikasa's shoulders.
“She’s exactly like you. Clueless as ever,” Reiner scoffed.
“Don’t let her fuck it up with Falco then.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Jaeger. She’s not making your mistakes.”
Gabi ran up to them.
“Do you think you can give me a shoutout on your next livestream?” She asked.
“Yeah, we can,” Mikasa smiled.
“Take that, Falco!” she yelled as she pumped her hand into the air.
--------------
The rest of the day was mostly keeping Eren busy.
Mikasa tried to beat him at video games again.
Once again, she lost to him.
The Restorationists had practice once Niccolo was off work. Mikasa respected their privacy, working on her own lyrics. She had a good idea for a song, though she wasn’t sure how exactly she wanted to compose the music. She hoped Historia would like it.
The music from the Restorationists filled the house.
Niccolo was still clearly upset. He would get angry when he’d mess up, yelling every time the band had to restart.
Then again, Mikasa hadn’t been around him all that much. So maybe this was natural.
“Mikasa! You want pizza? I am not cooking!” Zeke yelled when they were taking a break.
“I’m okay with that!” She yelled back.
“Okay! I will order it!”
Practice resumed.
Listening to the music echo through the house, Mikasa remember that she was suppose to ask them if they wanted to collaborate. She and Eren had done that many times in high school. This would be different. Her and Historia had already written the music and lyrics with the collaboration in mind.
“Bye, Mikasa! I’m going to work at the club!” Niccolo called after practice ended.
“Bye!” she yelled.
Eren walked into the room after a moment. He collapsed on his bed.
“Bad?” she asked him.
“Eh, not really. I mean, everyone has an off day,” he replied.
“What do you think about a collaboration? I mean I saw someone posted it on Instagram with the video of the kids but I didn’t know if your band actually wanted to.”
“Niccolo is my only worry but he was the one to suggest it on Instagram. I think it’s a good idea. We’ll just have to ask Zeke and Pieck. Let’s go bother them,” Eren said before getting out of bed.
Mikasa followed his lead and then followed him downstairs.
“Collaboration with No Name?” Eren asked as he walked into the living room.
“Yes! More girls!” Pieck exclaimed.
“It would be beneficial for both bands,” Zeke said.
“Well, I guess that means it's happening. We already wrote a song with your band in mind,” Mikasa remarked.
There was a knock on the door.
“That would be the pizza,” Zeke said as he made his way to the door.
------------------
Pieck left at dinner, leaving just Zeke, Eren, and Mikasa.
“You should show her the third floor,” Zeke said as he pulled his coat on.
“Oh yeah! I forgot about that!” Eren exclaimed as he stood up from the kitchen table.
“What’s on the third floor?” Mikasa asked as she stood up.
“Come on, I’ll show you,” Eren said before taking her hand and dragging her up the stairs.
They passed Eren’s bedroom as they went towards the next set of stairs.
The third floor had several rooms that they passed as they walked up to two large doors. Eren pulled them open, revealing a large ornate room. There was a grand piano in the middle of the room. One side was nothing but bookshelves. The pictures that once lined the halls of Grisha’s house lined one wall along with pictures of Zeke and his friends.
“That’s Dina, Zeke’s mom,” Eren said, pointing to a photo of Grisha, Zeke, and Dina. “How my dad ended up with all these pretty women is a mystery to me.”
“Zeke looks like a blonde you,” Mikasa teased.
“Don’t remind me. There’s my grandparents, my aunt.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died when my dad was a kid. He never really spoke about her. Neither did our grandparents according to Zeke. There was some sort of accident and I guess my dad blames himself for it. That’s all we know,” Eren replied before he pulled her towards the piano.
Mikasa sat down on the bench and Eren sat down next to her.
“You can play it. Zeke gets it tuned regularly. He and Pieck can play. Go on,” Eren encouraged her.
Mikasa reached and pressed one of the keys.
It was such a familiar, comforting sound.
Music was an escape for both Eren and Mikasa. A way to speak that others could understand. A way to get all the horrible feelings out of their heads.
Eren watched her play. How her fingers skillfully navigated for each note. He didn’t recognize the song, that wasn’t surprising to him. Mikasa wrote new songs almost every other day. He wasn’t much better.
It was very comforting that while everything else had changed, Mikasa still wrote music.
Eren smiled, allowing the music to take over.
Zeke had snuck up to see how Eren and Mikasa were, just checking up on them. He smiled at the sight he saw in front of him.
For some reason, Zeke felt his mom in that moment. He could see her playing that piano. Though her own family had kicked her out, Zeke’s grandparents had not, even after Grisha left her. She was still their daughter in law.
The piano had been in Zeke’s childhood home before it had been moved here during the renovations.
Zeke snapped a picture of the young couple and sent it to Levi.
Levi sent back a simple message.
CAPTAIN LEVI ACKERMAN:
Told you so.
Yeah. Levi had.
----------------------
Niccolo got the word that night that The Restorationists were actually collaborating with No Name.
He had been the one to suggest that.
He couldn’t back out of it now.
Not to mention how happy everyone else in the band seemed to be about it .
Maybe that’s why he got drunk that night.
Maybe it was because he had been here before.
A girl he liked being so close to her ex, it was all too familiar.
There was a rational part of him that said Sasha wasn’t his ex girlfriend.
Then there was the part of him that had already seen this play out before.
Girls seemed to always end up back with their exes.
He knew Connie was a good guy or at least he had seemed that way.
He knew Connie had a girlfriend.
Niccolo took a drink of whiskey directly from the bottle.
He felt like an idiot.
He knew he shouldn’t have gotten mad about Connie.
It was stupid.
But there was no taking it back now.
He had gone to the bar earlier in the night with plans to take someone home but he couldn’t bring himself to.
How had they gone from not being able to talk to one another to becoming more comfortable to this?
But it hurt him.
Maybe it was because he had hoped to be her first.
He was stupid and having double standards.
He got that.
But the fact that it was with someone she was still friends with?
Yeah, he wasn’t okay with that at all.
He took another drink before he put the cap back on before he sat it back down on the kitchen counter.
He climbed the stairs and went to bed at 6:00 am.
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title: tally marks
pairing: yaku morisuke x fem reader
genre: general/fluff
word count: 3,200+
warnings: mentions of alcohol
a/n: happy late bday yaku! written for the HaikyuuCreations MPE August Event. prompt below:
2. International Hangover Day — August 8th is International Hangover Day, just a day after International Beer Day. The day previously was such a blast, though anyone can hardly remember it, but now your characters are suffering the consequences.
-
Time: August 7 on Friday, 20:17 PM
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 0, Beer- 0
“Just go inside, Yaku,” you plead, pushing your co-worker towards the door of the bar.
The bouncer eyes you both as you take Yaku’s wallet from his pants pocket, sliding out his ID and placing both yours and his in the palms of the man acting as a barrier between you and a few drinks and some dancing. With a nod, he hands the ID’s back, and moves a bit so that you could squeeze by, a passing “Happy birthday” coming from him. Yaku ignores it, thinking to himself that his birthday is the next day so he shouldn’t have to say thank you.
He hates his birthday. But every year since the year you met him, you’ve insisted on celebrating his birthday. And every year since the year you met him, he’s agreed (even if it was after hours of you whining that birthday’s only come once a year and you’ll only be this age once!).
