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twiceinadream · 3 years

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“Trust me.”

Requested: Yup

Request: Dahyun and reader have been best friends for as long as the both of them can remember. When Valentine's Day is nearing but Dahyun's date bails on her at the last minute, reader offers to be the one spending Valentine's Day with Dahyun instead(maybe because there was already so much planned/prepared or something, also to cheer Dahyun up). At the end of the day, Dahyun admits that she'd much rather spend any and every day with reader than with a guy, and in the heat of the moment, reader confesses that she's been in love with Dahyun for forever

a/u: Hey, guys! So I’m back and I hope you enjoy the first fic of my Valentine’s Day prompts along with my first Dahyun fic. I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you all like it too. I love you guys!

Background: “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” (In Japanese, is a way of saying “I love you” or expressing your love) and you respond with, “I can die happy.” (If this is wrong, I’m sorry in advance I learned everything off Google)

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 3.1k

The cool spring breeze blew the scent of fresh flowers and fried food throughout the market as you and Dahyun walked by the various stalls. And by the look of all the roses and pink hearts you could definitely sense the love in the air since Valentine’s Day was tomorrow after all and just like before, you would be spending it alone. However your best friend wouldn’t be joining you this year like in the past when the both of you would watch cheesy rom-coms and gorge on overpriced chocolates. She had been asked on a date and you were equal parts excited and annoyed.

You loved Dahyun and wished her nothing but happiness, but the thought of really spending the “day of love” alone in your apartment stung a bit. That’s when you felt a poke at your shoulder before turning to face the brunette, “What's wrong?”

You raised an eyebrow to feign confusion, “What do you mean?”

She frowned, looking you in the eyes as she looked you over, “Don’t play stupid with me Y/N, I know you too well for that.” You shrugged as you turned away from her, not wanting to answer her question when you felt her grab your sleeve; stopping you in your tracks.

“It’s nothing really, so please drop it.” You gave her the best smile you could muster as you felt your heart seize in your chest, looking at the way she wanted to help you but you continued pushing her away. Clearing your throat to change the subject as you continued walking, “So...what do you and your date have planned for tomorrow?” At the question you could instantly see the way your best friend’s mood perked up as a wide smile spread over her lips as you felt your heart drop in your stomach, ‘And I thought I was the only one who could make her smile like that.’

But you quickly steeled your emotions as you tilted your head towards the brunette to talk, “We’re gonna go to an art museum, then go check out a traditional Japanese garden, then go to dinner at some fancy restaurant they really like.” At the list of activities she had planned with her date you couldn’t help but wonder if she was more excited about the date itself or the fact she wouldn’t be single for Valentine’s, because for the entirety of the lifetime you had known Dahyun she didn’t really like any of those things.

You pursed your lips as you looked up to the sky, “Sounds fun, Dahyunnie.” A cool breeze blew across your face as you inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the pounding in your head as you tried to calculate how much ice cream could mend your breaking heart, “I hope you have fun with them.”

—

-The Next Morning-

It was a nearly perfect spring morning, the sun was barely peeking over the tops of the buildings as the sky remained a beautiful blue, free of any stray clouds. It seemed just a little too perfect.

But, that was none of your concern as you cuddled into your comforter, content on just staying in bed till the afternoon before moving to your living room to binge on every rom-com Hollywood had ever produced along with a tub of ice cream and takeout for dinner.

You face-planted into your pillow as you groaned at your own plan, “God, I'm single.” But your small pity-party didn’t last for much longer as your phone suddenly began ringing, you reached blindly onto your nightstand not even bothering to see who was calling as you answered, “Hello?”

The sound of crying met your ears as your eyebrows knitted in confusion pulling your phone away from your ear to look at the caller ID. Your eyes immediately widen at the name, “Dahyun?”

“Y/N?” Her voice sounded broken and shaky - you could tell she’s been crying and it broke your heart that she hadn’t called you sooner - she sniffed hard, “They canceled, they said they found another girl to go out with. I saw the text this morning.”

You gritted your teeth, not wanting any creative insults to slip from your mouth as you were already getting out of bed, “That bastard, I’ll be over in fifteen.” Dahyun hummed into the phone as you hung up. Standing in front of your closet as you grabbed a comfortable pair of jeans and a soft sweatshirt Dahyun had given to you for your birthday that you knew she loved to borrow - steal - from you. Before moving to the bathroom to brush your teeth and touch up on your appearance before heading to the door to slip on a pair of sensible shoes before walking out of your apartment and locking the door. Dead set on giving your best friend the best Valentine’s Day of her life.

—

-Dahyun’s Place-

True to your word you had arrived at your best friend’s apartment in a little under fifteen minutes as you used the spare key she had given you to enter the home. Quickly kicking off your shoes by the door as you made your way down the hall to her bedroom, sighing as you lifted a fist to knock. Immediately after your knuckles hit the wood Dahyun was already beckoning you inside, “Come in!”

You could tell she was still crying by the crack her voice made when she yelled, a sad smile painting your features as you entered the room. Noticing how the brunette looked smaller than usual swaddled in blankets and a sweatshirt, stray tissues littering her bed as you could see that her eyes were red and puffy. You quickly sat on the bed beside her and waited for Dahyun to either climb into your arms or not, not wanting to force any physical affection on her. To your slight relief she quickly made her way into your arms, sitting between your legs as she leaned into your hold. Both of you sitting in silence as you rocked the two of you slightly, her tears eventually subsiding as she let out a deep breath. “Th..thanks for coming.”

She pulled away from your grasp to look at you directly as you smiled at her crookedly, “Of course. I would rather spend my morning comforting my best friend than going to jail for manslaughter, I always have time for that later.” Dahyun laughed wetly as she hit your shoulder, you grabbed it in mock pain as you pouted, “Wow, Dahyun-ah, I come here to make you feel better and you wound me.”

The brunette rolled her eyes as she turned around to tackle you to the bed, “Crybaby.” You raised an eyebrow as you rolled the two of you over.

“You’re one to talk.” Dahyun stuck her tongue out and for a second you almost kissed her, almost. You noticed your staring had gone for a little too long as you released her from beneath, clearing your throat as you sat back against her headboard. “So, any plans for the rest of the day?”

Your best friend deadpanned, “I just got dumped Y/N. What do you think?” You held up your hands in surrender.

“Sorry, sorry. Token single person here, but is there anything in particular you were thinking of doing?” Dahyun shrugged as she played with the corner of her pillow.

“I don’t know, I was really excited to go out today. I even bought a new outfit for the occasion, but I guess we just stay in and watch movies.” You could hear the dejection in her voice as you stood from the bed, looking from her to the outfit hanging by the bathroom.

“I have an idea, but I need you to get ready.” Dahyun looked at you questioningly.

