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myelocin · 4 years

Text

Cradle | Sakusa Kiyoomi, Iwaizumi Hajime

Synopsis: First is love; in the forms over the years you come to know. Then second is grief and loss; and how the struggle that comes with it defines and reshapes you. And finally third is acceptance, where you realize that the awakening to love and life’s questions have always just been in the palm of your hand.

This story is for those who shielded themselves from love before it could even hit them.

Characters/Pairings: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader x Iwaizumi Hajime | Seijoh 3rd years (friendship)

Genre/Tags/Warnings: Slice of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, Seijoh4!Friendship, Cellist!Sakusa, Musician!Reader, Hajime lmao, Mutual Pining, Love Triangle, Happy Ending!!, Character death, mentions of spiraling

WC: 17.5k

a/n: a month long wip! this one is all for you, mom. i broke my heart writing down these memories, but i hope you read this on the other side. + big thank you to @introvertedfangirlpower for the cello facts! really helped me :)

playlist: Message to Myself - Roo Panes

ko-fi | commissions

For you, love began in the unknown.

You say unknown because you don’t remember much of your childhood other than the flashes of residual warmth that came with the memory of your mother. For as long as you can remember, she always felt like that: warm and familiar—like home.

Her presence like the warmth that stays on your coffee mug long after you’ve consumed your drink. Warmth like sitting in front of a fireplace as you watch the last bits of firewood extinguish in the flames.

And your fondest memory perhaps—warm like the hands that cup your face and kiss your forehead every morning before you left for school.

The early years in your life meant days spent in planted gardens outside of a kitchen window where the pink and yellow flowers bloom in the spring, and jumping in the fallen leaves raked in a pile centered in the backyard in the late autumn.

Then in the winters, when it became too cold to lay in blankets in the backyard stargazing for constellations—you’d spend the Christmas nights listening to bedtime stories about her time traveling the world you have yet to explore. “You’ll fall in love with seeing what’s out there,” you recall her saying as she tucks you in bed with the green blanket she knitted for you when you were a baby.

Though you suppose even if you loved the winter months with her the best—you could never go wrong with sipping the iced tea she’d leave for you on the porch in the afternoons you spent outside in the summers. The iced tea she made was always the best: never too sweet, and never too bland either.

And for the most part of your childhood, your father was absent. You didn’t really care; his absent never lingered. So even when the bratty kid from the classroom next to yours would brag about the brand new jacket her papa bought her from a trip overseas—you didn’t care. The jacket you wore was still the same one from last year, and the scarf wrapped around you was the one she knitted two winters ago, but the way she wrapped you up and kissed your nose made the taunting escape your mind.

Your mother would tell you stories about the times when you were a baby and of how she’d tuck you in nice and snug in your blanket whenever she felt the room was too cold and then fan you out when the temperature rose. Apparently, when you were a baby you never cried too much so she was left to guess whether you felt comfortable enough with the room’s temperature or not. She always finished the story by saying you smiled at her either way so she supposes she guessed right every time.

You don’t question it because she guesses right every time.

During father daughter dances that were annually held in your school, your mother always made sure to take the day off of work early so the two of you would have dinner some place nice instead. Her jokes were better than the ones your dad halfheartedly chucked your way when he did come to visit anyway, so you didn’t mind.

Your father ringing you up three hours before the dance with the last minute classic excuse of “sudden meeting today, I’m sorry.” didn’t bother you as much as you think it should have when your mom was right next to you ready to tell you another story from her younger days.

Her “younger days” as she liked to call it was always a favorite topic of hers that she always returned to from time to time. At eight years old, it felt like there was so much of the world still to explore and despite her telling you to live your childhood to the fullest, you didn’t ask what it meant and requested to hear an encore of the story she just finished telling.

She’d smile and you’d hear her tell you that no, and that you should have listened, but you know during the “father daughter” dinners shared between the two of you, she was extra soft and that it would take nothing more than pleading eyes and one more “please” before she’d relent and tell the story again.

She was always enough; every second with her felt just right—and if there’s something you never regret during your childhood, it’s those times where you’d ignore the teasing of having “no dad to dance with” from your childhood bullies because you were more than content with the superwoman who raised you anyway.

If there was someone in your childhood other than your mom who never hesitated to hold your hands—it was the boy who lived right down the street: Iwaizumi Hajime.

“He looks a little scruffy,” your mom used to tell you and you’d shrug at her words because to ten year old you, she did have a point. Boys were icky.

His family didn’t move in your street until you turned ten years old, but according to the Oikawa family who lived next door—the Iwaizumi family had already been one of their long term friends. Tooru, the pretty boy who was your next door neighbor and often brought you the Christmas cookies you’ve come to love every December didn’t hesitate to knock on your door and ask your mom for permission to bring you out and play.

Tooru was okay, you thought; he had nice hair and a pretty smile even though he wore alien t-shirts every chance he could get. But, he was always kind enough to remember that you preferred almonds in your cookies instead of the cashews the recipe called for. So when your mother looked at you for your answer, you nodded shyly before running to your room to grab the jacket and scarf she reminded you to wear. The chill from autumn’s air has been settling in the region lately, so you let her wrap the scarf around you tightly before you left.

She did the same for both Tooru and his mystery friend, and you could only nod proudly when Tooru introduced his friend to your mother with, “This is (l/n)-san, she’s the nicest auntie here!”

You don’t notice the boy who walks quietly beside Tooru until the three of you reach the park. When you do finally notice him, you subconsciously find yourself moving a little closer to Tooru, your puffy cheeks hidden in the layers your scarf buried you in.

“Oh!” Tooru suddenly exclaims like he just had an epiphany.

“(Y/n),” he says as he turns to you and grabs the sleeve of your jacket, “—this is Iwa-chan. My bestest friend!”

Iwa-chan, the boy introduced to you peeks at you from Tooru’s left side and puffs his cheeks, “My name is Iwaizumi Hajime, nice to meet you.”

“Hello, I’m (y/n),” you reply and tentatively hold your hand out as an offer for him to shake, “nice to meet you Iwaizumi-san.”

His cheeks turn red at your words and you fight the urge to laugh at how silly it looks with his pout when he says, “You can call me Hajime. Nice to meet you too.”

Beside you, Tooru must have thought that his friend was taking too long to respond because he sighs loudly and grabs Hajime’s hand and clasps it on yours. “Iwa-chan, you’re supposed to shake her hand! Not stare.”

The red tinting his cheeks turn into a couple shades darker as he shakes your hand and turns his head to the side after muttering something along the lines of, “Baka-kawa.”

You smile at him when he faces you, and then smile even wider when the blush on his cheeks turn even redder. Maybe it’s just the cold air, you think, but none the less it suited him.

His hair was a little scruffy and he liked to wear Godzilla t-shirts under his jackets, but his cheeks blushed a pretty shade of red when you smiled at him so when your mom asks how your day with Tooru and the new neighbor went, you smile at her and say, “Mama I made a new friend!”

Hajime seemed nice, you suppose.

And you’re right because Hajime was always kind; he smiled in a way that had you smiling along with him in mere seconds. Though he was a little rougher with Tooru, Hajime always made it his mission to make sure he held your hand—if you needed it—when you needed to jump down a big step; the ever present blush on his cheeks when you’d beam at him stayed regardless of whatever season so you suppose you can’t blame it on the cold air anymore.

During your summer breaks, the three of you would spend the afternoons in your mother’s backyard sipping iced tea and catching cicadas. Tooru, along with you, would whine about how gross bugs were but you’d sooner relent than him when a pout began to form on Hajime’s face.

“You don’t have to,” Hajime says and takes a seat next to you on the swing next to the rosebushes. Tooru, from a far would yell triumphantly before tossing the volleyball he’d brought with him from home again. You, on the other hand could never have it in you to see Hajime upset so you’d pick up one of the three nets he’d brought with him and nod towards the garden.

“It’s okay!” you say and offer him a sweet smile when he’d look up, “as long as you keep the worms away from me then it’s okay!”

“I’ll keep them away,” he replies suddenly looking excited. Hajime jumps from the swings to grab another net and tugs at your hand to run towards the garden; he chooses to ignore the look on Tooru’s face when the latter shoots him a knowing smirk.

Bugs were never your thing and there was also never a day where you thought you’d be out in the garden running hand in hand with a boy trying to catch cicadas on a summer afternoon—when you’d much prefer to be sitting in a picnic blanket with the family dog who always nudged your hand for belly rubs. But then again, when you see Hajime, the kind boy with the infectious smile who always held your hand when you crossed the street or jumped from big steps, beam at you with his laughs ringing in the air—you conclude that it can’t be so bad after all.

When the sun would set and the three of you would let go of all the cicadas you caught, your mom would sit the three of you down for dinner and talk about your days.

“Ah, youth,” your mother would comment and you’d nod along, smiling because if this is what she meant by the beauty of youth—then you don’t ever want to let this go. If youth meant summer afternoons spent catching cicadas, festivals in the autumn, hot cocoas in winter, and picnics in the spring with Hajime and Tooru then you decided you really don’t want to let it go.

You think that especially when you look at the table across you as you smile at Tooru shoveling his dinner down and smiling at your mom because she was the bestest cook ever and laugh when Hajime’s always the one offering to pass the salt or the dish your mother asked for.

“Haji is really smart, mama,” you say looking up at the woman seated next to you and Tooru would whole heartedly agree then mutter something about “Iwa-chan” being really good at arm wrestling. Hajime would flush with the familiar shade of red you’ve grown accustomed to at Tooru’s comment but tell your mother a polite thank you when she’d clap her hands together and agree with Tooru’s compliment.

That night when your mother tucked you in for the night and moved to turn off the lights in the bedroom, she tells you that Hajime and Tooru are nice boys and that she’s glad you befriended the both of them.

You tell her goodnight and smile into your covers, feeling warm at the thought of your mother’s words, Tooru’s laughter, and Hajime’s kind smile.

High school was a strange time for the three of you.

Strange, in the sense that even though the three of you maintained the closeness of the friendship you’ve shared since childhood—certain things factored in the evident shift in some relationships.

Tooru was one example.

You would give up an arm for him in a heartbeat if it meant it would save his life, but at the same time, there are some moments where you wouldn’t hesitate to rip off his arm just to get him to shut up.

He’s always been perceptive, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he came to your house one day, plopped himself on the beanbag he claimed to be “his spot” at the corner of your desk, look you dead in the eye, and declare, “You have the hots for Iwa-chan don’t you?”

Internally, you wince at the statement but outwardly maintain the air of nonchalance you’ve mastered over the years. Tapping your pen on Tooru’s forehead, you click your tongue, “If you don’t finish your essay by today, I’m not gonna edit it for you.”

“You’re changing the topic, (y/n),” Tooru quips and if the conversation was about something different, you’d smile at the sing-song tone he was using.

“Changing what?” You ask.

“(Y/n),” Tooru replies, dragging out the last syllable of your name, “—you’re so obvious, even Makki and Mattsun could tell.”

“Could tell what?” comes Hajime’s voice from the doorway.

You let out a sigh because in a way you’re thankful for Hajime’s impeccable timing in entering your room. You turn your head and glance at him from your desk, offering him a lazy wave as a greeting.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru exclaims and scrambles on the beanbag to sit up properly. “How much have you heard?”

“Were you talking about something important?” Hajime asks with a flat tone as he sits on your bed and pulls out his laptop.

“Your mom asked me and Oikawa to stay for dinner tonight, by the way. That cool with you?” he asks.

You look at him, the expression on your face quizzical, “Haji, you guys always stay for dinner. Mama and I love having you two around.”

From your peripheral vision, you could see Tooru look between you and Hajime back and forth and for once you’re glad he chose to stay silent.

But then when a familiar tinge of red falls on Hajime’s cheeks and you smile fondly at him, Tooru suddenly hollers, “(Y/n), that’s what I mean. You totally have the hots for Iwa-chan!”

Hajime’s eyes widen as you slap a hand over your face.

Today was one of the days where you decide you want to rip Tooru’s arm off.

Dinner later that night was, to put it bluntly, awkward.

You figured your mom must have already read the atmosphere by now but as of the moment all you could really do was shoot glares towards Tooru from across the table. Usually, the seating arrangement would be like this: you sat next to your mom, Tooru right across you, and Hajime diagonal from you.

Tonight, Tooru decided that it was time to “switch things up” and traded seats with Hajime.

“Ahh, this feels nice,” he says as he sits in the chair inches away from the chair where he sat for years.

“Boys,” your mother begins, “I heard you both got into the volleyball team.”

Tooru beams at her through a mouthful of pasta. “Yeth!” he chimes and Hajime elbows him on the side reminding him to eat properly before responding. You, along with your mother give a soft laugh at their interaction.

“How are you three liking high school so far? I expect the two of you to get rid of any boys who have bad intentions towards (y/n),” your mother says as she sips on her wine. Internally, you groan, because this was a conversation you would much prefer to not have. Especially in front of Tooru, you decide when he grins with an undertone of something you could only guess was anything but good. You shoot him a warning look; Tooru decides it’s a good day to ignore you.

Over the years, you made your appreciation known towards Hajime’s amazing timing. It was like he had a sixth sense when it came to either you, Tooru, or the both of you simultaneously. He had always managed to round the corner right as the passing university boys would spot you alone by the convenience store, catch Tooru before he did anything too drastic whenever he blamed himself a little too harshly for a loss from a particularly bad game, or like earlier that night—walk into a room interrupting a conversation you would rather avoid altogether.

This current situation was not one of those times.

Hajime took a bite. Your eyes were still locked on Tooru who did everything but look in your direction.

“I don’t think that’s a problem, (L/n)-san,” he said and leaned forward. Your mother next to you raised an eyebrow in question and muttered an, “oh?”

Hajime took another bite, still oblivious to the current conversation. You still looked at Tooru who smiled at you in a way that had you gripping the fork in your hand a little tighter.

“No scary boys around (y/n), at all! Isn’t that right, Iwa-chan?” Tooru exclaims and looks at his best friend next to him who was still engrossed in his plate of food. You hold your breath looking at Hajime as you wait for his response.

“Huh? Yeah. Anyway, this new recipe is really good (l/n)-san,” he finally says and nods towards your mother. Tooru clasps his hands together, smiling.

“Personally,” Tooru begins, “I think Iwa-chan and (y/n) would be the most perfect couple!”

You run your hands over your face, already feeling the heat crawling up your neck. Feeling your mother’s stare you let out a sigh and face her. “Mom-“

“Hajime! That’s great! I was wondering when the two of you would get together, it’s literally been years.”

You stare at her. Hajime stares at her; pasta sauce is smeared on the corner of his lips.

“I know, imagine being the third wheel this whole time!” Tooru comments.

“Hajime’s a nice boy,” your mother tells you as you join her in the living room after Tooru and Hajime returned home.

“We’re not, a thing, mom,” you say despite her laughing at your tone.

“I didn’t say you two were a thing.”

You open your mouth, but eventually close it when you come short of a response. She had a point.

“Mom,” you groan, “Haji is nice. Tooru is nice. Both of them are nice.”

“I know that, (y/n), you’re just being defensive now,” she laughs and you can’t find a retort so you huff in response.

When the room is dips into silence, you grab the familiar green blanket folded on the corner of the couch and take a seat next to her. She looks at you when you lean against her shoulder and drape the blanket over the two of you.

“(Y/n),” your mother says softly.

“Yeah?” you respond, looking up to catch her gaze—the kind where it’s steady and soft.

“Never lose yourself if you decide to give your heart to someone. I raised you well enough and no boy should ever make you feel like you’re taking two steps back,” you know she doesn’t say it to spite Hajime, but the message and advice in her words reach you anyway.

“Never in a million years.”

You know your mother means well because everything she’s done so far was because it was for your sake. Her credit of being a good mom was well deserved: a full time nurse and a full time mother wasn’t an easy feat but she did it—and not a day goes by where you felt like you had to fight for her time.

And because of that, you knew in your heart that Hajime knew the both of you enough to understand the dynamic you had with her; for that, you were always thankful.

True to Tooru’s words, it only took the both of you six more months of back and forth bickering in your room before you eventually built up enough courage to stand in front of Hajime with your confession written neatly in jet black ink on paper tucked inside the pink envelope Tooru had demanded you to use.

He was quiet, and staring at you long enough for your cheeks to turn as pink as the envelope you were holding that it had you beginning to wrack your brain for excuses to turn and walk in the opposite direction. Only, when you looked up, cheeks flushed and the “Sorry I think I have to be home early to put my fish to sleep,” at the tip of your tongue—you stop because Hajime’s looking at anywhere but you and because his entire face is red.

You still have the envelope awkwardly stretched out towards him so when you move in attempt to retract it, his hands are suddenly clasped over your wrists and he’s looking at you, red face and all, saying, “W-wait—“

The both of you must have been quite the spectacle for the way you’re staring at each other, red faced, and waiting for the other to begin speaking because you could definitely make out Takahiro and Issei’s snorting from some feet away.

“—shit,” Hajime continues and the way he’s still staying silent and going back to avoiding your gaze has you tugging your wrists out of his hold and sheepishly telling him, “Sorry, this is a little awkward isn’t it?”

You’re standing in front of Hajime with your hands holding the letter behind your back and an awkward smile on your face.

“(Y/n), this is really weird—“ he begins and you’re shaking your head automatically at his attempt to soften the blow by waving your arms—and the letter—in front of him saying, “Haji! No! It’s okay you don’t have to say anything, this was a really bad idea—“

“No, I mean—“ he cuts you off then pauses as he’s sifting through the contents of his bag and pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope, the color a disturbingly identical to your own.

You look at Hajime. Hajime looks at you, at his envelope, then towards yours that paused with your hand midair. Issei and Takahiro’s laughter can be heard even louder from the background when Hajime runs his hands over his face and exclaims,

“Oikawa you son of a bitch.”

Two years and some months ago, Oikawa Tooru—the self-proclaimed “love guru” between you and Hajime had declared to have pulled off his “greatest plan.”

Apparently, the original plan called for only you to confess to Hajime via the classic love letter—but Issei and Takahiro had thought that the shits and giggles were worth to have both of you confess to each other at the same time instead.

Tooru always retells the story in the fashion where he leaves out Issei and Hiro’s names out of the credits. On the contrary, you and Hajime don’t have in in you to react much.

In the beginning, Hajime the friend held your hand through many of your highs and lows.

From age ten, he’d always make sure to hold your hand when you’re jumping from steps a little too far for your liking. At twelve, he’s holding your hand as he leads you away from the worms that found its way near the picnic blanket. At fifteen, when the two of you accidentally confessed to each other thanks to your friends’ schemes, he held your hand as he pulled you in the direction opposite of Tooru yelling, “Iwa-chan, don’t forget I’m the best wingman!”

Hajime, the boyfriend, had continued to hold your hand as well as share a multitude of your first throughout the years.

Your first date where he’d always let you walk on the correct side of the sidewalk, and make sure to squeeze your hand whenever the two of you would pass by a group of boys who let their stare linger. Your first kiss—a quick peck after a game where he’d rushed to you, lifting you up and planting a kiss on your lips before either of you could even process what was happening.

A reassuring hand on your back in the train ride during rush hour, kisses on your knuckles when he thought no one was around in quiet libraries, and your favorite: the feel of his thumbs tracing idle circles on the back of your hand when you’re watching him review the game you recorded earlier.

You were each other’s first “I love you,” when you’re seventeen, which was said in the hours between the day and night on your walk home down a quiet street you’ve skipped, ran, and biked across countless of times. You heard it break the silence before you said it with your own lips, because the way Hajime said it was like he was just talking about the weather that day.

When the two of you stop in front of your house and Hajime’s facing you, he’s smiling in the way that has you blushing instead of him this time and he’s looping your scarf even snugger around your neck after muttering some comment about how cold it was that day.

“Haji, did you just tell me you love me?” you ask him when he’s zipped up your jacket and you’re peeking at him under the various layers of the scarf he secured around you.

“Yeah, of course, I love you.”

“This is the first time you’re telling me that,” you say with an almost bashful expression and your eyes are cast down so you don’t end up seeing Hajime’s eyes widen at the realization dawning on him.

“(Y/n), shit—“

“I love you too, Haji,” you cut him off and even if the expression in his face is still a little apologetic at the lack of climax of your first exchange of I love yous, he’s holding your hands and pulling you flush against him in an embrace, his proclamation of more “I love yous” fluttering against your ear in warm breaths.

You think about it sometime later when you’re clearing up the plates on the table from dinner and you ask your mom, “how do you know when it’s right to tell someone I love you?” and she looks at you with an expression that says she knows exactly what you’re talking about but humors your attempt at nonchalance as she replies with, “It just slips out as if you’re talking about the weather.”

And the way she says it has the second thoughts just automatically leaving your head. You tell her “I love you,” in the mornings before she leaves for work and you don’t really think about it—not because it’s a passing comment, but because you just simply love her.

The feeling’s there because what you feel in the moment is as genuine as it can get, so when you think about Hajime from seven years ago who blushed red when you shook his hand and the Hajime seven hours ago who told you he loved you like he was talking about the weather—everything dawns on you in the way that feels right. No second thoughts, deep analysis, or euphoric moment.

>> to hajibug:

>> 23:50: i love you

In college you decided to pursue music as a career choice. Music was one of the many things you and your mother had bonded over but watching you play in first chair always gave you the best view of her beaming from the audience.

Whenever somebody asked you why you decided to pursue a career in the field as vague and competitive as music—for a long time you fumbled with your words as you struggled to piece together a coherent enough sentence that would make it seem like you were chasing something for a “deeper” reason. Though, the truth is—you just happen to enjoy it.

The way the shoulder rest snapped perfectly in place with the violin, the weight of the bow in your hand, the smell of rosin during practice, the tuning before the concert started before hearing the eventual mess mold together into one harmony—you loved every second of it.

On the final concert of your first year in college, a week before Hajime’s move to California you stood in the orchestra room reading a text from your mother saying that she couldn’t make it this time because of a doctor’s appointment running later than usual.

You still sat in the first chair of the first violins section and even though you would have loved nothing more than to see her smile at you from the crowd—it was in the coda of the final song where your eye finally catches Hajime watching you from her seat. When the violins put their instruments down in the measures of rests, you glance over to look at Hajime while your toe continued to tap the counts remaining until you’d play again.

You bite back a smile because he looked a little uncomfortable from the high collar of the suit he put on. Tooru’s probably the mastermind, your thoughts chime in as you smile and tuck the violin back in between your chin and shoulder, your rosin covered bow hovering over the E string.

And when the final count of the rests came and went, you could only smile as you see Hajime physically hold his breath as the violins amplified the crescendo of the climax.

It was later that night when you finally made it home that you realize that perhaps your favorite part of the song was when you felt the emphasis of the dynamics in the pieces you played.

The moment of absolute silence as the conductor draws everyone’s attention to the tip of the baton.

“(Y/n),” your mother starts and your eyes lock on the slight tremble in her hands.

The seemingly collective sharp breath everyone takes when the tip of the baton begins to signal the final counts until the start. Your fingers pressed on the first note as your bow hovers over the string.

“What’s wrong?” you ask but you let your fingers only ghost on her hands when she holds her silence, refusing to meet your eyes.

Sometimes it begins with a quiet note—and you smile at those because it sounds like a whisper despite it ringing in the auditorium.

“I’m sick,” she says and what she says doesn’t register in your head.

Other times, the first note comes in forte and leaves everyone in a resonating silence while the following notes interlace and begin to tell the story.

“I have cancer, (y/n),” she tells you again, louder this time and her sobs echo so loud in the silence of the house that it suddenly makes you want to throw your hands over your ears.

The conductor is waving the baton; you’re closing your eyes as you mold yourself with the music and focus on nothing but your fingers flying across the fingerboard and making sure the timing of your bow matches the tap of the rhythm set.

“Mom, you’ll be fine right?” comes your assurance in question and she’s not answering because she’s crying harder.

First position to third, then fourth, then something else you don’t quite remember as the pressure from your bow presses harder and harder on the strings to climb with the crescendo the orchestra is rising to.

She looks at you, glassy eyes and trembling lips, then holds your face in between warm hands as she presses her forehead against yours.

Then as the baton drops and the crescendo overflows—the air around the room instantly changes. The shoulders relax and the movement of the bow shift from staccato to legato as the music continues to flow.

“I’m scared to leave you alone,” she finally admits and you finally break down and cry with her because you realize you have no one but each other.

You cry because she’s crying at the thought of leaving you alone when she never cried at all the times your father chose another family over her.

And as the music decrescendos into the whispers of pianissimo, you close your eyes as the gentle sway eventually lulls to a stop.

It’s half past ten and you’re still in your formal wear, but your mom’s fast asleep on the couch. The air from the AC brings you to a light shiver so you shuffle closer and pull the blankets tighter around her frame.

The last note drops and resonates in an almost infinite echo. Your eyes snap back open you feel yourself exhale.

For a moment the auditorium is in silence.

You sit on the floor next to her and listen to the sounds of steady breathing. You could pretend it was just another movie night where she fell asleep on the couch, but the telltale tracks of tears are on her cheeks and you hear her sniffling from time to time so you sigh instead.

Then, the audience erupts in an applause.

In your room, you put your palm over your mouth and begin to cry again.

“I love you so much,” is what Hajime said two years down the road when he decided to move to California to finish his studies.

First, he’d made a stop at your home and sat with your mother over breakfast as she wished him well on his new adventure. By the time he was at the door, it was the first time you saw Hajime cry for and with her when she wraps him in a scarf she knitted just for him. You watch softly, as he wraps her in a hug and parts with a promise to always take care of you despite the distance and wishes for her healing.

You’re standing at the border of the gate only Hajime can cross where he’s wrapped you in a hug with his chin resting on your head.

“I love you so much,” he says and you nod your head against his chest. He’s saying it as naturally as he always has and your reply is as immediate and natural when you say, “I love you too, Haji. So much.”

“(Y/n),” he starts when he pulls away from you and looks you in the eye; he’s suddenly serious and you’re afraid.

“If you ever feel like you don’t want to keep doing this, then we can take a break.”

Your brows pinch together as you reply, “Why would I want to break up with you?”

“I’m not saying we will, I just don’t want you to shoulder too much because I know how much you’re hurting right now,” Hajime explains, and his eyes are as genuine as the tone of his voice.

“Haji—“

“I believe in you, though, just—“ he pauses and his eyes soften before he continues, “take things one day at a time and remember that I’m here loving you every day, okay?”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he finishes and you only nod at his words because the fact that you’re going to miss him really begins to hit you. Hajime’s looking at you in the tender way where you know he knows you’re about to cry because he pulls you in another embrace before kissing the top of your head as he murmurs his parting I love you in the quiet tone only you can hear.

When Hajime crosses the gate and turns the corner, you can’t help but bite your lip to keep from crying. Only a couple more years. You could take it.

It’s in the next eight months where you realize that while Iwaizumi Hajime shared your first love—he was also your first heartbreak.

They always said that long distance was difficult and the fact that you and Hajime were even trying was commendable enough. But that was the problem—commendable sounded like you were in the relationship for the sake of a prize. Like you were suffering through the now for a prize. Like the good part was only a one-time thing reserved at the end.

It felt wrong, and looking back at it now—perhaps that’s where the downfall began.

As time passed, your mom’s illness worsened. Cancer was ugly and it let itself be known in as many ways as it could. Time and time again, you’d watch her hair fall in strands, then clumps, until she eventually decided to shave it off for good. She smiled at you and you don’t hear her tell you, “It’s okay,” over the buzz of the razor. You don’t think you have the heart to listen to the quiver of her voice that you know is present with her words, so you suppose the loud buzz worked out in the end.