But when you make your way towards the counter, and he hears you order two shots of vodka and a pineapple juice chaser for you to share, his eyes widen and he shakes his head abruptly. “Absolutely not,” he tells you, backing up slowly before bumping into a man dancing his butt off. “No shots. We have work tomorrow.”
You don’t look at him, but he sees you raise an eyebrow. “Oh? No work tomorrow?” you question, your tone dancing between curious and mock-disbelief.
His shoulder’s drop, he feels defeated. “Yes.”
You give a polite nod to the bartender and slide Yaku his shot, setting the pineapple chaser in between you two, “Tell me, Yaku, what day of the week is it today?”
The day dawns on him, and he runs his freehand down his features, “Friday.”
You give him a toothy smile, “Friday. Just this one shot, and a few beers and we can get out of here, yeah? It’s a double celebration- International Beer Day and Yaku Morisuke’s birthday!” you suggest, raising your glass to him, waiting for the clink. And when he taps his shot glass to yours, you cheer and the night finally begins.
Time: August 8 on Saturday, 11:27 AM
Location: Your living room floor
Yaku jolts up from the sound of a toilet flushing, and he regrets this action immediately. He has a headache- the annoying kind. The one that he knows he will linger throughout most of the day. He has a funny feeling in his stomach- nausea. His entire body aches.
He’s thankful that the room is still dark, thankful that he decided to buy those blackout shades to keep the daylight out- wait.
He doesn’t have blackout sheets. And if his memories serve him right, he doesn’t remember getting an extra firm mattress.
“Hey, birthday boy,” you drone with a hoarse voice. He can tell that whatever he’s feeling, you’re feeling too. Your footsteps sound slow and methodical- you probably don’t have any contacts or glasses on. “Sorry my floors not too comfortable, but you wouldn’t let me take you to bed,” you say, handing him a glass of water.
He doesn’t have the energy to flush, but your words are embarrassing him. “Don’t say things like that.” He takes the water, and chugs it down immediately. And immediately, he regrets it. His stomach is telling him to drink things slower. “Thanks for letting me crash here.”
You sit on your couch and tuck your legs under you. You look down at Yaku, who has already positioned himself back comfortably on your floor. “Do you remember what happened last night?” you question him, a sly smile gracing your lips. “Or do you want me to tell you?”
Yaku makes a face, and looks up at the ceiling fan. What did he do last night? He doesn’t remember much- the last thing he really remembers is you challenging him, saying that you could match whatever he drinks.
Time: August 7 on Friday, 20:43 PM
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 2
“It’s a marathon not a race, idiot,” Yaku scolds you, speech not yet slurred. But that red fanning his face is a dead giveaway that he’s about to have some fun real soon. “Besides, I’m bigger than you. I’d drink you under the table.”
You laugh and can’t help but agree with him, “I guess you’re right. But you aren’t that much bigger than me. I bet I could match you if I tried.”
The strawberry blond (in your head, you’re thinking ‘the cutest strawberry blond’) takes another swig of his beer of choice. “Don’t,” he sets his beer down. “I don’t wanna carry you out of here.”
He misses the way that your eyes travel to his beer. The smile on your face grows a bit wider, “How about we just drink like normal people do then? To you, Yaku!”
Time: August 8 on Saturday, 11:36 AM
Location: Your living room floor
You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “You didn’t do anything embarrassing,” you admit, “but I wish you did!”
Yaku groans, and the small action is still enough to exacerbate the banging he’s feeling on his head. “So, we had a few beers- that’s it right? That doesn’t explain why I can’t remember anything.”
“I had a few beers. You had a few more than I did.” You gesture towards Yaku’s arm, and he has to bring his arm up to his face because he can’t bear to move his head right now.
“It was pretty impressive- the way you just put it all away so fast.”
Time: August 7 on Friday, 21:01 PM
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 3
You watch Yaku finish his beer, chugging it down and taking his lips away with a satisfying ‘ah!’
Your eyes light up, and you take a sharpie out of your purse, “I have an idea.” Before Yaku can ask, you’re grabbing his arm and rolling up his sleeves, “Let’s see how much you can drink.” He feels the tingle of contact when you glide the sharpie on his skin, drawing four tick marks.
He’s at the stage of tipsy where he doesn’t mind that you’re in his personal bubble. “That’s a stupid idea,” he fights, but he doesn’t pull away. “You’ll forget to mark it. Probably be too busy dancing.”
“Not if you agree to dance with me,” you wink at him.
Time: August 8 on Saturday, 12:52 PM
Location: Your kitchen
“Do you take your coffee with anything? Cream, sugar, or whatever?” you ask, shuffling through your pantry and fridge while the coffee brews. It probably has another minute or two before it’s ready.
The good thing is, Yaku has finally dragged himself up and to your kitchen. The brightness in your kitchen, however, is not doing him any favors. If anything, it makes the banging in his head louder, harder. He thinks that maybe sugar will make him feel sicker. “I’ll take it black.”
“Suit yourself, then.” You sneak some sugar and milk into your coffee cup before pouring the coffee in.
You settle the coffee in front of him, and he gladly takes it. The smell alone helps the drums diminuendo slightly. “That doesn’t sound bad, but I still can’t remember. Are these tally marks even accurate?”
You roll your eyes. “I may not work in the finance department, but I know how to count.”
Time: August 7 on Friday, 22:14 PM
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office – the dance floor
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 5
“Stop being so stiff!” you cackle, hunching over slightly to hold your sides. Everyone knows Yaku isn’t the best dancer, but you’ve never seen it in real time. “It looks like you’re doing the robot.”
You think he’s still okay but the droopiness of his eyelids and the slur in his speech tells you otherwise. “I don’t dance, Y/N,” he says again for what feels like the 30th time tonight.
He puts his hands on your hips in an attempt to steady you. “Let’s go sit back down, I feel goofy,” he replies into your ear. If it weren’t for the loud music and the way he breath smells like beer, you would have swoon. But your skin still feels hot under his touch. The bodies around you aren’t helping, either.
You think you want to run your hands through his hair, but instead your hands find his tie and you loosen it up for him. You hesitate for a split second before deciding to also unbutton the first button of his shirt. Your hands hover over the second button, but you push that option from your mind. He needs to relax, but you don’t think he’d be comfortable with an undone shirt.
“Just hang onto me,” you instruct next, bringing his hands slightly higher so they rest right above your hips. “And move!”
Time: August 8 on Saturday, 12:57 PM
Location: Your kitchen
Of course, you leave out the part where his hands are on you. You can tell him that later, when he isn’t feeling like dying. But you make a theatrical reenactment to show his moves.
His eyes mimic saucers. “You got me to the dance floor?” He leans back on the chair, and uses one hand to cover his eyes. “Why? How?”
You shrug, hiding your coy smile behind your cup as you take another sip of coffee. “You seemed to enjoy it though.”
He’s shaking his head. “I rarely enjoy dancing.” He leans forward again, taking another gulp of coffee.
The caffeine seems to be helping, and he’s learned his lesson from the water that he shouldn’t be inhaling his drinks. It won’t do him any good. But, he feels less nauseous the more he drinks, and he’s grateful that he’s in your apartment and not in his. He knows he would have spent a little longer laying around moping.
“You really just danced,” you tap on your chin, thinking about the night and his actions, “and you were having a good time!” As an afterthought, you add, “We should’ve invited our coworkers.”