“Why?” You smiled brightly as you pulled out your phone.

“Because. I’m gonna give you the best Valentine’s date of your life.” The brunette seemed unconvinced as you moved to physically drag her out of bed and shove her towards the bathroom, “Trust me.”

Dahyun shrugged, as she began closing the bathroom door. Shaking her head to herself, “Why not, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

A grin broke out across your face as you left the room, doing a small victory dance in the hallway as you let out a giddy laugh, ‘Yes!’ You cheered to yourself as you settled down on the couch to research a place to end the night, smiling as you read that there was going to be fireworks later and you had a perfect place in mind to watch them.

—

It took Dahyun an additional half hour before she was finally ready and you were starting to think she had climbed out her bathroom window to ditch you. But the sound of her bedroom door opening quelled your fears as you stood from the sofa, smoothing down your outfit as she rounded the corner. Your jaw dropping as you saw her.

Her hair was done up in a bun, she wore a brown cable knit sweater, and a flowy beige skirt. She laughed at your reaction as a light blush dusted your cheeks as she twirled, the skirt lifting around her ankles as she smiled at you, “How do I look?”

You were at a loss for words as you opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish before finally being able to form a coherent word, “Stunning.”

Dahyun laughed lightly as she walked past you to the door, “Well, are you just going to stand there or are you going to give me the ‘best Valentine’s date of your life’?”

You quickly followed after her as she threw you words back in your face, leaving the apartment as you both stepped out onto the street, “You bet I am.”

—

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you drove, the radio playing quietly as the new song by 3Mix played in the background. You couldn’t help but smile as you kept stealing glances of Dahyun beside you, your long time crush and best friend looked beautiful and you just couldn’t help but keep looking as you pulled up to a market. It was busier than it normally was with most people spending the day out with their significant other, leaving the place more packed as you opened the passenger for Dahyun to get out.

A teasing smile on her lips as she slung her bag back over her shoulder as you both entered the street market. Couples walking all around you as Dahyun threaded her arm through yours, holding onto you as you weaved through the crowd to her favorite tteokbokki stall, it was farther back in the market leaving it less busy than the ones near the front as you both went up to the counter to order. The old man working the stall immediately recognized the both of you as he smiled, “Same as always?” You both nodded as he scooped the rice cakes and sauce onto a plate, noticing Dahyun’s arms wrapped around yours, “I didn’t know you were two dating.” He said fondly as you handed him the money, shaking your head.

“Oh um, we’re just friends.” You said shyly as he apologized immediately.

“I’m so sorry, you two just look good together.” You and Dahyun just blushed as you thanked him before moving to sit.

The brunette dug in immediately as you watched her eat, “Do we really look like a couple?”

Dahyun looked up from her plate, “I mean, it’s Valentine’s and we’re out together Y/N, of course we look like a couple.”

The amount of sarcasm in her voice made you roll your eyes playfully, “Seems like Cupid got his arrow stuck somewhere other than your heart.”

Your best friend let out a scandalized gasp as she reached over the table to hit your head, “L/N Y/N!” You cackled loudly as you avoided her attempts to hit you, as you stuck your tongue out.

From behind the counter the old man watched the two of you from the corner of his eye, ‘And they’re so convinced they’re ‘not dating’.”

—

When the two of you finished you thanked the man one more time as you returned the plates, before walking to the main portion of the market that seemed busier than when you had arrived. Neither of you wanted to enter the fray until you got a whiff of the smell of freshly made hotteok hitting your nose. Did you grab hold of Dahyun’s hand and rush in the direction of the smell.

Smiling like a little kid as you located the stall and quickly got into line behind a few couples, waiting for a few minutes before you and Dahyun made it to the front. A lady in her mid-40s greeted the two of you as you placed your order, “Hi, can I get two honey hotteok please.” You gave the woman a small smile as Dahyun leaned her head against your shoulder, watching as the lady began making the fried pancakes on a griddle beside her.

It didn’t take long for the batter to cook as she wrapped in paper and handed it to the both of you, “That’ll be ₩2,000 please. And I have to say, you two make a very cute couple.”

Before you could open your mouth, Dahyun was already handing her the money, “Thank you, have a nice evening.” You looked at the brunette in confusion as she shrugged, handing you your pancake.

“It’s easier to just say, ‘thank you’. They stop asking questions or looking at us like we’re weird.” You shrugged as the two of you made it back to your car, noticing the setting sun as the sky was a mix of yellow and orange.

“Hey,” You looked over to Dahyun to catch her attention, “I have one more place I want to go if you don’t mind.”

The brunette shook her head, “Of course I don’t mind, you’re the one planning the date after all. I’m just enjoying the ride.” She added a wink at the end that made your heart flutter as you pulled out onto the street.

“You should probably nap, it’s a bit of a drive.”

—

Getting through the city during rush hour was a nightmare and a half that you had forgotten to account for as it took an additional hour to finally make it out towards the mountains that surrounded Seoul. The road up was filled with soft curves that eventually woke Dahyun as she noticed that the two of you had left the city and were heading up, the sky was beginning to darken as the moon began making its presence known.

You continued driving past the usual lookouts till you turned onto a dirt path, a questioning look on the brunette’s face, “Where are we going?”

It was now your turn to deadpan Dahyun, “Just trust me, okay?” Your best friend shrugged as she sat back in her seat, looking out the window till you stopped the car. “We need to hike a bit.”

The unkempt grass brushed against yours and Dahyun’s ankles as you navigate your way through the overgrown foliage. Along the way the brunette’s hand found yours as you helped her down the steep path till you came to an open cliff that gave a perfect outlook to the skyline of Seoul. Night had blanked the sky as stars glittered against the dark, a look of awe on the Korean girl’s face as she couldn’t believe her eyes. She had lived her entire life here and she had never seen the city as beautiful as it looked now.

You couldn’t help but smirk as you noticed the lost look in your crush’s eyes, “Beautiful isn’t it.”

Dahyun nodded as she tore her eyes away from the lights to look at you, “I didn’t even know this place existed, thank you for taking me here.” The brunette’s eyes softened as she felt something in her change as she looked at you, a feeling she never felt before. “But I have to ask, why are we…”

Before she could ask, the sound of an explosion sounded as you both turned to see the remains of fireworks. Her eyes widened as more lit up the sky, the sound of the explosions barely reaching your ears as she watched the show. Vibrant colors danced across the night sky as she continued to stare, “Beautiful.”

Your eyes had left the sky long ago as your gaze was focused solely on Dahyun, a wistful look on your face, “More than.”