What broke your heart the most was seeing her excitement when her hair grew back after a pause in her treatment—only for her to sit down and tell you that she’s “okay” when you’re shaving off sections of her hair again.

You didn’t let her see you cry because you wanted to be as strong as she was in this; because you knew the both of you broke down within enclosed walls away from each other. Though every time you were face to face—the front was always back up. And the front was flawless; like the edges of a chipped sword finally smoothened back into a blade. But at the same time, flawed; because like the sword—the sharpness always kills.

It was unconventional, but it worked. The momentary sigh of relief was still moments of relief at the end of the day.

Hajime, on the other hand thought differently though. The second you’d answer his call request on particularly off days, he’d tell you to cry. And you would; fat drops of tears rolling down almost as soon as he finished his sentence.

Then only a year of loving each other through a computer screen passed before you realized he became your pillar at the same time you began hardening.

“Never lose yourself in the pursuit of someone or something,” are the words from your mother you consciously make an effort to tell yourself everyday even as you sit in with your phone in hand waiting for the call Hajime promised you early this morning.

And you’re well aware you’ve developed an unhealthy habit as you’re lying in bed, fighting sleep with the time on the clock nearing 4am still waiting for Hajime’s call. It wasn’t the first time he missed a promised phone call—and you weren’t mad because you understand that he has as much of a schedule as you do and that time difference was a wedge the two of you needed to work with.

But still, you think, then sigh when you put your arm over your eyes as the clock clicks to 04:07AM beside you, this fucking sucks.

You know Hajime will text you an apology when it’s seven am for you and late at night for him, but you put your phone’s ringer on silent to convince yourself that you’re fine and you’re not dependent on his presence at all. That you’re handling yourself just fine and that the anxiety you have every time your mother comes back home from a checkup is something you can deal with by yourself.

You shut your eyes when the dull ache in your chest begins to grow sharper as your thoughts shift from school, to your mom’s illness, to Hajime, and to the fact that you want to cry at the heaviness of everything.

And the frustration is eating you alive because you hate feeling this helpless. Not when your mother taught you nothing but how to be strong your whole life. Not when all you should know is how to stand on your own two feet despite whatever the situation life throws at you.

So when the morning comes and you wake up to a plethora of Hajime’s missed calls and frantic texts asking if you’re okay—you text him an assurance that you’re fine and that he shouldn’t worry about it.

You face the day with everything you feel pushed to the back of your mind. You face the mirror and tell yourself that you’re fine.

Hanamaki’s a good friend, and a lot smarter than you give him credit for.

It didn’t fly past him when you left for phone on silent or chose to spend your break with him or Mattsun when you usually would utilize that time for Hajime. But at the same time, he noticed you spacing out in conversations a little more than usual, reject any plans they invited you in, and his least favorite—see you break down in the practice room when you thought no one was around.

Neither he nor Issei chose to tell Hajime or you about it; he could never understand what you were going through—but he understood that the way someone heals differs from person to person.

It took about a few more months of Hajime’s schedule piling up and your silent breakdowns for the both of you to finally snap and confront one another.

It started with Hajime telling you a round of an apology, “I’m sorry, I promise I’ll call you on time—I just,”

“—shit everything’s just crazy. I’m sorry, babe.”

Then you nod and absent mindedly twirl one strand of your hand as you force his apology in one ear and out the other. You were fine. You’re handling things well. You didn’t need Hajime as a support system, so you reply, “It’s fine. I got this.”

And you like to think it was going well, but he asks, “How’s your mom doing?” and your hands are suddenly gripping the edge of the table (where you know he can’t see) tight. You didn’t tell him that she cried from the results when she came home earlier and waved you off when you stood up to help her balance herself. That thirty minutes ago you could hear her yell at your father over the phone about something she didn’t tell you about and that at the moment, you’re thankful for the way your fingers were digging into your skin because it’s helping you re shift your focus into anything but what was going on.

Hajime’s not looking at you because he’s looking at the report he was typing on his laptop instead. So first, you hype yourself up by thinking about how you don’t need anyone to push you through things and that how you’re handling yourself and the situation was more than fine, then, you answer,

“She’s okay, too.”

You try to ignore how gritty it sounded; Hajime doesn’t seem to notice either.

You’re quiet after that and Hajime must have thought it was odd because he pauses his work to look at you and ask, “Are you okay?”

And he says it with such a gentle tone that you suddenly want to crumble and tell him about the heaviness that hasn’t left you since the day your mom began slipping. But a knock from Hajime’s door and a distant call of his name snaps you out of those thoughts. Hajime, on the other hand, ignores them and asks you the question again, which you wave off this time with a quick, “It’s okay you can call me when you’re done.”

He’s hesitant when he leaves and he shoots you a text seconds after his face leaves the screen but you don’t reply; you spend the rest of the night with your face pressed against the pillow while you will yourself to believe that you, alone, have everything under control.

And, really, you should have left it to end like that.

But you don’t; because when morning comes and you wake up feeling heavy, you’re left in a haze where everything feels muddled. And the feeling of screaming hits you so fast and so hard that the dam just breaks.

It’s seven am and you’re crying for reasons you can’t find a starting point to. The kind of cry where every heave hurts and makes you ball your fists because of an unsourced anger. It’s disorienting and frustrating because you’re not mad at specifically anything—but at the same time, everything feels like its swallowing you whole again. You wish you could blank out like the time she told you she was sick—even if it meant moving through your day hyper aware of your movements. But you can’t, because it’s one of those days where the heaviness just sits on your chest and forces you to face the fact that it hurts.

And you always say “it” because you don’t know where to begin. Because you never began; never sat down and looked at your reflection in the eye and asked yourself, “what was wrong?”

Because you’re fine.

Everything’s fine.

It’s still fine because when your phone is ringing, you answer with a fresh face and a smooth, hello.

Hajime greets you like usual, but then settles into a background that isn’t.

You don’t really care.

He asks you how you’ve slept, and you nod once as a reply. He’s chuckling and says something about you looking cute cuddled up in bed, still half asleep so you nod again to go along with his story. Underneath the sheets, you’re fisting the blankets as you count each breath you’ve inhaled and exhaled as Hajime begins to talk about his day.

Then someone, who you can’t recall you know, sits next to him with an arm casually draped over his shoulder and pushes her face near his as she waves a hello. Usually, you’re not much of the jealous type so something like that shouldn’t even be a red flag for you. Hajime was a friendly person all around, and time and time again he’s explained how different the American culture was from home.

Given that fact, on a normal situation it would have been fine. Understandable, even.

But before you could even begin smooth your thoughts back to rationality, you explode. Hajime’s facing away from you in a conversation where he can’t see, so you suppose that could have been a good thing.

Then, your anger comes out.

First, it trickles; you stay silent and opt to stare at him, seething when he finally begins a conversation. Hajime’s eyebrows shoot up just like that and he bids his friend a quick goodbye before rushing into an empty room.

Second, it pools. You tell him a series of things you don’t even think makes sense, but from the way his face morphs into a grimace—it wouldn’t take much to conclude that what you said was something ugly.

Third, you’re wading in waist deep. You’re sitting up and pointing at him, bringing up a photo you saw of him with his arms hung over someone’s shoulder. A classmate, you concluded last week; a lover, you accuse him of having in the moment.

Fourth, Hajime rushes to keep you from going in further. He doesn’t feed into your anger and instead tells you to take a deep breath before talking to him. And for a second, you relent and listen. He explains that she’s a classmate from his biology class and that you’re just overreacting over something that shouldn’t even be an issue.

Fifth, comes the struggle. Your anger flares at his words and everything you’ve felt and pushed underwater suddenly bobs to the surface. Hajime wasn’t at fault, and you know that, but he’s huffing in a way that tells you he’s inches past exhausted and it does nothing to quell your outburst.

“Maybe what you should do is listen to yourself and calm the fuck down,” is what he tells you as you flinch at his tone.

“Well, I’m sorry, for just wanting to talk to you Hajime,” is what you say as retaliation. Hajime’s hand that instantly flies up to soothe his temple doesn’t fly past you.

“We are talking, (y/n). Why are you trying to make me apologize for something I didn’t even do?”

“Why can’t you understand my point? This is exhausting, Hajime.”

“I told you from the beginning. If you didn’t want to keep doing this then we stop,” he retorts, anger steadily rising.

“You’re making it sound like you’re the one wanting to stop this,” you bite back.

“I don’t. But it’s like every time we talk nowadays it’s like you’re being too much, this doesn’t seem like you anymore,” Hajime finishes.

And as the silence settles, everything clicks. You’ve been too dependent, and he feels the same way. He’s right, this isn’t you at all. You shouldn’t need to cling to him to for crumbs of healing; because you’re more than fine.

Have been more than fine, really; so you blank and reply, “You’re right, sorry about that.”

He looks at you, confused, before the silence envelops the two of you again. You allow it to stay this time.

“Maybe we should take a break, (y/n). Just some time to cool off; I feel like we’re just too overloaded right now.”

“We should,” you reply, expression unfazed as you cut the call.

The sixth, is where you allow the anger to stay instead of recede. Your mother asks you how you’re feeling and you’re quick to answer that you’re okay.

Hajime doesn’t text you until an hour later, wanting to talk. You set your phone to silent.

“What made you decide to not get back together with dad?” you ask her when she’s quiet in front of you. Your mother looks at you for a while before she pieces the red eyes and silent phone together, then tells you, “I loved myself more.”

You nod, conflicted. Her eyes were as red as yours and you heard her weeping his name just the night before and she knows you’re aware. Your phone vibrates on the table again and you miss the way her eyes flicker to the device momentarily before focusing them back at you.

Both of you know, but neither of you ask.

“Never lose yourself, right?” you say quietly and she gives you a solid nod as she pours you a cup of coffee.

You never really liked coffee; then again, you never really liked the reality either.

But you take the mug and gulp in the bitterness anyway.

Then finally, the seventh is where you succumb under its waves. Hajime calls you later that night and you answer, expression honed into an almost natural state of indifference. He looks a little worse than you, but you ignore that.

“Is this it?” he asks and you nod curtly once, your fingernails already digging into your palms under the table.

“Are we going to hate each other?” Hajime asks you again and you sigh.

“I don’t have it in me to ever hate you, Haji,” you answer, truthfully and he gives you a halfhearted smile.

“I love you,” he says like he’s just talking about the weather, and stays on the line for a few seconds more before he eventually takes your silence as a response.

“I love you, too,” is what almost comes out of your mouth like second nature, but you bite your tongue anyway.

He can’t hurt you first this way.

Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t really root himself in your life until nine months after your break up with Hajime. Graduation came and went like the unfurling of a leaf, and before you knew it, you’re suddenly in the real world.

Before that, you only knew him as the first chair cellist who you always accidentally locked eyes with in every concert you managed to snag the first chair spot in the first violin’s section.

Bumping into him during morning practice first led to string quartets, then duets during concerts, shared practice rooms—until eventually, he asked you out on a date.

He inserted the question in the conversation so naturally, too. After putting away the music stands, then shoving (in contrast to him neatly arranging) the sheet music into your folder—you were halfway done with loosening your bow when he asked, “Do you wanna get dinner later?” out of the blue.

To others who may have listened in to the conversation, it sounded like a natural invitation between friends, and Kiyoomi must have realized that because he was quick to face you after zipping up the case of his cello, and add, “—I meant dinner with me.”

You were still holding your bow and staring at him stare at you, so he filled the silence with, “Like a date. I’m asking you out on a date, (y/n).”

The two of you never really initiated anything outside the relationship between music partners, and the occasional friendly outing—but it had always been with others. Looking at him, you admit Sakusa Kiyoomi was a man who mastered hygiene. Which was always a bonus in your book. But you think back to Hajime for a second, then click your tongue quietly because you realize you shouldn’t be thinking about him when someone else was asking you out.

But you sigh and still offer him a smile when you reply, “Sorry I gotta watch my mom tonight. She’s not feeling well.”

Kiyoomi nods, and his eyebrows shoot up like he remembered something. “I heard your mom was sick? I’m sorry if I’m prying.”

You nod sharply once before internally groaning then thinking about how to steer the conversation away from the oncoming “I’m sorrys”, “It must be so tough,” or any sympathetic comments of the like.

But Kiyoomi only nods in understanding, briefly turning back to loop his arms through the case, then looking back at you again saying, “Ah. Understandable. My grandmother had cancer and my mom made her this soup that helped with the aching; I can give you the recipe for it.”

Your eyes shoot up at his response and the rehearsed response of, “I have no choice but to be tough for her. It’s okay, though,” dies in your mouth so you close it again and only nod a yes.

Kiyoomi turns to open the door once you had your own violin set inside and stands by the opening of the door to let you out first. You smile; he was mostly reserved, but still a gentleman.

“(Y/n),” he begins when the two of you walk side by side in the quiet morning hallway. “I know you don’t want to hear the pity comments, but I just wanna put it out there that you’re doing well.”

Your steps halt with his when you reach the end of the hallway where the flooring splits into two different directions but you face him, the thrumming of your heart feeling making you a little more choked up than you expected and tell him an honest thank you.

He lifts his right hand as a goodbye while he shoves the other in his pocket after he settles his mask in place, then turns to walk on the opposite direction.

“Sakusa-san!” you call out and he stops a few meters in front of you to turn back in your direction again.

“Dinner!” you call out again, “this weekend!”

You know your cheeks are a little more red than you would have liked and you’re more than aware of how white your knuckles must be from grasping the straps of your case, but you ignore that and add anyway, “As a date.”

The mask covering the lower half of his face obscures the expression he has but you notice the miniscule crinkle on the corner of his eyes when he laughs and replies, “Can you say that a little louder? I can’t hear.”

You huff and action to turn around because the heat on your face was getting a little too uncomfortable, but you hear him say, “It’s a date!” so you nod awkwardly in confirmation before turning your back and walking the opposite way.

You can imagine the look he has on his face and just how much amusement he’s gotten from the interaction but before you walk too far you hear, “Just call me Kiyoomi,” from him behind you.

You smile and feel as if you’re flipping into the first page of a new chapter.

In contrast to the push and pull energy you felt with Hajime, after almost being in a relationship with Kiyoomi for a year, things felt easy.

Communication between the two of you didn’t feel like unraveling codes; plus, being in the same department also meant your schedules mostly linked up. Though, personally, your favorite part was that he was never too pushy with the things you wanted to deal with alone.

He knew not to pry when you walked in the practice hall with bags under your eyes holding a cup of coffee you swore to heaven and back you detested drinking; you always saw a parcel of your comfort snack with a note laid beside your violin case in the locker room, though.

And when he ate dinner at your house, he also kept his comments to himself and never let his eyes wander to the amount of pills you had to help your mother count out when the little alarm in your phone rang. Then again, you never needed to question his intentions when he showed up the next day with a thermos filled with the soup your mom said she enjoyed once as a passing comment.

He’s always been one to remember the smaller details.

Along with preferring to stay in his personal space, Kiyoomi wasn’t one to smile too bashfully, but you can’t help but notice that when she laid her hands on his as a thank you and asked him to take care of you—the smile that graced his face looked warm.

She said that Kiyoomi seemed like a nice boy, and you agreed instantly—because he is.

He never pushed past the boundary you kept around yourself despite entering into a new relationship. There was a mutual air of respect—and neither of you expressed the desire to breech it.

Being with Kiyoomi felt as natural and in order to the flow as it does when your hands move to automatically loosen your bow when it came to packing up, or beginning with the A string when the conductor motioned for you to begin tuning.

You liked to think you fit quite well together. Like the duet that an audience listens to and clap at as if they were the whole orchestra. Like the blend of the high and low notes written on a score that collides in perfect harmony.

And it feels like it too.

Every time you’re seated across each other on the stage and you’re staring straight at one another to climb with the crescendo then descend into silence—you know that your heart, along with his, are beating in the same rhythm, with the same frequency. You’ve always found that break from the real world when you picked up an instrument and you’re glad that Kiyoomi’s the one you’re entering into that dimension with.

The ten minutes on stage feels timeless. The rush from the music still resonates in an infinite echo—your fingers twitching, craving, to fly across the notes in an encore. You’re smiling because when you stare at him—he’s smiling too. Unabashed and sparkling where you have no doubt in your mind that even without the stage lights he’d gleam the same.

And even as the crowd’s still cheering as you stand hand in hand and bow next to each other, you don’t hear anything. When reality begins to trickle into your senses and the rush of intoxication wears off, you let your smile mellow into a soft curve. You face the front row and look at the seat that’s a little towards the left and try not to notice your mother’s absence. You know she was admitted to the hospital three weeks ago and she hasn’t been doing too well. Kiyoomi squeezes your hand and whispers a, “you did well,” which you nod at.

He’s still smiling even as you exit the stage and pack up your instruments so you decide not to tell him that the boy sitting in that specific seat reminded you of Hajime.

Hajime, on the other hand became the contact on your inbox that got pushed down further and further when the holidays passed. You meant it when you said that you could never hate him—because you know you never really could.

He still showed up on your Instagram feed posting photos about his weekend road trips to Malibu or the spontaneous trips to Vegas his new friends looped him into—and you were happy to see him glowing. More times than not, your finger would hover over the like or send button to the comment you always end up deleting and you know it shouldn’t be that way. But reality reminds you that it is.

Your reality reminds you that Iwaizumi Hajime is someone who was witness to your growth and decline and that he was someone you chose to leave in the past.

But at the same time, his passing hellos were never left unheard. Kiyoomi knew, and like always, respected that. You would think this is the part where he should be reacting a little more aggressively, but you knew him to be above petty actions. He was secure, and he let that security be known in the grip of his hand that remained steady against yours when either Hanamaki’s or Issei’s eyes would stare a bit too long. They too, let their hesitations be known when you first introduced Kiyoomi to the both of them.

Issei opened his mouth with what looked to be the beginnings of a retaliation, but Hanamaki cut him off swiftly with a resounding, “We’re happy for you,” that promptly ended the conversation at that.

Then again, it didn’t change the fact that it was after that night where Hajime’s texts to you eventually dwindled to the seasonal greetings.

You tell yourself you don’t mind.

Because you don’t.

Because you’re fine.

Your mother isn’t fine.

Even though she’s been hospitalized for the past four weeks now, the past week has been specifically the most difficult. In and out of consciousness where different tubes were stuck and different needles prodded at her skin every day. It killed you because the second you heard her cry from when she thought you were still asleep rang in your ears over and over again throughout the day that resulted in you missing rehearsals for that entire week.

Kiyoomi drops by after school along with Hanamaki and Issei to check up on the both of you, but eventually leave when visiting hours end.

Kiyoomi usually stays a while longer, though; sitting outside the hospital parking lot and talking over a cup of coffee became a temporary permanent for the both of you during those weeks.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, then scoots closer to you on the bench when you exhale a sigh and lean forward. When your elbows settle into a rest on your thighs, you turn to him, offering a smile. It looked more like a sad quirk of the lip but Kiyoomi must have appreciated it more than he let on because his posture relaxes with you as he exhales.

“It’s weird, Omi,” you begin. “I mean she’s been at the hospital for treatments and checkups before but this is weird.”

Beside you, he stays quiet, and despite the distant noise of traffic in the background your voice sounds a little more amplified than you would have liked. None the less, you continued, “I’ve always known she hasn’t been fine but the past week just happened so fast.”

Puffing out another breath, you watch as it leaves you in a cloud before bringing the rim of the coffee cup to your lips. You don’t take a sip. Coffee was never your favorite anyway.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks you and turns his body completely to face you.

You think about it, then sigh. You don’t; at least, not yet.

“It’s okay, she’s strong,” you tell him and raise your cup as you shoot him another smile.

“So are you,” he offers as a reply, then knocks his cup against yours softly, chuckling when your face grimaces at the taste.

“Why do you always order coffee when you hate it?” he asks as he watches you take another sip.

You laugh, then scoot closer to lean your head on his shoulder. “It’s just practical,” you answer. “It helps me stay up so even if I’d rather get the peach tea, I know that one will knock me out within an hour from all the sugar.”

Kiyoomi laughs at your reply before looping his arm through yours and threading your fingers together.

“You can loosen up time to time, you know,” he tells you and you smile a smile that strains both the muscles on your face and feeling in your chest.

“I wish I could,” you answer.

“Are you happy?” your mother asks you later that night.

The question catches you off guard and you take a seat on her bed next to her. You don’t look at each other and instead look at the wall that’s in front of you, so, tentatively, you reply, “Of course I am.”

And she’s quiet after that so you return her silence and continue to sit next to her.

The clock hanging above the door of her hospital room ticks slowly and for a while you’re comfortable. At this point you aren’t sure whether you wanted time to move faster or slower—because you knew the moments you spend with her are granted through borrowed time.

Time that’s borrowed from the prayers you kneel and voice out every night, the needles and tubes that poke and prod at her skin every day, and from the pills you help count out every time your alarm rings.

She began slipping the minute she told you she was sick—and along the years you knew she let herself slide along the current more carelessly every time she told you she was tired.

You’re looking at her when she touches your hand and you try not to flinch at how cold her skin’s gotten. She’s smiling when you face her and it makes you inhale in a way that hurts because the look on her face practically just tells you she’s tired.

But like the two of you had always done: you stay silent and mirror your smiles instead.

“I’m proud of you,” she says and your heart breaks as you will yourself to not cry. It occurs to you that she isn’t crying when she says it because her voice is resolute as it is soft. You want to ask her why she’s proud of you but you don’t because you realize when this becomes a memory you just want to leave it at that.

You want to leave it as a moment where a mother is telling a child that she’s proud of her.

So instead, you ask her, “Are you coming to see the concert with me and Kiyoomi in a few weeks?” just to make sure. That she’s still there; that she will still be there.

Her silence is your answer before she’s reaching out between the two of you and squeezing your hands instead.

On a Tuesday morning the next week she passes away at 3:08 PM with her eyes closed and face serene. The nurses tell you she opened her eyes to look at the world once more before she closed them and exhaled her last breath.

She was probably looking for you, they mean to say, but you bow your head in thanks when the medical staff offer their heartfelt condolence. You aren’t sure if you wanted to see her close her eyes for her last breath, but at the same time—you wonder if that thought was too selfish on your part.

When you’re in the car in the parking lot of the hospital grounds, you smell her perfume—lilac, so you close your eyes and tell her soul rest easy and I love you.

You text Kiyoomi to meet you in the practice room to go over the score once more after you gave yourself a few more moments to pull yourself together.

He texts you back with an, “are you sure?” so you sigh because he must have already realized what happened. Your fingers hover over the keypad of your phone as you think of an excuse to cancel plans last minute but Kiyoomi’s contact photo on your phone interrupts your thoughts in a call.

Despite your hesitation, your finger press the green to answer the call almost immediately.

“(Y/n?)”

“Hey,” you respond.

“Want me to come get you?” Kiyoomi asks and you notice how much softer his tone is.

“I can still drive, it’s okay—“

“—Are you okay?” he cuts you off and you nod your head frantically. It felt too automatic, and that thought didn’t fly by you, so you sigh.

Kiyoomi notices your silence over the line but he stays and for that you’re grateful. He isn’t really pushing you and you feel a sense of gratitude again because you don’t exactly know what to say either.

Before you could reassure him that you’re in a sense, “okay,” his voice breaks the silence over the line again.

“No one else is here, so I’ll wait for you if you’re coming.”

The smile that breaks on your face is one of relief, or at least you think it is, because your eyes are stinging and you hear yourself sniffle when you tell him a quiet okay, and thank you.

“I love you,” is what you think you hear Kiyoomi say as you cut the call and put the car in reverse.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi present here?” you call out with a slight chuckle as you push open the door and peek in the room.

His head snaps towards you immediately so you offer him a sheepish smile at best when you finally arrive in front of him. Kiyoomi’s eyes are softening in the way that has your heart constricting automatically so you cast your gaze down and immediately fidget with the zipper on your violin case. The steps he takes are heavy and audible in the wooden flooring so your heart hammers even more when you hear him cross the distance between the two of you.

“(Y/n),” he starts and you look up when his hands are on your shoulder. They feel warm, you think, much like the look you see in his eyes when he steadies his gaze towards you.

Kiyoomi joins you in your silence when you choose to remain in it and respond to him by only stitching on another smile. The palm of his hand is still warm on your shoulder but you try to focus on anything but the waves of his sympathy and presence because you know the second you step back in reality, you’ll break—again.

So when his hand squeezes your shoulder and he parts his lips to say the condolence you don’t know when you’re ever going to be ready for, you cut him off.

“Please don’t,” you tell him, and it’s said with a tone that’s clipped tight and with lips pulled into a straight smile—the kind where you can already feel the edges crack with every second that passes.

Kiyoomi sighs and stares at you, but backs down when he feels your body tense.

“I’m right here,” he reassures, as you cast your gaze to the side when you feel the sting in your eyes threaten to overpower you.

“I know,” you reply and with that he turns and takes his seat again.

The two of you are facing each other when you have your fingers on your respective positions and bow hovered over the string. The metronome in the background ticks and you close your eyes desperate to slip out and slip in to focus. The disconnection almost happens automatically because as soon as you hear yourself verbally count to start, your hand with the bow twitches and—

“(Y/n),” Kiyoomi cuts off and your movements automatically halt. The tone of his voice is solid and just like that you feel yourself begin to crumble; still, you try to harden, anyway.

“What’s up?” you say and open your eyes to look at him. The cello you thought was resting between his legs is set down next to his chair and his bow is on the music stand; he looks at you—intention transparent at this point.

“I love you,” he says. “Please talk to me—“he pleads, but you cut him off.

“Omi,” you begin. “I know what you want to tell me and I know you mean well, because you always do. But please—“you pause and look at him with as much intensity as you could muster before continuing, “—let me pretend like today is just a day where we’re practicing for the concert she could have finally gone to.”

Across you, his body leans forward before eventually halting at the sight of you tightening your grip on your bow.

“Just let me pretend this is a normal practice and I’ll be home later with someone still waiting inside the house,” you continue, volume rising but resolve shaking.

“Please,” you finish before tucking the violin back between your chin and shoulder and raising your bow to signal the start. Kiyoomi relents with a sigh and picks up his cello and bow before looking at you.

“Ready?” he asks when his bow is positioned above the string.

“Always am,” you reply and close your eyes as you slip back in focus and feel the bow glide into the first note.

The first note is an A, so you place your fourth finger on the D string and slip into your empty realm with a vibrato.

A memory flashes; you’re in the sixth grade again. It’s September, and you finally make it home with your new violin case in hand. Your mom comes home from work and smiles at you as you point at the strings and name them in the order your orchestra teacher had you memorize earlier.

“This one’s the A string,” you say and you see her smile like she’s proud of you.

The next note makes you climb to the third position, and you could recall that the dynamic changes around this measure, so along with Kiyoomi you’re pressing a little harder.

“We learned the third position today!” you hear your own voice say. It’s your second year playing and you’ve made it to the honors orchestra. Your mom sits in the living room, watching you with a twinkle in her eye that tells you she’s more than proud as you show her the arpeggio practice you learned earlier that day.

The next few notes fly across the fingerboard as the familiar crescendo builds. The depth of Kiyoomi’s strings blends with the octave you’re playing at as you feel yourself being swallowed and wading in your thoughts deeper and deeper until—

You stop.

Because with your eyes still closed, you suddenly see her from the night before. Your mother with the glimmering eyes and fragile hands, wearing the red beanie she said was her favorite ever since her hair fell out. And your eyes are still closed when you hear her tell you that she’s proud of you, her voice bringing you back to that night where you wanted to do nothing more but let your defenses down.

So involuntarily you do; your eyes are still closed when you begin to weep, but you can hear movement from the background before you eventually hear Kiyoomi call, “(Y/n),”

“I’m sorry,” you say and frantically wipe away at the tears and cough out the cries threatening to overflow and spill.