Time: August 7 on Friday, 22:30 PM
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office – the dance floor
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 5.5
Yakus’ tie is completely gone now, lost in the depths of your purse. The grip around your upper waist tightens just a bit, bringing you closer to him. You look up at him expectantly. And you think that maybe you’re too easy to read when you’ve also had a few drinks, because even inebriated Yaku can tell you’re thinking about something.
He looks around briefly, then settles his eyes on you once again. “People keep bumping into us. It’s better if we stay close,” and the Cheshire-like smile you sported when you took your first shot is now making an appearance on Yaku’s lips. “Is this okay?”
You nod dumbly, swallowing hard and clinging onto him even harder. The atmosphere takes another shift when you find yourself laughing again as he swings you both around in a clumsy stilled-tango, “Why’re you still so awkward?! Move your feet!”
He lets go of you then, then starts exaggerating his movements. “Like this?” He’s flailing his arms and flapping his feet. He whacks a guy behind him, but he’s probably as lost as Yaku and doesn’t react negatively in the slightest.
You grab his hands, holding them to his sides and dragging him away from the dance floor, “That was perfect! I have another idea now.”
He lets himself be led by you, freeing himself from your grasp to down the rest of his beer.
Time: August 8 on Saturday, 13:16 PM
Location: Your kitchen
“You kinda looked like a chicken,” you point out, grabbing the empty cups and setting them in your sink, running the water to begin washing them right away. “It was cute.” Then, after a second to think about it, “It was like watching a toddler learn how to move their limbs for the first time.”
He pouts. This does nothing to help his case. Then, looks at his arm again. “So why does my arm have 8 marks?”
You rinse the dish soap off the last cup you are washing and roll your eyes in what you think is a playful manner. “Because we took one more shot. Duh.”
He raises an eyebrow, trying so hard to remember last night. “We did?”
The sound of dishes clicking together on the drying rack fill the air as you place them carefully next to each other. You grab the nearest kitchen towel to wipe down at your counter and your sink. “But just one more.”
Time: August 7 on Friday, 22:30 PM
Location: The bar, a few blocks down from the office – the dance floor
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 6
“Two birthday shots!” you shout out to the bartender, waving your arms to grab their attention. Yaku stands behind you, waving his arms in sync with you. His other hand somehow finds its way to your waist again, but you don’t mind. Your mind drifts to the thought of having his hand there forever, and you smile harder.
“Last one?” you ask, bringing your shot glass up to him as an offering.
“Last one,” he replies, bringing his glass up to yours before downing the shot in one go. It’s sweet, but Yaku still makes a face from the taste. “Remind me to never take that shot ever again,” he says, placing the glass on the table and leaving his hand there for support. “It’s too sweet.”
“You’re sweet,” you say as a way to insult him.
And when you’re stumbling out of the bar at 23:00 PM (too early, you think. But it’s been awhile since you’ve even been out), you have Yaku clinging to your arm as you squint your eyes to look out for your Lyft drive.
“You’re sweet, too, I guess,” he mumbles, more to the ground than to you. And it takes you a moment to realize that he was responding to your earlier comment.
The cool breeze of the night helped with the warmth you felt on your skin, but it’s all been for naught with his comment. Now, you feel the heat come back.
A quick glance at your phone shows you that your driver is 2 minutes away. This gives you enough time to position Yaku straight (or as straight as he could possibly stand). “You don’t know what you’re saying right now, Yaku,” you grin at him. He still isn’t looking at you.
“You’re very pretty. Sometimes I go to the payroll office to see you. I know you hide by the printers there,” he admits.
You bite your lip. “That’s sweet, but please don’t tell anyone where I hide.”
“And I really…” he trails off, the sentence mixing with the breeze you feel.
This piques your interest, so you turn to him. And he’s finally looking at you again. “Really…” he continues.
But your Lyft arrives.
And Yaku upchucks on the ground.
Luckily, it doesn’t get on you. And luckily it doesn’t get in the Lyft either. It’s better he lets it out now. You wouldn’t want to ask him for $300 on his birthday.
Time: August 8 on Saturday, 13:24 PM
Location: Your living room couch
Of course, you leave out where he compliments you before he blows chunks. That is also something you can tell him later on. But you don’t leave off the chunks part.
He’s groaning next to you, his left knee slightly brushing your right knee as you both sit cross-legged on the couch. “I threw up? In front of you?” He looks at his arm again, “I didn’t even have that much to drink.”
“You drank it so fast- guess you were sprinting, rather than marathon-ing,” you chuckle, repositioning and bringing your knees close to your chest. “But, you got it on the ground! I think I would’ve killed you if you threw up in the Lyft.”
And you both sit in silence for a bit, basking in it. Yaku especially, since his headache is finally going away completely. Something about your apartment is helping him through this hangover. He thinks that maybe it’s because of your blinds. He really needs to get some. Maybe he’ll ask you where you got yours later.
“So, what do you wanna do for your birthday?” you ask. Somewhere in the quiet, you’ve shifted your body, resting your back on the armrest of your couch with your feet at his thigh, pushing slightly to catch his attention. “We can get some brunch? Mimosas?” you joke, lips curling upwards when Yaku makes a disgusted face.
He can’t even think of alcohol right now. He might drink too fast again. “Absolutely not. We celebrated last night, didn’t we?”
“Stay then,” you offer sheepishly, “I’ll order food and we can watch a movie.”
Time: August 7 on Friday, 22:42 PM
Location: The Lyft, on your way to your apartment
Yaku’s Stats: Shots- 1, Beers- 6
Yaku fights, not wanting to crash at anyone else’s place. “I wanna go home. I want my bed,” he slurs, clinging to the passenger door and clicking the window button up and down. He doesn’t know if he wants cool, fresh air or warm, car air. Maybe he should ask you to ask the driver to turn on the AC.
“You can go home tomorrow. Crash at my place,” you tell him again for the 3rd time. “I live closer anyway. You don’t want to do a sleepover with me?”
He snorts, “Are we in middle school?”
You look out your window to keep yourself from smiling to hard at him. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this drunk; you also don’t think you’ve ever seen him drink so fast.
“It’ll be fun,” the car stops in front of your apartment building, “come on. You can take my bed.” You tug at Yaku’s arm and let him sling it over you.
“Will you be there, too?”
As appealing as that sounds, you shake your head. “I can take the couch.”
He visibly pouts, jutting his lips out to exaggerate his disappointment.
It’s a struggle to get the key into the door, but when you finally do, Yaku makes his way straight to your couch. He doesn’t land perfectly, because you see him slowly roll off to the ground. You have to stifle a laugh when he starts snoring immediately.
You stare at him a bit, deciding if you should wake him up, drag his limp body to the comfort of your bed, or just leave him there on your floor. Ultimately, it’s better to not touch someone who’s knocked out within seconds.
You open your mouth to say something, but shut it after. There’s no way he’d be able to hear you saying thank you. You’ll wait until the morning to bother him again.
-
tagging: @kingkags
#haikyuucreations#haikyuucreations 0820#yaku morisuke#yaku x reader#haikyuu!!#hq#my fic#happy bday yaku!!!