It didn’t take the brunette long to have the feeling she was being stared at as she looked away from the fireworks. She quirked an eyebrow as she took in your expression, “You okay, Y/N-ah?” You shook your head as you blinked, clearing your throat as you quickly turned to look back to the sky, looking at the moon as you remembered a saying yours and Dahyun’s friend Sana had once said, “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” At the sudden Japanese leaving your mouth it Dahyun took a moment to decipher what you had just said, when the saying clicked as you looked back at her.

A small smile forming on her lips as she understood what you were telling her before she answered you back in Japanese, “I can die happy.”

In that moment it felt as though the whole world was silent, the sound of your heartbeat in your ears was the only noise that seemed to exist as you and Dahyun stared at each other. A mutual feeling seemed to pass between the both of you as you moved in closer, her hand reaching out to cup your cheek ever so gently as you leaned in slowly. Your hands finding her hips as you pulled her forward slightly as she met you halfway, your lips meeting hers in a soft kiss as your eyes fluttered close. Your heart did a somersault in your chest as the world seemed to resume around you again as the sound of the grand finale of the firework show exploded behind the two of you.

A light laugh leaving your lips as you pulled away to breathe, your foreheads resting against each other as you held your girlfriend(?) closer. A cocky smile on your face as you rubbed your thumb along her cheek, “So. Was this the best Valentine’s date of your life?”

The Korean girl couldn’t help but laugh at your question as she shrugged, “Eh, it was okay.” You felt your smile quickly fade as the brunette giggled at the look on your face, “Maybe you’ll do better for me next year...Jagiya.”

#fortwice #twice #twice imagines #twice prompts #twice one shot #twice fluff #non idol au #kim dahyun #kim dahyun x reader #happy valentine's day 2021 #anonymous #twiceinadream

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malfoymanortings · 3 years

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lavender and velvet //part nine

SUMMARY: she had her fathers eyes, his aristocratic looks, her grandmothers spite, her mothers heart, but the one thing she didn't have was the love of her father that her god brother received. juliet black finally meets her father who has already decided who his child is.

PAIRINGS: George Weasley X OC!SiriusDaughter

taglist: @person1839 @big-galaxy-chaos @spooderham @iamashlynmarie @acciosiriusblack @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @ivettt @msmarklee1213 @briargardens @adoregin @emptyporsche @id-rather-be-an-outsider

as always, let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist.

thank you to everyone who has given feedback on this story so far! I’m so happy many of you are liking it so far. also, wanted to give a shout-out to @id-rather-be-an-outsider because their comment on the last update gave me an additional plot point. 💕

part one contains links to the previous chapters.

It was half past one in the morning on Christmas Eve when Juliet woke up to someone prodding her face. She blinked her eyes clearly, finally registering that Ginny was the one who had woken her.

“Ginny,” she sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Time to wake up,” Ginny grinned, her lips quirked up in a devious grin. “Or have you forgotten our tradition?”

Juliet blanched for a moment, before realization hit her. “Damn. I had forgotten. Is everyone else already there?”

Ginny nodded, motioning for her to get up. “Yes, now come on!”

Juliet lugged herself off the bed, bringing her favorite blanket with.

Every Christmas Eve, early in the morning after everyone else had already gone to bed, the twins, Ginny, Ron, and Juliet held a sesh. The one time the Weasleys had been at Hogwarts over Christmas, Neville and Lee Jordan had joined them. It was always a tradition.

“Well well, we almost thought the ladies weren’t going to show,” Fred greeted as they walked in. “Would have had more for us.”

Fred was sitting against his bed, a bong between his legs, George next to him, while Ron sat on the other side with his back against the wall. Ginny sat next to Ron, and Juliet sat next to George. Her bare leg brushed against his, and she couldn’t stop the chill that went through her as she did so.

“Almost thought the two of you weren’t going to show,” George grinned happily at the girls, his eyes slightly glazed. They must have already started smoking. “We had to start without you.”

“Please, you probably started sometime after Molly had gone to bed,” Juliet shook her head, spreading her blanket over her bare legs. “As usual.”

Fred blew her a kiss, winking in reply. He passed the bong to Ron, who took a rather deep hit, before coughing it out nearly immediately.

“So far Ronnie’s the little bitch tonight!” crowed Fred, clapping his hands together as he laughed.

“Have you cast a silencing spell yet?” Juliet nudged George, nodding towards Fred who may as well have been a warning siren at the level of his noise.

George shook his head no. “That probably would be a good idea, though.” He waved his wand, and the room glowed a bright blue for a moment.

Half an hour later, Fred had taken to laying on the floor, furiously scribbling on a parchment a list of ideas for the joke shop. Ron was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, which the twins had bewitched to display a twinkling night sky. Ginny lay next to him, pointing out different ones she saw. Juliet had rested against George’s bed frame, his hand in her lap as she played with his fingers.

George turned to Juliet, that same look on his face from Kings Cross. He blinked slowly, licking his lips. “Jules, can I shotgun you?”

Juliet felt her heart skip a beat, and promptly lodge itself in her throat. The logical part of her brain was screaming at her to say no, that it wouldn’t be good for her to do so with her newfound feelings for her closest friend, but that part of her brain was muddled and hazed from smoking. So she nodded.

“It’ll be easier if you sit on my lap.” George stumbled a bit over the last part, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Okay.” Juliet breathed, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Inside, she was screaming.

Juliet hesitated before kneeling in front of George, hesitantly sitting on his thighs. She wore nothing but her oversized tee shirt that hung to her mid thighs, leaving her bare skin to sit on his flannel pajama pants.

No one seemed to notice what they were doing, but she was hyper aware of George’s body under hers. She would never have done this sober.

George inhaled deeply as he took a hit from the bong before setting it back down, and then turned his face towards hers. He reached out his hands to cup her cheeks, his fingers tangling into her long hair. Leaning forwards, he pressed his lips to hers, their mouths parted, and he exhaled the smoke into her mouth.

Their lips lingered together for a moment longer than necessary, before Juliet pulled away to exhale herself. She coughed slightly, pressing a hand to her chest. George’s arms suddenly found their way to her waist, bringing her closer to him. She was now flush against his chest, pressed against where she could feel something hard against herself. Her eyes widened as she realized this, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. Partly from her hazy mind, and partly because she wondered what George was doing.

His lips crashed onto hers once more, moving with an urgency she hadn’t felt before. His hands ghosted from her hips to her hair, tangling his long fingers in the strands as he pressed her firmly against him.

She found herself wrapping her arms around his back, everything slightly tilted and out of sorts as she did. She didn’t fully register what was going on, all she could focus on was that she was finally kissing George, the boy she wildly fancied.

As their lips moved against each other, his hands moved down her bare thighs, groping at her soft skin. His tongue felt foreign on her own, fuzzy and out of place through the hazy fog of her mind. She hadn’t ever kissed someone like this before.