“(Y/n),” Kiyoomi says again and you look up.

His chair is turned so that he sits facing away from you. Your forehead scrunches with the peculiarity.

“Kiyo-“

“Just let it out,” he says then picks up his cello and continues playing from the measure you stopped at.

Then you do.

Like a thread snapping, a cry rips its way out of your throat as you finally, finally allow yourself to feel the heaviness that’s long settled in your chest. Your violin along with your bow set on the floor as you crouch down and press the heels of your palms against your eyes.

It hurts, you realize, when every time you close your eyes you still see her. You still hear her tell you her goodnight stories, affirmations, and reassurances.

It hurts, because you’re tired. Tired of living in the world trying to be the adult you know you aren’t just yet. You’re tired of going home and smiling with her when you could tell the reason why she has tear tracks on her cheeks was because of the call with your father you overheard from the night before.

Because you’re angry, you think. You’re angry at her illness. At your father for leaving and giving the weight of being a parent and provider at the same time. At the fact that neither of you were ever vulnerable enough to even cry in front of each other, and angry at yourself for never having the courage to tell her that it’s okay.

Because all this time you’re been struggling. Struggling to try to always be an adult when you never closed the chapter of your childhood. That you’ve always struggled to push past every affirmation that you’re okay and every single one of those moments were just bouts of false confidence. And it’s exhausting to put up a front to your own reflection.

Even when nothing has really been okay. You’re hurting even more when you realize that so you clutch your chest and cry harder.

This must be the consequence of pride, is the thought that comes to your head. You could build the strongest walls and wrap yourself in the most intricate barriers just to act tough but in time, you will break.

Like now; you’re sobbing into your palms for the years’ worth of pain you let pride push away while Kiyoomi is climbing even higher than the strongest dynamic you know the piece calls for.

You know he wants to let you know that it’s okay, and that you’re safe. His message resonates in pure clarity as he pushes on the strings harder and harder to swallow the sounds of your cries.

His back remains turned as you look at him, still crying, while your thanks bubbles out as incoherent as your cries.

It hurts, because you the only person you’ve cradled in your hands to heavens far higher than the ones you’ve known is gone.

You’re still crying and the pain in your chest is still stinging much like the pain from a reopened wound does, but you let him come to you as he lets you come to him in an embrace.

“Let it out,” he murmurs in your hair as you wrap your hands around his middle and cry into the fabric of his shirt. He’s probably a little uncomfortable at you sniffling right into his shirt, but the way his hands are rubbing circles on your back reassures you otherwise.

“You’re okay,” Kiyoomi says again and you cry harder because you want to believe him.

Five missed calls and seven texts messages all coming from Hajime lays unopened on your phone at 6:17PM.

“She asked me if I was happy,” is what you tell Kiyoomi as the two of you stand side by side peering over her casket some days later.

“Are you?” he asks and you smile at him in a way that tells him that at the moment you’re not.

“Will you be happy?” comes the question after that and you shrug.

The lines on her face are like always, and the mole between her brows look the same. Your mother lays still in the casket, cheeks pink from the blush they put on her and lips red. You think your mother’s friends told the funeral workers to paint them her usual color, so you’re thankful for that. She looks like she’s just asleep—and you don’t know how to feel.

You want to reach out and hold her hand but you know the skin will be stiff and cold; you don’t want to remember her touch like that.

To you, she’s still alive.

She always will be alive.

Kiyoomi’s hand grasps yours in a way that’s as gentle as his presence has always been. When you look up then right to meet his eyes: looking like warmth despite the depth that it has words rolling out of your lips before you could comprehend the situation.

“I will be.”

Kiyoomi smiles and you look back down without bothering to further explain your answer.

You know he always believes you. The sentiment is one you appreciate, but at the same time, you’re not sure if you even believe yourself at the moment. You have to be strong, you think.

And just like that your defenses climb back up.

Takahiro along with Issei make it to the funeral along with Tooru and Hajime skyping in from overseas. It wasn’t as awkward like you expected it to be, and you’re glad.

Tooru’s crying along with Hajime and the rest of you as you watch her return to the opened earth.

You’ve dried your tears by the time you face Tooru and Hajime on the laptop screen, the grief on their faces similar to the one on yours.

“(Y/n),” Hajime starts, and you nod, waiting for him to continue. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” you respond, gaze focused to the left side of the screen—Tooru’s side.

Even though all you could see was Tooru’s expression on the screen tearing up with yours, you ignore the telltale scrunch of Hajime’s forehead where you know confirms his disbelief over your words.

“I’m coming home next week. Got a job offer there,” Hajime’s voice cuts again and before you could respond Tooru’s voice thrums over the speaker as you feel Kiyoomi’s hand settle on your shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks you when you look up at him. Nodding your head, you shoot him a smile before turning back to the screen, one hand resting on top of Kiyoomi’s.

“This is Kiyoomi,” you introduce and feel yourself unintentionally holding in a breath as you sit and watch for Hajime’s reaction. He’s quiet; eyes steeled over and form rigid. Probably just a trick of the camera, you tell yourself, so you open your mouth hoping to find an excuse and end the call early but Tooru’s voice overlaps yours for the second time that day.

“Ahh! The boyfriend?” He asks and you smile as you see him leaning closer to his laptop’s camera. You had to hand it to him; you know that look. Tooru was someone who could craft a mask and uphold it for as long as he needs and every time it was flawless.

Which was why when Kiyoomi bows his head in a greeting and greets, “It’s nice to meet you,” in the tone he used with your mother, you know he hadn’t caught on to the fact that he was facing a façade.

“Likewise,” Hajime’s voice cuts through and you try to not shiver at the intensity of it.

“Let’s catch up when I get home?” he says again; this time, softer and you nod before you could think of a response.

“Take care,” is the last thing you hear from him before the camera on his side of the screen blinks back to black and Tooru’s face magnified and centered.

“He’s finally coming home, (y/n)-chan,” Tooru smiles and at the sincerity of his voice you smile along with him.

“He finally is.”

Hajime had always been, and always will be your first love. You found yourself choked up the second you see him wave at you from the arrival’s gate and you swore in that moment hugging him felt like coming home.

Which was because of nostalgia, you told yourself. There had been so many firsts and memories shared with him that you know just because you moved forward with your life—that didn’t mean you’d buried what you had with him in the past.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi?” he asks when you’ve settled in the grass next to your mother’s tombstone with him across you.

“Yeah, he actually played for Itachiyama back in high school,” you say.

“Volleyball player turned classical musician?” he asks and you nod with a resonating yup, your hand trailing down to the grass to pick on the blades aimlessly.

“He made it to nationals too,” you comment.

“Are you trying to just rub it in?” he asks and tosses some ripped grass your way. You move to the side and stick your tongue out at him which he laughs at. Hajime’s laugh reminds you of the summer afternoons in your childhood home where you’d chase cicadas and write memories in polaroids and you’re suddenly feeling nostalgic.

“Nah,” you say and smile as you look up at him. He’s facing his right and letting his eyes glaze over the gold paint of your mother’s name on the cement.

“I miss her,” Hajime whispers and you nod, your heart squeezing.

“I do too,” you reply and when he looks at you and meets your eyes, you catch yourself smiling because he has tears threatening to spill over the waterline too. “Every day,” you continue.

“You’re making me cry,” Hajime huffs and leans back facing the front after he wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Your fault for still being soft,” you laugh. Unlike you, he’s always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime begins after the moments of recollection passes. You look at him and smile, not really sure whether you even have the desire to push through with the conversation or not. “Why are you even sorry?” is what you want to ask him, but you hear yourself say, “it’s okay, Haji,” instead.

“We could have made it,” he says again, his voice cracking as he looks at you.

“Could have,” you repeat and offer him a halfhearted smile at best.

“Do you regret us?” Hajime asks and he seems hesitant with his answer; like he doesn’t want to know your answer. You shake your head no as soon as you meet his eyes and reach your hands out in the space between you.

“Never,” you say and squeeze his hands when he takes yours into his own.

“You’re going to make me cry, again. Shit,” he laughs and this time, you laugh along with him.

The afternoon, despite the September air feels warm. Almost like the summer afternoons back home. So when you close your eyes, you let your defenses down as you imagine sitting in the garden: the one with the yellow and pink flowers, shouting promises in the air with Hajime and Tooru as the three of you let the wonder of childhood guide your idea of reality.

You decide that for just a while longer, you’ll keep those same defenses down as you feel Hajime pull you to stand up with him and face the open field behind the cross of her name.

“Wanna see if we can find cicadas?” he grins and you laugh, replying, “What are we, twelve?” as you follow him and break out into a run anyway.

It was in that afternoon that you realize, Hajime’s always felt like home. His presence always meant that your thoughts jumped back to the days where you watched his hair spike and grow like flowers from a garden blooming and wilting. To the days where talks of the future were shared over a dinner rolls and laughter. To the days where telling someone “I love you,” felt as natural as if you were just talking about the weather.

Hajime reminded you of losing yourself in the kind of love that felt unabashed and boundless. Like running on fields where the sun remained in the golden hour indefinitely. He was the first love you’ve cradled with a heart that was still a stranger to the ways of the reality.

“Are you happy?” he asks you when the sun above breathes the beginnings of a goodbye. You recognize the question your mother asked you before she passed and in that moment you close your eyes and envision yourself in a different year.

“I am,” you whisper back earnestly and your heart flutters with every corner of the wall that crumbles down as you stare back at him.

He looks at you like he wants to ask a question but the thought of Kiyoomi flashes in your mind. Your eyes scan the flecks of emerald in Hajime’s as you close your eyes and feel yourself retreat along with the setting sun. The warmth in your chest remains as you think of Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi who told you to let it out and let it go. Kiyoomi with the midnight eyes who spoke of the answers to the questions you have yet to discover.

“I have to be happy,” is what you tell Hajime again and the smile he gives you is soft. Like he wants to dive down your thoughts more but instead chooses to remain anchored outside your walls.

But you still lean into his embrace as he pats your shoulder when you tell your mother goodbye.

She must be happy, you think to yourself. Because today was an afternoon spent in the sun like she was alive again.

A text from Kiyoomi to you and one from Issei to his brings you back to the present. You wave goodbye to the photograph of her on the tombstone while Hajime leaves a yellow flower he picked under the sun by her name.

He smiles and you hear him say he’ll walk you home.

Your heart thrums; it’s almost like he never left.

Hajime won’t leave.

Despite your intention for him to not show up to your house being extremely blunt in your text message, he shows up thirty minutes after Kiyoomi’s parked into your driveway.

“Hajime,” he grins, introducing himself with a hand stretched out in greeting as Kiyoomi looks at it in contemplation. You watch the two of them, three feet away and anxious at their first time face to face interaction.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” your boyfriend says and reaches out to shake his hand. You could practically feel yourself sigh in relief.

“Haji, you didn’t have to come,” you say and shoot him a tight lipped smile. “Omi and I can handle the boxes, plus there’s not much left to pack up anyway.”

“So,” Hajime begins, turning around and blatantly ignoring what you just said. “Makki says there’s some heavier stuff in the attic? I can help you with that.”

Kiyoomi looks at you as you eventually sigh and nod at him to follow Hajime up into the attic.

For the rest of the day it went on like that. At every hint you dropped in regards to the lack of necessity for Hajime’s presence—he’s suddenly tuning out and changing the topic. It was like he couldn’t hear. You huff when Kiyoomi shoots you a look that hints his amusement towards your predicament.

Hajime’s time in California surely must have rubbed off on him.

“You two shared a lot of memories,” Kiyoomi comments after he sees Hajime point at a trinket and recall a story.

“We grew up together,” you reply and Hajime nods along with you, smiling.

“I knew she was gonna be a real one when she didn’t chicken out from catching cicadas with me,” Hajime laughs across you.

“You used to catch cicadas?” Kiyoomi questions, eyebrow quirking up. You had to fight the urge to smile at the way his two moles scrunched together.

“Used to,” you answer and grip the photo album in your hand before placing it into the box. It was one of your favorites, you remember. You spent your summer nights pasting stickers and writing captions into the photos your mom took of you, Hajime, Tooru and your dog. There were probably a few in there that were with her, but you decide you can put off the nostalgic trip for later as you shut the book and tuck it into a corner of the box.

“Sakusa,” Hajime initiates when the three of you stand back up, stretching then facing each other: Kiyoomi to your left and Hajime across the two of you. “Take care of her will you?”

“I plan to,” Kiyoomi replies beside you and you reach to squeeze his hand as you watch him offer Hajime a sincere smile.

“Can you give us a moment?” you ask Kiyoomi and he’s quick to nod.

“Thanks,” you say and lean into his kiss on your forehead before watching him grab the remaining box and make his way out the door.

Hajime stands in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“He’s a good guy,” he tells you and you smile gently, head nodding in agreement to his words.

“One of the best,” you reply, smiling.

“You’re happy right?” Hajime says more than asks, but before you could answer, he speaks again.

“I’m here for you, always,” he confesses quietly and you swallow thickly because you could already decipher the meaning behind his words.

“Who’s going to pull your scarf to remind you that it’s cold?” Hajime declares softly and you knit your eyebrows together as you tell him that you can do it yourself.

“I know you can,” he laughs and walks closer to you as he tugs off his own scarf and wraps it around your neck.

“I just like doing it for you.”

“Earlier,” Kiyoomi begins after he’s settled in the couch of your new apartment’s living room. You turn to face him, attention in focus then wait for him to continue.

“When we were upstairs Iwaizumi-san asked where you were moving.”

“Oh yeah? I forgot I didn’t tell him my new address, thanks for remi—“

“He asked again if we were going to be moving in together and I didn’t answer,” he swiftly cuts you off. You stare back at him, confused, then nod your head urging him to continue.

“I didn’t answer him at first because I wanted to see how he’d react.”

“Omi—“

“(Y/n),” he sighs. You blink back, confused.

“He still loves you.”

Kiyoomi says this like he’s just talking about the weather and because of that you’re suddenly aware of fast the room dipped into the newfound silence. Your heart hammers in your chest while you feel your hands curl into a familiar fist; fingernails automatically moving to dig into the flesh of your palms.

“Of course he does, I do too—“you reason, but his expression shifting has you revising your choice of words.

“I will always love him, Omi. Haji was my friend before he became anyone else,” you explain, softly, and reach out to take his hand in yours. He smiles at you and you mirror it, appreciating the way he didn’t pull out of your touch.

“Is that it?” he asks before you look at him, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“What else is there?” you laugh and shift your focus to his hand on yours.

“Are you really happy?”

“With this?” he questions again and sits up, taking both of your hands in his. Kiyoomi stares with baited breath, so when the silence buzzes in your ear even louder, you nod.

“With us?” Kiyoomi whispers and the echo it delivers rings loud. You hear his question ricochet from the walls to your ears over and over again while you stare straight into the plethora of questions he chooses not to vocalize manifesting themselves in his eyes.

Then, almost slowly, you nod. Because you are happy, though more so thankful. But that’s still happiness, the voice in your head reasons, so you relent and cup his face.

“You’re my blessing, Kiyoomi,” is the truth that’s spoken from your lips as you watch something living unfold in his.

“I love you,” is what he says and you nod, speechless, as he presses his forehead against yours because you feel everything in his words.

“Are you happy?” he asks again when you part and you smile, remembering your mother and Hajime’s words. The sentiment in his question is one of honesty, that in that moment, it suddenly fills you with newfound warmth.

“She asked me the same thing,” you answer, vulnerable. Kiyoomi always had a way that made it okay to feel vulnerable.

“Because I think she knows your answer,” he tells you quietly and what he says makes you think of his words.

“I’ll get there,” is what you planned to answer but before you could get the words out you’re suddenly widening your eyes as you see Kiyoomi shift and bend down on one knee in front of you, a ring in his hand.

Three years later | Italics in flashback

For the first time in your life everything felt connected.

From the pin that held your veil together, to the yellow and pink roses that bloomed along an aisle of white.

Everything felt like it was finally in place as Tooru took one look at you from behind the doors and teared up.

“Please don’t make me cry,” you tell him and smile as you loop your arm through his.

“This is payback for making me cry when you asked if I could give you away,” he laughed before dabbing at the corners of his eyes.

“Thank you, Tooru,” you whisper as he gives you one final look. The browns of his eyes reminded you that you are loved.

“Your mom would be so happy now,” is his reply as the doors open.

She would be happy, you think as you take one, two, then four steps forward as you grip your bouquet tighter. The pendant with her photo is surrounded in gold plating, and you find yourself thinking that nothing suited her better than gold.

To and for you, she had always been golden.

You feel Tooru part with you midway as he lets you walk the final stretch alone. It was supposed to be the other way around, Issei commented before, but Takahiro was quick to side with you and say it was fitting. Even if Tooru stood in your parent’s place to symbolize giving you away, a parent’s job is really just to walk with you to the halfway mark in life and let you walk the rest of the way alone.

You find yourself smiling at the memory.

The engagement ring on your left finger catches the light from the photographer’s flash as the first notes of a cello play.

“I would ask you to marry me but I know you’re going to tell me no,” Kiyoomi tells you.

“I don’t know you, yet, (y/n). But I know you just enough to know there’s some things you are choosing to not let go of.”

You watch him stare at you, eyes soft and understanding you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to cry again.

From the aisle, your eyes catch Kiyoomi’s as he stares back at you, beautiful and iridescent in the light. He’s always looked the most beautiful when he felt connected with music, you think. Much like now, as he presses harder on the strings and close his eyes to slip into the element.

“It’s okay,” Kiyoomi soothes, and reaches forward to wipe the tear sliding down your cheek.

“I don’t think I got to know you, just yet. I only saw bits of who you were under that exterior and neither of us know if we could work as well then if we lay ourselves bare now,” he continues and you nod, understanding his point.

“I love how resilient you are, (y/n),” Kiyoomi whispers and you smile because his voice isn’t cracking. He’s okay with this, and somehow, that lifts the heaviness in your chest. “I love how you never break despite the situation, but I’ve only known that side of you so far.”

“You deserve someone who’s seen you from the start. I can stay and we can work this out, but I don’t know if I’ll love you then. Iwaizumi loved you then and now, and I think you still do too. I could never take you away from that.”

“I don’t want to ask you who you are yet,” he says and you nod telling him you’re still getting to know yourself too.

“She’ll be proud of you regardless,” Kiyoomi finishes and with that you sob.

Kiyoomi opens his eyes and looks at you with a smile while he continues to play. Thank you, you mouth telling him, and he smiles as he plays harder.

“For what it’s worth,” you begin. “I know,” Kiyoomi finishes and the smile on his face is as sincere as his words. “Our time will always be a part in history that will be ours.”

You inhale, smile, and then cup his face in your hands. “It will always be priceless,” you add.

This was a piece you recognized from years ago, you recall with a smile. If you had your violin with you, it wouldn’t take much for you to remember the score and slip into a duet with him. The dynamics, you recognized too—and the way Kiyoomi’s playing only tells you he’s playing even louder.

Three years ago he played the same piece you would have played for the concert your mom would have finally made it to. The same day she died you sat in a practice room with Kiyoomi, crying your heart out as the he plays the same melody you’re walking to now.

Let it out, is what he told you and you did just that.

Let it go, is what he also wants you to know and you did that too.

All your life you’ve thought of love and thought it was lost when you lost her. Kiyoomi, you realize, is the love you were just beginning to learn. The love you’ve parted with before you tangled yourself in too deep; and perhaps in another lifetime you could chase each other bare bones and all, but in this life you know Hajime is the love you thought you closed the door to despite leaving it ajar.

One last look at Kiyoomi lets you see that he closes his eyes as you turn away and face forward.

And when you do, you see colors.

Green from his eyes, like the leaves on your bouquet and the grass outside your childhood home. A yellow flower pinned on his breast pocket; the color from the petals of a flower your mother loved to grow the most. Pink; like the color his cheeks turned into when you first shook his hand.

Then when he smiles at you—you feel a sense of home. When you see him begin to cry, you feel a sense of love that washes over you like the soft waves of the shallow end.

Steady, constant, and safe.

Love, like the words your mother wrote to you in a letter you discovered in an old journal. Where she wrote that even if she never had your father to love, she found her love in you. To be cradled in you so that was enough for her.

That she knew she was strong, but even more so because her strength was drawn from being with you.

Love, like the words from a friend as you remember Kiyoomi’s reminder that it’s okay to take that hand that just wants to pull you out of the deep end.

Love, like the awakening from the depth and seeing that Hajime is the hand that’s been there all along and you have yet to take.

Love, you remember like your mother’s voice.

Love, like the one that has been with you since the beginning. Because you were loved from the very start.

And Hajime—whose name spoke of beginnings.

for my mother whose love cradled me from the beginning. may you rest where the flowers bloom the most beautiful. i love you.

1K notes · View notes

wannabemobwife · 3 years

Text

Guns, Glamour, and Goodfellas - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Brother!Parker Holland x Sister!Rosie Holland, Ex!Rosie Holland x Ex!Henry Osterfield

-Warnings: Fighting, Language, Angst (always), Heartbreak, Typos

-Words: 4.3K

Author note: Who else is the mom of their friend group? By the way, who can hear my California accent in my typing? Lol. Feel free to leave comments or message me directly your feelings while reading the chapter. Always love hearing from you guys. Chapter 9: Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

Words: 4.3K

Every part of Rosie was recovering, except her broken heart. She had tried to call Henry a few times. It was weird how someone could be such a big part of her life one moment and the next he was a ghost.

Rosie wasn’t the only thing broken in the Holland household. You and Tom were going through a rough patch. Neither of you had spoken to each other for longer than 5 minutes, Tom was still sleeping in the guest room and he refused to come clean. Still letting you believe he cheated on you.

Mornings before school hadn’t been the same. Tom would try to hide the fact he was sleeping in the guest room before the kids came down but it was no use.

“Dad, did you sleep in there?” Parker asked as he saw the unmade bed in the guest room.

“Yeah, no need to worry, your mom and I are fine,” Tom reassured his son. Tom was lying to his son and himself. He didn’t know how to fix this. He had really fucked up.

You had started to become a ghost. Nobody would see you for most of the day. It baffled you that after countless years of marriage, Tom could be so careless. You were aware of his moral code and felt that you never needed about infidelity.

One night Parker and Rosie had devised a plan, almost like a parent trap. They set up a nice candlelight dinner in garden. It was a picture perfect date night only if Tom and you weren’t fighting. Rosie and Parker tasked themselves for both sneaking you out there, knowing if you knew Tom would be there you’d probably throw something at him.

“Surprise!” shouted both Parker and Rosie as you removed you hands from your eyes.

“Oh, how beautiful. Yay, I get to have dinner with my kids,” you exclaimed.

“Actually, we aren’t joining you,” Rosie said as Tom came out of the shadows.

“I am your date tonight and always,” Tom said.

“Kids, this is sweet and all but, I’m just going to go lay down. I suddenly have a headache,” you explained, not ready to face Tom.

“Y/N will you please talk to me,” Tom begged.

“Why don’t you go talk to your fucking mistress, Tom.”

“Who? I never cheated on you,” Tom asserted, confused he thought you were mad about Henry and Rosie.

“Save it Tom. Parker overheard you on the phone meeting her at the Savoy.”

“What? Oh you mean, Jazz?”

“I’m surprised there’s only one.”

“Don’t fucking do that. She was my informant. She’s dead now.”

“What and that’s supposed to make feel better?”

“Y/N, just listen to me.”

“Is this your way of getting back at me? For Rosie and Henry? Not telling you? Cause I can’t believe you’d do such a thing.”

“Y/N, just sit down and have dinner with me. Please,” Tom exclaimed, you could hear the desperation in his voice.

“No. Good night everyone. Tom, hope the couch is comfortable,” you said, walking away.

“Sorry dad, we tried. What happened between you two anyway?” Rosie said, looking at the ground lowly.

“It’s alright. I loved the gesture. So what are we having?” Tom said, as he pulled out the chair and sat down all ready for this wonderful meal.

“Oh, you’re still going to eat without mom?” Parker asked.

“Hell yeah, don’t want all this food to go to waste,” Tom remarked.

“Oh, ok. I was going to go and do homework,” Rosie said.

“You go, Roo. I’ll stay will dad,” Parker announced.

“Parker, I have to make sure you know I never cheated on mom,” Tom said, trying reassure his son.

“Dad, I know what I saw… But if you say you didn’t, I believe you. You are a man of your word. I was sorry to hear about Jazz too.”

“Thank you.”

Tom was stuck. How could he make it up to you, if you wouldn’t as much as look at him? With all the worries concerning Rosie, he had forgotten of a trip he planned for you and him awhile ago. It was the annual trip to Barcelona to facilitate the company’s exportations, you’d always tag along. It was your one romantic vacation with your husband, but this time Tom had tainted it with his betrayal and lies.

This trip was going to be the longest time you and him had been together in a week. Your main focus had been Rosie, then Parker and then yourself and lastly patching things up with Tom. You had both argued in the past but, Tom hasn’t been in the doghouse since you were pregnant with the twins. Even then, it wasn’t the doghouse, he was just giving you space because of how uncomfortable pregnancy was making you.

You didn’t like being apart from him. He was your husband, your better half. This separation was killing you as much it was killing him. Rosie had recuperated but, lately you had been having nightmares of losing your children. It killed you, every time you would see one of them fighting for lives in a hospital or dark alley. You always knew the dangers of the mob so you understood Parker will just learn to be more careful but Rosie’s car accident was merely an accident. Not a ploy orchestrated by a rival mob, it was an accident. How could you protect your kids all the time if there was no one to blame?

Even when Tom would come home battered and bruised, your world would stop turning. He was your world, he was everything. Everything you had was because of him, especially your kids. Anytime when someone threatened to take Tom away from you, you would just break. It is hard to imagine a world without him.

This time is different though, you are begging him to give you space. You understand the insaneness of mind, you want him to explain but you won’t give him the chance to talk to you. Maybe being on the trip together will force you to acknowledge him.

It was a typical morning, you and Tom were supposed to leave in a few hours for Barcelona.

“Kids, grandma and grandpa are going to stay with you while we are away,” you said.

“Your mom and I have some a business to attend to in Barcelona,” interjected Tom.

“Why? What’s in Barcelona?” Rosie questioned, she was aware of your annoyance with Tom, everyone was.

“That’s grown up stuff, sweetie. Maybe a second honeymoon.” Tom said as you rolled your eyes.

“Since when do we need babysitting?” Parker piped up.

“Since you guys have proven that you can’t be left alone, grandma and grandpa are here to babysit you to make sure you don’t throw any parties,” you explained as a look of regret etched itself onto Parker’s face.

“Aren’t you and dad fighting?” Rosie queried.

“At the moment we are just disagreeing on a few things. This is purely business, ok?” You exclaimed, your last statement directed at Tom.

“I love you both so much. Be good for grandma and grandpa,” you grinned, kissing both of their foreheads before you left. And with that your vacation to hell started. Why were you and Tom fighting, is it because no one wants to admit they're wrong? Only god knows. Deep down you hoped this trip would bring you two back together.

Parker drove Rosie to school that morning, she had been going for only two days since the accident. She had yet to run into Henry. Rosie didn’t know how she would act. How could she see the boy who broke her heart everyday?

Rosie met up with her two school friends Jenna and Brooke. They had been friends since 5th grade but, their relationship mostly stopped at school. Once in a while they would hangout outside of school or have a sleepover. Rosie’s real best friend was Henry. He was the one she would share good news with or funny memes. Nobody at school really knew about the accident, a few people noticed she wasn’t there but it wasn’t like when Charlotte died. Rosie wasn’t as popular as Charlotte and she didn’t need to be, high school hierarchies are overrated anyway.

“So where were you for like a week?” Brooke asked.