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Worth Fighting For (Part : One)
summary: You're entirely certain George is the one. So he hasn't got to put up much of a fight... but in a way, that's all he knows to do.
a/n: Drum roll! I believe this is the moment you've all been waiting for! I'm really excited about this one, too yall. So just know... I'm fully committed to this fic! I cross my heart to update as often as I can, but it maaay be a little slow. I hope yall enjoy the beginning of this labor of love. Let me know what you think, and if you'd like to be tagged!
w/c: 2k
───※ ·❆· ※───
You watched as a dozen grader schoolers fumbled out of the studio door, clutching their mother's hands, some still dancing.
Every Friday, that's all they did. Your job was to teach them how. To the best of your ability, you helped kids learn to let loose through music on the weekends. You took pride in your perfectly crafted playlists and the fun patterned joggers you'd show up in; your favorite being a bright green pair that's pockets turned into dinosaurs when you pulled them out.
When you signed up to teach the weekend classes to a bunch of kids, you figured it would be the easiest job in the world. But the rambunctious group kept you on your toes in more ways than one, and always left you breathless at the end of every Friday. Still, you'd hardly have it another way. How could you wish for more?
Okay sure, maybe it would be nice to afford a car so you could get away from the dreaded city bus. And maybe you'd like to drive your hypothetical car to your very own hypothetical home in the country, one day. But all that empty space would only leave you lonely for now.
Good thing you were busy, these days. There was usually too much going on for you to think of anything besides your schedule. Between Friday dance classes with the kids, you taught private lessons to more serious paying customers. To top it all off you were often called in to choreograph all of the local school's plays and productions, community theater included.
You stayed later this afternoon, to think up a dance between a few props the school choir director dropped off for you to work with. So once your group of kids had flooded down the hall that separated the row of studios from the massive gym in the front of the building aptly named Fit For All, you got to work.
You'd been loaned a large paper mache tree and an old pirate chest to think up a dance around. As you started to move the props to the middle of the room, you found the pirate chest was much heavier than you'd expected. You cursed, using the bit of momentum you gained to pull the thing along, but lost your inadequate grip too soon. The chest came slamming down on your hand with an unsettling boom, and your shriek that followed might have been embarrassing if it didn't hurt so bloody bad.
You pushed the chest away and yanked your hand to your heart in a flash, backing up from the scene as if that would help ease the numb sting
"Y/n? What happened?" A voice thick with concern and hurried in asking echoed through the empty studio. You turned to see a friend of yours... well, someone you'd known for a while now.
George was almost always at the gym, every time you peeked in on your way to the studios in the back of the locally owned community center of sorts. The nights you both headed to the parking lot at the same time, you'd chatter about the weather as he walked to his car, before you stalled at the bus stop.
Once, when he was waiting on a ride from a friend, and your bus was late, you'd stood under the awning out of the rain and talked a little about why you were both always where you were now. George was some sort of trainer, you gathered. His jarringly shy demeanor must have put the kids he worked with at ease. But that's just nearly all you knew about the guy.
"I just- ow- I just lost my grip and-" You tried to explain calmly, gesturing to your stiffened hand with the other, trying to move the fingers that you couldn't quite feel anymore.
George took a few steps to meet where you stood, focusing his eyes on your injury. He brought a hand to your shoulder and gently nudged you out of the room while you went on explaining what happened.
What a sight you must have been. In your bright orange joggers and the t-shirt with spaceship designs you bleached to make it look a little cooler. Your hair mused loose from the tight hold you tried to keep it out of your eyes during this afternoons lesson. Dressed like you hadn't managed to let go of the past, trying not to go woozy from the way your hand pulsed with a steadily growing ache, now.
If you knew George would have been the one to swoop in to save the day, you might have at least applied a fresh layer of lip gloss.
He led you toward the gym, but entered one door too soon. Inside was a small medical station, where the athletes came to find first aid kits and tape for their wrists, but hardly much more. George found an ice pack, though, and asked you a series of questions all of which you failed to answer correctly.
"Your hand is most definitely broken."
"Thanks for coming to the rescue." You shrugged, trying not to let your new blossoming worry show.
"Come on." George waved, lingering in the door way of the tiny medic room. His sky blue eyes were ringed with hints of exhaustion as they considered you for a beat. You stared back, more anxious about the fact that he'd just given you instructions than worried about why. Then, you wondered.
"What?"
"Come on. You missed the last bus till nine."
You floated along at his command, because only a fool would deny him. Your glance crossed the clock on the wall that read a few minutes past when your bus was due at the end of every day. You weren't even thinking about getting home when Geogre pressed the icepack to your knuckles. You were too busy trying to play off the sting.
George turned to make sure you were following close behind, as he started opening the door that flooded out to the car park.
///
So that's how you ended up sitting in the waiting room of an urgent care with a melting bag of ice that's chill numbed the hand you could feel- next to George. He shoved his hands in the pocket in the front of his pale jumper and slouched next to you without a word.
When the doctor came round for you, and confirmed your hand was, of course, definitely broken- you listened to his recommendations and thanked him for the few minutes he spent assuring you the injury could be fixed much easier than most others.
George was still sat in the same lazy position when you came back from getting checked out and halfway fixed up. And when he insisted on driving you home instead of letting you linger at the nearest bus stop, you let him. But you had something else in mind...
"Are you hungry?" You asked, bouncing your knee in the passenger seat of his old, warm car. Its personality shone through the vintage detail, as it's floors and seats were empty of any kind of clutter.
"Are you?" Geogre asked back, casting his bright blue eyes to you for a second before his attention focused back on the road ahead.
"Well, yes. Come to dinner with me. I'll buy since you've been entirely too kind to me this afternoon." You grinned, hopefully. Yeah, you wanted to thank him for wasting a couple hours of his night to help you sort out your situation. But you were also mostly looking for an excuse to spend a little more time at his side.
George was painfully quiet. You hadn't gotten to know him better at all during the couple of luxurious hours he'd spent near you tonight. You were nearly more confused by the guy than you had been back when he didn't know to acknowledge you on your matched leaves from the centre where you both worked. It made you even more desperate to know what he was about.
And for a couple of blocks, you tried to coax him into pulling into the lot of the fanciest place he could think of, in order to repay him properly. But Geogre just chuckled and waved you off.
"How about just DeAngelo's?" Geogre looked to you as he turned the wheel in the direction of the towns most beloved eatery. Frequented by all types at odd hours and as often as one might get away with, without breaking bank. Which was easy, because their exceptional food was just as exceptionally priced.
"Just DeAngelo's? That's like saying, how about we just have the best night ever?" You chuckled, as the blink of a broken stop light stalled Geogre's car behind a few others.
"Okay." George grinned too, a smile you had to pull your oggling stare away from. "Just the best night ever it is."
///
The diner was aptly busy, but you managed to score a cozy booth near the back. Next to a window that might have let in a draft on colder evenings, you had to actually think before reaching for a menu, because your dominant hand was out of commission and, for a dancer, you were embarrassingly uncoordinated.
"Order one of everything you'd like!" You mused, from behind the worn familiar menu. You were the kind who ordered the same thing almost everytime. But there was something about George's presence that made you feel as if you had to peruse the list of options. "Hell, I'll buy the place out if that's what you want."
"Well, I won't ask too much of you just yet." George tossed away the menu in his grasp after only a brief consideration. You had to bring your laminated list a little closer to hide your blush, though.
You both gave your orders to a tired eyed waitress who smiled your way when you remembered her name.
Then there were two.