Once again, George’s hands found their way to her hips, holding her tightly against himself. Without thinking, she ground her hips against his, a soft moan releasing from her lips involuntarily. He groaned into her mouth, bucking his hips harshly up into hers.

That seemed to sober the two of them up, as they realized what they were doing.

They quickly pulled away from each other, Juliet hastily sitting back on the floor next to him, staring at the carpet as her cheeks flamed. Fred was laughing, loudly, and she didn’t dare look to see what Ron or Ginny’s reaction might be. She felt utterly foolish, and dirty. Had she really just made out with her best friend in front of his family for Merlin’s sake?

“I was wondering when that would happen,” Fred chortled, looking back down at his parchment. “Absolutely splendid.”

“What happened?” asked Ginny, looking over at the two of them from where she lay on the floor.

“Nothing,” Juliet quickly cut Fred off, standing up on shaky legs. “I just, erm, feel rather tired. I’m going to head to bed.”

With that, she quickly (or as fast as her muddled mind would allow her to) left the room, shutting the door tightly behind her, and headed to her room. What she hadn't expected was to run into Sirius, who was just leaving Buckbeak's room.

“Jules?” Sirius cocked his head, walking towards her. “What are you..” he trailed off, suddenly sniffing the air around her. “No shit? You’re high?”

“Uh, no,” Juliet wracked her brain for an excuse, feeling as though she were sorting through foam. “I am perfectly level.”

Sirius gave her a doubtful look, crossing his arms. “Perfectly level?”

“As a side bar.” she nodded, keeping her eyes wide and honest.

Sirius blinked once, then twice. “Good Godrick, is that the best you can come up with? You’re my daughter for Merlin's sake. We’re going to have to come up with something better than that for next time.”

Juliet tilted her head, her brow furrowed in confusion. His words spun round and round her mind, but she couldn’t quite understand what he meant. He seemed to notice this, and an exasperated grin appeared on his face, shaking his head.

“I suppose I’m reaping what I sow,” he muttered quietly, almost to himself. “All those years Rems and I did this to James, of course my daughter does the same.”

“I am completely following you.” Juliet nodded solemnly, attempting to at least appear as though she were coherent and understood.

“Right, right, of course.”

He motioned for her to follow him, and she followed him downstairs, pausing at a door that seemed oddly illuminated by a candle burning resolutely in the hall. It had a faint and peeling silver R on the front of the worn wood. She didn’t think she had ever seen the inside of the room before.

“What’s in there?” she questioned, sticking her thumb out towards the door. “Is the R for room of requirement? Have you got one of those here? I think that’s really swell and helpful for the order, dad.”

Sirius looked taken aback, not only by her question and her mumbling, but at the fact that she had openly called him dad for the first time.

“Well, no, good guess though,” he paused, his hand limply lying on the railing of the stairs. “That’s my younger brother’s room. Regulus.”

Her eyes widened once more. “Oh wow, he’s been in there this whole time? He’s wicked quiet!”

Sirius took a deep breath, as though to ground himself. “Actually, he’s dead. He was killed by Voldemort.”

Juliet faltered. “Oh wow. Sorry.”

Sirius shrugged, continuing down the stairs. Juliet followed, taking great care to hold the railing tightly. She followed him into the kitchen, where he motioned for her to sit down.

She sat, watching as he went into the pantry. The door creaked loudly as he opened it, remerging with two bottles of butterbeer and an assortment of snacks. He dropped the bounty on the table, and Juliet snatched a chocolate frog, suddenly ravenous.

“My brother decided to follow the family views and joined Voldemort and his supporters,” Sirius explained as Juliet munched on the snacks. He took a sip of butterbeer. “Suppose he got in too deep, and ended up trying to leave when he realized what was asked of him. Problem is, you don’t just get to leave. You get the mark for life.”

Juliet nodded, swallowing a sip of Butterbeer and taking a package of crisps from the pile on the table.

“That’s why I worry about you being friends with the Malfoys,” he said rather honestly, spinning the bottle cap from his drink on the table. “They’re Death Eaters, Jules. You’re a Black. A pureblood. Voldemort would love to have you on his side, especially because you’re close to Harry and the Order.”

“Don’t think he knows I like Harry,” Juliet disagreed, swallowing hard on a crisp. “Draco still thinks I’m upset that you like him more than me. He thinks I hate scarhead -Harry-, I mean.”

“I don’t like him more than you, Jules,” Sirius shook his head, looking sharply at her. “I love the both of you equally.”

Juliet was quiet for a moment, the only sound heard was the crunching of her snack. “Did you love James?”

“Yeah, of course I did-”

“No, like, did you love him as a boyfriend?”

Sirius sputtered at the question, looking as though she had beat him over the head with a bat. “For Melins sake- no, I did not love him like that! He was my brother!”

“Oh.”

It was quiet after that. The two of them ate a few more of the snacks, sipping their Butterbeer. By the time the clock struck one thirty, Sirius was herding her upstairs to her room. He made sure she was safely tucked into bed before he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Ginny was already in bed, her mouth agape as she snored loudly. The girl was normally a quiet sleeper, but each time after their Christmas Eve sesh she would take on the sound of a chainsaw. They always got well baked on these nights.

Juliet fell asleep nearly the moment her head hit the pillow, into a dreamless slumber.

It felt like she had just shut her eyes when she was being woken up by a loud crack near her head, causing her to jerk awake and fall onto the floor.

“Mphfm,” she groaned, slowly lifting herself off the ground.

“Sorry!” Ginny was apologizing, her cheeks red. “I knocked over my exploding snap from the twins and it went off.”

“S’okay,” Juliet sat on the bed, her head feeling a bit swollen. “Oh, our presents!”

“Thank you for mine, by the way,” Ginny beamed, motioning towards the beauty products that were lined up on the dresser. “You knew exactly what I wanted.”

Juliet waved off her thanks, gingerly sorting through her own pile. A handmade knit sweater, a dark emerald green with a silver J stitched on the front, from Molly. Remus had given her an assortment of books, ranging from different healing remedies, and jinxes/hexes with their counter curses. Sirius had given her a handheld mirror, with a note detailing that he had the other and they could use it to communicate when she was at Hogwarts. Ginny had given her a book with different beauty spells, and she flicked through it to see pictures detailing different makeup looks and hairstyles that could happen with the swish of your wand. Fred had given her a jar of peruvian darkness powder, something she knew he and George had been working on perfecting for some time now. George had given her a necklace, a dainty silver chain with a gleaming crescent moon charm dangling from it. On the back of the necklace, were the words ‘my moon and my stars’, written in a glittering lettering.