“Oh, umm… I was… skiing,” Rosie answered, debating if she tell her friends the truth. Knowing only rumors would circulate because of it.

“Oh. Parker was here. I thought it’d be a family trip.” Jenna remarked.

“What’s with your obsession with my brother?” Rosie questioned. She knew of Jenna’s school-girl crush on Parker, it started back in grade school.

“Nothing, he’s just.. insanely hot,” Jenna responded, drifty into a trance. Possibly imaging his dreamy brown eyes.

“Ew, Jen. That’s my brother” Rosie exclaimed, trying not to gag.

“Whatever. So how’s it going with you and Henry?” Jenna persisted.

“We broke up.”

“Oh, Rosie. I’m so sorry,” Brooke and Jenna said at the same time, trying to comfort Rosie.

“It’s ok. It’s not like I loved him or anything we were only dating for like two months” Rosie responded, trying not to cry. RING the bell sounded

“Oh, that’s the bell. I’ll see you guys after class,” Rosie said, waving goodbye. She quickly turned to walk to her algebra class but something or someone stopped her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should watch where I’m going,” she said as she picked up her fallen books. Still oblivious to the person standing before her.

“It’s quite alright, Roo,” Henry spoke.

“Henry… I-I gotta go” Rosie mumbled, surprised he was standing in front of her. Oh, what she’d do to get to hold that boy once more. But he’s the one who broke up with her. He left her. Why is she letting a stupid boy bring her to tears?

Because he’s not some stupid boy. He’s Henry. The boy who made sure to always bring her Hershey kisses when her period would come around. The lovable best friend who made her feel loved and wanted.

Rosie needed that almost as much as she needed air to breathe. She was ready to forgive him in that moment if he would take her back. Only if he wanted her back.

“Please, can I talk with you?” Henry asked.

“No, I have nothing to say to you and don’t want to hear what you have to say,” she muttered, walking away and not turning back.

Rosie quickly rounded the corner and slammed her back against the wall. Sliding down to where her knees were in her chest, trying to hide her tear stricken face. Parker was on his way to bathroom when he saw her, sitting on the ground in the deserted hallway.

“Rosie, what’s wrong?” Parker asked, seeing her tears.

“I just saw Henry,” Rosie said with her voice cracking.

“Hey, why don’t we go get some coffee. I’ll let you be basic this one time and order an iced caramel macchiato. Come on my treat.”

“What about school?” Rosie sniffled.

“I guarantee you they won’t miss us. Let’s go home. They’ll understand.”

“Ok, but I’m getting the largest size they have,” Rosie asserted.

“Alright, Roo,” Parker said, chuckling while he helped her up. Parker felt like a bad brother lately. The last nice words he said to her was when she was in her coma and most likely couldn’t hear him. He was taking a play from Tom, when Tom knows he screwed up he showers you with gifts. This was Parker’s version of that, taking Rosie to get some coffee and maybe a cupcake.

Later at home, Dom and Nikki were already there. Parker was kind of annoyed he had to be babysat but in your and Tom’s defense, he did throw a party that last time you were out of town.

“Grandma! Grandpa!” Called out Rosie as she came through the door. Rosie will always be a kid at heart with a fiery passion.

“Oh, there’s my flower and my peanut,” Nikki returned. Those were her pet names for Parker and Rosie. “Peanut” because even though Parker was older he was slightly smaller than Rosie when he was born. And “flower” because of her name.

“What are you guys doing home?” Asked Nikki.

“Oh, umm they let us out early,” Parker remarked quickly, not trying to raise any further questions.

“Did you ditch?” Dom questioned.

“Uh, yeah. Don’t tell mom and dad, please,” Rosie mumbled.

“Alright, only because now I get to spend more time with my kiddos,” Nikki exclaimed.

Nikki and Dom were definitely more prevalent in the twins lives when they were younger. When Tom had just taken over the mob, Nikki and Dom would spend every hour of the day with Rosie and Parker. Always taking them to the park, museums or plays. You think that is where Rosie got her love for theatre from. You also had an influence in that, you’re kind of a sucker for show tunes.

Their role in the twins lives fizzled out over the years. Nikki and Dom who are now both retired, traveled more than anything. But their place in Parker and Rosies’ heart remained the same.

They all decided to order pizza for dinner, something quick and easy. And none of them wanted to be formal so they ate on the couch and watched The Sound of Music. It was Rosie’s turn to pick, so of course it was a musical.

They were all about to turn in for the night when Nikki called for her husband. She didn’t say honey, darling or love or his full name, Dominic. She called out his nickname, Dom.

“Dom, did you lock the door?” Nikki called out.

“Yes, sweetheart. Now, kids make sure you brush your teeth. Good night everyone,” Dom said as he made his way to the guest room.

That was it, a three letter name Nikki had called Dominic. Parker’s mind flooded with thoughts from the night he overheard you and Tom talking in his office. “No, Dom. He arranged the hit,” those words replaying in his head. If it was his grandfather who gave up his location, why was he betraying Tom?

Parker was a bright kid but, not one for connecting the dots. The last couple weeks of his life had been devoted to get back at Tom. He knew working for Wilson would give Tom a heart attack right on the spot. But, it was never Tom who arranged the hit or had his men pull the trigger. It was his grandfather, Dom Holland.

He knew Dom’s full name, Dominic, but never made that connection. How stupid could he be? Never in a million years would he think someone who he looked up to, could inadvertently brought so much destruction to his life. Dom was someone Parker trusted. How could Dom be so devious and betray his own grandson?

Parker didn’t just lose Charlotte that night, he lost his innocence. That was the first time Parker actually thought he was going to die. He felt like he was dying, being beaten up to within an inch of his life. Parker was just realizing the gravity of what he had done in a desperate attempt to make Tom pay. Parker was doing the same thing to Tom, Dom did to him.

Parker was entrusted by his dad, given the skills to kill and yet he had been betraying him. Taking out all his men and Jazz. “Oh, Jazz” Parker thought, he even said sorry to Tom for her death. What could Parker do now? This whole time he believed he was killing for sake of mercy but in truth it was for sport.

Parker had to confront Dom, he needed to know the truth. So that’s exactly what he did, but waited till morning breakfast.

“So, how’s working for your dad going?” Dom inquired with his mouth stuffed with bacon and eggs.

“Fine. Things have been put on hold with Rosie’s accident and all,” Parker replied, his feelings were conflicted. He didn’t know who to believe.

“That’s it? I want details.”

“Have you had your first kill yet? How’d it feel?” Dom pestered on.

“Yeah. I’m only doing this to avenge my girlfriend, Charlotte. She was killed a few months ago,” Parker said, trying to get Dom to fall into his trap.

“Yeah, I heard about that. I bet it was sad. Well, you are here now, that’s all that matters. You’re truly a part of the family,” Dom said, raising his glass of orange juice to toast.

“I know you used to work for the mob, so could you maybe help me find her killer. Well I already found the guy and gave him a few licks, but I want the guy who orchestrated the hit,” Parker exclaimed.

“I don’t know, kid. I’d stop looking if I were you. Seems like this guy covers his tracks.”

“I know it was you. I know you were the one who gave up my location. I’m not going to hit you or anything but, I need to know why,” Parker said, his voice completely changing its tone.

“Think of it as an encouragement. You needed something to get your foot in the door of the mob and she was it.”

“God, this fucking family. It’s so twisted. News flash grandpa, I’m the fucking traitor. I’ve been working for Angus Wilson. I’m the one taking out all of Tom’s men,” Parker screamed.

“What? Why would you do that?” Dom questioned, growing more furious by the minute. How could Tom raise a traitor?

“Because I thought it was Tom who called for the hit on me and Charlotte. Then I find out it’s you,” Parker bellowed.

“Parker, calm down.”

“A little part of me died the night she died. Don’t you get that? I was a normal kid and now I’m a mobster.”

“You were never a normal kid. You were always going to be the next Holland to run the mob.”

“I NEVER WANTED TO BE! I never wanted to be part of the mob. Now once my dad finds out I killed his men and Jazz, I’m dead. And once Wilson finds out I’m quitting I’m dead,” Parker screamed.

“Tom, won’t hurt you. I promise. Can’t say the same about Wilson. But I can help you, Parker. When Tom gets back we will talk to him together ok?” Dom assured only to be returned with a nod from Parker.

Parker had his chance to kill the man who got his girlfriend killed and his grandpa in cold blood, but didn’t take it. Parker didn’t want anymore blood on his hands. Having Dom on his side was Parker’s only possible way out from Tom’s thumb. Dom could’ve killed Parker right then and there too. But both of them had fucked up. Both their actions had already cost too many lives. So they joined forces, hoping Tom wouldn’t react the same when he got back.

It was the weekend and Rosie was looking forward to just relaxing all day and doing nothing. Maybe a puzzle with Nikki or watching another movie. Seeing Henry at school really set her back in her getting over him process. The first few days she wallowed. Not at home but in a hospital bed. She cried and cried until she couldn’t cry anymore and you were there to comfort her.

Once she came home from the hospital she wallowed some more. Watching romantic comedies with you in your room as you both ate tubs of ice cream. You wouldn’t let yourself show it but you were heartbroken about Tom’s supposed infidelity.

Next, Rosie cleaned out anything that reminded her of Henry. The outfit she wore on their first date was trashed. Along with a teddy bear he had given her when she sprained her ankle in the 3rd grade. Also the silver H and R necklace that he had given her. She couldn’t bring herself to throw it away, so she gave it to Parker. She said “I don’t care what you do with it. I just don’t want it anymore.” Parker took the necklace, totally planning to give it back to her once things blew over.

Now Rosie was finally accepting her breakup. The process of getting over a relationship is similar to the 5 stages of grief. She barely bargained, if he didn’t want to be with her she wasn’t going to beg him to take her back. Rosie knew her worth. Denial didn’t really affect her either, she was mostly confused that he broke up with her straight out of her coma.

That left her with anger. God, she was so angry. What kind of jackass breaks up with someone once they’ve been in a coma? Seriously, like what the fuck? Also depression which never really goes away. She will always be sad, that he pulled the plug on their relationship. Lastly, acceptance. Rosie had accepted it but, will never understood what happened.

All the Henry sightings, started to put her back at square one. I didn’t help when Henry came to the house.

“Henry, what the fuck are you doing here?” Parker asked as opened the door to his somewhat estranged best friend.

“I heard your parents are out of town. Can I talk to Rosie?” Henry pleaded.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. But, she did give me this, to give to you.” Parker said holding out the one thing that symbolized their love for one another, her necklace. Henry, just took the necklace and walked away. He felt so awful inside.

“Who was that?” Rosie asked, standing behind him.

“No one,” Parker responded.

“It was Henry, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I told him you didn’t want to see him”

“Thanks,” Rosie mumbled, in truth she wanted to see him and talk to him but it was too hard.

“Of course, Roo,” Parker replied.

“Oh, not you too. I hate that nickname,” Rosie remarked.

“Why it reminds me of a baby kangaroo,” Parker joked.

“Exactly. That’s the reason why. It’s for a baby and sounds like kangaroo,” Rosie explained.

“Whatever. Mom and I like it so, too bad.” Parker said.

“Hey, I need to talk to you.” Rosie interjected.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Parker responded.

“Why are you sneaking out? I can hear you from outside my window.”

“Oh, I just… I go to the library,” he said, hesitantly.

“At 10:30 at night?” Rosie was skeptical of his remark.

“Yeah, I have a study group that only… meets at night.”

“Parker, I have seriously never seen you study. I can’t believe you won’t tell me where you are going every week. Do you remember what keeping secrets has done to this family? Mom and dad might get divorced!” Rosie exclaimed.

“Roo, you know that won’t happen. If I tell you, you have to promise to keep it a secret,” Parker only trying to comfort Rosie. He was scared to that you and Tom won’t work it out, you’d never fought in the past.

“Ok… Is it some girl?”

“No, I did something really stupid Roo. It was all part of my plan to get back at dad.”

“Why? What did dad do?” Rosie questioned, very concerned.

“Nothing. I’m the idiot here. I got myself hired by dad’s rival mob and I’ve been the traitor dad is looking for,” Parker said, scared of what this mistake will cost.

“Oh my god, Parker. What the fuck are you going to do?”

“I don’t know but Dom said he’d help me… I mean grandpa.”

“Okay… You know if you need anything, I’m always here.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for not telling anyone,” Parker thanked.

“Of course, you’re my twin brother. Almost an exact copy of my DNA, if I can’t have your back then what’s the point,” Rosie said, awarding a chuckle from Parker.

Parker’s days of living a double life were fleeting. You and Tom were set to return today. After a hopefully decent holiday. Parker was just glad Dom would be there to hold Tom back. Parker knows how enraged Tom can get.

T-minus 3 hours til he had to face Tom. Only 2 more class periods standing between him and involuntary rage. Parker and Rosie were in their English class when the loud speaker sounded.

“Will Parker and Rosie Holland please report to the principal’s office. I repeat, Parker and Rosie Holland please report to the principal’s office.”

They swiftly made their way out of their classroom. Dumbfounded to why they were called in the first place. Neither Parker nor Rosie had done anything bad in quite sometime.

“Uncle Harry? Uncle Sam? What are you two doing here?” Rosie questioned. Opening the door to the principal talking to their uncles, Harry and Sam Holland.

“Wait… you haven’t seen the news?” asked Harry.

“No. Why? What’s going on?” Parker speculated. The office admin had turned their small TV to channel 4 for the latest update.

“BREAKING NEWS. A Holland Exportation and Luxuries helicopter has just gone missing. The private helicopter departed from Barcelona this morning. I’m getting word that both Tom Holland, CEO of Holland Exportation and Luxuries, and his wife, Y/N Holland, were on the helicopter. There is no sign of the helicopter, we will continue to update you as this story unfolds,” announced the news anchor.

The room turned dead silent. Tears managed to escape from Rosie’s eyes and Parker pulled her into his arms. Trying to comfort her the best he can, even when he was a mess. The two people that were constant in their lives, their parents, were missing. Nothing was more important, except finding you and Tom.

Guns, Glamour, Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland mob au #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom #mob!tom x reader #mob tom #mob!tom #mob!tom holland #dad!mob!tom holland #mob!tom x mob!reader #mob!tom holland x reader

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yacoka · 3 years

Text

FIFTY FIRST DATES, AND THE FIRST REAL ONE

──⊱ for my one and only, wee to my woo, love of my life — @doughnuts-5ever

pairing — kuroo tetsurou x reader

genre — angst but it ends very fluffily i swear on my doggie socks

beta(s) — @sugasugawarau @taiyaki

kisses — hello i am,,, not back,, but here's a little thing that i did for my cow and it might as well be a valentine's day fic bc why not xoxo see y'all in a few days (psps sorry to everyone to has messaged me on discord or here or anything, i haven't been on tumblr or discord in a bit i'll be back sOON)

You sat at the dinner table, staring down at the meal laid out before you. It was by far the best thing you had ever tasted, and yet, it was bland. So, so bland and bitter, that you hated it. Nevermind that it was your favorite dish made by your mother the other day, nevermind that you always loved it better as leftovers. It tasted bland and bitter, and you couldn’t help but wish what he was eating tonight was too.

It was pathetically selfish of you - you knew. But how could you not feel that way when the man you loved was out on a date with some stranger he met on the internet? He had left the house in a burgundy button up that looked like it was made for him, paired with black slacks that made him look like it should be illegal for him to be out in the streets without a warning sign.

It was his first attempt at online dating after having miserably failed at picking up girls from school. And now here he was, out with some chick with a name you could barely pronounce, and the stereotypical description of her bubbly personality that loved nature and volunteered at the animal shelter. Oh, and lets not forget, she’s a gemini!

You rolled your eyes, stabbing your fork into the now cold dish. Stupid boy, with his stupid date, with that stupid red shirt, and with his stupid personality.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. That’s what you were for falling in love with a boy who never saw you for more than another pity project, the pathetic little thing that needed friends but never had any guts to make one until he came along.

You picked up the container of food and stalked over to the bin, dropping its contents into it. You weren’t going to eat it anyways, especially not after how you had massacred it.

After you left the dirty container in the sink, you flopped onto the couch, sighing heavily as you sank into the worn sofa. It smelled like Kuroo’s body soap, though from the amount of time he’s spent lying on this couch, it was to be expected.

You leaned forward, hand outstretched for the remote. Just a little further, a little more-

The door slammed open and you lurched forward, landing on the ground with a thud.

“It was horrible. She came into the restaurant and she looked amazing, but then we started talking and oh god, I don’t think I can be with someone who thinks that only the rich should be allowed to do whatever they want just because they’re rich.”

“Well hello to you too, Kuroo,” you grumbled from your spot on the floor, flipping yourself over to face the ceiling.

He jumped over the sofa arm, landing perfectly on it like he always does.

“I mean, how can I accept that? That’s just morally wrong and if her basic morals are wrong, what about other more important things? I walked out right after that, that doesn’t make me an asshole right?” His head popped out, brown eyes staring down at you. The cologne he wore tonight drifted down, washing over you and clouding your mind with its deliciously warm and thick and-

“I mean I did pay for the meal before I left,” he mutters, dropping his head onto the cushion, voice muffled slightly by it. “So it counters the fact that I left, right?”

The sigh that begs to pull its way out is caught by you, stuffed into the depths of your stomach in exchange for a soft pat on his head and words you know he wants to hear.

“No, you’re not an asshole. Maybe that was an asshole move, but that doesn’t make you one. Besides, her lack of a moral compass cancels out any asshole you might’ve been.” You combed through his hair, drawing it out of the careful style he had forced his bed head into. “This hairstyle though? It makes you look like an extreme asshole.”

Kuroo scoffed indignantly and his head popped back over the edge once more, brown eyes glaring at you. “I worked hard on this!”

“Doesn’t make you look any less of an ass.”

“The date was incredible.” He sighed dreamily, leaning against the counter with his chin in his hand. The temptation to throw your fork at him increased, and it took every sane cell in your body to set it down on the table instead, albeit rougher than you intended.

If Kuroo noticed your intensity, he didn’t mention it, instead continuing on to sigh and gush about the wonderful date he had last night with this amazing woman at this delicious place.

For someone who was incredibly perceptive, he could be incredibly dense as well. You wonder at his obliviousness to your feelings, to the poorly concealed hurt that peeked through in every little move of your body.

All you wanted to do was scream at him, to wake up, open his eyes, and see you.

You, who had been there since the beginning, who had watched him grow from the shy, introverted kid to this cunning, charismatic man who excelled and went beyond what had been expected of him. You, who had seen him at his worst, and still stayed, patching him up and helping him to his feet. You, who knew who he was to the core, every detail, every fact about him.

But it seemed he didn’t know you as well.

“That’s great,” you interrupt him. He glanced at you, surprised by your abruptness. “I gotta go get some work done, I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning.”

“Wait, did I do something wrong?” He called after your retreating back. “Hey, I’m sorry if I pissed you off.”

“No, it’s nothing!” You slammed the door shut, slumping against it. God, you were a fool to have fallen for an idiot. Dashing away the burning tears that slip down your cheeks, you gathered just enough strength to crawl beneath onto your bed and beneath the covers.

The cat plushie he got you a long time ago sits at the bottom of your bed, staring at you. You glared at it, before giving in and grabbing it, tucking it into your chest. Stupid Kuroo with his stupid face and this stupid cat. You hate him so much.

(No, you don’t, you really don’t. And it hurts so much more to know that.)

You’re back here once more, glaring daggers at the clock. The slow ticking of the hands pisses you off, every second gone is a second more Kuroo’s out there, with another girl, on another date. With the number of bad first dates he’s gone one, you’d think he’d give up. But no, this man was persistent, and he wanted to “experience life!”

Well, he was going to experience death soon if he didn’t come back home soon. Your vigil continued, all the way till three am where you gave up and went to bed, your exhaustion outweighing your annoyance and worry. He’s a grown man, there was no need to worry about him.

Honestly, you didn’t know how you got here. To this suffocating silence that rested upon your chest, pinning you down as you listened to the sounds of cars rushing past and the occasional laughter that seeped through the walls. To where you spent your nights alone in your shared apartment, waiting for Kuroo to come home from yet another date. Like some married person waiting on their cheating husband, you smiled bitterly at the ceiling.

Only you weren’t married to him, and you certainly weren't his anything.

If only you were less of a fool, you might’ve moved on long ago. Maybe you might have even found someone who might be just as in love with you as you were with them. You might have already been in a happy relationship, going out on dates, spending your nights with them, being loved. But you were a fool, a fool in love with another fool.

So you continued to lie there, the infinite weight of your one-sided love pressing you into the ground, holding you prisoner to Kuroo Tetsurou.

“Hey, do you wanna go get dinner?” Kuroo called out. “There’s nothing left in the fridge, maybe we could get groceries after.”

You ignored him, focusing on the dimly lit screen of your phone. There hadn't been a proper conversation with him in a while, and you were content to leave it that way if only it meant you didn’t have to hear about his dates with those seemingly perfect women and their seemingly perfect food.

Kuroo called out once more, and you burrowed beneath the blanket, curling up into a ball.

No, you did not want to get dinner with the man you’re so desperately in love with it almost hurts to even breathe in his presence.

The door creaked open, and you could see his shadow stretch out across your bedroom floor, casting its shape upon your walls. It took everything in you to tear your eyes away from it and back onto your phone, though it lingered in your peripheral, taunting you with the way it twisted and leaned closer to you, the scent of his cologne growing stronger by the second, until it almost felt like he wa-

“Why are you ignoring me?” Kuroo whined into your ear as he draped his body over yours, strands of inky hair tickling your cheek.

“Ku-roo-” you gasped out, fighting to twist your body out from under him. “Can’t- bre-breathe.”

He groaned into your ear, dropping even more pressure down. “Don’t care, you ignored me.” He sulked as he burrowed his head into the crook of your neck.

A blind kick to his legs has him flopping off you, spread eagle on your too tiny bed.

“You’re too heavy to be pulling this crap,” you snapped at him.

“And you’re too old to be ignoring me when something’s wrong,” he shot back just as fast, and you were left stunned. To be fair, you should have expected it, Kuroo being one of the most perceptive people you’ve ever met.

(Not perceptive enough to see the deep feelings you harbored for him though.)

“So what’s wrong?”

‘Everything,’ you wanted to scream. ‘You, those stupid dates, my feelings, every god damned thing on earth.’

Instead, what came out was: “I’m just stressed. Work, you know?” You shot him an unconvincing smile.

Kuroo frowned, his lips pinching as he stared at you. He knew better than to push you though, and settled with a curt nod, a forced smile slipping onto his face. “So…. dinner?”

You sighed in exasperation, and let him yank you up and out of bed. The way his stiff smile melted into an easy, fond one was enough to wash away your hesitance, and temporarily dam up the river of doubts that threatened to drown you.

Just for tonight, you’ll enjoy his presence, before he gets caught up in another’s embrace.

(You let yourself get swept up in him again, chasing after the ebb of his warmth when his encompassing presence surges away from you. But you find that you don’t really mind drowning in him, not when the peak of the surf reveals such beautiful sights in the form of lazy smirks and sly hazel eyes.)

It’s another failed date that sends him home in a fitted suit, one that you had turned your nose up at. Kuroo doesn’t understand what’s going wrong, why he never felt like the date was right. The people he had gone on dates with were nothing short of amazing, with the exception of a few. But they just lacked… something. And so he always leaves them with a grateful goodbye and an apologetic smile, returning home to the apartment he shared with you alone.

He’s spent nights and days trying to convince himself that they were an ideal candidate to date, listing out their positive notes to you, and somehow he can’t seem to find the thing that made him just click with them. It’s bordering on frustrating, really, and Kuroo is more than ready to relieve some of the building tension in his body by hanging out with you.

His entrance home is muffled by the sounds of music blasting through the apartment, and it’s a wonder the neighbours haven’t complained yet. He’s about to call out for you as he drops keys on the coffee table, one hand loosening his tie when he catches sight of you dancing in the kitchen.

And everything clicks in place.

It’s a stunning clarity that leaves him reeling, and he wonders how he could have missed it in the first place. It’s a simple truth: Kuroo Tetsurou was completely, utterly, irrevocably in love with you. And it only took him fifty bad first dates to realize that the only person he wanted to go on a date with was you.

Objectively speaking, you look like a complete mess, but to him, the sight of you twirling around in sock clad feet in an oversized shirt with a lame chemistry joke printed across it was infinitely better than any of the people he had gone on dates with. You’re absolutely perfect to him, yelling out lyrics to a song that’s blasting at full volume from the living room.

There isn’t a moment’s hesitation as he surges forward, a force tugging him to you. And like just like two opposing magnets, you spin around just in time for him to collide into you, his head hazy as his mouth crashes down upon yours.

You taste of leftover pizza and something sweet, and he thinks it might be the best damn thing he’s ever tasted. The shocked gasp that escapes you is swallowed by Kuroo as he deepens the kiss, arms winding around you to pull you impossibly closer. And he isn’t sure why he’s so surprised when you reciprocate the kiss, melting into him as your hands grip the lapels of his blazer.

It feels like an eternity spent wrapped around each other, the beat of the music matching the rhythm of your hearts, and the warmth of each other.

Kuroo pulls away first, only because rationality comes sinking back into his muddled brain, and there’s a brief moment of panic when he stares down at your flushed face, lips swollen from his sudden attack. But the absolute relief and love in your eyes has him calming down, and the soft peck you deliver next settles those doubts.

“It’s been you all this while,” his voice cracks, and he winces. “You’re my best friend, and I’m in love with you.”

The smile that breaks out across your face is everything he’s been looking for, and he feels like a fool for being so blind. You’re everything he’s wanted, and everything he’s needed.

“I’m in love with you.” He repeats louder, an incredulous laugh bubbling out of him. “I’m in love with you!”

“I’m in love with you too!” You yell back, and in his excitement, he can’t help but twirl you around, and you burst into giggles. There isn’t a better sound in the world than this, he thinks.

“Be mine.” He catches you by the shoulders, face alight with adoration.

“I’ve been yours for a long time now.” Your answer fills him with a rush of delight and guilt, and he’s ready to spill apologies and promises to make it up to you when you yank on his tie hard, pulling him into another kiss. Every unspoken word, every drop of emotion that has ever begged to be exchanged between you two is said with a simple kiss.

Kuroo thanks the heavens for you, for blessing his life with someone who is more than he deserves. The weight of you in his arms is a comforting pressure, and there he has his last first date, at the beginning of a new chapter in the story of him and you, eating leftovers and dancing to songs of your childhood.

He’s in love with you, and you are with him too.

#kuroo testsuro #kuroo x reader #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader

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babybottlepop96 · 3 years

Text

Sweet Melody - Ino x Kiba

Day 14 prompt: Melody

Warnings: Slightly NSFW, it’s not detailed and its very brief but it is there, so be warned. Slight manipulation as well.

song used: Sweet Melody by Little Mix

@narutorarepairjune

Doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Doo-roo-doo-doo, doo-roo-doo-roo

Doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Doo-roo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

In a whole other life, there was this boy that I knew

He made me feel like a woman, we were young and silly fools

Anyway, he was in a band, wrote love songs about me

I wasn't crazy 'bout the words, but the melodies were sweet

Went something like

Doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Doo-roo-doo-doo, doo-roo-doo-roo

Doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Doo-roo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Kiba was never one for long term relationships, he had dreams and goals he wanted to achieve and he would achieve them, no matter the cost. That's just how the man was, he wanted to skiing even if he was going to have to live off ramen for the next three months? Done. He wanted to achieve the look he has been wanting? He waited until his dad officially left him and his family, buying band tees that showed off his impeccable muscles and ripped, black skinny jeans that was a little too hard to walk in, got a few tattoos and piercings to top it all off. He wanted to get in a certain blonde, punk girl's pants? Easy as taking candy from a baby.