"So..." You bit your lip, glancing over the vast expanses of the table that separated you from the mysterious and meek George. His piercing blue gaze was already sleepily settled on you as you dared to venture further into small talk. "Boxing, yeah?"
"Yeah," He agreed with a strain. "These days I just train, though."
"Just train." You arched a brow, hoping he picked up on your call back to the way he'd placed the adverb before his decision to come to DeAngelo's- wondering if he meant anything any it now.
"It's work." He grinned, casting his eyes down to your hand that had been given a new home inside an ugly, removable cast.
"I see." You shifted your weight, trying not to visibly squirm under his pretty, intense gaze.
"I like the sport. But I found it wasn't worth all the trouble." Geogre explained, vaguely. You had to bite back a laugh at how withheld he seemed. The way he studied you, as if there was so much on his mind. The way he kept to himself, even as you nudged for him to tell you more. So you tried his trick of keeping your mouth shut and your eyes focused on his. You nodded to George with a smile that insisted he keep talking. That promised you were listening.
And after the waitress left your drinks on the edge of the table as she breezed by, George slowly spoke up again.
"Boxing, it's... the only thing I'm good at. I could never be a banker or a builder or anything. So I'm lucky to have this job."
And you start to get the tiniest hint as to why he sounds so divided. So cautiously passionate. But every time he opens his mouth to answer your questions that you're hoping clear the enigmatic air about him, George only leaves you more complexly mystified.
Then he asked about you. First, by wondering if the dinner you ordered was up to par. Then by asking if your debilitated hand would give you much trouble dancing. The answer was no, not really. You'd be set back a day and likely rush through recycled show choir moves to teach the kids later. But if anything, you were fine as ever. You'd even venture to say you were very good, but you blamed your calm happiness on the pain killers and went on talking about your work- because Geogre asked.
It wasn't often you got to gush over your job to someone who didn't already know how dearly you loved it. It wasn't often someone who asked about your dancing, to seemingly fill the gaps of conversation, listened as intently as George.
You figured it was because he was eager to bring up Barney. The older gentleman who'd built and ran Fit For All, with his late husband. The pair were interested in so many types of fitness they decided to open a space big enough for their favorite kinds of sports to live. The studios in the back were rented to dancers, yoga classes, and a few odd takewandow lessons. The gym in front was for boxers, bodybuilders and whoever felt like popping round to wear down the tread mill once a week.
According to Geogre, Barney was the one who coaxed him into picking up boxing. And you weren't surprised. Since the passing of his husband, Barney spent most of his time in the building, marveling over the classes and encouraging new faces to come back and get better. He'd watched you take lessons in the very studio you held yours own in now. It was home away from home, and Barney made it so. Even the mild George seemed to light up a little bolder while he yammered on about the owner.
Your history with Bareny was all either of you talked over till your meals were finished.
"How was your just DeAngelo's, then?" You asked, hoping sincerely that you'd treated him to something lovely enough to make up for his helping you, earlier.
"It was pretty close to the best, like you insisted." George chuckled, shoving his plate away as you noshed on the last of your chips.
"Well then we'll just have to come back till it is the best." You smiled coyly, as your waitress floated by to take away your rubbish.
///
George was quiet as ever as he drove you home. But for the first time, you were less mystified by his silence, and far more eager for a chance at asking him twenty questions the next time you got the chance.
When his vintage ride pulled to a stop outside your flat, George offered you a pleasant goodnight as you collected your bag. But before you returned the sentiment you dared to ask one final question. "See ya tomorrow?"
"Probably." George answered in a thin veil of sarcasm. The look in his eyes made his answer seem inevitable. The tone is his voice made it seem like he wasn't done keeping you on your toes. You took the smile on his lips as a good sign either way, as you returned a grin of your own- and thanked George one last time.
And on your skip to the door of your flat, you kept your cool and didn't look back to the guy you'd spent all night trying to get to know. But you crossed your working fingers as you slipped inside and wondered if it'd be entirely too strange if you started to pop round the gym more often.
───※ ·❆· ※───
taglist: @haileymorelikestupid @maria-josefin @imaginationandlove @queen-bunnyears
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Match-Up #20
You had the perfect timing, @zazax42, for yours is the last in the 2nd round of match-ups! Hello, may the match-making begin!
Note from the future: I do hope I did a decent-ish job. I didn’t want to postpone it any longer ^^”””
Hmm... I see. I presume then that somebody who can be both thrilling and grounding, as not to lead to overstimulation. I wouldn’t say that very lively characters would necessarily be a bad choice, however, I’d like to hold my judgement on that until I have more data.
Nobunaga (+1)
Mitsuhide (+1)
Kenshin (+1)
I suppose that friendliness would be an overall appreciated quality, although some may consider it to be somewhat annoying at first. Nonetheless, I think that once the suitor warmed up, the’d cherish it regardless of their initial attitude - and a drive to make friends may be the sole quality that allowed the relationship to reach that level in the first place. As such, no points were distributed based on this quality in particular.
Now, to determination. I suppose it would be particularly treasured by goal oriented warlords/those who share this trait... Or perhaps by those who lack their own goal and admire people who have one.
Nobunaga (+1)
Mitsuhide (+1)
Mitsunari (+1)
Masamune (+1)
As for rationality... I think it could counter the anxieties of some of the suitors well, as well as perhaps show some of them a different way to tackle a matter/their feelings. I suppose it would provide a common ground with certain suitors as well.
Hideyoshi (+1)
Mitsunari (+1)
Ieyasu (+1)
Kenshin (+1)
Yukimura (+1)
Confidence? Plenty of that would be necessary to deal with some of the more dominant personalities here. I think certain suitors find it appealing as well.
Nobunaga (+1)
Mitsuhide (+1)
Masamune (+1)
Kenshin (+1)
Shingen (+1)
Lastly: the desire to make people laugh. It’s such a sweet thing! I presume it would be appreciated the most by those who oftentimes hide their struggles. Surely, it wouldn’t solve the core issue here - but a joke or two can sometimes make a day a whole lot brighter.
That being said, I think some suitors would be annoyed by it. Or perhaps would miss the jokes entirely.
Nobunaga (+1)
Mitsuhide (+1)
Hideyoshi (+1)
Mitsunari (+1)
Ieyasu (-1)
Masamune (+1)
Kenshin (-1)
Shingen (+1)
Yukimura (+1)
Hmm... Well, I would like to first consider the combination of two first traints: being anxious and controlling (sensitive to details). I presume that any major changes in the environment could then cause a spike in anxiety? For that, I would probably point towards warlords who prefer to have their environment neatly organised and don’t change it frequently.
Mitsuhide (+1)
Hideyoshi (+1)
Mitsunari (-1)
Masamune (-1)
Yukimura (+1)
Now, to the overthinking itself, combined with anxiety. You did mention being rather confident previously and seeking adrenaline (stimulation?), so I suppose it’s not necessarily overthinking because you may not do well enough to succeed at a challenge, but overthinking because the change happened too fast and you lacked the time to adapt/switch into it? Or perhaps because you may not know how a certain thing would be received? Well, regardless, those are just my speculations and may be completely wrong. What I’m trying to point to is that, I wouldn’t discredit certain warlords on the principle of risk-taking, but I would based on how predictable it could be.