She held it in her palm for a moment, feeling it grow warm for a moment before cooling down once more. Odd, but she supposed George might have charmed it to do something special. That would be like him. She clasped the necklace around her neck, hanging below the hollow of her throat.

“We’ll be visiting dad today,” Ginny informed her, running a brush through her hair. “Expect we’ll be leaving soon. Mums had a rough morning, Percy sent back his sweater with no note, good for nothing knobhead..” she muttered a few other insults under her breath.

Juliet stood, digging through her trunk for something to wear. She decided on a dark grey turtleneck tucked into a dark green pleated skirt that fell to the top of her thighs, and grey thigh highs with a ruffled lace trim. Her hair was left down, in neat waves framing her face, courtesy of a spell from the beauty book Ginny had gifted her. The necklace from George glittered in the light.

Oh, Merlin. George.

The memories of last night came flooding back to her, and she nearly poked her eye with her mascara wand. She and George had absolutely made out and then she left the room.

Her heart began racing, and as she slid on her black boots, she prayed George didn’t remember. The sound of everyone conversing downstairs floated up the steps, and she made her way down fairly quickly. She at least wanted a cup of tea and a bite of toast before they headed to the hospital.

To her delight, Remus was there and accompanied them to the hospital to visit Arthur. She didn’t run into the twins until they gathered to leave, and as George averted her eyes, her heart sank. He definitely remembered the kiss if the way he refused to look at her was any indication.

When they arrived in the room and had greeted Arthur, Remus drifted off towards the werewolf, who had been looking rather wistfully at the crowd gathered around him. Juliet followed, taking the chance to escape the stifling presence of George who was still pointedly not looking at her.

“Happy Christmas,” Remus greeted, smiling kindly at the man. “I’m Remus Lupin.”

“I’ve heard of you,” the man grunted, eyeing him warily. “You were a Professor at Hogwarts, weren’t you? Until they found out you were a werewolf.”

Remus nodded, keeping a smile on his face. “That would be me. But between you and I, I think it was rather good luck I had been outed. The kids were a bit more wild than I had thought they would be, and my daughter seemed to take a liking to keeping me on my toes.”

Juliet smirked in agreement, he wasn’t wrong. The man turned his attention to her now, his eyes narrowing.

“Daughter?” the man questioned. Remus nodded. “Your wife stayed with you even though you’re a werewolf?”

Remus blanched for a moment. “Well, I don’t have a wife. Juliet is my adopted daughter.”

“They let you adopt a kid?”

“I was her godfather, and when her parents were no longer around, Albus Dumbledore vouched for me.” Remus explained, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh,” the man grunted, shifting in his bed. “S’pose you’ve had rotten luck with getting a job since the Daily Prophet article, huh?”

Remus shrugged. “It’s certainly been more difficult to find.”

The man nodded, looking deep in thought. “I got fired once they learned of my condition,” the word twisted from his mouth. “And I’m sure my wife is going to leave me next. She keeps wanting to visit but I don’t want her to end it while I’m laying in a hospital bed.”

“Has she given you any indication that she wants to end it?” Juliet spoke up, tilting her head to the side.

The man looked at her as though she had grown another head. “I’m a bloody werewolf, who in their right mind wants to stay with that?”

“There isn’t anything wrong with being a werewolf,” Juliet disagreed. “I mean yes, things will be harder, but if she really loves you it doesn’t matter. It’s a manageable condition, and it doesn’t make you any less of a person.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” the man scoffed, looking towards the window.

Juliet opened her mouth to retort, but Remus placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

“I understand,” Remus said quietly. “I was changed when I was five years old by Fenrir Greyback. I’ve had a lot of years to come to terms with my condition, and the one thing that you must remember is that it doesn’t define you. You cannot let it consume you and dictate every aspect of your life; you must learn to work with it instead of attempting to cut corners or ignore it entirely. Your life will never be as it was, but you can make your new normal.”

The man was silent for a moment, and Remus’s words seemed to sink it, as he then asked how he would go about trying to find another job. Remus conjured up a chair, settling in before telling him the different things that worked best for him.

“Can we talk?”

Juliet turned to see George looking down at her, his face unreadable for the first time to her. She nodded mutely, following him out to the hall. He checked rooms, finding one that was empty and pulling her in with him.

It was a regular hospital room, with an empty bed and various potions lined up on the wall. It was one of the private ones, meaning there was just one bed and an accompanying bathroom.

“I wanted to say that I was sorry about last night,” George said slowly, his words clear. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, obviously. I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries.”

“Oh,” Juliet responded, feeling as though she had been winded. Her chest stabbed painfully. He said he wasn’t thinking clearly. “Right. ‘Course.”

“So yeah,” George rubbed his neck, teetering on his feet. “So we can forget that it happened, yeah? Go back to being normal?”

“Yeah, of course,” Juliet responded, but her voice was too high and didn’t sound at all like herself. “No problem. I think I’m just going to go back to the room, now, before anyone starts to wonder where we went.”

“Right, of course,” he responded awkwardly, moving towards the door. “So, no one has to know, Fred already promised he wouldn’t say anything.”

Her chest burned with shame. He didn’t want anyone to know that they had kissed. She felt mortified at the thought, he probably wouldn’t want anyone to know he had kissed a slytherin who was two years below him. How embarrassing! And she supposed he was worried about Alicia Spinnet, surely she wouldn’t be too happy to hear about that. And George certainly wouldn’t want to mess that up, she was perfect for him. Pretty and a Gryffindor, sans daddy issues.

“Right, wouldn’t want Alicia to get upset,” the words came from her mouth before she could stop them. “Wouldn’t want you to lose your dream girl over a stupid mistake.”

“What do you-”

Before George could finish his sentence, she darted from the room, blinking back tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. His rejection had hurt, and she hated that anything had ever happened. No matter how much she had kept thinking of his lips on hers, she would forget it all happily if it meant she hadn’t gotten a taste just for it to be ripped away. How could she just be friends with her best friend who had broken her heart without even knowing it?

By the time she had gotten back to the room, everyone was getting ready to leave. She quickly made her way to Remus’ side, keeping her head down. George had reappeared a few minutes after her, and no matter how many times he tried to get her attention, she pointedly ignored him as he had done to her that morning. It would do her no good to fill her mind with empty fantasies of what would never be.

They went back to Grimmauld Place, where Molly blasted Christmas carols in the living room, and everyone gathered to celebrate the last hours of the holiday. Juliet, Ginny, and Hermione danced along with Remus and Sirius, who kept giving each other the most peculiar of gazes. It was funny for Juliet to see how surprised everyone else was at Remus’ carefree attitude, as they had known him as their teacher. They didn’t know of the days he would dance with her to muggle music in the kitchen.