Kiba has wanted to become a musician, a career his father had repeatedly told him was a silly child's dream. That he wouldn't make it in the music industry because of his cocky attitude and horrible communication skills. So to prove to himself and his father that he could do this, he took the girl. He would write songs about how her grey blue eyes, the way her tattoos would smoothly curve along her waist, the way her hair would cover just one eye, leaving a small mystery about the blonde beauty for him to figure out. He would write about how adored her personality and the way she would giggle at his stupid jokes.

Every time we go dancing, I see his straying eyes

Gave him too many chances, push my gears too many times

And when he start acting dumb, then I'll be on my way to leave

But I stopped in the tracks, when I heard this melody

And it went like

Doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Doo-roo-doo-doo, doo-roo-doo-roo

Doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Doo-roo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Ino eyed the man who weaseled his way in her life, the way he would dance with other women at the club and then act like it was just a little friendly chat with an old friend, acting like he didn't know why this bothered her. An old friend? Just a friendly chat? Did he take her for some stupid barbie doll? She saw the way his pelvis grinded against her, obvious, fake ass. The way he would lean down to ghost his breath on her neck and say something filthy in her ear to cause the bitch to giggle. But she was falling for him. There was no stopping it now, she wanted him and he made her believe he wanted her too.

He used to sing me sweet melodies

He played me, made me believe it was real love

Sing me sweet melodies

But the day he did me wrong

The song couldn't go on and on

He used to sing me sweet melodies

He played me, made me believe it was real love

Sing me sweet melodies

But the day he did me wrong

The song couldn't go on and on and on

He would lie, he would cheat over syncopated beats

I was just his tiny dancer, he had control of my feet

Yes, when he came along, that's when I lost the groove

There was no song in the world to sing along or make me move

Sounded something like

Doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Doo-roo-doo-doo, doo-roo-doo-roo (it was, oh)

Doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Doo-roo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

God she wanted to end this game, to get away from the overly confident alpha dog, but god did he have a way with words. "Come on pretty girl, you know I love you." "Sweet pea, she means nothing to me, she could never make me feel the way you do." She even caught him fucking some pink haired crybaby, his hand tangled in her terribly dyed pink hair, yanking on it till the tears slid down her flushed face. "But baby, it was a mistake! I promise, I'll never do something like that again! Please, baby, give me another chance. You know there is never anyone that could really make me feel the way you do." But it was always the same shit, sneaking out to fuck some new girl, making excuses that he had late night band practice. But she could never really believe him, not when she didn't get the chance to prove he was cheating on her.

He used to sing me sweet melodies (oh)

He played me, made me believe it was real love

Sing me sweet melodies

But the day he did me wrong (yeah, yeah)

The song couldn't go on and on and on (couldn't go on, no)

He used to sing me sweet melodies (sing sweet melodies)

He played me, made me believe it was real love

Sing me sweet melodies

But the day he did me wrong (me wrong)

The song couldn't go on and on and on

Kiba enjoyed his life, he had a girl to write about. A sweet little melody, his song, his ticket to the game he so desperately wanted to prove he could gain. So what if he fucked around a little bit? What did it matter to him when he knew Ino would never leave him, not when he could make her shake and scream his name like that?

Doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Doo-roo-doo-doo, doo-roo-doo-roo (ay, ay, ohh)

Doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo

Doo-roo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo (oh whoa)

On and on

So Kiba kept up his little game.

On and on

Until one day, Ino never came home and all her belongings were absent from the shared room of their one bedroom apartment.

He used to sing me sweet melodies

He played me, made me believe it was real love

Sing me sweet melodies

But the day he did me wrong (me wrong)

The song couldn't go on and on and on

(On and on, and on, yeah)

Ino left that dog for good, no longer able to take just being words for lyrics he never meant.

He used to sing me sweet melodies (melodies, yeah)

He played me, made me believe it was real love

Sing me sweet melodies

But the day he did me wrong

The song couldn't go on and on and on

What was this that Kiba was feeling? His heart… ached. It felt like he was missing something and he couldn't figure out what the hell it was. He had everything! His band was starting to get more recognition, he had a plethora of women to fool around with. So why was he wanting the only woman he no longer had? It was then that Kiba realized he lost, he lost the only person who showed him any kind of actual support.

Sing me sweet melodies (sing me sweet

melodies, yeah)

He played me, made me believe it was real love

Sing me sweet melodies

But the day he did me wrong (me wrong)

The song couldn't go on and on and on, no

Ino smiled as she stepped off the bus in her home town of Konoha. She was starting over and would find someone who actually treated her like a Sweet Melody.

#narutorarepairjune2021 #NRPJ2021 #ino #kiba #naruto fandom #AU #slight smut #slight manipulation #songfic #sweet melody #little mix #kibaino #Kiba Inuzuka #ino yamanaka

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artnerd1123 · 3 years

Text

A Familiar World

Cat’s Out of the Bag ——————————————

Roo and Journal get a little time to bond over something a little diffent- magic tricks!

The masterpost for AFW can be found here. The chapter post for AFW can be found here.

——————————————

its a cute lil chapter, laying more groundwork for the bois! it was super fun to revisit roo n have these two messin around ;w; hope y’all enjoy!

Getting settled in a new place was usually a temporary ordeal. You show up. You find a place to sleep and eat. You find something to do, or do what you came for. Then you pack up and leave, hitting the road to do it all over again somewhere else. That’s how Roo had been living since he was three. Once Aiden got the call to quest, the two had gone out to explore the world. Roo was nine now, so he’d had plenty of time on the road. And he liked travelling! He did! Especially since it was with Aiden. Even though the constant stream of new people could be scary, Aiden was always there for him. And they had a lot of fun on their trips. Laughing, picking spots to camp, picking quests, painting, goofing around… it was wonderful. It was a little strange to suddenly be anchored in one place again. That didn’t mean Roo disliked it! He loved it a lot. It felt like much too long since he’d had a place to truly call home. And he really, really hoped this one would stick.

But, like any new place, this one came with unfamiliar faces. One of which had taken up residence in their apartment. Roo didn’t quite know what to think of Journal, despite Aiden’s gentle reassurance. He seemed… secretive. Nervous. On edge. A little scared. Roo knew how that went. He also knew it was important to get along with the people you lived with. So when Aiden asked if he had any ideas of how to get on his good side, he was sure to start paying attention. Finding little details was Roo’s specialty- and it was often the little things that helped make a place into a home. His little sack of travel-found trinkets was evidence enough of that. The familiar was quick to suggest getting more coffee after he’d spotted their roommate chugging it. He pointed out the many books he glimpsed in Journal’s room, looking for some cool legend books the next time they were at the library. He whispered about the gleam in Journal’s eye whenever he spotted Aiden doing magic. He even managed to catch Journal dancing once. …. Granted, Journal didn’t realize he’d left his door ajar. Or that the cat was still home while Aiden was out. Or that he was being rather loud when he cursed his own fumbling feet. But still. Dancing was something they had common ground on!!! He’d stored all the information away carefully, sharing things with Aiden when he thought it could help. He was glad he did. When Journal finally started warming up, it felt as if the whole apartment sighed in relief. Journal talking with Aiden was doing wonders for easing the nervous tension. Especially after they talked magic for hours the other day! Aiden said the young sorcerer might show off some of his magic the day after. With so much radio silence in the past weeks, it made Roo grin. It seemed like everyone was really getting along. It was nice to see. If he could bring himself to do more than a timid smile and wave… maybe he could make friends with Journal, too. … If only he didn’t have such bad social anxiety.

~~~

The sun was high in the afternoon sky, casting beams across the living room floor. Normally, Roo would be lying out among them. There was nothing better than midday sun on his fur. It was perfectly warm and cozy… just what the little cat loved. However, he wasn’t alone in the living room. Ever since Journal and Aiden broke the ice, he’d been hanging around in one of the armchairs. Which wasn’t a problem! Everyone was allowed in the living room. It’s for living in, after all. It just… made Roo self conscious. Lying out in the middle of the floor felt weird if there was someone besides Aiden watching. Even if that someone was his roommate. For now, he was curled up under the couch, peeking out wistfully at the sunbathed floorboards. Maybe I can catch a nap in the sun when Aiden gets back from that fetch quest, he thought. I bet Journal’s gonna ask him about it… I can probably sneak out n’ snooze then... A sudden thunk across the room jerked Roo out of his thoughts. What was that??? He let out a little surprised ‘mrrp!’, curling up nervously as he looked for the source. His gaze eventually found Journal. He had a book in his lap. From the way he’d flopped against the armchair’s back, it seemed he’d just closed the book. Roo let his shoulders relax. O-oh, ok... The thump was jes a book... Of course, it was then he noticed Journal was looking at him. Roo’s face flushed, his ears flicking back against his head. Oh no- had he been too loud? Did he disturb Journal??? He hadn’t meant to! He hurriedly shuffled farther back under the couch, curling his tail tight around his body. Sure, being under the couch got him and his cloak all dusty, but it felt safe under there. A moment of silence reigned in the room. It was broken by Journal’s awkward cough. “Uh… so… Roo, was it…?” Journal said hesitantly. “Are you… still under there?” Roo shivered a little. Oh geez. He was gonna have to pop out there and talk, wasn’t he? Haltingly, the little cat crawled up to the edge of the couch. He didn’t come out- not yet, anyway- but he was close enough to be seen. Journal was giving him a curious look- he’d perked up when he caught sight of the little cat. He wasn’t annoyed or upset, just… curious. Ok. Roo could work with curious. “E-ehm… yeah… tha’s me…” he mewed softly. “D-did yeh need somethin…?” “Er- sort of?” Journal chuckled awkwardly. “I just kinda wanted to… check in, I guess? I mean, I’ve talked plenty to Aiden, but I feel like we haven’t. Y’know. Had much time to talk to each other.” “... oh…” Roo blinked. That was a simple enough request. He shrugged, shuffling his paws shyly among the dust bunnies. “I-I’m doin’ ok,” he mewed softly. “Jes, ehm, tryna settle in as best I can… n-nothin ah’m not used teh, ‘s jes… kinda weird with Aiden not around sometimes…” “I get that,” Journal nodded. “New place ‘n all that… ‘s weird when you don’t have many… uh... familair faces around...” Roo watched as the sorcerer flashed a smile- he didn’t miss the quiet tension behind it. He didn’t have much time to wonder if that was a pun, hinting at something deeper, or a simple statement of solidarity. Journal had his head tilted to the side, a movement the cat found himself mirroring. “So you two’ve been travelling around together for awhile, then?” Oh! More questions! Yes, ok, he could do those. “Y-yeah! We’ve been travellin’ since I turned three, so ‘s been… uh-” the familiar did a quick count in his head- “six? Six yeahs? Er- it’ll be seven this year!” “Oh- shoot, six years on the road? And questing the whole time?” Journal whistled. “That sounds kinda intense.” “I-it can be! But most of the time we’re jes hangin out ‘n explorin,” roo admitted, flashing a little smile. “I liked it when we’d jes find somewheah to settle for a lil ‘n enjoy the sights…” “Ah. yeah, fair enough. Exploring can be pretty cool,” Journal said. “Y-yeah…” Roo trailed off, fidgeting awkwardly. A beat of silence passed between them. Eventually, Journal cleared his throat. Roo glanced up timidly, afraid he’d missed something- but Journal was flashing a gentle smile. The sorcerer’s look was still a little uncertain. But his gaze was soft and friendly, and Roo’s anxiety quieted a bit. “Well, uh, Aiden was telling me you like magic tricks,” Journal said, “and I was wondering if you wanted to see some…?” Oh, that perked Roo right up. Magic tricks??? For him to watch??? He scooted a little farther out from under the couch, his floppy ears bouncing forward as his head popped out from the dusty underside. “Y-yeah! That’d be supeh cool!” he mewed, paws patting the floor eagerly. Journal beamed, clapping his hands together. “Alright! Let’s see what I can do,” he hummed. He put a hand on his chin, head tilted again as Roo watched on excitedly. Magic tricks!!! He’d been fascinated by those since he was just a little kitten. Contrary to what the name suggested, their allure had a lot to do with how they lacked any sort of magic at all! Just slight of hand, misdirection, and some playful manipulation. It was so so exciting and impressive to see in action! Journal reached over to the table beside him, picking up a banded deck of cards. He carefully slipped one out from under the leather band. Straightening up, he smoothed out his tunic, clearing his throat. When he looked to Roo again, his grin was back and plenty playful. “Aaaalright. So. This trick is pretty simple, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,” Journal said. Roo nodded quickly. His wide eyes practically sparkled with enthusiasm. He was sure he would too!!! Journal somberly held up the card with his thumb and forefinger. “Now. I need you to watch this card, ok?” “W-what’re yeh gonna do with it?” roo asked. “I’m gonna make this card fly all the way around the room and back in one second,” Journal replied, wiggling his fingers. “But it only works if you watch really close.” “I-I won’ take my eyes offa it, promise,” Roo nodded. “Good. Ok…” Journal bent his wrist towards his chest, the card still held tight in his fingers. He raised a brow at Roo. The smirk on his face was mischievous- it left roo even more excited to see what really happened. He was gonna watch the card like a hawk. “And… here… it… goes-!” With a quick flick of the wrist, Roo whipped his head around to follow the- Wait a minute. Where was the card??? The cat blinked in confusion. Maybe he’d missed it? But when he looked back at Journal, his hand was empty. Had it… worked??? He blinked, and suddenly- wait, the card was there now! “Hey!!! How’d the card get back?” roo gasped. “Oh, you didn’t see it?” Journal asked. There was a hint of teasing in his eyes, but not enough to make Roo too embarrassed. He shook his head shyly. “I can do it again if you’d like,” Journal offered. “Y-yes please,” Roo nodded. “Alright,” Journal replied. He got his hand ready again, and Roo locked his eyes onto it. He was gonna watch the card and he was gonna get it this time. “Heeeere iiiit… goes-!” Again, journal flicked his wrist, and again, Roo tried to follow the card- but- where did it go??? He mewed in displeasure, tail flicking under the couch. A look at Journal yielded nothing but concealed laughter. The whole thing repeated a few more times before Roo finally- finally- realized what must be going on. “Hang- hang on a minute-” Roo squeaked. He wiggled the rest of the way out from under the couch, skittering over to Journal’s side. With one paw, he carefully tipped up the hand he’d sworn Journal threw the card with- aha! “Yeh weren’t throwin it at all!!!” “Nnnnope. It’s been here the whole time,” Journal chuckled. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to catch it.” He looked quite amused with himself, even if he pulled back a bit from Roo’s touch. The cat felt his face flush, quailing under Journal’s gaze. Had he really run over here like that??? And pushed at his hands??? Ohhh geez. What if he’d overstepped a boundary??? He tugged at his cloak timidly while Journal flicked the card back into proper view. “I’ve had awhile to practice that one,” the sorcerer continued. He flashed another gentle smile. “I, uh, I think you caught on faster than some of my other audiences.” “Eheheh… I-I don’ blame em,” Roo said. “... How’d yeh get it under yeh hand like that anyway? Yeh move so fast, I didn’ even know it was hidden u-until now.” “Ah, therein lies the trick!” Journal hummed, holding up a finger. “It’s all about flicking your wrist! Here, let me show you-” He shifted carefully in his chair, bending down so he was more at Roo’s level. Roo felt some tension leave his shoulders at that. He risked a tiny step closer to see better. Journal didn’t seem to mind- even nodded a bit- so he scooted right up near his hands. His earlier eagerness was already trickling back as the two got settled in. “Ok, got a good view?” “Yea-huh!” “Alright, good. So- what you wanna do first is get a proper hold on it…”

~~~

The sunbeams had long since crossed the floor and moved up the wall when the door’s creak announced Aiden’s presence. It took just a few seconds longer than normal for Roo to throw himself at his originator. He had to get his paws untangled from some string- Journal had been showing him yarn tricks. He cannonballed full force into Aiden’s leg, purring up a storm. “Aiden!!! I missed yeh!!!” He purred, rubbing his cheek against his pant leg. The questor chuckled, reaching down to scoop him into his arms. Roo promptly curled into him, purring even louder. “Well, I missed you too!” Aiden said. When Roo looked up, he was raising a brow, a curious smile on his face. “What’s got you all riled up?” “O-oh, er- well, Journal was jes showin me how teh do some magic tricks,” Roo explained. His tail wagged happily at the statement. “He knows so many- it was really fun!” “Ah, is that so?” Aiden smiled. “You two had an impromptu magic trick lesson?” The two looked over at the young sorcerer. Journal hadn’t moved from the couch, hands still tangled up in yarn. He looked down hastily when their gazes fell on him, scrambling to pull off strings and gather up a bunch of little props. Coins and cards disappeared into his pockets as he grabbed for words. “I- well, yeah, a little one,” Journal confessed sheepishly. “Nothing much was going on in the apartment, and I figured we could do something to. Uh. Pass the time. Y’know.” He tucked the string into his pocket. Roo was sorry to see it go. Maybe he could ask for some of it later… it was fun to play with. “Oh, there’s no need to clean up!” Aiden reassured him. “I’m curious to see some tricks for myself, if that’s alright with you two.” “... really?” Journal blinked. Ah. That was a look Roo knew well. At least, from the perspective of the one making it. Hesitant eagerness. Oh. He’s being shy. Nervous, even. Well. Roo knew what to do with that. He squirmed a little in Aiden’s arms, the questor instinctively letting him drop to the floor. He trotted over to Journal’s side, giving his sleeve a tug. The sorcerer gave him a quizzical look, but bent down to listen on instinct. Roo cupped a paw by his ear, voice low. “I-I think a lil review fer Aiden would be swell,” Roo said. “We had a lotta fun, a-an it would be cool teh give em a look, especially since yer real good at this kinda thing. Y’know… Like our own lil magic show?” When he pulled back, the bright shine in Journal’s eyes told him he’d done the trick. So he had remembered the sorcerer’s showman dreams right! Journal nodded, and Roo beamed right back. His paws flapped around as he spun in excited circles. “I suppose we could put on a little show,” Journal said, pulling out his props again. “Roo’s quite the fast learner.” “And you’eh a good teacheh,” Roo purred. “But!!! Aiden!!! Yeh gotta sit down first! C’mon, right heah-”

Laughter bounced off the walls as the little familiar led his originator over to an armchair. And- for the first time- Journal’s countryish chuckle joined them. Roo’s heart warmed at the sound. It looked like their roommate was finally coming out of his shell. And so, it seemed, was he.

#afw #a familiar world #afw chapter #my story #arty writes #roo pingere #journal sherman drapht #aiden pingere #da bois...#its jus them chillin lskjdfs #dumb fluff bc we all need it in our lives...#good stuffs #yea thas all i got lskjdf

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snowyseba · 5 years

Text

Attention

Summary: Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands. With how busy Steve was lately, you were feeling neglected. When all else failed, you decided to take a more unconventional approach, but maybe you pushed Steve a little too far. This is my first attempt at a dark!fic, so let me know how I did, or if you’d like to read more of this kind of thing in the future.

Just in time for Halloween, here’s my entry for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor 5,500 follower #athousandwords celebration! Congratulations, Roo, you deserve all the followers for those marvelous stories you write! I’m so happy for you! If y’all haven’t already, you should absolutely check out Roo’s Masterlist for all kinds of amazing dark!fics.

Warnings: dark!Steve, non-con/dub-con, possessive Steve, jealous Steve, swearing, unprotected sex, Steve is incredibly out of character. This is a dark fic. I cannot stress that enough. Strictly 18+.

Word Count: 2.2k

Steve had been busy lately, not spending as much time with you as you would have liked. This happened every now and then, especially before a big mission. You understood that he couldn’t help it, but that didn’t mean you liked it. For the past month, you had barely seen your boyfriend, even though you shared an apartment together. He was so wrapped up in researching and planning for the latest mission that he wasn’t even coming home for meals anymore.

He missed your weekly date nights, something he had never done before, and it stung. At first, he’d call you or break the news to you in person, promising to make it up to you. Now, though, he’d send you a quick apologetic text, and you soon grew to expect them. You would have talked to him about it, but how were you supposed to do that when you barely saw him? The last thing you wanted was to start a fight in front of the team, so during the rare occasions that your paths overlapped throughout the day, you tried your best to prevent the frustration and tension you were harboring from showing.

You missed your boyfriend, and none of your attempts to get him to ease up even a little bit on work had been successful. Missing him and desperate for any kind of attention, you decided that you might have to take matters into your own hands. Waiting for Steve to come around was getting exhausting. It was going to take something drastic to shock yourselves out of this pattern you’d fallen into.

Despite his friendly and open demeanor, Steve was extremely possessive of you. He would always grip you just a little tighter in the presence of other men, not afraid to glare at any who’s eyes lingered on you a little too long. You were his. You knew just how to push his buttons to get a rise out of him. It didn’t show with the other Avengers, but that’s because he didn’t perceive them as a threat; they knew you were with him, and they always respected that. Not like you were interested in anyone besides Steve, anyway, but you were pretty sure that if you approached them with your problem, they’d be more than willing to help out.

A few days later, with the help of Wanda and Nat, your plan was in motion. You smoothed over the fabric of your skirt, shorter than you’d usually wear, but you were going to do everything you could to get a rise out of Steve. This outfit had to get his attention. You picked a blouse you knew Steve loved, tucking it in, and unbuttoning it just enough so that if you bent over, the lace of your bra peeked out. A pair of heels, a choker, and the diamond studs Steve bought you for your last anniversary were the finishing touch. You had to admit, you looked good.

Sauntering downstairs, you found Bucky and Sam in the kitchen. Wanda texted you on your way down, saying she and Nat would meet you there in a few minutes. Steve was exactly where you expected him to be; seated at the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in one hand as he immersed himself in the stack of papers in front of him, surrounded by folders he had yet to open. A pang of uncertainty and guilt bloomed in your stomach. Maybe you were taking this a little too far, but you suppressed the thought.

“Morning boys,” you hummed, giving Sam a coy smile as you purposely brushed against Bucky while helping yourself to some coffee. Steve, however, you completely ignored. If he wasn’t going to pay any attention to you, then he was going to get the exact same treatment.

“M-morning, Y/N,” Bucky stammered, taking in what you were wearing.

“Well don’t you clean up nice. I heard you’re having a girls day?” Sam was eyeing you carefully, almost as if he was catching on to what you were doing.

“Thanks, Sammy. Yup, I think Nat, Wanda and I are going out. Superhero life is great and all, but I need a break.” You grinned, batting your eyelashes at Sam as Steve cleared his throat at that particular nickname, finally looking up from the pile of papers.

His eyes found yours and he flashed you a warning look before his gaze traveled down to your outfit, his eyes focused on the lace of your bra that was just barely peeking out from behind your shirt, how dangerously low you had unbuttoned it. There was a reason it was his favorite out of all your shirts. When he realized just how short that tight faux leather skirt was, he had to restrain himself from grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you back to your shared apartment.

“Oh, morning, Steve. Didn’t see you there,” you feigned innocence, taking a sip of your coffee, loving the feeling of his eyes on you.

Steve's brow furrowed, shocked at your response. He swallowed thickly, jaw clenched as he wrestled with his thoughts. Since when did you dress like this? Since when did you call Sam ‘Sammy’? He never wanted to be that controlling boyfriend, but he hated knowing that you’d be going out dressed like that without him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost think you were doing this on purpose.

Before he could say anything, though, Nat and Wanda entered the room, their eyes on Steve rather than you, but you were sure part of that was due to their desire to see Steve lose his cool. He was normally so levelheaded, but all that went out the window when it came to you. No one had quite the hold over him that you did. “Ready, Y/N?”

“Ready!”

You set your mug down in the sink, grabbing your purse. Before leaving, you made sure to kiss Bucky’s cheek and give Sam’s bicep a gentle squeeze. You could hear Steve’s sharp intake of breath, but to him, you said nothing, barely even glancing at him on your way out. You didn’t miss the way his arms crossed over his chest straining the fabric of his shirt, his features flushing with anger. “Bye boys. Don’t bother waiting up, we’ll be home late.”

Although you couldn’t see it, you could feel Steve glaring at your back as you left. You’d be in trouble when you got home, that much was clear, but you weren’t quite done teaching Steve a lesson yet.

As you left, your phone vibrated. It was a text from Steve.

You knew you were in trouble just from the tone of the text. But you decided to see how far you could push it. His text went ignored, something you’d normally never do. You loved pleasing Steve, but with how much he’d been ignoring you lately, he deserved a taste of his own medicine.

You got home late, well after midnight. The apartment was dark and you figured Steve had gone to sleep. Knowing him, he’d have to be up early tomorrow, so he wouldn’t have waited up anyway. Maybe you had underestimated his ability to compartmentalize.

You didn’t realize just how wrong you were. What you didn’t notice, was the figure that slowly stood from the living room armchair, approaching with all the stealth of a trained agent. Out of nowhere, a hand suddenly wrapped around your throat, forcing you backward pinning you against the door before you even have a chance to take your shoes off. The breath left your lungs and you could feel your heart hammering in fear.

Standing in front of you, tightening his grip on your throat to keep you immobile, was Steve Rogers. He was pissed. He was fuming. That much was obvious. Anger rolled off him in palpable waves. His muscles were tensed, as if ready for a fight, and in the darkness, you could see the scowl on his face. “What the hell has gotten into you lately?”

“Well, definitely not you,” you retorted. “Funny, I could ask you the same thing.”

“Y/N,” he warned, grip on your neck tightening ever so slightly, now starting to inhibit your breathing. Whether he was doing it intentionally or not, his message was clear; you’re really pushing your luck. “I’ll repeat myself one more time. What. The. Hell,” his knee was between your legs now, roughly spreading them apart, “has gotten into you. Flirting with Sam? With Bucky? Right in front of me as if was invisible. I’m not that scrawny boy from Brooklyn anymore, doll. You don’t get to ignore me. I’m just as good as Bucky Barnes. Better. I’m Captain America, doll, do you know how many people would kill to be where you are right now?”

“Oh, so you did notice then,” you tried to resist the urge to roll your eyes, knowing it would only get you in more trouble.

Before you fully realized what Steve was doing, his hand moved from your neck to your waist, and he hoisted you up over his shoulder, gripping your ass tightly. He took the stairs two at a time, not even bothering to turn on a light. It would only delay him. “You really are a fuckin’ brat, you know that, Y/N? You know how hard I work to keep you safe? To keep the world safe?”

He dumped you onto the bed unceremoniously, stepping back and waving his hands with a slight shrug of his tensed shoulders. “Well, Y/N?”

“Oh, you’re keeping me safe? Sure, Steve. That’s why you’ve all but ignored me for the past month.”

He stalked closer to you, standing at the foot of the bed, towering over you menacingly, his jaw clenched, fists balled at his side as he took a deep breath. “Oh, I ignored you? You think I didn’t notice you flirting with every single man in your midst? You think I didn’t see how you watched me while you kissed Bucky’s cheek? I saw everything. And you know what I think? I think you’re a goddamn brat who needs to learn her place. I don’t care how busy I am, or how unfair you think I’m being.”

Steve’s hands were on you then, gripping your hips tightly, yanking you towards him, letting you fall back against the bed. One hand gripped both your wrists above your head as the other found its way between your legs. When his fingers found your core unobstructed, he let out a dangerous huff. “No panties, princess? You think you can just wear whatever you want? I don’t think so. You belong to me, princess. Only I get to see your pretty little pussy. Only I get to touch you,” his thumb brushed against your clit, just enough to elicit a low whine. “You’re mine. Say it, doll. Who do you belong to?”