In other words: I would suggest suitors who could perhaps do something rapid, but with whom there would be some... Set premise? As with Mitsuhide. He may think on the spot and act rather rapidly, but with how his character is built, we are to suppose that he has a reason for it and that it will end well - or that he does not mean any harm by it. It’s a bit different to Masamune’s spontaneity, which is completely unpredictable and there’s no underlying premise to determine the outcome of an action. It just happens - sometimes without a reason, sometimes without knowing when.
Also, this all may be just a hella long paragraph of rambling.
Nobunaga (+1)
Mitsuhide (+1)
Masamune (-1)
Kenshin (-1)
Now, to being controlling and sensitive to details. Well, all I have to say here is that any suitor who attempts to take it away this sort of stability may be a bad choice. I wouldn’t say that a person trying to challenge this would make for a terrible partner, no - it’s only that I think it would be better if one gave up on this control willingly rather than have it taken away. If the want to give it away, of course.
Also, a point to note: I suppose that suitors who value their personal freedom greatly could feel threatened by it and may not know how to cope with the issue.
Masamune (-1)
Kenshin (-1)
As for forgetfulness and being messy... Well, it would certainly get amplified by suitors who are just the same. Yet, given the previously mentioned qualities, I don’t think that it implies that love interests who would take care of it for you are the correct answer.
Mitsunari (-1)
Materialistic... Well, I don’t think most suitors would mind that trait much. It may not be an obstacle in relationships with them... However, it could make living with few characters difficult, either due to their line of work or specific aspects of their homeland.
Mitsuhide (-1)
Shingen (-1)
Lastly, indecisive! Well then... Perhaps suitors who can prompt their partners to learn to target the core of the issue and wouldn’t mind covering for them if needed be?
Nobunaga (+1)
Mitsuhide (+1)
Hideyoshi (+1)
Mitsunari (+1)
Masamune (+1)
Kenshin (+1)
Shingen (+1)
1st Summary:
Nobunaga (+6)
Mitsuhide (+6)
Hideyoshi (+4)
Yukimura (+3)
Shingen (+2)
Masamune (+1)
Kenshin (+1)
Points distributed for likes:
Nobunaga (+2) - literature, cuddles
Mitsuhide (+3) - cuddles, music/dance, literature
Hideyoshi (+1) - cuddles
Mitsunari (+2) - cuddles, literature
Ieyasu (+1) - cuddles
Masamune (+3) - cuddles, literature, cooking
Kenshin (+1) - fashion (apparently, he has a good eye for that? A CE story)
Nobunaga (-1) - being alone (busy)
Mitsuhide (-1) - being alone (missions)
Hideyoshi (-2) - being alone, uneventful days
Shingen (-1) - uneventful days
2nd Summary:
Mitsuhide (+8)
Nobunaga (+7)
Masamune (+4)
Hideyoshi (+3)
Yukimura (+3)
Mitsunari (+2)
Kenshin (+2)
Shingen (+1)
Mitsunari (+2) - too dependent
Kenshin (+2) - too dependent
Nobunaga (-1) - he does take MC to the battlefield against her will and it’s plenty loud there. Overall, I have a feeling that sudden changes of this kind may just kinda occur around him, sometimes orchestrated, sometimes not. (Ambushes, treason, etc).
Oh, so would that last bit be a bit like rejection sensitive dysphoria? I suppose then that characters who are harsh with their words could accidentally end up being hurtful. I’d also rather pick suitors who don’t need much support, or much rather - don’t depend on MC to help them tackle their issues/can sort it out mostly themselves.
Nobunaga (-2)
Masamune (-1)
I could distribute some positive points here, as I’m certain some suitors would found those endearing or interesting, but it seems that it may not be necessary as it wouldn’t change anything regarding the results.
It seems they were already crossed out. Thanks for sending your form in, the verdict is (drum roll, please)...
Final Ranking
Mitsuhide (+8)
Nobunaga (+4)
Masamune & Hideyoshi & Yukimura (+3)
Mitsuhide
Confessed first:
You, as he’d never dare to even consider it, as he believed himself to be unworthy.
Makes tea in the morning:
Mitsuhide
Hogs blankets at night:
You.
Is the little spoon:
It’s about an equal split.
Possible points for conflict:
Mitsuhide being dishonest or cryptic about his endeavors, even after the matter was dealt with. It may be a bit of a habit of his, he may also wish not to endanger anybody. Regardless, it can be addressed and managed.
Free time ideas:
Visiting various markets during your travels (Mitsuhide would arrange for any items of interests to be purchased in secret, as not to get either of you out of your role), creating plays (as you may need to have some ready for when you’re on a mission), cooking together (as Mitsuhide would never come close to eating properly otherwise; trolling may occur), mutual lessons (as surelly, as a future person, you posses knowledge Mitsuhide lacks - and vice versa).
Favourite date spot:
You don’t really have one - each travel is different and each brings a spot that could be a “favourite”.
A secret you share:
He lets you play with his hair and you can do just about anything with it. You might have tied this sort of fringe he has, so that it would (for once) get out of his eyes.
His favourite thing about you:
How smart and sweetly affectionate you are.
His message to you:
“You’re still working, Little Mouse? Do take a break, I insist... Hm? You do not feel as if you have done enough? My, my, I assure you, you have done plenty beyond enough. Do take a moment to breath, or today’s dinner duty will be fulfilled completely by me. I will not feel responsible for the results of that in the slightest.”
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alright gang, finally got my shit together long enough to write this bad boy up. yes, her blog is still ugly so look away ❤️ anyway, first things first, i’m jo, i’m twenty-one, i’m in pst, and i’m very excited to be here 😌 check below the cut for more info on miss sloane because my app is too much of a mess to be linked :p thank u for ur time
[ COURTNEY EATON, CIS FEMALE, SHE / HER ] shh ! sloane jennings, the twenty year old second year public health major from chicago, illinois, is known as a tourmaline around here. she was invited to join because of her versatility and her academic record, and now, they’re here to stay. she reminds me of a cigarette tucked behind your ear, sitting on the rooftop to watch the sunset, & wishing on dandelions.
pinterest . statistics . connections .
basics.
full name: sloane alice jennings
birthday: june 13th, 2000
astrology: gemini sun, scorpio moon, libra rising
mbti: enfp-a, the campaigner
positive: adaptable, intuitive, loyal
negative: flighty, naive, hedonistic
about.
click here for sloane’s full bio.
sloane was born to pepper liu and dinah jennings, lesbian activist icons of their day who mostly lived by allowing the wind to move them. they made friends everywhere and for the first years of sloane’s life, they bring her with them everywhere
eventually, pepper and dinah settle down and decide to live somewhere permanent for sloane’s sake and so she could go to school somewhere. they decide on san francisco, california, a city that’s near and dear to them. unfortunately, they die in a fire before sloane can ever start school
after that, sloane is sort of passed around old friends of pepper and dinah, a series of unfortunate events style. the key difference however is that there is never any doubt that sloane is so deeply loved. everywhere she goes, she’s always well taken care of
they always tell her stories of her mothers and it’s never a case of sloane feeling abandoned or like she’s been struck with bad luck just because she’s raised so well
in high school, she does a million extracurriculars. she tries water polo for a little bit, she was in a band for the last two years of high school, she literally does SO much community service, she tries everything because she’s genuinely interested in everything
most of her motivation for college was because of her mothers’ desire for her to do something good with herself because otherwise she never would have gone but she applied and she got into strathmore!