By the end of the night, everyone was rightly tired out from the excitement of the day. Juliet had made a quick race to her room, having successfully avoided George the entire night. No one aside from Fred had seemed to notice something was off between the two.

As she clambered up the stairs to her room, she very nearly ran into Kreacher, who was skulking around the portrait of Walaburga Black. He was muttering to himself, and gave her a dirty look as she apologized for running him over.

“Masters daughter apologizes to Kreacher after not watching where she was going, reckless like her father, not like Master Regulus...”

“Regulus?” Juliet questioned, recalling the name from the previous night Sirius had found her high. It was his younger brother, her uncle.

Kreacher nodded eagerly, his large eyes widening. “Master Regulus was so kind to Kreacher, he was the best son of Mistress, most loyal, and Master Sirius acts like he was a dirty no good swine...”

When Kreacher spoke of Regulus, his face took on an unexpectedly soft look of yearning and admiration. When he spoke of the way Sirius viewed his brother, hatred seeped back in and twisted his features.

Juliet paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts carefully before she spoke. She knew that Kreacher seemed to idiolize Regulus, which could explain some of the dislike he harbored towards Sirius. If she were to jump into claiming the things Sirius told her about his brother, that would make Kreacher upset and she would likely never hear more from him on the subject. A large part of her suddenly wanted so desperately to know of her Slytherin uncle. Maybe he had been the same as her, thought of as a typical Slytherin with no one if any bothering to look beyond his house.

“Regulus was my uncle, right, Kreacher?” she questioned, watching his head bob as he nodded. “Can you tell me about him?”

Kreacher eyed her cautiously, his mouth forming a tight line. “Why does Mistress Juliet want to know about Master Regulus?”

“Well,” she paused. “He was a Slytherin like me. He probably would have understood things a lot better than my dad.”

Kreacher nodded vigorously, eager to talk badly about Sirius. “Master Regulus was much better than Master, yes, he would have understood more, so smart he was, not a nasty Gryffindor like Master, proud of his bloodline and good to the very end, especially to Kreacher.”

Juliet bit her lip, waiting a beat before she asked. “I would have loved to know him. Can you tell me... how did he die?”

Kreacher opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Hermione came up the steps, bumping into Juliet.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Hermione exclaimed, placing a hand on Juliets arm. “Oh, happy Christmas Kreacher!”

Kreacher scowled immediately, muttering under his breath, “mudblood addresses Kreacher like he cares about her, speaking to the house elf of the most noble ancient House of Black, dirty girl...”

Hermione gave a pained smile, brushing past the two to her bedroom. Juliet cursed her timing, now Kreacher was wandering off down the hall.

“Kreacher,” she called, making the house elf pause in his steps. “Can you tell me about him tomorrow?”

Kreacher gave a jerky nod, and continued off down the hallway. Juliet sighed, and headed off to her room. At least tomorrow, she would find out more on her uncle.

As she got ready for bed, she slid the moon charm along the length of the silver chain, pondering her feelings for George. What she had hoped would be a passing crush had turned into a full blown issue for her. What was she going to do?

The charm once again heated up in her grasp, before cooling back down. She narrowed her eyes, and set the charm on her bedside table. She hadn’t asked George about it. She didn’t get the chance.

Tossing her blanket over her body and burrowing into the bed, she shut her eyes. Ginny’s soft breathing lulled her to sleep, her conflicting feelings of George tightening in her chest.

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innranrae · 3 years

Text

🐚 A Birthday Amidst the Archipelago

A/N: oneshot for my fav russian boys bday, i included the golden apple archipelago bc it was the most fun event/area I've experienced in genshin so far and I'll miss it a lot but at least it's inazuma and electro aether time, anyways hope you enjoy this and if you have suggestions/tips on writing or anything please lmk! I'm new to it all and I'm trying my best ;w; my friend proofread this tho and shes big brain so id say this one is pretty swaggy

￫ pairing(s): Zhongli/Childe, Aether/Venti (kinda platonic tbh), Venti and Dvalin vibing

￫ word count: ~ 3k

￫ cw: alcohol

￫ ao3

🏖️

Zhongli sensed a large being coming from the skies of Duyun Ruins. He did not want to believe it, but his doubts were soon confirmed.

Dvalin descended from the clouds with a heavy thud, sending the living creatures around either running or flying. Mounted on the Dragon of the East were Venti and Aether; The bard wore a pair of sunglasses and a light attire that shocked Zhongli to the core, he had thought the anemo archon could not get any more ludicrous, but it appears he was mistaken.

A slight frown grew on his face watching the scene and the geo archon couldn’t help but raise his palm to his face, sighing. On the flip side, Childe was astonished; his eyes sparkled observing Dvalin, considering what the outcome would be if they were to fight.

—

2 days earlier

“Traveler,

It has been some time since we last saw each other. I do hope your ventures are going smoothly.

I am writing to you to request assistance with an event that will take place two days from now. As you may know, Childe’s birthday is on the 20th of this month and I have been finding it hard to come up with a suitable gift. I wish to surprise him but nothing that fits my criteria comes to mind, in addition to the fact I am still adjusting to mortal life and their festivals.

If you do not mind and, of course, if you are free that day, I hope you can help me with this matter.

Zhongli”

After sending his letter to Aether, Zhongli straightened his shoulders on the stool at one of Heyu Tea House’s tables, raising a cup of steaming tea to his mouth, and waited for his guest to arrive.

“Receiving an invitation from Mr. Zhongli first sure feels nice,” a voice shouted coming from the stairs.

Zhongli glanced at the harbinger who took a seat by his side, “Childe, do you have any plans for your birthday?”

Childe widened his eyes slightly, “Birthday?” He raised his hand thoughtfully to his face. “Oh, my birthday! Hm… Is Mr. Zhongli planning on giving me some type of gift?” The harbinger smiled playfully.

“Please answer my question.”

“Nope! None at all.”

In actuality, Childe should be busy taking care of the Fatui’s business around Liyue; unfortunately for his underlings, he was going to do whatever he wanted either way. Additionally, he had a feeling Mr. Zhongli’s question was not trivial, and speculated the archon probably wanted to make plans.

“I see."

Unexpectedly, instead of proceeding on that topic, Zhongli said nothing more as he took another sip of his tea.

Despite the surprising lack of further development, he forgot about it as soon as Zhongli started to talk about a Ruin Hunter he encountered the prior day in the fields.

He knew by now what topics intrigued Childe's simple warrior mind, and that alone had Childe rambling about fighting tactics and his own experiences to Zhongli, occasionally trying to convince the archon to fight him, which he politely refused.

—

Meanwhile, at the Golden Apple Archipelago...

"I could really use a hand over here, Venti!" Aether's cry for help could barely be heard over the shrieking group of hilichurls advancing one after the other.