When you didn’t answer immediately, he gave your clit a sharp slap, the stinging instinctively making you try to close your legs. “I don’t fucking think so,” Steve growled. “You’ll keep your legs open and accept your punishment until you answer me. Who the fuck do you belong to?”

You could feel your heart beating like it was trying to jump out of your chest. Your skin felt like it was on fire with even the slightest touch, and your cunt was throbbing in a combination of pain and need that was entirely new. The rational part of your brain said that Steve was going too far, that this was a terrifying new side of Steve that you hadn’t known existed and that you should be afraid. Maybe you had pushed him too far, but the sudden feeling of his lips against the nape of your neck, the sound of fabric ripping as he tore your shirt open, well it was enough to chase any rational thoughts out of your head.

Again, you took too long to answer, and again, you felt the sharp sting of his hand, this time making you cry out in pain. “Steve, stop,” you gasped. “Please.”

“Stop? You want me to stop?” Steve’s grip on your hands tightened as he ran a knuckle down your cheek before taking your nipple in his mouth, grazing the bud with his teeth. “You’re the one who started this, princess. You’re the one parading around showing off those perfect tits, not even wearing panties. You wanted my attention, doll? You’ve got it, and I’m going to give you everything you wanted and more.”

Steve pulled away from you for just a moment, going to the bedside table to retrieve something. Every fiber of your being was telling you to run, but you were petrified. Steve was a super soldier, and you were just a human. Trying to escape would only make things worse.

You felt it, rough and scratchy against your wrists before you could see what Steve was doing. Rope. “Oh, princess, I’m just getting started. By the time I’m done with you, no one will ever doubt who you belong to, not even you.”

#athousandwords #dark!steve #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #dark!steve rogers imagine

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ravenwolf1132 · 5 years

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They Come and Go

This was just a quick plot bunny that I came up with on the fly while listening to the fma ost and merry go round of life. Shaggy, who as I picture him, is someone who values nature and the prospect of life, comes across someone attempting to do the impossible and breach the laws of nature and the way life flows to try and bring back his dead wife. A woman he loved more than life itself and had a very healthy relationship with, which unfortunately their time together has been cut short due to an untimely death. He's trying to bring her back to life and Shaggy has to talk some sense into him a la Fullmetal Alchemist style. (As in philosophy, heavy topics like death and grief, and trying to move on with one's life. Just a warning to y'all)

Kinda just jumps right into the confrontation between them. No set up what-so-ever as if it's just after the dramatic reveal and you turned on the TV at the end of the episode. So, LET'S-A GO!!

(Oh and Clarence and Myrtle were just names I came up with on the fly, so picture them how you want.)

~•~●~•~

They Come and Go

"Clarence?!" The Mystery Inc exclaimed all except Shaggy.

"But why?" Velma asked she was sure that the sweet and kind man was innocent.

Clarence scoffed, "because of my wife, that's why!"

"Huh?"

"Ugh, guys, like, it's easy," Shaggy drawled in a bored tone, all eyes were on him. "His wife is dead, and he wanted to bring her back to life. Isn't that right, Clarence?" He held up the book the man was trying to steal. "I have to say, all this set up and elaborate planning is a little much for trying to steal a single book. Then again, like, perhaps you wanted to scare everyone away so there would be no witnesses to the atrocity you were about to commit!"

"But how can wanting your loved ones back be an atrocity?!" He shouted in outrage, "Don't you have people you'd miss if they died?! Wouldn't you want to do anything to bring them back again?!"

"Yes, I do have people like that, they're all around me," Shaggy admitted. "But, like, there's a difference between wanting to do something and actually attempting it. There are many people who want to try and bring their loved ones back to life, yes, that's true. Hell, that's a natural part of the grieving process. But, there are few who actually attempt it, and even fewer that succeed. Even then, they're still losing that battle. But that's another story entirely."

"That doesn't make any sense, isn't bringing the dead back to life supposed to be impossible?" Fred asked.

"Exactly my point, Fred," Shaggy said. "It is impossible. The closest we've got is cloning, and, like, even then, those clones are different than the person we initially tried to bring back. There's no bringing the dead back to life, it's just not possible."

"So what?!" Clarence yelled, "just because those people failed, doesn't mean I will too!"

"Oh really?" Shaggy questioned with a quirked eyebrow. His voice was level and calm, and the others knew that Shaggy only ever got like this when he was pissed off. Wisely, they backed off and let him speak. "You really think you are powerful enough to play the hand of God? I'm not a big religious believer myself, but even I know that life is something way out of our human control. Nature is something that cannot be controlled, everything will eventually go back to the way it was, how nature intended it to be. That's the problem we have here. Going against that flow of life, that innate cycle that cannot be changed nor altered is the problem. You have to accept it, not fight against it. If someone were to be brought back to life, it would only disrupt nature's balance and destroy ecosystems. Let's say that the person you brought back was content wherever they ended up, would they be grateful to you and thank you for a needless rescue then?

"What if, even worse, they were brought back immortal? Can you name one person that would want to be physically unable to die? No, I doubt it. Immortality is considered more of a curse than a blessing. Not only would it throw a permanent wrench in the circle of life itself, yes I did just make a lion king reference but it's relevant! But it would also destroy the person who came back, unable to die while they have to watch those around them grow up and pass on themselves.

"How would they feel towards you if you were the reason they were miserable? That they were robbed of that chance of having a happy afterlife by you and as rubbing salt in the wound, would never be able to have that chance again, and would have to watch as other people die and are given it instead, because of you and your selfish desires to have the love of your life back? Well, I'm telling ya now pal, that's gonna get you an eternity in the dog house."

Clarence looked like he had been slapped across the face and it seemed as if he was finally woken up from his delusions. He hung his head in shame and his shoulders started to shake, the others thought he was going to explode with anger, but when they heard soft sobs coming from him, they realized he was crying. Shaggy doesn't usually like to make people cry and would try to make it up to them, but he didn't this time. He couldn't, he was right and he was standing by his belief, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to offer some comfort. He helped the emotionally distressed man out of his costume and binds and the man latched onto him and sobbed. Shaggy didn't say anything but hugged him back and let him pour it all out. When the sobs finally died down, he pulled back.

"Thank you," Clarence said in a quiet voice, "I see my wrongs now, but still. What am I supposed to do now? That hope was all I had left! Please, tell me, what I'm supposed to do??"

He was so distressed, the Gang had never dealt with a case like this, and it hurt them to see him like this and sympathized with him. After all, everyone has people they couldn't bear to lose, he had a point. But Shaggy seemed to know what he was doing.

"Like, I can't tell you that," he said with a sorrowful shake of his head, pulling out of the other man's vice-like grip. "You have to figure it out for yourself. I can't tell you what you have to do with your life as much as anyone else can, only you can make those decisions."

He stood up and turned his back to the man walking forwards a few steps before pausing, he glanced back and saw Clarence sitting there limp as a rag doll and he sighed quietly, barely a sound passing his lips.

"Well, if you want my advice…"

"Yes?" Clarence asked in a hopeful voice.

"You have to move on. Myrtle wouldn't want you wallowing in grief and self-pity, she'd want you to honor her memory by living a long, happy life even in her absence. But not for a second should you forget her."

"How could I? She's- or was- the love of my life, I- I couldn't just, just forget someone like that!"

Shaggy turned and smiled at him, it wasn't a confident grin or silly smirk, it was a genuine smile that had to make him wonder if this kid had been through something similar. "There you go," he acknowledged, "That's the first step to acceptance, admitting that she's gone. It'll be hard, trust me, I know. My dad, someone who I was really close to, was killed on duty. I know what it feels like to lose a loved one, but once they're gone, they're gone. No one can bring the dead back to life, Clarence. Not you, not me. But hey, I got through it. You will too. And anyone else dealing with it for that matter. It's a part of how life goes, and everyone will eventually have to face that same music too. But oh well, I'm just some humble hippie kid riding around in a van straight out of the 1960s with his friends and his dog, so what do I know?" He laughed and even the rest of the occupants in the room shared a chuckle. "Still, you have to keep going, Clare. To quote an obligatory teenage cartoon, 'you have two good legs, so get up and use them.'"

"Heh, you're right," Clarence said, "though I probably would have gotten away with all this if it hadn't been for you meddling kids and your dog."

"Rog? Rhere?"

The room's atmosphere lightened at the familiar quip. Then Daphne spoke up.

"Well, the good thing is," she started, "this whole thing was private and no one but us knows that you were the monster. So how about we let this one slide for once? We'll just return the book and say we found it when the monster disappeared, though we are also going to be sure to explain how the monster won't show up again. Not unless it's someone else doing it, of course."

"We'd let you off with a slap on the wrist, but I think Shaggy has that covered," Velma said.

He laughed, embarrassed, "Well anyway, like, how about we hit the town and get dinner? After all this excitement, I'm starving!"

"Reah! Re roo!" Scooby agreed with a wag of his tail.

That night consisted of returning the book to the museum, explaining to the town how the monster won't come back, then proceeding to hang loose with some fun. Only Shaggy could really turn from any heavy and depressing topic to something light-hearted so quickly.

~•~●~•~

The closest thing we humans have to immortality is human memory. Remembering those who have passed on. As cliche as it may sound, the phrase "those who leave us don't truly leave us, they will continue to live on as long as we can remember them" still has merit. It's the only thing we can hope for beyond our grave that we made a big enough impact on those we love to be remembered for generations to come, that way, we can truly live forever as long as our memory still lives. I hope all those struggling to come to terms with death know that things will get better, and to those of you who are debating whether or not you're worth living, you are. You'll find your acceptance too, you just have to keep living to see the next day to eventually get there.

Boy, that went long, but I'm glad about how it came out. (And don't worry, I'm fine. It's just something I think was appropriate to address after writing a story with such heavy topics.) Well anyway, it's nearly midnight over here and I need to go to bed, G'night!

#also go watch fullmetal alchemist if you havent its really good #i prefer brotherhood #but 03 is just as good #scooby doo #shaggy rogers #fred jones #daphne blake #velma dinkley #tw: death #tw: grief

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vinylexams · 5 years

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Heavy Heavy Low Low - Courtside Seats to the Greatest Fuck of All Time⁠

⁠ @heavyheavylowlow38 #heavyheavylowlow #hhll #deathwish @deathwishinc⁠ ⁠ I’ve been lucky as hell recently to snag insider info on some killer reissues and this one is no exception. You all already know how much I love HHLL, especially Turtle Nipple…, and through serendipity I got connected with Robbie from the band a few months back. I got to hear about how they are coming back to life after some years focusing on other projects, growing up and growing out, and evolving as musicians and artists in the process. They’ve worked with Twelve Gauge Records to put Courtside Seats on vinyl for the very first time and after they announced it on their platforms and immediately sold it out, they’re pressing another batch that you and the HHLL lovers in your life can and should snag before that pressing sells out, too!⁠ ⁠ What’s even more exciting is that I got to pick Robbie’s brain in typical VE fashion and he’s indulged me with all sorts of info about what they’re up to, whether or not we can expect new music, and some feel-good stories about huffing air duster and ripping shit up in an old warehouse on the California coast. Here it is in its unedited glory, but first…head to the website to pre-order your copy and then head to Robbie’s Indiegogo campaign to learn more about his upcoming short firm that’s scored by Nick from Tera Melos! ⁠https://deathwishinc.com/products/heavy-heavy-low-low-courtside-seats https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/morning-deliveries-short-film#/

INTERVIEW

First and foremost, it’s been a minute since we’ve heard from Heavy Heavy Low Low and then out of nowhere you sprang back to life in 2019. What motivated you all to pick up this project again? I’m not sure what motivated it. We had always been trying to jumpstart the whole thing again for some time and I think that it might have been a case of everyone’s lives slowing down and examining that time with a weird reverence. I can only speak for myself. The boys are all in school or doing their own thing.

I imagine you’ve all been working on different projects since HHLL went on hiatus. Do you have anything that you or the rest of the band have worked on that you’d love us to know about? Danny has gotten pretty popular in the Kendama world. Chris is studying various forms of martial arts. Roo is endlessly going to school and currently scoring independent films. Chip is heavily involved in competitive fishing. I’ve been making short films when the situation and my wallet allow it. We’re all crazy excited about finally owning Courtside Seats on vinyl for the first time. Aside from bringing that album onto the vinyl medium, the pre-order page notes that there’s new artwork, too. What can we expect from that? When we made the CD we weren’t expecting to sell any really.. I did the art and Matthew printed them all at his job. Him and I folded every crease, glued the o-cards and vacuum sealed them all. I think it sold out almost completely at the record release show. We made the same amount of records as we did the original cd (500). The artwork for the original CD pressing was done on sketch paper without any comprehension of what could be done with drawn art and a scanner. Matthew was the computer wizard and back then, young and silly, it was all done on the cuff. The new art is a bit more modern and plays with mortality. Court-side Seats to The Greatest Fuck of All Time being a front seat view of a an ordinary, bumpy ride through life. I’m proud of it. What’s it like to bring back an album from the earliest parts of the band’s career? Do you still identify with the music? It is odd. It was a truly surreal time and place. We were out of our fucking minds. We recorded it in Mountain View, Ca in this giant warehouse that tapered into gutted office spaces. It was a weird white collar tomb on the outskirts of Silicon Valley right before the real tech boom. In the big part of the warehouse where we’d enter there were giant mounds of clothes meant to be donated to some third world country. We’d burrow tunnels in them and do huge dramatic flips from pike to pile. There was an aisle of outdated medical equipment waiting to be sent that we’d stalk through in the dark. It was a strangely magic place. Once you got through the warehouse you’d get to these office stations that had been fashioned into recording studios and that’s where we birthed this thing. We were so misguided. The amount of compressed air that we inhaled should have killed us. I contribute a significant drop in IQ to that shit. Smoking copious amounts of weed from gravity bongs. Recording with a hip hop producer, Deegan. Never a disagreement. It still feels like it was some strange purgatory of youth. I don’t miss it, but it was beautiful. Does this mean there’s hope of having Everything’s Watched, Everyone’s Watching on vinyl sometime, too? So, there was a guy who was very adamant about putting that record out on vinyl. We had a dialogue going for the better part of a year and apparently he had been in contact with Rhino Music and Warner, the two companies that hold the licensing to that album. He had received word that it’d cost an impressive amount of money, but he still wanted to shoulder it. Mind you, this dude didn’t have a label, he just wanted to put this thing out and apparently hadnt thought that all out. Time goes by, I’m waiting, not worrying one way or the other. One day I get a link from a friend, a Christian college website detailing that dude had been arrested for kidnapping and assault. Very sad situation. Dude seemed semi normal. Anyway, that was the last effort I’d seen put into that. I’d love to contribute new art to that release if any go-getter wants to try their luck. I’ve loved everything HHLL put out, but Turtle Nipple is in my top 10 list of favorite albums of all time. What was the writing the recording process for it like and how did the band feel about the new creative directions on it? EWEW was half previously recorded material re-recorded and half material written a year prior, kind of forced into a studio with producers we had no previous rapport with. Those producers/engineers were incredible human beings (RIP Tom Pfaffle! See you in the mindfog) but we were very young punk kids thrown into a foreign land where we had our agents visiting and there were platinum records on the wall and it was a total barrage of privilege and excess. It was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t feel soul in that record. Turtle Nipple is a dense trip through time and the record I’m most proud of in our discography. I don’t remember how long we had to record it, I do remember that it was the only time we’d been given to experiment and layer our sensibilities in an environment that catered to them. Sam (Pura) was a perfect conduit to that vibe and time and space and it really came out just how it should have. I think about that album as a 70s exploitation directors filmography.. it veers violently from genre to genre and while most of the stories are fiction and far from personal testimony, theirs a peek into some shared insanity contained throughout. George Cosmatos wandering through a punk club on an edible. I think that that album is our bands true personality. Sam is a member of our band whether he’s playing with us or engineering for us. He gets us. I love the idea of an alternate reality where we had lasted a bit longer and did an album with Steve Albini. He’d probably hate us, but I love those ‘What If?’ Scenarios. I’ll ask the question EVERYONE has been asking so it’s on the record somewhere: Does this mean we can expect new material or a new album soon? Maybe even a tour? We have a new EP in the works. We have some of it recorded with Sam. We’ve posted a couple clips on Instagram. We’re incredibly busy and spread out in our personal lives. Chip in TX, Dan in FL, Roo in OR, Rob and Chris in CA. Adulthood is a bitter, pulpy drink! We are going to be playing again. We won’t be leaving the West Coast. We had our fill of middle America and the travel involved. We have talked to some of our buds from our early days of touring about playing alongside (opening for) them for a limited run in 2020. I think that qualifies as a tour. Also, if anyone wants to fly us to Europe to play a festival in 2020, we’d like that. It’ll be an interesting year. How does it feel to be welcomed back by so many adoring fans who still love your music and are hoping for more after a long hiatus? It’s incredibly humbling. I have heard from people throughout the years about how we had affected them and it was always just strange to me. I’m pretty self deprecating, so I just don’t understand how some shit I wrote could mean much to anyone. My mind is just a shotgun blast of panic. I guess all of ours are? I love my band mates and their talents, though. So I understand the sorta sirens draw to the greater extent. I think they only got to show themselves slightly, too. Weird existence. Give us a piece of band trivia you’ve never shared in an interview before! Gees. There is a step-in part to most 15 passenger vans. It is a black, hard plastic. It meets with where you close the sliding door. When we had no bottles to pee in, we would just piss in ‘the step’. This thing was a den of germicidal activity. Trash and piss I don’t think we ever truly cleaned that thing. What’s odd is that we so rarely got ill on tour. The Step kept us healthy on a steady diet of trash and piss and general scum. Finally, this isn’t a question but the hidden track on Turtle Nipple is a fucking masterpiece and I wanted you to know. Thank you! I think that may have been my idea to add some weird 70s funk into an old track of ours. I think it turned out cool, but I think it betrays our vibe on that album! I wish it’d have devolved into some weird, primitive Altered States shit.

#heavyheavylowlow #hhll #deathwish #vinylrecords #vinylcollectionpost #metal #nowplaying #vinyls #recordcollector #vinyladdict #vinyligclub #vinylcollective #vinylexams

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shipmistress9 · 5 years

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FTLOAP: Chapter 31: I Am Strong When I Am On Your Shoulders

Title: For The Love Of A Princess

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

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Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: There's one announcement I almost forgot but is probably better to make. There won't be an update on the 1st of February. Why? Because I'll be gone over the (longer) weekend, visiting a friend in the UK, meeting more friends, and watching the film, of course. (It. Will. Be. Awesome! :D) Just so you know ;)

This week's title, as well as that of next week, is from 'You Raise Me Up' (originally) by Secret Garden. It took me a while to pick these titles, but this song and lyrics embrace exactly what I want to convey with these chapters.

. o O o .

Riding on the ridiculous and uncomfortable side saddle, Astrid’s hands around Markor’s reins were tighter than was necessary, the leather creaking beneath her gloves, as she rode amidst the slow procession following the Fyrirs. After ritualistically lighting the holy fire in the palace’s sacred grove, the highest representative of each of the main Orders now carried their torch through the ever-growing darkness back toward the High Temple. It was an awfully slow ride, even with the elderly Fyrir Gothi being helped along in a sedan chair, her ten-foot-high torch being carried by her aid, and Astrid tried to focus on enduring rather than on anything else. This day had been bad enough already with the endless reception in the morning, and the socialising afterwards hadn't been any better. But now? She gritted her teeth, and for once didn’t fight to keep her mask from slipping into a scowl. That was one advantage of this ride through near-total darkness, after all. Nobody could see her, not with every light in the city doused in preparation for the blot.

It shouldn’t have surprised her. She knew that this was an official event, that today, she was even more of a royal adornment than on most other days. But it still had needed Eret’s smug grin as they were on their way to the horses outside to realise that, of course, she would have to ride on that ridiculous side saddle, like a proper Lady.

Astrid grimaced down at the uncountable glass beads which occasionally caught the light of the torches, then sighed and tried to focus on something positive. Like how there at least was no real danger of her ruining the dress or the saddle with how incredibly slow they were riding!

She wanted to scream.

Yes, of course, they couldn’t ride faster anyway. The only sources of light were the torches with the holy flame the Fyrirs carried, which were at the front of the procession, and those of the Stellari, the direct subordinates of the Fyrirs, who were scattered among their group. All other lights all over the city had been doused at sunset, celebrating the darkness, the end of this year’s cycle, and the coming return of the light. They didn’t even have the light of the moon to help illuminate the way over the cobblestones, with the sky covered by clouds, and besides, their pace was limited to that of the Fyrir. It was a sensible reason to go at this slow pace, and that made it okay. And if she was honest to herself, what bugged her the most had been Eret’s smug grin anyway.

Although, there had been none of that when she’d glanced at him as they’d left the castle’s ground anymore. On the contrary, he’d looks stern, even troubled somehow. Petty as it was, she was almost glad that her threat from all those weeks ago had become true. That, if she actually had to ride at a slow trot with this saddle, Eret would have to suffer the same agonising pace.

She tried to focus on that, on Eret, the saddle, the slow pace, the annoying day… anything if only it helped to keep her from thinking about what had happened just now.

Gods, she’d died a thousand deaths the moment Hiccup had touched her!

What had he been thinking? Getting so close, touching her so intimately, and in front of so many people? Her father had seen it, as had Daniel and who knew how many others? That surely hadn’t been what Daniel had asked him to do, judging by the stony and stunned expression on his face. But then…

Astrid inhaled deeply and then slowly let the breath out again. Daniel might not have liked it, but he also hadn’t done anything to punish Hiccup right away. Maybe it was because they had no time right now, with the procession and the grand blot, but she hoped that she’d been convincing enough in not minding the contact. Daniel looked more at ease now; not like he was about to order a death sentence the moment they got off their horses, at least.

And well… It wasn’t as if she’d truly minded the contact anyway.

Freya, it had been so good to feel him after this day, to feel his warmth, the ghost of his breath on her skin as he’d lifted her up, so easily as if she weighed nothing. She knew that he was stronger than he looked, had felt his wiry muscles move beneath his skin, but still. She’d been sorry when the contact had ended – far too soon – but she also knew that there hadn’t been another choice. Making him sit behind her on Markor’s back so that they could cuddle and whisper and kiss during this boring ride… that definitely sounded great, but wasn’t really sensible.

Sighing, she sat up straighter, her smile truer now. No, that wasn’t sensible at all – but she could dream about doing all that once they met at the stables tonight again. What were these boring hours compared to those of bliss and lightness she shared with him?

And, well, this part of the day wasn’t that bad anyway. Aside from riding on this uncomfortable saddle, she quite enjoyed this ride through the darkness. It was so quiet and peaceful, the only sounds being those of the horses and the torches. The city itself was eerily dark and quiet too, with most people having gathered at the smaller temple buildings all over the city where the only sources of lights would be tonight, all waiting for the darkest hour and for the ceremony itself. It always had been something mysterious, this calm darkness, and Astrid enjoyed it greatly.

. o O o .

With a grateful nod, Astrid accepted a glass from the serving girl’s tray, and took a sip of the light wine. It’s sweet tasted rolled over her tongue, making her close her eyes, to fully enjoy it – and the brief moment of solitude it brought her.

“And this is a good friend of mine, Baroness Corrine of Blackshire,” the Countess of Whitevale continued her introduction. “Her son Jake, the heir to his father’s barony, rose to the position of a captain in the Royal Army this year, isn’t that right, my dear?”

“Oh, yes, it is,” Lady Corrine affirmed enthusiastically. “He is such a good boy, and we are so proud of him. And handsome too, if I as his mother may say so. I’m sure you would like him if you met him, your Highness.”

Astrid’s smile felt more artificial than ever as she gave a slight nod. “I’m sure I would,” she replied politely, then added not quite as courteous, “but I hope you’ll excuse me now.” She nodded at the Countess and her friends who all curtseyed before her, clearly disappointed about her leaving them – escaping them – already.

This was another part of the Midwinter festivities that used to be bearable, but by now was only dreadful. The hours between nightfall and midnight were traditionally dedicated to forming new connections, new friendships. People introduced friends to one another and new ties were built for a new beginning once the sun returned. Or at least that was the idea. As a child, she’d liked these hours when she’d met so many other children and had been allowed to play with them. But none of those friendships had ever lasted longer than these hours, and by now, forming new ties mostly meant people wooing for her favour to support their agendas or to advertise possible future husbands to her. And she’d definitely had enough of that today already.

It was practically customary; the dark and cold winter nights without much fighting or fieldwork to distract them seemed to make many a man think about marriage, and these days of official mingling always called forth those who thought addressing her directly – in addition to an official proposal sent to her father, of course – would give them a better chance.

During the last years, she’d been annoyed at this. As if she had any say in who her father would choose! No matter how much thought a young man put into proposing to her, her opinion wouldn’t matter much.

But this year, things were different. This year, she’d accepted their fine words, their gifts to win her favour, and the exaggerated manner in which some of them proposed – because, by Frigga, they’d been ridiculous this year – with nothing but a polite smile, knowing that all their efforts would be in vain anyway. Although she had been amused by that one southern countess who had introduced her son as a potential groom, with the incredibly unsubtle bride price of a fleet of trading ships and the contents therein. What her father would even do with fifteen ships laden with silks, spices and tea was beyond her...

She looked around the dimly lit room, searching for the one face in the crowd that would settle her nerves, when a highly unwelcome person approached her.

“Good evening, Milady.”

The voice alone made her groan inwardly. Quickly, her eyes darted around, finally finding Daniel, Eret, and the others, but they were busy talking to a larger group of noblemen at the other end of Odin’s Hall. Too far away to flee to without making a scene, and she couldn’t do that. Not here and not now, not during these peaceful hours of forming bonds.

So she turned, slowly, and said in as composed a voice as she could muster, “Good evening, your Grace.”

Duke Thuggory smirked. “Why so formal, Milady? We’ve been friends for so many years now; don’t you think it’s time for you to leave the stiff titles aside?”

“I wouldn’t say that we are friends, Duke Thuggory,” she said in a low voice, so quietly that nobody but him would be able to hear her.

It only served to make Thuggory laugh, however. “You’re very right, Milady Astrid. Friends is surely not the right word to use. But thinking about it… I wouldn’t mind my wife to show proper respect, so feel free to continue addressing me by my title. And if you’re good, I might even support your love of riding by allowing you to ride me,” he added with an insinuating smirk.

Astrid’s eyes squinted at the last comment, not able to make any rhyme or reason to it, but quickly decided that now was not the time to think about it. Instead, her hands balled into fists at her side. “I will never be your wife,” she hissed. “What makes you even think–”

“Oh, but I think my chances aren’t so bad. The Crown needs strong alliances to keep the Kingdom stable. And isn’t that what you want, too? To support your father and brother in their goal to care for the people?”

Astrid’s mouth clamped shut, her teeth gritting, as she forced herself to stay composed. “This is not about what I want,” she brought forth, surprising even herself with the calmness in her voice. “My Father will, with the Gods’ advice, decide who I’m going to marry, not me.” It was a safe thing to say, better than that the Gods had already chosen. That she already knew who her husband would be one day. She almost laughed as, in that moment, she finally understood what Hiccup had meant a while back. It was part of the Gods’ plan that they belonged together, and nobody, not even Thuggory, would be able to change that – and that gave her a good feeling.

However, her words only made Thuggory laugh again, low and patronising. “Oh, don’t underestimate your… power, Princess. If you said you wanted to marry me, that would have quite an effect on the King’s decision.”

“And why would I ever do that?” Thuggory had to be delusional, if he really thought she would...