on the society: she honestly never even knew about the society until she got the invitation because it’s just not something that would be on her radar, but now that she’s in it, she sees how much good it can do for her. that doesn’t mean she takes it as seriously as other people do but she’ll go along with all their bells and whistles.
personality.
adaptable, intuitive, loyal, flighty, naive, hedonistic
a lot of my inspiration for sloane comes from the concept of angels doing unholy things and this post in particular, not every single bullet point, but you get the gist.
i think sloane’s most defining character trait is her ability to adapt. her mothers were never able to stay in one place for very long making friends everywhere they went, and so all of sloane’s guardians came from everywhere. she was raised with a tremendous amount of care and love just because dinah and pepper were so loved, so moving around was never that much of an issue. she’s always been able to make the best of her situation and has always found ways to make homes no matter what city or town she’s in.
one of the things about sloane is that she’s never been alone. she was orphaned before the age of ten, but the friends of her mothers have taken a lot of care in making sure that she’s never felt lonely. relying on people and having a sense of community is so essential for sloane wherever she goes. it’s one of the few things she appreciates in the society.
going off on that, people have looked out for sloane her entire life and i think that’s a large part of the reason why she chose her major. it was important for her to do something that would allow her to serve her community and improve it. she’s never really cared that much about fame or wealth or whatever, but she’s always cared about people and doing good by them. a lot of her upbringing was about making do, making your voice heard, standing by your people and these are lessons she carries with her everywhere
just another thing to say that i do think the way she was raised has made her more trusting of people in general and can make her a little naive because she operates under the assumption that, more often than not, people look out for others when that isn’t always the case
that isn’t to say that she doesn’t know how to be alone, however, because she does and she’s honestly really good at being alone. people in her life made sure she knew she wasn’t alone and sloane has always been very aware of that, but the fact still stands that she’s an orphan. sloane has always been content with being on her own. even if she stayed with people who had kids her own age, she of course made fast friends with them but would also spend a lot of time on her own just because she is a little strange.
i do think there’s a sort of scrappy charm to sloane. she isn’t rough around the edges but she isn’t all prim and proper either. there’s something very weathered about the way she carries herself, like she’s already seen the whole world and experienced so much. and in a lot of ways, she has tbh
i guess one of the other things is she’s sort of… strange? in the most approachable way possible. sloane truly walks to the beat of her own drum and does whatever she likes but the fact that she’s so unapologetic about it and so open about it makes it easier to befriend her. strange in the sense that she’s superstitious, doesn’t really have a filter, and generally doesn’t follow trends of any sort. like i hate typing that because i don’t mean for her to be a ‘i was born in the wrong generation’ type of girl but i just think she can be a little intense sometimes LMAO
i know i’m circling back, but i think a large part of why she’s so adaptable is because she doesn’t do much changing between places. like her core is unwavering and she makes space for herself, but she knows how to read people and that is what changes. the way she treats and interacts with people changes based on how she sizes them up and she’s pretty good at sizing people up so they tend to feel more comfortable with her
despite sloane being unapologetic about her life, i do think she tends to be more on the private side. like yeah, she doesn’t hide anything about the way she acts and doesn’t water herself down for people but it’s rare for her to talk about herself for too long. she’s more likely to ask people questions during a conversation and ask about them without really giving anything away herself
headcanons.
has been smoking cigarettes since she was super young after she stole a pack from her guardian at the time at the age of 12, is most definitely going to die of lung cancer
she used to play bass in her band in high school because she’s cool and sexy
superstitious. avoids cracks on the sidewalk, throws salt over her left shoulder, carries a rabbit’s foot, the whole deal
kids love sloane. they always have. even babies always take a liking to her even if she’s a stranger. the one who can always get the fussy baby to calm down and sleep
loves abba!!!! mamma mia is her dream broadway show like it feels like something she would come up with
always fidgeting or shaking her leg or playing with her hair, like literally cannot sit still for the life of her and has always been super restless
so extremely punctual that it surprises most people. sloane seems like the type to always be late to things but quality time is her love language, so she always always shows up to things on time because she never wants to miss out. this is more about her seeing people, but it does carry over to other commitments because time is so precious to her
spends a lot of her time doing community service. she believes in helping people okay! every winter, she cleans out her closet as best she can and hands out coats or blankets to people on the streets. even if she’s never had much, this is pretty important for her. she almost always tries to spare some change when she sees homeless people.
she volunteers at the hospital because she’s a health major but she also just loves hanging out with the babies
her favorite picture is of she and her mothers at a protest when she was five years old. she’s sitting on pepper’s shoulders and she’s missing a tooth. dinah’s kissing pepper on the cheek, and they all just look so happy.
she’s got three piercings on each ear and a cartilage piercing in her left ear; she loves jewelry and earrings and changes them frequently
she wears whatever she wants or whatever’s comfortable; like it honestly just depends on her mood but she DOES wear her docs often and with anything she can think of because they’re her favorite pair of shoes
some favorites !
movie: kiki’s delivery service
tv show: community, freaks & geeks
book: normal people
season: spring
color: green
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Hi love can you please continue something borrowed
Here is the thing I was writing for a while. It’s kinda just meh but I’m getting back into the groove of writing again, thank you for being patient with me!
Something Borrowed masterlist
Once upon a time, Ethan Dolan used to be the heaviest sleeper in the history of heavy sleepers. A raid could be taking place in his room and he still wouldn’t have gotten up. That was one of the many things that changed when he became father to his little princess. Irina had the tendency to come waddling into his room and climb into his bed In the middle of the night, she’d started doing it frequently after Iris passed away. Ethan doesn’t remember how or when exactly, but he’d started picking up the sounds of her tiny feet padding against the floor when she’d come in and sleepily reach out to her, lifting her up and depositing her into his arms where she would sleep peacefully.
That’s why when the sounds of two pairs of tiny feet fluttering about the hardwood floor reached his ears, Ethan’s sleep vanished. He still kept his eyes closed and pretended to sleep, wanting to see what the little hellions would get up to.
“Shhh..” Ethan heard Irina’s voice coming from the left of him. “Don’t make a sound.”
“I’m not.” This was Elijah, whispering in a defensive tone. Ethan had to bite on the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from smiling at his son’s tone. Although he was extremely shy and quiet around Ethan, Elijah still made it clear that he hated being pushed around. He was a smart kid and he didn’t like it when people told him what to do when he so clearly was capable of figuring stuff out himself. He sometimes reminded Ethan of Grayson.
And the rest of the time, Elijah reminded him of Y/N.
Ethan felt the bed dip on his left and very quietly, someone started crawling in his direction. He braced himself for whatever attack his spawn had decided to have in store for him and then, the first hit from the pillow landed on his shoulder.
“Daddy! Good morning!” It was Irina, wishing him a good morning whilst continuing the terror attack of the pillows on her father. Had he said Elijah reminded him of Grayson? Forget that! Right now, his little daughter was displaying major Grayson energy. “Daddy-daddy-daddy!”
One smack for every ‘daddy’ she chanted. Her hits didn’t hurt, they barely felt like a feather, something old Ethan could have easily slept through. But here he groaned, pretending to be waking up as he stretched his arms above his head, rolled to the left and engulfed the little miss in his arms, making her squeal in surprise as she handed flat on his chest.