"But I-"

After unleashing a wind vortex from his palm, Aether glared at the bard, who was leisurely plucking the strings of his lyre on top of a rock. "Playing a battle song isn't helping!" He cut Venti off, resulting in the end of Venti's untimely concert with lots of whining.

After jumping off the rock, the bard shot an arrow that sent the group of monsters flying altogether.

The pair had a short-lived moment of relief, but soon the eerie sound of a horn was heard, indicating that more enemies were on their way. Aether groaned while Venti giggled nervously, and so, they had to return to their combat stances.

Not long after engaging, the traveler heard a short sound that made him stop his blade.

“Oh, I’ve got mail,” Aether walked a few steps from the fighting, reading the message while leaving the bard to get the monsters’ attention.

Venti's eyes widened at the sudden rush of monsters coming directly at him, though luckily, he sent them flying once again.

“Woah~ Don’t do that so suddenly, traveler, so mean!”

After reading Zhongli’s message, Aether was deep in thought, looking around as if searching for something, until his eyes met the green-colored ones of the anemo archon that reciprocated the eye contact, with a touch of wonder.

Zhongli opened the new mail he received, analyzing the few words Aether had sent.

“Meet us by Duyun Ruins at 9 in the morning, bring Childe with you.”

“Meet us? If I am not mistaken, Paimon has been staying with Xiangling, and didn’t show any signs of wanting to leave any time soon. Perhaps she can easily travel back and forth,” Zhongli thought to himself.

—

Present Day, Duyun Ruins

Jumping from the dragon’s back, Venti beamed, “Morax! Long time no see~!” Arms wide open as he threw himself towards his old friend. But before he got too close, Zhongli shielded himself, and instead of a hug, Venti’s face was compressed against the solid surface of the geo shield.

Venti staggered a step back from the impact, raising his hand to his cheek, now starting to swell, “Ow!” He pouted.

Zhongli tried to keep his cool, throwing a look at the two boys who recently arrived,waiting for an explanation.

Aether catches on the meaningful gaze and reassures, “Don’t worry, I think we avoided being noticed by anyone.”

“Yeah, Dvalin here is… Well, he tries to be discreet when flying around. After all, I was the one who taught him that~" Venti put a hand on the dragon's body while the other gave Zhongli a thumbs up.

"Saying you were the one who taught him does not reassure me one bit…" Zhongli’s veins were protruding from distress by now. "Aside from that, aren't you supposed to be more careful not to expose your identity in front of the common folk?"

The three other men stared at Zhongli in confusion, exchanging looks between themselves, "Common folk?" Venti asked. Childe was the first to realize he was probably talking about him and began laughing at the Zhongli's seemingly forgetfulness.

"Morax, you sure only remember what you want, huh. Even I know from the traveler's stories that this boy here is the eleventh harbinger of the Fatui. If that harbinger lady took my gnosis, I'm sure this kid knows my identity by now," Venti reassured while Aether slowly nodded, feeling second-hand embarrassment.

Zhongli was at a loss for words, raising his fist to his mouth, awkwardly coughing. On the other hand, the harbinger found the situation quite funny and patted Morax's back a few times while giggling.

Zhongli met Aether's eyes, "Nevertheless, what I desire to know is why that bard and his dragon are here?"

"Well, you’ll see when we get there," Aether reassured, getting back on the dragon's back along with Venti.

Childe cheerfully jumped on, extending his hand down to the geo archon who bashfully accepted, pointedly ignoring the meaningful grins the two other boys directed at him. And with little effort, Dvalin took off to the Golden Apple Archipelago.

The Snezhnayan boy's eyes gleamed with excitement from his first-ever experience that high up, sitting between behind Aether and in front of Zhongli.

Though, his laxity almost made the reddish mask on his hair fly away, luckily being rescued by the man behind him.

"Thank you!" The powerful gushes of wind made his words difficult to understand, yet enough for Zhongli to understand them.

If any normal person would travel through the clouds in the back of a dragon for the first time in their life, surely they would practice caution or be a little wary of their surroundings.

However, because Childe was Childe, an expert in adapting fast to just about anything, the journey on the skies was far from frightening.

A few minutes had passed and the boys were already close to their destination, and with his usual carefree expression, Venti looked back at the men behind him, yelling as Dvalin descended, "Hold on tight!"

With another loud thud, Dvalin settled at the northwestern part of Twinning Isle. Aether grew anxious in anticipation, waiting for Childe to see the preparations that he and Venti had come up with in such a short timeframe.

They had the inspiration from Alice's surprise for Klee, though not as crafty as she was. With the help of Tubby back in the Serenitea Pot, he managed to decorate the place nicely with newly crafted objects.

Umbrellas and chairs painted a light shade of sky blue sat next to fishing rods, Sea Ganodermas and conches decorated the sand in a path leading to a gazebo, which had seashells and starfishes hang from the wooden ceiling, surrounded by curtains.

And inside of it, one chest stored miscellaneous things, while the one next to it contained something that Venti declared extremely necessary: summer clothing he managed to acquire. In addition to the clothes he prepared, the anemo archon was also tasked with providing the food and drinks.

Visibly so as there were at least three bottles of either dandelion or osmanthus wine for every single dish on the table. Which, of course, was all paid for with the traveler's Mora.

All in all, the table was charmingly organized. A cake with a whale drawn on top of it sat in the middle of it all, while balloons were tied to the wooden table.

Upon reaching the sand, Childe was fascinated. The ocean breeze brushing against his face, the warm sunlight of the Archipelago and the salty waves gently crashing onto the tide united all the scenery together.

He’d never seen such a tropical place in his life, so unfamiliar in comparison to his frozen homeland's weather and features.

Lost in admiration for the scenery, he had already forgotten that it was his birthday, only remembering when Zhongli called out his name, directing him to look ahead where the decorated area was put, in preparation for the celebration to commence.

Venti leaned back against Dvalin's tail, already playing a melody, as the other three walked along the decorated path.

Aether fastened his steps, going ahead and getting a small box. Then, turning back to the birthday boy, he extended the gift.

"Happy birthday, Childe."

The harbinger let out a small "thank you" before opening it.

His blue eyes twinkled as he grabbed the content inside the box for closer examination. It was a bright piece of wood with a smaller version of him, Teucer and Aether drawn on it, as well as a ruin guard, or “Mr. Cyclops” as his little brother would say, stood behind them.

Without thinking, Childe embraced Aether tightly with a wide smile across his face, and at the display of the ginger’s excitement, the traveler couldn't help but feel accomplished.

After the gift was exchanged, Venti pointed out the clothes he had prepared, which made Zhongli flinch at the thought of wearing sunglasses as eccentric as his. Luckily, they were just lighter clothes, not accessories.