“I am a very powerful and influential man, Princess. Agree to marry me, and with my support, the Crown would gain more strength than you can ever imagine. But make me an enemy, and you will bitterly regret it. It’s your call, Your Highness. Think about it. I’d certainly be of more value to you than the Houses that already stand loyally to you, or any of those other sorry milksops that were scraping before you today. And don’t even get me started on that cute admirer of yours.”

She had endured his monologue with a stony expression, intent on not giving him the satisfaction of reacting at all. But the last words made her frown in confusion. Cute admirer? What was he talking about?

“That boy earlier,” he elaborated, seeing her confusion. “I can hardly tell them apart. Somehow, they all look the same. You seem to have a type, I’d say.” His grin grew menacing. “Will we see him dangling off Odin’s Tree soon, too? Or have you gotten tired of that show by now, and have something more drastic planned for him?”

Astrid blanched as she understood what he was talking about. He’d noticed… Thuggory had noticed! He knew about Hiccup, knew–

“But he really is cute, in a puppy-like way,” Thuggory went on, unperturbed. “And so in love.”

Astrid’s heart was racing, but she knew only one way out of this. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she stated nonchalantly as she chanted inwardly, Play ignorant. Throw him off. Nobody can know…

And it seemed as if her efforts were successful.

“Oh, you haven’t even noticed?” Thuggory jeered. “The poor boy. He obviously has such a huge crush on you. Always has his eyes on you wherever you go, and you didn’t even notice…” He chuckled, but it didn't sound friendly at all. “But then, that's probably for the best, given your… history, Milady. And luckily for him, he’s not bold enough to just take you like a man, even though I almost thought he would try. Did you know that he’s been seen frequenting an Ástir who’s impersonating you? He really must have it bad for you.”

Suddenly feeling a little calmer, Astrid took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh again. She wasn't sure what Thuggory had intended by saying these words, but whatever it was, it wasn't working. On the contrary, if the general impression was that Hiccup had an unrequited crush on her… then that wasn't so bad. As far as she knew, that was true for many. She also couldn't quite grasp what the sense behind mentioning Cami had been, but Hiccup had told Astrid all about her; who she was, what she did, and how she ultimately was responsible for the wonderful nights she’d been spending with Hiccup lately. No, if Thuggory had meant to make her feel uncomfortable, then he'd failed – and that knowledge made her feel even better.

“I've heard Ástir impersonating me are quite popular these days,” she commented offhandedly. The thought was weird, but… well, that was how things worked. Even if she wanted, she couldn’t change it, and it didn’t really affect her anyway. Especially since she knew that those close to her who had interacted with Cami had other reasons to do so. “Maybe you should visit one too, given your fixation. But you’ll have to excuse me now, Your Grace. I have more pleasant company to seek.” She curtsied again with an almost mocking smile, then turned and left him standing.

It was a good feeling to do so. She was strong enough to stand up against Thuggory now when she’d barely been able to do so a week ago, and it brought a confident smile onto her face as she strode through the dimly lit Hall. She hadn’t even thought about where she was going, but her smile widened when she spotted her brothers laughing and beckoning her over when they saw her – and Hiccup who stood a little to the side. His eyes were gleaming when they fell on her even though his expression stayed the same as before.

Thuggory’s words crossed her mind again, about Hiccup obviously having a crush on her and her not even having noticed. Oh, if only he knew how wrong he was. But the fact that he didn’t know – and nobody else either – brightened her mood even further.

Astrid took her place among her brothers with a smile and a polite nod at the strangers they were talking to, vividly aware of Hiccup’s presence only a couple of steps away from her. She wasn’t fooling herself, knew exactly where her strength and confidence was coming from. It was him, his support, his trust, his love glowing in her chest, and the dream of their future. He made her strong, and that feeling was indescribable.

. o O o .

When the time for the grand blot had arrived, Astrid followed her father out of Odin’s Hall to where the Fyrirs already waited at the centre of the sacred grove. Daniel was walking at her side, and once they’d taken their places in the first row, more noblemen flowed out of the Temple buildings, the plaza filling rapidly until every last bit of space was occupied. Astrid knew that even the road outside the temple would be packed with people, all waiting for the holy fire to bring back the light into their world.

The Fyrirs stepped forward, their torches the only light on the dark plaza, and Astrid felt a shiver run up her arms. Not because of the cool night air, but because this moment always captivated her. On an invisible signal, all Fyrirs – or in case of the mute Fyrir Gothi, her highest Stellari – began to speak, reciting words as old as the oldest stories, their voices weaving into one another until they seemed to become one single voice that carried far over the assembled people.

“The old year is coming to an end. A new year begins. May it be full of light, of justice, of truth, and of happiness. May it be full of new life, of good crops, of laughter, and of love. May it be victorious, so that it ends in peace.“

Then the torches holding the holy fire were thrown onto the pyre behind them. The wood, partially soaked in lamp oil, began to burn instantly, and only moments later the bonfire calling back the light into their world burned high into the night sky. More speeches followed, each of the Orders giving individual blessings for the new cycle. Then the sacrifices were brought forward, a bag of corn, a basket full of fruits and vegetables, a barrel of mead, and a goat. Astrid didn’t enjoy watching the animal get killed, but Fyrir Throk was skilled about it, not causing unnecessary pain, and it was over quickly. Each Fyrir picked one of the offerings and gave it over into the flames, before the rest got carried away, being brought to the kitchens in Freya’s Temple as Astrid knew. Nothing would go to waste.

After that, the ritual five minutes of silence followed as the offerings burned and each and every person would be sending their individual wishes and prayers to the Gods. Astrid shakily let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. As always, she prayed for a merciful year that wouldn’t take anyone dear to her away from her. In previous years, she’d felt a little sad at the thought that, before her grandfather had reestablished the old beliefs, these words and ritual hadn’t been held here for many years. It had made her melancholic, but also proud that now the light of the Gods was brightening their land again where it had drowned in darkness and corruption before.

But this year, she also felt something different. The words of the ritual rang through her mind once more, making her feel a far more personal connection to these words. A year of happiness, love, and peace… Yes, she prayed with all her heart that this would come true.

When Daniel touched her arm, she looked up, dazed and overwhelmed. “Let’s go over there,” he murmured. “And give the people more space.” He indicated to the slow procession of people, commoners mostly, who came forward to light their torches on the bonfire. Most of them directly transferred the flame to a candle or lantern to safely carry it back to their home, to light their hearth with it. To bring back light and warmth into the world.

Astrid nodded, and followed Daniel to where a couple of stone benches formed a slightly secluded bit of space amidst the sacred grove. When she looked around, she realised that nearly her entire family was waiting for them. Her father and Daniel, but also Dagur and Eret with their fathers, a couple of servants along with her governess to watch over her, and, of course, Hiccup. Rachel and Timothy were missing, as were Uncle Spitelout and Snot. But she would see the twins later tonight, and she knew that her other honorary uncle and brother couldn’t always make it to the capital for the Midwinter festivities. The people of Westhill needed them, needed to know that their Grand Duke would always stand with his battered people. But that didn’t change that almost everyone she cared about was gathered here, and that only heightened her feeling of solemnity. It was, indeed, a good start into the new year. Into a good year, hopefully.

Her eyes flickered over Hiccup where he stood halfway behind Eret. As if knowing the perfect moment, he looked up just in time to meet her gaze, the briefest of smiles gleaming in his eyes before he lowered them again and the other men stepped between them. Both she and Daniel were hugged in turn by their father, a rare gesture, before he turned to speak to them all.

“My friends, brothers, family. It is, as always, an honour and a pleasure to spend this special day with you. Let us celebrate tonight, both for the beginning of a new cycle and for those who can’t be with us tonight.”

There was approving murmuring from everyone, before they exchanged their gifts, meant as good wishes and lucky charms for the upcoming year. Astrid received a new necklace from her father, with fitting bracelets and earrings from the Grand Dukes. The jewellery was remarkable, heavy gold with countless stones in varying shades of blue set into intricate patterns. The set surely was more valuable than most of her other pieces; the men had clearly outdone themselves.

In return, however, Astrid felt self-conscious as she handed her gifts to her father, uncles, and brothers. Not being able or allowed to get them anything meaningful or personal, her governess had – like every year – insisted upon her making pretty good luck charms, stripes of valuable cloth she’d embroidered with traditional motives over the year. It always pained her to gift these, it wasn’t what she wanted to gift to her family, but everyone thanked her nonetheless.

It was a blessing really that her brothers knew about her pain. It meant they’d stopped getting her any extremely valuable things in return too to not make her feel left out. Instead, they usually got her small things, practical or sometimes self-made things – or sometimes something especially inappropriate, just to annoy her governess. Like the relatively small and light, but incredibly sturdy composite bow Eret gave her, with a simply decorated quiver full of fitting arrows from Dagur. Astrid accepted both pieces with a wide grin. She probably would never get the chance to use them, but they would make for a wonderful decoration for her rooms, and the horrified expression on her governess’s face alone was the best gift anyway.

“Wait, there’s something else I have for you,” Dagur announced as Daniel was about to speak, and waved a servant over with a heavy-looking wooden box. “Technically, this isn’t a gift though, not really. It’s just a replacement for your previous coffer. I’ve heard someone broke it.” He winked, and threw a short, falsely-dark glare at Hiccup, knowing perfectly well what had happened, that Hiccup had broken the lock on purpose.

“Oh, that’s great,” she chuckled. “Very practical to carry everything back to the castle,” she announced cheerfully, and unceremoniously let the cushioned box of jewellery and the bow and quiver fall into the coffer as if it was nothing but a simple carrier box.

“Very practical indeed,” Daniel agreed with a twinkle in his eyes. “But I hope you’ll be a little more careful with my gift, and won’t just dump it in there like that. Because that might render a great deal of work useless, and that would be a real shame.”

Astrid raised her eyebrow at her brother. “You put a lot of work into making me a gift?” she asked, a little disbelievingly. Smart and talented as Daniel was, anything including delicate craftsmanship and dexterity wasn’t really his thing.

And sure enough, he immediately backpaddled, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Well… No, I didn’t, but… I arranged for it, and… well, I hope it’ll make you happy.” He beckoned to someone behind her, a servant she assumed, but was pleasantly surprised – and little startled, to be honest – when Hiccup stepped toward them.

He bowed deeply, appropriately for this setting, and murmured a low, “Milady,” in greeting. Then he held out his hands that held a bundle of cloth.

Astrid hesitated, and threw a puzzled look at Daniel, but he just smiled encouragingly and nodded. With slightly shaking hands, she reached to pull the bundle Hiccup still held open. It wasn’t that she was nervous about the gift; she had an idea what it might be after all. But she was acutely aware of how close her hands were to Hiccup’s and how her brothers were all watching them. Act indifferent!, she reminded herself.

As expected, amidst the protecting cloth appeared her music box. It looked just like it had when Hiccup had taken it from her rooms, but she knew that it would be mended. He wouldn’t give it back to her if it were otherwise. “It’s working again?” she asked nonetheless, just to say something and with an undeniably hopeful tone in her voice.

“It is,” Daniel confirmed in Hiccup’s stead, and shrugged. “Which is entirely to Hiccup’s credit though; I only made sure he had the time and means.” He gave her a – completely atypically for him – self-conscious smile.

A little overwhelmed, Astrid threw her arms around Daniel's neck. “Thank you!” she sighed, unsure how else to convey just how grateful she was.

Daniel chuckled, and returned her affectionate hug. “You’re welcome,” he murmured back. “I know how much it means to you, and I wanted to know you have it back before I leave – before we all leave you alone here again.”

She hugged him tighter, snivelling slightly, then pulled back to beam at him. Daniel returned the smile, and no further words were needed between them. Having her music box back was the greatest gift of all, more valuable to her than the bow and even the jewellery – and Daniel knew that.

“And thank you to you too, Hiccup,” she said after turning toward him and the box again, looking at him with all the gratitude and love she felt, for once not afraid what those around her would think it weird. They’d write it off as her joy over the gift, and she thrived in the moment.

“You’re welcome, Milady,” he murmured, smiling happily over her apparent joy. When she reached to testingly wind it up though, he pulled back to do so himself, and a moment later, the tiny dancer began to move. Over the noises of the bonfire and the people not far away, the melody was inaudible, but Astrid's mind provided it easily in time with the dancer's movements. Humming quietly, she watched the figure until, entirely on reflex, her arm rose as the dancing pattern reached the point where it would get stuck – except it didn’t.

With wide eyes, Astrid stared at the figure as it easily swirled and turned around, back and forth in to her unknown ways. Her mind was completely blank, unable to form coherent thoughts or provide the melody anymore. Then her head whipped up, and she gaped at Hiccup. “You repaired it!” she gasped, finally grasping the full meaning of those words.

Hiccup frowned slightly, and shrugged. “Yes, I did?” he acknowledged, hesitantly.

Before she could think twice about it, Astrid all but leapt forward, threw her arms around Hiccup’s neck in an equally enthusiastic hug as Daniel’s before, and gasped a breathless “Thank you!” into his ear. Hiccup froze in her embrace, his breath leaving him with an audible gasp, and – too late – Astrid realised what she was doing. She pulled back in an instant, but the damage was done.

Panic rose inside her, and she pressed one hand over her mouth as she first stared at Hiccup, seeing sparks of longing and fear dance behind his eyes, then at Dagur and Eret, who stood frozen solid and looked completely flabbergasted, before her eyes landed on Daniel. He had a stony, unreadable expression on his face, that tightened even further the moment their gazes met.

. o O o .

Next Chapter

#FTLOAP #for the love of a princess #hiccstrid #Hiccup and Astrid #hiccstrid fanfiction #fanfiction #Hiccstrid fluff #fluff #HTTYD #httyd fanfiction #httyd fandom #medieval au #Hiccstrid Medieval AU #royalty au #hiccstrid royal au

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jo6hny · 7 years

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Capricious Fates - Mafia! Johnny Scenario

Word count: 2k+ Genre: Fluff, Angst,

The raven haired gentleman discarded the cigarette that was lying on his lips, putting it on the ground and stepping on it, depriving it of the light it once had.

He readied his guns and filled the magazines with its bullets, as well as getting himself a new pack of cigarettes, putting it in the back of his sleek black pants. He carried himself towards the meeting room once he was ready. Straightening his black coat before entering, making himself presentable, sleek, and intimidating.

Once he was inside, he could feel the atmosphere shift from his presence. The people who were once goofing off were now serious, scared to get their heads blown off. He sat down in the brown leather chair that was located in the center of the table that was placed in the cream colored, but dimly lit room.

“Good morning, everyone. I trust that all of you had prepared for what awaits us at the warehouse.” He said with a clear voice, eyeing everyone in the room. He could see everyone nodding, too intimated to reply.

“And where is Y/N? Is she safe right now?” He asked with much curiosity.

“She’s upstairs, sir. Perfectly safe. Though, she did request to see you before we depart.” Winwin, one of their members replied.

Y/N is Johnny’s soulmate. Ridiculous sounding as it may have been, having a soulmate, especially with someone like him, a mafia leader, it was true. It was the world they lived in. A world where everyone, even a man like him, had a soulmate.

How you meet your soulmate would be determined with a timer given at the age of maturity. Their parents would give it to an individual on their birthday, and from there the hunt for their significant other would start. Johnny never got his from his parents, he didn’t have any. He got his timer from the man he worked for, the former boss of the mafia he’s now leading. He could remember when he gave it to him, he tossed it. He could remember how his curious eyes investigated the device, how he thought a person in his line of work could ever get a timer, nonetheless a soulmate. He remembered feeling ecstatic. Because finally, someone was going to be there to love him.

The day he met Y/N, is one of the days he could never forget. He was so captivated by her beauty, her smile, her everything. He almost felt bad about the life he wouldn’t be able to give her, given that he didn’t have a regular job. But Y/N accepted it, as she should have. She fully understood that their relationship has boundaries, that there are things that other couples can do that they can’t, and she respects that. Johnny never failed to make her happy, though. There was never a day that Y/N wished that she was in a relationship with someone different. Because despite his tough exterior, Johnny would go through anything, just to make his lover happy. Even if it meant looking like a fool.

Johnny made his way to the shared room he and Y/N had. Careful not to make much noise as he stepped on the creaky old stairs. He reminded himself once again that they needed to get it repaired and replaced. He opened the door with caution, peaking through the small opening in the door. He could see Y/N sitting in front of their mirror with a hairbrush in hand, combing through the tangles in her hair. He placed himself behind her and wrapped her in an embrace, engulfing himself in her scent. Something he won’t be able to do for a whole week.

He could feel Y/N giggle in front of him. She lead him to their king sized bed, sitting them both down so that Y/N was sitting in front of him and he was at the back. He felt the soft silk lining of the newly made bed, and the firmness of their pillows pressing against his toned back. Y/N rested her head on the crook of his neck.

“I’m going to miss you.” she whispered, nuzzling her head on his neck even more.

Johnny wrapped both his arms in front of Y/N and hugged her tightly. He played with her newly combed hair before finally replying.

“I’m going to miss you too. Very much. Take care of yourself, alright? Listen to whatever Ten says. I trust him, and you, well enough to know that you won’t do anything stupid. I want you alive and well when I come back.” He commanded, boring his deep brown eyes into Y/N’s with sincerity.

Y/N smiled a sweet smile and nodded. Allowing herself to kiss Johnny for a short while before pulling away.

“I want you to be safe too. Come back to me like you always do, alright? You can come back wounded, but don’t come back dead. Never come back dead. We still have a family and many many dogs to raise. And I still have so much I want to accomplish with you. Despite everything.” Y/N pleaded to her lover, looking him in the eyes as he did her.

She didn’t want him to go away, but she didn’t have the power to stop him. It was how they lived, how they still had a roof over their heads. She wasn’t proud of what her lover was doing, but at least it kept them fed. Every time Johnny goes away, she feels anxious, wary. It feels like her heart is going to leap out of her chest. She fears for his safety more than anything. One day he could be alive and kicking, but dead and cold the next.

They had enemies, lots of them. And all of them were out to get him, or her. That’s why she put her whole trust in Johnny, that he can defeat them. And in return, Johnny put his whole trust in her too. That she’ll stay where he left her, safe and unscathed.

“Do you remember where I hid the revolver?” Johnny asked, playing with a piece of her hair.

Y/N hummed and nodded once she did remember.

“Upper left drawer in the cabinets, right?” She answered, unsure. “I mean, it’s not like I’m gonna use it anyways, right? It’s why Ten and his men are here.”

Johnny hummed in agreement, but opened his mouth to reply.

“It’s true. But you’re only ninety nine percent safe with them here. And I’m not risking that one percent, princess. You know that.” He said with full seriousness.

“I know, and I hope you know I didn’t forget any of that tiresome training you made me do.” She retorted, remembering how sore her muscles were.

Johnny chuckled, kissing Y/N on the cheek.

“Well, now that you seem like you’re ready, I should go. My team needs me.” He said as he stood up from the bed, despite not actually wanting to go.

“No, stay here. Just a little longer, please. I wanna remember your scent. It’ll be a week before I see you again, you know.” Y/N said in a sad tone, burying her nose on Johnny’s shirt and tightening her grip around him.

The tall boy hugged back and rested his chin on top of Y/N’s head, closing his eyes to savour the moment.

Their moment got interrupted when Mark, the youngest of the group, hurriedly knocked on the door.

“We need to go, sir. The earlier the better.” The blonde haired boy said with much formality. He fidgeted with the hem of his white dress shirt while waiting.

“I’ll be right there.” Johnny replied as he gave a chaste kiss to his lover.

Y/N pulled on Johnny’s arm before he could turn and gave him another kiss.

“Come back, Johnny. Don’t leave me.” She plead ever so quietly.

Johnny put his available hand on top of the hand that was gripping his left arm. Letting it linger for more than a minute, before removing it altogether.

“I promise.” He said with a playful, but promising smile. The tall man went down the wooden stairs only to turn and wave one last time to his lover before departing, sending a flying kiss.

Johnny happily made his way to the car along with his members, discussing what they would do once they get there, how much casualties would they have and what not. Everything was going correctly, according to Taeyong, his right hand. He smiled in triumph. He felt confident, that they would win in the end.

Little did he know that it would be the last time he’d be able to go home. The last time he’d ever see his lover. Johnny would spend the last of his moments bleeding from a gunshot wound to the chest delivered by his enemy, Jaehyun. Tears overflowing from his brown eyes. Crying his soul mate’s name, pleading and asking for forgiveness. The pain he felt wouldn’t be from the wound he had, but the pain of breaking his promise to his one and only. The pain of seeing her alone, without a soulmate, crying. It shattered his heart into pieces.

“I’m sorry.” would be the last words he uttered before he left, before he abandoned Y/N.

While Y/N would be left waiting for Johnny. Wondering if he’d ever come back. Alone in their house, in the darkness. Only to find out that the only man she had ever loved left her. The dark screen of her timer would appear blank, as if it was broken, as if her soulmate had died. Hot tears would well on her eyes, refusing to leave. She couldn’t believe it, she won’t.

Not until Ten, Johnny’s best friend, came in their room and gave her a sullen look. No words were needed to be exchanged, she knew. A scream would leave her soft plump lips. Her knees would no longer support her standing figure. The tears she’d been keeping in have finally found their way out.

“It hurts.” she thought. It felt as if her will to live was taken away from her. As if her heart was stolen and smashed into tiny pieces, never to be reconstructed again. She couldn’t stop herself from shaking, from crying, even if there were no tears left. Her heart mourned with her, it felt like it was bleeding. This is a pain that would last a lifetime, something that wouldn’t be healed easily.

Her parents on the other hand, would rejoice at the fact that she had lost her soulmate. Wanting nothing more than to get rid of the man who has the blood of many on his hands. They would drag her out of the house that Y/N and Johnny lived in for many years, the one with so much memories, only to place her in the room she had when she was a child. She pleaded, she screamed, and she was determined to hurt them. But they got the best of her. Now, she finds herself looking out of the window of her old bedroom. Keeping her knees close to her, talking to no one, having no appetite, losing sleep. All because she lost the person she adored the most.

Y/N waited for nothing but death to come knock on her door now. She had nothing to lose, she already lost the most valuable thing she had.

The things that Johnny had feared to happen before he died had come true. Y/N was left alone, without a significant other. In pain, and with an unbearable sadness which couldn’t be shaken off.

It’d be weeks before the star crossed lovers got reunited. Y/N would cross over in her sleep, her body giving up on her. Despite the physical pain the petite girl was in, she would be happy. Happy because she knew that she would be on her way to see Johnny again.

Taking her last breath, she smiled as she closed her eyes.

“I’m coming for you, Darling. Wait for me there.”

#nct #nct johnny #nct johnny scenario #nct scenarios #jhmasterlist

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oddsnendsfanfics · 7 years

Text

Little White Lies

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Jai Courtney/OFC (Roo) Warnings: Language Rating: PG13 Length: Short Story Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: HE HE HE Lies? Lies? Well...oh boy oh boy!

Read: It’s Kind of Complicated & Pursuit of Happiness

"Honey," Jai whined, nuzzling his head against her shoulder, "come on."

She had been on the phone for what seemed like forever. His mother had the worst timing in the world, why did she need to call just as they were getting ready to head out for dinner? The faster they got to dinner, the faster they could come back to their hotel and enjoy a quiet evening.

Why was his mother calling them at 1am? What was so important that she had to be awake in the middle of the night?

Holding up a finger to indicate Jai needed to wait, she laughed. "Oh god, Karen!" She exclaimed.

Calling her had been crafty, Karen knew full well that Jai would have ignored the call. Growing bored with the one sided conversation, Jai lowered himself onto the bed. Resting on his stomach, his head cradled in his folded arms. If she didn't soon end this, he was going to be asleep.

"Married?" She laughed harder at the woman on the other end of the line. Jai's dozing came to a screeching halt, terror striking through him, his eyes wide. "No, but that is hilarious as hell. You know how Denzi is, he says the most random things.."

Smooth.

She had lied to her new mother-in-law like nobody's business, a skill to admire. Jai smirked as she continued to calm his, no doubt frantic, mother on the other end of the line. "Jai is in the shower, we've got dinner plans, but I can get him to call you tomorrow?"

Rolling his eyes, Jai stifled a groan, why did his mother need them anyway? Hadn't she heard? They were on vacation, a retreat of sorts, to reconnect and to celebrate a late birthday. At least that was the official statement Jai had told everyone. Nobody needed to know they had added Honeymoon to the list.

"Okay, we love you too. Yes, I will let him know." Her final words before saying "Goodbye" and ending the call.

Puffing out her cheeks with a hard breath, she turned to Jai, her hand running through his freshly washed curls. "I did the right thing, didn't I?"

"Uh, you mean lying to my mother?" Jai rolled onto his back, squinting at the over head light. "Yes. It isn't the first time I've lied to her about something to spare her feelings."

"If you say so." She raised a brow in skepticism.

Plenty of times, she had attempted lying to Cora, not that it had ever worked. Her mother should have been a PI or an interrogation specialist, because Cora could give a look and make anyone confess. Lying to Karen had felt wrong, but had she not then there was a risk of everything being blown out of proportion and she wasn't ready for that.

"I do, now you need to finish getting dressed if you want to eat. If it were up to me, we'd be fine to stay here and stay naked," Jai teased shifting around to sit up and get off of the bed.

Since they'd arrived two days ago, they had been so into one another, they barely left the room. She would have loved to explore the city more, maybe another time, because the two days they had spent in their hotel room wrapped in one another – literally and figuratively had been absolutely perfect.

Paris was dazzling, the lights, the sights, and the few minutes she had actually been outside of the hotel were almost better than she had ever imagined it to be. The small balcony had the cliche Paris views, not that she was complaining, last night they had left the door open as long as they could to watch the city lights. The bathroom had a view just as amazing, complete with the sexiest tub she had ever saw in a hotel. Everything about this room was perfect, she never wanted to leave.

Jai had gone above and beyond, surprising her with the last minute trip, although he insisted it had been carefully planned and prepped for months. Before leaving Los Angeles, there had been strict instructions, via Jai, not to call either of them unless there was a dire emergency. His sister was in charge of Denzi and Dorito for the five days they were away, which left Jai with much ease.

Having Jai relaxed and not anxious about Denzi had made it easier for her, too. His calmness had given her a new sort of feeling, one which told her that even if their mothers ragged war for what they'd done, things would be just fine.

Make up finished and hair styled, before Karen had called, made getting ready for dinner a breeze. Once she got Jai into his suit, her dress was hanging and ready. Smoothing out a few wrinkles in her silk slip, she did a final sweep of hair and make up to make sure she still looked presentable.

It was a miracle that after that shower, the two of them had managed to get out on time. The shower was easily going down as one of her Top 5 Best Sex Moments, ever. It was as if being married had made the sex that much better, if possible. Jai had made no excuses for the rough and lustful approach that he'd taken, nor did she want any. His wet body pressed to hers, the feel of his thick chest hair under her finger tips, and the shouted grunts...It was a wonder she had allowed him to finish the shower and not climbed onto him, again, the second they had stepped out.

"Do we have to go to dinner?" Jai whined and pouted, trying to tie the bright blue tie that she had picked for him.

"You're the one who made the reservations," She answered, glancing at him in the mirror. "Do you not want to go?"

"Not really, I mean we can have a flashy dinner any time, but how often can we laze on a balcony and drink ourselves stupid in Paris?" He continued to pout before giving up on the tie.

Discarding the tie on the bed, Jai turned to watch her sliding into the perfectly fitted dress she'd bought the afternoon before they'd snuck away to get married. The purple, she had called it lavender – like Jai cared or knew the difference, brought out every flex of colour in her eyes. Jai had noticed when she'd wore it to the courthouse.

"But we were going to have dinner and celebrate." It was her turn to pout. Noticing that he'd left out the tie, she couldn't help the growing amusement. "Boomer, we're only newly weds once. I know we didn't do things traditionally, but a little celebration would still be nice."