“Daddy, get uuup!” She protested, pushing against Ethan’s chest that vibrated with his breathy chuckle.
“Good morning, button,” Ethan booped her button nose and landed a quick kiss in her hair. When he turned to his right, he found Elijah quietly standing near the edge of the bed, looking at Ethan and Irina with a small smile, his fingers tangling and detangling themselves from a lone threat hanging from his blue sweater. He blushed when Ethan’s eyes found his.
Ethan’s heart sank a little into his stomach, seeing how his son, his own flesh and blood got so shy and reserved around him, still. Elijah always had so much to talk about with his mother and with Ethan, he was still not completely out of his shell. It hurt, but Ethan knew it was his fault and no one else’s.
Holding Irina against his side, Ethan extended his free arm towards Elijah, making the little boy look at the inviting arm, back at his father before he decided to move his feet and hesitantly place his hand into Ethan’s inviting palm. Ethan lovingly rubbed his thumb against his son’s hand, making Elijah shyly look at Ethan from under his lashes.
“Good morning, bud.” Ethan smiled down at him.
“Good morning, daddy.” Elijah gave him a dimpled smile in return, one hand still fiddling with the ends of his sweater.
“You wanna come cuddle with daddy?”
Elijah simply gave Ethan one nod of his head. Ethan grinned, reaching down and lifting his sweet little boy up by his armpits. Soon, Ethan was happily situated between his beautiful babies. Irina was still nagging him about getting up and brushing his teeth while Elijah was just laying his head quietly on his father’s chest. Ethan had one arm wrapped around each of his babies, the blankets draped over all three of them. He felt so content, he couldn’t take the smile off his face if he tried.
“How long have you guys been up for?” He inquired, making his son lift up his head from Ethan’s chest to look up at him.
“For a loooong time.” Said Irina.
“Mum even gave us baths.” Elijah piped in.
Before Ethan could say anything, Irina was jumping into a sitting position, her enthusiasm radiating off of her radiant smile. “Daddy, touch my hair!” She commanded, grabbing Ethan’s hand and guiding it to her bouncy curls. They looked extra glossy and pretty today for some reason. Upon touching her hair, Ethan concluded it felt softer too. “Y/N washed my hair today! She made it look so pwetty, see?”
The little girl scrunched her curls in her hands and let them go, making them form ringlets as they tumbled down to her shoulders. Ethan couldn’t help but laugh at how cute and happy she looked, deciding then and there that he’d have to take some hair washing lessons from Y/N asap.
“She really did, baby. It smells really nice too!”
“Mummy’s shampoo smells really nice.” Elijah proudly informed Ethan, like he already didn’t know that.
Ethan chuckled, “Oh I know, bud. Your mummy has to always smell like a million bucks.”
Ethan’s thoughts went back to the time when he and Y/N were together. Remembering what her divine scent used to do it him, made him blush red. One glance from her used to make him go weak in the knees and he wouldn’t lie and say she still didn’t have the same affect on him. The only difference was, now he felt ashamed in admitting to that fact even to himself.
Shame and guilt. Two emotions he had gotten to know really well in these five years.
Yes, it had been more than two years since Iris passed but it still didn’t feel right, thinking about someone else. His heart would argue that there had always been a huge chunk of it that had been left at Y/N’s doorstep that night when he’d left her for Iris. That after he’d known what having Y/N felt like, going back to Iris and staying with her had always felt more like duty than anything else, but Iris was still his wife. It was he who had royally fucked all three of their lives because he couldn’t decide who to choose. His heart had stubbornly belonged to Y/N and there had been a part of his brain that always thought of her, so much so that he’d begun to wonder what that part even did before he’d met Y/N , but Iris had fallen pregnant when they least expected her to and Ethan couldn’t go back to Y/N, even though every cell in his body cried for her.
He had felt ashamed of admitting to himself, his true feelings for a woman that wasn’t his wife when Iris was alive and the shame had not left his conscience long after her death.
He wonders if it ever would go away.
“Mumma told us not to wake you.” Elijah’s soft, almost hesitate voice interjected Ethan’s thoughts. Elijah was looking at him with cautious eyes, as if he just remembered something he did that could upset his father. “We did it anyway. Are you mad?”
Ethan immediately shook his head negatively. “Why would I be mad?”
It was Irina who answered the question before Elijah could. “Y/N said you like to sleep in and that we should let you sleep for a little longer-“
“Or you will be cranky all day,” Elijah interrupted in his still small voice.
“But I was missing you so I got Elijah and we came here to wake you.” Then the little girl turned to Elijah and went, “Don’t worry, Elijah, daddy doesn’t get mad with me for waking him up. I do it all the time when I’m having bad dreams, right Daddy?”
Ethan gave his daughter a close lipped smile and kissed the top of her head. “Right baby.” Ethan watched how Elijah watched him kiss Irina, and he squeezed him closer to his side, “and besides, there’s nothing better than waking up to my beautiful children’s faces.”
Those words brought a genuine smile to Elijah’s face and the sight made Ethan’s heart squeeze in his chest. His son was the spitting image of him. When he smiled, Ethan saw himself in him. But there were things he did that were undoubtedly Y/N.
He was an early bird just like his mama. He loved to draw and colour like her and just like Y/N, Elijah also bit his bottom lip and furrowed his thick eyebrows when he was concentrating hard on something. He had Y/N’s dimpled chin and he had thankfully inherited his mother’s talent of singing. The night before, when he had sung a few Christmas carols upon various requests from Ethan and everyone else, Elijah had blown everyone away with his angelic voice and his ability to hold a tune. Ethan wouldn’t lie, he had tears in his eyes by the time his son had finished singing Mary’s Boy Child while Grayson had played the Piano.
“Who taught you to sing, darling?” Ethan’s mother had inquired, smiling proudly at her grandson.
Elijah had blushed and whispered quietly, “My mummy sings around the house. I sing with her all the time.”
“Did she teach you the carols?”
Elijah had just nodded. Two minutes later, he had come to Ethan and told him he was missing his mummy and that he wanted to go home. “She must be missing me.”
Ethan had agreed right away and Elijah had gone around, hugging his aunt and uncle goodbye, earning two kisses on his cheek from Grayson who clearly wasn’t ready yet to let his precious nephew go. Lisa had come up behind Ethan, “That boy is a spitting image of you.”
Ethan had flashed her a proud smile, “Thank god he doesn’t get his singing skills from me.”
Lisa had laughed, patting her eldest son on the back, “You can teach him how to play the drums.”
“I think he’s more interested in learning the Piano from Gray, instead.”
Before Lisa could say anything else, Irina had come bouncing over, looking glum. “Daddy, why are you taking Eli back? Can’t he stay with us tonight?”
“Baby, he misses his mom. She is all alone on Christmas Day, she must be missing him too, don’t you think?” Ethan had tried consoling his upset daughter.
“Then why don’t you go and bring her here too? Grandma is here, uncle and auntie are here too. We will all be together then.” His daughter had looked so innocent giving him her idea, thinking she had come up with a master play to make everyone happy. If only it was that easy to get Y/N to celebrate with his family. Ethan had asked and had been shot down immediately. Y/N had told him she would have Elijah ready by 10 am and that Ethan could come pick him up then.
“You’ll be alone on Christmas.” Ethan had said.
Y/N had just shrugged, “I don’t mind being alone.”
Ethan really wished he could change that.
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