"We can celebrate right here," Jai replied motioning to their room. "We can order up, I'm sure they have a bottle of wine or something we can crack open. We'll eat too much, sit out on the balcony, and celebrate that way. Come on, Roo, it'll still be nice."

"But we're all dressed up, and..."

"And we can't get dressed up for dinner, here? Look!" Jai placed his hands on her shoulders, directing her to face the balcony doors. Outside the city was beginning to light up for the night, the Eiffel Tower on full display, while the French skyline dazzled them with the colourful display brought on by nature. "We're not getting that anywhere else in this city, no where that it will just be the two of us."

Part of the reason they had never left the hotel was Jai's desire to keep her to himself. Out there, in the beautiful city, among the sea of strange faces, he was forced to share her. In here, it was just them and nobody to take her attention.

Jai had always hated sharing her, whether she had noticed until recently or not. At parties, at work, even at menial things like the grocery store or the beach. If somebody else, primarily male, were taking too much of her time Jai always had a habit of dragging her and her attention back to him. One time, at the beach Jai had almost managed to take out a kid by throwing a football, because the boy had looked at her three seconds too long. When she had called him out, Jai insisted the kid had moved last second.

Call him selfish, may be was, but she was his wife; Jai smiled every time he thought of it. This may be the only time they got to enjoy one another and really let this seep in.

"Are you...are you worried?" Her voice was hushed as she spoke, her hands covering his. "You know, if we do go out then someone may see or say something?"

"What?" Jai's nose scrunched up. "No, Roo, fuck."

"Okay, then?"

Agreeing to get married had come with some rules, they waited exactly one month from the day it was brought into conversation. In reality it ended up being more like two and a half weeks, Jai had joked and said it was because he wanted to be cheap and use her birthday trip as a honeymoon. The quicker the better, she hadn't been that upset about upping the day.

After they'd decided on a day and things were booked, the next set of rules came into play. Nobody, absolutely nobody, but them were to know. Eventually they would tell family, friends, and slowly they would make it public if they ever released an official word on that end. Until they were ready, it was their little secret, they hadn't even told Denzi.

Which was why Karen's call had been so shocking. During dinner the previous evening, he'd told her aunt that his mum and da were in Paris and they were bringing him back French toast. When prompted as to what he meant by his "mum", the child had laughed and informed his curious aunt that Ooo was his mum, she lived with them and was his Da's wife.

Since Denzi hadn't elaborated on the topic, it had been easy enough for her to smooth things over. Simply agreeing when Karen had concluded that her grandson was under the impression, given the fact his father did have a serious relationship and she was more or less a common law partner.

Suspicions nagging at her said otherwise. Denzi wasn't stupid and there had been that one evening, Jai had came in to say their wedding date was booked, not knowing that Denzi was in the hall way. Keeping this from Denzi had felt wrong, but Jai assured her that it was best kept between them.

"I love you," Jai kissed the top of her head, "I'm not ready to share you, as my wife, not yet. I like this being the two of us. Me and you, in our own little bliss."

The second they'd signed the papers, in the court office, Jai had felt like a kid on Christmas. He didn't question a damn thing, he'd signed his name after her and that was that. She was his and it was the second greatest feeling in the world. The first greatest, becoming a dad of course.

"If we go out, we chance breaking that. I want to keep you, to myself, because when we get home life starts again, and..." Jai was growing flustered. "Fuck, Roo, I just like being with you."

She was enjoying this side of Jai.

"You don't have to be sappy, to get laid, you know." She laughed resting into his chest.

"That wasn't my intentions," Jai mumbled with his lips against her hair. Tilting his nose, he inhaled deeply. "You smell nice."

"Thank you, it's whatever body lotion the hotel has."

Swaying her back and forth wrapped in a tight embrace, Jai smirked. "I like it, make sure to use it before bed. I think it'll smell nicer with you in one of my shirts."

"I thought the plan was to be as naked as possible?" She arched her brow with the question.

"It is! Although, I assume there is some sort of law saying we can't be on the balcony naked, when we eat breakfast."

Unsure of the nudity laws in Paris, she felt that Jai was probably right. Breakfast was so far away though, if this morning was an indication, it would also be hurried in favour of going back to the bed.

"Boomer, I know staying here seems like a really nice idea, but I do want to go out." She tilted her head to look at him. "Even if we're just going to eat and then come back. If we stay in here too much, the house keeping is going to wonder what kind of sex freaks we are." she teased.

Grumbling about how he'd be fine with that, Jai sighed in defeat. "Please," She continued to plead. "We can go for dinner, grab a nice bottle of wine, and when we come back I'll run us a nice bath and then..." She paused, biting her bottom lip. "I'll let you see what's in that gold bag,"

Now she wasn't playing fair. Jai had his suspicions as to what had came in that bag, the one which she had packed without allowing him to peek in. He'd been itching to know, damn it.

He was so easy and she knew it. On the bright side, he was going to love the black corset and garters that she had bought. One evening, while talking about things they had found sexy, Jai had told her about how he found a woman in such an outfit absolutely irresistible. It was all she needed to know, in order to find the perfect wedding present for her new husband.

Sucking his teeth, Jai crinkled his nose, damn her. "Fine, finish getting ready. We can still make the reservation, I'll get the wine on the way back."

Smiling triumphantly at him, she turned and kissed his cheek. "This is why I love you."

"Hmm," Jai grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him. Kissing her sweetly, he winked. "So, this is what I have to put up with for the rest of my life?"

Not that he would mind.

"You're the one who married me." She shrugged playfully.

"It would have been rude of me to turn down that proposal." Jai's chuckle rumbled through the room. "What kind of an asshole would I have been, if I'd said no?"

#little white lies #little decisions #jai courtney fanfiction #ofc #fluffy jai #fanfic #short story #short series #fanfiction

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ourshineeshrine · 7 years

Text

My Number One Fan

Chapter 25 Pairing: JongKey Word Count: 4.177 Summary: Kibum goes to the same, run-down bar every week to watch the man of his affections sing his heart out with a mere guitar for company. He wasn’t expecting the coffee, nor the beautiful personality within the singer. And he definitely wasn’t expecting to fall in love.

A/N: I was pretty quick this time, huh? ;) Anyway, this chapter is a bit of necessary filler I guess, but a lot more drama is happening in the next chapter! I feel like I'm on a roll now, so expect an update pretty soon :) Hope you enjoy <3

The week leading up to Thursday had been uneventful at best, awkward and depressing silences being the only thing which seemed to fill the school hours each day. Judging by the gloomy mood which seemed to engulf every hallway, each student seemed to have their own issues going on at that moment, and that idea was the only thing which kept Kibum from skipping all together. It was comforting somehow, to see that Minho and Taemin were just as troubled as he was, and when they sat down in the dance studio that lunchtime, Minho decided it was finally time to say something aloud.

“Kibum, not to be a pain but…are you okay? You’ve been pretty down lately.” questioned Minho softly, voice shaking at the knowledge that Taemin was seated literally right beside him. The younger male stared at the ground intensely as though he hadn’t heard Minho’s query, but his rigid posture suggested otherwise. After all, they were both awfully concerned at how Kibum had been acting the past week. They would have spoken up beforehand, but with soccer practice on Minho’s behalf, and dance practice for Kibum and Taemin, it was safe to say that neither boy had really had the chance.

The oldest of the three picked at his nails absentmindedly, head making a motion in between that of a nod and shake. “I don’t know…” responded Kibum. “Not really.”

Taemin frowned. “What happened? Is Jonghyun being a jerk? ‘Cause if he is, I’ll deck him in the schnozz for you.”

“If you’re going to deck anyone in the…schnozz? Then it ought to be me, Taem. I’ve been a real jerk.” mumbled Kibum, burying his face into his palms and tugging midly at his strands of hair. It was only lunchtime, yet he could already feel a budding migraine forming at the back of his head.

Minho and Taemin glanced at each other, confused, but the shared look was short lived and within mere milliseconds the boys were back with rosy cheeks and shifty eyes, not knowing quite where to look without seeming weird. “Don’t tell me you dumped him, Kibum…” spoke Taemin, horrified.

“No! No way, never!” denied Kibum, shaking his head profusely only to groan immediately after at the onslaught of pain caused by the small action. He took a deep breath to steady his thoughts. “My dad just…grounded me…and I’m not allowed to see Jonghyun anymore unless it’s at my house, and I don’t want to bring Jonghyun to my house because my dad will probably murder him but I miss him so much yet I can’t do anything about it and so I’ve been ignoring him and I feel so awful about it and I’m actually about to cry right now but I’m struggling to hold in my tears, and—“

“Kibum, Kibum. Calm down. Take a breath, you’re ranting.”

The boy in question paused, exhaling deeply and blinking a few times to hold back tears. “Sorry, guys…I guess I’m just feeling a little dodgy today. Don’t mind me.”

Minho leant forward to wrap Kibum in a tight hug and smiled sympathetically. “Stop apologizing, Kibum. What if we all catch up together at your house? Your dad won’t be able to ‘kill Jonghyun’ then, right? And besides, why does he hate him so much? I can’t picture Jonghyun doing anything that bad.”

A loud laugh which lacked any humour escaped Kibum’s throat, and he regarded his friends with a raised brow. “It doesn’t take much to anger my father…but unfortunately for Jonghyun, we practically did the worst thing possible.”

Taemin frowned in curiosity. “Did you set his car on fire? That got me into a lot of trouble once.”

The two older boys struggled to contain their concernedness, merely shooting each other an expression which seemed to scream: ‘what the fuck?’ Kibum stifled a snort, sobering up in an attempt to answer Taemin’s question seriously.

“No, Taemin. We did not set his car on fire, and I’m not even going to ask why you did. We just…well…held hands? I guess.”

Minho coughed loudly, choking on his sandwich. “Y-You…Held hands? Are you fucking with me, Kibum?”

Kibum smiled grimly. “Afraid not. Oh and to answer your suggestion from before: I don’t know. There’s always just this aura surrounding my father that screams ‘I hate your guts, rodent’, and I don’t really wanna expose Jonghyun to that.”

“Yeah but...you realise Jonghyun’s going to be really worried right? Like, I don’t wanna sound rude but…it’s kinda selfish if you don’t tell him about what your dad said. I bet he’s worried sick.”

Humming, Kibum’s gaze returned to his lap. “Yeah…maybe. We’ll see. But what’s new in your lives?”

The soccer player frowned at the change of topic, and became even more uncomfortable when he considered just what was new in his life.

Taemin and I made out on the weekend. It didn’t mean anything but now we can’t even look each other in the eyes. Nothing much, really.

He inwardly shuddered, and one glance at Taemin told Minho that the younger boy was thinking exactly the same thing. “Oh, y’know…” he finally managed to choke out. “Soccer.”

“Dancing. Homework. Setting cars on fire. Just the usual.” added Taemin, trying as hard as possible to look everywhere except at his best friend.

Kibum nodded sceptically. “Right, well…That’s certainly interesting. But Taemin, I think we need to have a little chat about your pyromaniac tendencies. They’re slightly concerning me.”

Jonghyun gave his guitar a gentle testing strum before promptly sighing loudly and placing it back on its stand. It was futile. No matter what he did, whether it be play video games, watch a movie or sing, nothing could get his mind off Kibum. Or, more accurately in this circumstance, the lack thereof. Reaching for his phone upon the nightstand, Jonghyun practically screamed in agony at his non-existent text messages, reading once again the one that Kibum had sent to him four days prior.

‘I’m home safe. Goodnight, Jjong x

Your Number One Fan’

Pouting, Jonghyun threw his phone onto the bed and slumped out of the room, feet trudging along the carpeted floor dejectedly. The faint scent of pasta could be smelled from almost every room in the house, therefore it came as no surprise when Jonghyun entered the kitchen and found Roo drooling over the delicious food his mum seemed to be cooking. “Smells good, mum.” he commented with a smile, but something about the tone of his voice told the other house occupants that Jonghyun wasn’t feeling quite one hundred percent.

Seodam worried her lip between teeth as she took in Jonghyun’s weary appearance, the dark streaks beneath his eyes implying that the male hadn’t slept properly in several days. She clicked the television off and called Roo over, giggling in delight as the small puppy fumbled over and attempted to claw her way up onto Seodam’s lap.

“Well aren’t you a little cutie?” she cooed incoherently, eyes raising in sisterly concern upon hearing the loud collapse of Jonghyun onto the nearby sofa. Seodam frowned, searching her mind for something to cheer her younger brother up. “Hey, Jonghyun. Written any songs recently?”

The singer’s head lifted marginally, and almost pathetically, he shook his head to gesture that no, he hadn’t. The frown creases in Seodam’s forehead deepened, lifting Roo into her lap unconsciously as she studied Jonghyun’s drooping figure. “Why not?”

Jonghyun shrugged. “Dunno…No motivation.”

The answer was short and simple – perhaps a little more so than Seodam’s liking. Quirking an eyebrow, she tutted with fake indignation and shook her head. “Probably because you haven’t caught up with Kibum lately, you poo.” Jonghyun tensed, and the medical student concluded that she’d hit the nail over the head. So Kibum was the root of her brother’s problems. Sex problems, maybe? Judging by how melancholy Jonghyun had been the last few days, most likely not. “What’s up, huh? Is he on holidays or something?”

Seodam knew her brother was sensitive. In fact, anyone who had ever met Jonghyun knew that he was sensitive. However, despite that knowledge, it still didn’t prepare the young woman for the sudden distortion of Jonghyun’s face, baring his teeth unattractively and screwing up his face with a loud sob. Seodam’s head shot to their mother who looked on with wide, apprehensive eyes, nonetheless turning away reluctantly after Seodam wordlessly gestured that she’d take care of it. Seodam hurried over to Jonghyun’s sofa with Roo and sat the small puppy gently in Jonghyun’s lap, smiling affectionately as the bundle of fur began to lick away Jonghyun’s onslaught of tears. “Hey now, buddy.” she spoke softly, wrapping her brother in a warm, tight hug. “What happened, ‘Hyun-ah?”

Sniffling and coughing in an attempt to suppress his loud cries, Jonghyun held Roo tightly and began to speak. His words came slurred and inaudible, causing Seodam to strain her ears in attempts to gather something out of what Jonghyun began to ramble on about. “K-Kib’m ha’n’t s-spoke to me in days, and he w-won’t reply to my mess’ges, and I dunno wha’ I did wrong!” he began, blowing his nose into a tissue which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. “W-What if somethin’ happened to ‘im? He p-probably hates me. A-And on Sunday,” Jonghyun’s voice seemed to break here, and while half of Seodam thought that the image before her was beyond hilarious, the other half felt her heart break at just how devastated Jonghyun was reacting to the whole ordeal. Whether he would admit it or not, Jonghyun was in love, something which Seodam hoped would treat Jonghyun the way he deserved to be treated. “On Sunday, h-he didn’t even lemme touch him!”

Roo danced all over Jonghyun, licking his face furiously and nudging their faces together in what Seodam liked to believe was an attempt to cheer the boy up. She wrapped the three of them in a tight group hug and soothingly sifted her hands through Jonghyun’s thick, blonde locks. Comfortable silence was a perfect substitute for a meaningless bout of words, something simple which Seodam knew Jonghyun would appreciate. “Shh, Jonghyun. Calm down. Shh.” she soothed, carefully adjusting Roo so that she wasn’t suffocating her brother to death. “I think you should go talk to Kibum. Ask him what’s wrong.”

Jonghyun shook his head vigorously and swiped at his eyes. “I don’t think surprising him in p-person will turn out well, Seodam. He’s obviously staying away from me for a reason. I think I’m just going to leave it for now.”

The young woman frowned slightly, but figured that there was no use arguing when Jonghyun was in a state such as this one. Sooner or later he’d come around to his senses, and maybe she’d have another go of talking to her stubborn brother then. “Okay, Jonghyun, but just keep this in mind. There’s always two sides to a story, m’kay? Don’t place the blame all on yourself.”

Jonghyun, still bundled up with Roo and an abundance of cushions, nodded minimally. “Thanks, Seodam.” His fists lifted to rub his eyes forcefully, carefully lifting Roo of his lap in order to stretch. “I think I’m going to go to the supermarket for a bit. Get out of the house and clear my mind.”

His mother peeked at her son from her position by the stove, smiling softly at what she deemed her baby boy. “Take care, Jonghyun. Don’t buy too many sweets, and watch out for strangers.”

Snorting, Jonghyun rolled his eyes affectionately. “I’m twenty-one, mum. I’ll be fine.” He gave Roo a quick scratch behind the ears, cooing. “See you, Roo. Jonghyun-ah will be home soon.”

Upon arriving at the nearby supermarket, Jonghyun immediately made his way to the ramen isle, sliding multiple different packets into his shopping basket. He liked to call it a necessity – something he ate when hungry, depressed or tired. Ramen was similar to medicine, Jonghyun liked to believe. A cure for everything, no matter how big or small. Multiple packs of teabags were also deposited into the basket, and for some reason that day, Jonghyun paused by the cosmetic section, eyeing the boxes of hair dye which lined the shelf.

In deep thought, he ran a hand through his blonde locks, knowing quite well that his roots were probably beginning to show. It was a pretty big decision. Usually something which Jonghyun would spend days upon days contemplating. But this time around the singer was feeling a little bit more impulsive, making move to grab a box of dark brown hair dye and place it with the rest of his groceries.

He didn’t get far. Before his fingers could even make contact with the box, Jonghyun heard the sound of a mess being made behind him followed by the aggravated sigh of a woman. Turning around marginally, his eyes fell upon a pile of dropped groceries on the floor, a middle aged woman wearily bending down to pick them back up. Having completely forgotten about the box of hair dye, Jonghyun rushed forward to help the woman, lifting the heavier items and placing them delicately in the lady’s trolley. “Are you alright, ma’am?” he asked softly, before promptly freezing in his tracks as the woman looked up.

It was Kibum’s mother.

Jonghyun’s eyes widened in astonishment, and he unconsciously took a small step backwards. “M-Mrs Kim! Nice to see you again. Are you okay?”

The woman seemed equally as surprised, but nonetheless nodded softly and offered Jonghyun a small smile. “I’m fine, Jonghyun. Just carrying a little more than I can handle, I think. And it’s nice to see you too.” She studied the boy in front of her intently, taking notice of his red-rimmed eyes and cautious demeanour. A concerned frown threatened to dress her face, and Kibum’s mother was suddenly hit with the realization of just how kind and generous the boy in front of her was.

She knew that Jonghyun wasn’t a high school student. She knew that something about his relationship with Kibum was being concealed. She knew how her husband felt about him. But even so, she also knew just how happy he made Kibum, and before she could overthink it, felt herself grabbing his arm as he made move to leave. “Wait, Jonghyun!”

Jonghyun jolted in surprise, yet still paused to listen with a patient smile upon his lips.

“Look, Jonghyun…I know you’re not a high school student. B-But before you move to run away, I just want to tell you that no matter how you met my son, I don’t care.” She took a deep breath, adrenaline flooding her veins as she went against everything that her husband tried so hard to enforce. Jonghyun was frozen with disbelief, hands shaking faintly as she confronted what Kibum had tried so hard to hide. But before he could fret too much about it, Kibum’s mother continued, something which was equally as confusing to the both of them. “And I really shouldn’t be telling you this but, if you want to meet with Kibum, then I suggest coming to his school on Wednesday in two weeks time. We have parent teacher interviews. Oh and…if it means anything? He um, misses you a lot, Jonghyun. Hasn’t stopped moping since he got grounded on Sunday.”

A lot was going through Jonghyun’s brain at that particular moment, such as ‘why on earth is she being so nice to me?’, however the only thing he could manage to choke out was: “H-He’s grounded?”

Shocked that Jonghyun didn’t know about Kibum’s grounding, Kibum’s mother blanched before simply nodding sadly. “Unfortunately. And it was nice chatting to you, but I have a lot of housework to get through today. Don’t tell Kibum I said anything, alright? See you, Jonghyun.”

And she was off, leaving Jonghyun to simply stand there with his shopping basket in complete and utter confusion. There was a lot of new information to think about, including the opportunity to see Kibum in two weeks, but the singer couldn’t help but want to see Kibum a lot sooner than that. He sighed deeply one last time and took off, making sure to grab that lone box of brown hair dye on the way out.

Kibum and Taemin sat by the oval the following lunchtime, watching on with neutral eyes as Minho and the other players trained for their upcoming match. “I’ll never understand this game…” Kibum had muttered, Taemin mechanically nodding on in agreement. That wasn’t quite true. After Taemin had befriended Minho, he’d actually learned a lot about soccer, going to watch Minho on multiple weekends and having to listen to the times where Minho would ramble on about his interest at lunchtimes. And honestly, now that Taemin had figured out his feelings for the older boy, he definitely wasn’t complaining, taking appreciation in the way the sun perfectly reflected against Minho’s tall, sculpted body.

The two hadn’t spoken about the kiss since the day it happened, and while Taemin felt as though he should have been completely content with that, another part of him itched to speak up. Minho had looked as though he enjoyed it at the time. And he was the one who had suggested it in the first place. But with this onslaught of awkward glances and the inability to hold eye contact, Taemin couldn’t help but wonder what was really going through his best friend’s mind.

“Hey, Kibum?” he spoke, licking his lips nervously as the older boy looked his way.

“Hm?”

Taemin diverted his gaze to the ground and tried to make his speech sound as hypothetical as possible. “What would you do if just say…someone asked to kiss you one day, and then after you kissed, never brought it up again? Theoretically, of course.”

Confused by the random question, Kibum frowned, raising his brows at Taemin curiously. “Well that came out of nowhere.”

“I know, I know.” laughed Taemin good-naturedly, though practically sweating on the inside. “But c’mon, isn’t that weird?”

“Hypothetically speaking, they probably just wanted to kiss you without getting embarrassed or rejected because of it. Who did you kiss, Taemin?”

Colour shot to Taemin’s cheeks and ears, shaking his head desperately and waving his hands before his face. “I said theoretically, you moron! I didn’t kiss anyone.”

A sharp slap came to the back of his head, eliciting Taemin to yelp in surprise. “What the fuck! Are you mental?!”

“Are you? Do you think I’m fucking stupid? Who wanted to kiss you, Taemin? Because I swear to God, if they maimed you in any way whatsoever, I will stick their head in the doorframe and slam it shut on their neck.”

Taemin shuffled back in fear. “As if I’m telling you now! You’ll bloody kill him!”

Jaw dropping in an unflattering manner, Kibum struggled to form a coherent sentence. “H-Him?!” he screeched. “It wasn’t…Tell me…Not Kai…Please.”

The younger of the two sat in stunned silence, not knowing quite what to respond with. But apparently, silence was the wrong answer, the lack of response in Kibum’s vocabulary apparently being synonymous to ‘yes, it’s Kai.’

“That motherfucker…” Kibum seethed. “After all he did to you. Why would you even consent to kiss someone like that?! Excuse me while I go and murder him, Taem.”

“No, no, no! Stop standing up, you idiot.” Taemin called as Kibum stood to brush off his jeans. But Kibum was having none of it, looking off towards the courtyard where he was certain to spot Taemin’s old friend. Taemin watched in horror as Kibum’s eyes lit up and an almost sadistic smile etched upon his face, feet already moving towards the oval fence.

Panicking, Taemin looked towards the soccer players, sighing in relief when he realised that none of them were paying attention to his and Kibum’s little argument. He figured that nothing else would get the stubborn Kibum to come back, so bracing himself for an onslaught of questions, Taemin called out just loud enough for his fellow dancer to hear. “It wasn’t Kai! Kibum, wait! It was Minho!”

And just like that, Kibum was pausing in his tracks like a deer caught in headlights, slowly turning his head to study Taemin with wide eyes. He gestured to Minho with his head in question as though clarifying it was that Minho he was referring to, and upon Taemin’s sheepish nod, Kibum was practically running back to their spot beneath the tree. “Are you serious, Taemin?!” he exclaimed in a hushed whisper, a mixture of excitement and concern seeping into his tone.

“Do you really think I’d make this up?! It happened last Sunday…And I would have told you before now but it’s all a bit confusing, to be honest. But now that you know who it is…it’s obvious that your reason is wrong.”

Kibum rolled his eyes at Taemin’s naivety. “Ah, Taemin. You pure, pure little boy. The fact that it’s Minho doesn’t change anything! Why else would he suggest that you kiss, huh? He could’ve gone and kissed anybody…Literally, anybody. But he kissed you, Taem. And now he’s not talking to you because he probably thinks that you hated it.”

“Nope…He knows I didn’t hate it.” Taemin groaned, collapsing against the ground in embarrassment. “I practically—moaned! And as soon as I did he was out of there like The Flash, Kibum. If anyone hated it, it was him! I ruined everything, to be honest.”

With a disappointed sigh, Kibum shrugged his shoulders. “I mean…he could be embarrassed for you. But that’s awfully pessimistic, so just forget I said that. I reckon you should just go and talk to him, Taem. Confront him about the kiss. If you want your friendship to go back to normal, then it’s what needs to be done.”

Taemin hummed impartially, glazed eyes watching as the man in question scored a fairly difficult goal. “We’ll see.”

“Ugh, stop being all sad about it. You’re putting a damper on my already damp mood. Instead of worrying about how he feels now, just focus on the actual kiss. You actually got to kiss him, Taemin! So now you gotta spill, m’kay? C’mon, how was it?!”

Kibum’s optimistic pestering impelled a small, ecstatic smile to grow on Taemin’s face, and it was clear to see just how smitten he was by his best friend. “Alright well this is what happened…”

Eventually the school day had come to an uneventful end, a tired yet genuine grin of relief colouring Minho’s face as he made his way towards the student carpark. He spun his keys around his forefinger in boredom, and upon noticing Taemin waiting under his usual shady tree, quickened his pace. He was so preoccupied with the blush residing on his face and the desire to avoid the younger male, that Minho barely even noticed Amber making her way up to him with a confident stroll, jumping in shock as she appeared beside him.

“How’s it goin’, Minho?” the tomboy spoke radiantly, giving Minho a friendly nudge in the ribs. “Sorry for giving you a scare.”

“Oh yeah, y’know…the usual. About to head home. What’s up?” Minho responded, all of a sudden feeling awfully uncomfortable in Amber’s presence.

She smiled and scratched the back of neck blushingly. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to hang out on Sunday or something…if you want to?”

Flustered, Minho could merely stare openly at Amber in astonishment. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. And with barely any exertion of effort whatsoever it was being passed over to him on a silver platter. A week ago, Minho would have been giving the enthusiastic response of ‘sure!’ within just a few seconds – no doubt about it. But now, as he reflected on his feelings and what he wanted to say in response, the only thing that Minho’s mind could provide him with was the recollection of how Taemin’s lips felt against his; the heat which had pooled to his stomach upon hearing the younger boy’s contended sighs. Minho tried to snap out of it. Tried to remember that short-lived kiss he’d experienced with Amber just weeks ago. But alas, came up with nothing – the insignificant memory having already been pushed to the very corners of his mind.

So it came as a surprise to even Minho himself when without a second thought, he heard his mouth spout of some jargon about how he was sorry because already had plans for that Sunday. Amber grinned good-naturedly, like she always did, and took off happily without another complaint.

Minho didn’t have any plans that Sunday. In fact, Minho didn’t have any plans for the entire weekend, nor the ones following. Yet nevertheless, after having the option presented to him, Minho found that despite how nice it had seemed at the time to date someone like Amber, he actually didn’t want to at all. Instead, all Minho could think about was Taemin - his best friend, his escape, and as it now appeared, the boy of his affections.

#jongkey #fanfiction #jonghyun #key #my number one fan #filler i guess #chapter 25 #jongkey fanfiction

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