Childe, already excited from the exotic scenery, went on ahead to change his clothes behind a tall rock.

Zhongli and Aether walked towards the same location, at a much slower pace than the Snezhnayan boy, who was already out of sight.

“Thank you for your efforts, traveler. You managed to surprise me as well,” Zhongli finally got the chance to say.

“It was no problem at all. I’m having fun and the ‘tone-deaf bard’ was a great help, too.”

Childe emerged from behind the rock suddenly, wearing shorts and a shirt that was presumably supposed to be buttoned up. As a matter of fact, all the attires were of a similar design, the few differences being their color schemes, a few patterns, and the boy’s usual accessories.

Before any reaction, they heard monstrous noises getting closer to the shelter. A group of hilichurls nearby seemed to have been alarmed by the dragon’s arrival.

Something inside Childe’s mind clicked and he immediately turned the way of the shrieks, getting ready to fight, “Leave them to me!”

“Oh I was counting on that,” Aether affirmed as Venti nodded. Knowing very well of the harbinger’s passion for fighting, they speculated about the attack and gladly attached it to the list of events for that day.

Aether’s words were thrown at no one though, since Childe had left as soon as those four words left his lips earlier, leaving no time to receive any reaction from the others.

Bad luck for those poor hilichurls, honestly.

Childe's hydro blades moved swiftly, leaving droplets in the sand as they slashed one after the other, ending each almost instantly, leaving little space for a counterattack. He only stopped moving when there were no more of the monsters around, either because they were actually all dead or ran away from fear.

Coming back to the shelter’s path, Childe saw that they were now fishing, which made him joyfully run to join them, and noticing that he was back, Zhongli offered Childe a fishing rod and a seat next to himself.

“Oh man, this takes me back to the old days with my dad,” The ginger said while settling down on the beach chair, “Though the temperatures are the complete opposite, haha. I wonder if my family would survive the extreme change in the weather, though.”

Zhongli and Aether listened attentively while holding their rods, all the while, the anemo archon, visibly tipsy, communicated with Dvalin nearby.

“How come you managed to adapt this easily to the sudden climate change, Childe?” Zhongli asked.

“A warrior must always adapt to any situation. If I let the heat get the best of me, I'm weakened, consequently leaving myself open to enemy attacks."

"Damn, he never changes. If it isn't about his family, the answer is always related to being a fighter… Well, it is almost comforting in a way." Aether thought, mentallyrolling his eyes while taking a sip of the drink Venti had given him.

"I see," Zhongli seriously responded, "It is indeed true. Keeping one's body and mind stable is a must when facing laborious challenges."

Childe was filled with joy upon hearing the acknowledgement. It was always pleasant to hear someone who understood his point of view.

The traveler shifted his attention upon feeling a small force pulling down the

rod.

A fish had finally taken the bait, and the eyes of the two men also moved towards him when they heard the small "oh" Aether let out.

They all rejoiced at the successful catch and its size, and the traveler went straight ahead to prepare a meal for them.

—

As the day went by, they had almost checked everything on the task list; They fished for a while, Aether showed the mechanisms and puzzles that Klee's mom prepared, even landing his Harpastum so Childe could try them, he also taught them how to ride and summon the Waverider, they exchanged various anecdotes, as well as how the traveler came across the Archipelago in the first place, describing the whole Dodo King saga, and finally, filled themselves with food and drinks.

The sun rapidly fell under the horizon, merging the last colored rays of marigold into the indigo night sky. Venti had managed to convince the traveler to drink with him throughout the day and, needless to say, they were quite drunk by now, though both of them had a high tolerance and were somehow still acting civilized.

While Dvalin slept, the four men sat on the sand, listening to Venti sing around the crackling campfire.

When the bard began to sing a piece about Snezhnaya, Childe seemed to have recalled something.

He shuffled through his belongings, grabbing a bottle with a clear liquid, “This was a gift I received earlier, it’s a Snezhnayan specialty alcohol, Fire-Water!”

Aether gulped nervously at the familiar name. He had heard the stories around Mondstadt, how Master Diluc spent three days in bed after drinking a single glass of it, leading to the unsuccessful partnership with the Snezhnayan merchants.

Childe poured the liquid into separate cups and went around distributing them to the boys. Sitting back in his original spot, he continued, “As per tradition, we have to down the cup in one go!”

Venti was all in for the proposal, and despite their concern at first, Zhongli and Aether respected the birthday boy’s wish.

After raising their cups in a toast, they all drank the beverage at once.

Childe cheered, rambling about how he missed the taste of the drink. Zhongli seemed to be unaffected, calm as always, smiling and listening to the Snezhnayan boy.

However, Aether didn’t seem so well, he had expected the feeling, but because of the previous drinks he shared with the bard, it seemed to have had a stronger effect on him.

Aether wasn't the most affected by the drink, though.

That one shot was the ultimatum for Venti. His vision was blurry and he couldn’t stop laughing, which alarmed the others, but before they could take action and ask what was wrong, the archon fell into the sand, a grin on his face as he passed out.

After the realization of what just happened, Aether was the first to talk, “Um, I’ll take him to the shelter. I’m feeling a bit… dizzy too. I’ll get some sleep, haha,” He was making a great effort to sound coherent.

“Hope you enjoyed your day, Childe.”

A sincere smile was directed towards the boy sitting next to Zhongli. That expression warmed Childe’s heart. Aether had put great effort into this whole day and he could tell.

Childe was about to open his mouth to say something after the traveler turned his back to them while carrying Venti, but was stopped by the blonde, “Oh, there’s something I forgot to say. If you go west from here you will find another island with a shipwreck on top of the, um… Rock structure thing. It’s a good place to watch the stars. Anyways, hehe, good night.”

That piqued the two tall men’s interest, and after watching Aether and Venti enter the shelter, Childe looked at Zhongli, who was already standing up, as if he shared the same idea as the other.

A short cruise to the Nameless Isle later, Zhongli and Childe were already walking side by side through the tide, leaving steady footprints on the sand’s surface.

When the two stopped to both admire the place and look for a way to get to the top of the rocky mountain, Zhongli noticed a mural on the rock, which showed a shipwreck and what seemed to be a few people trying to save each other.

The archon was pondering about the meaning of it when he heard Childe’s voice from behind him.

“Mr. Zhongli, there’s a wind current over here!”

Zhongli went to the other’s location, noticing the current that led to the top of the mountain.

Without much effort, both of them got to the original destination: The shipwreck Aether mentioned.

It was indeed a tragic but beautiful place; a place where one could watch the azure starry sky, pale moon glowing brightly.

The two found a spot to sit near the ship that once sailed the seas, and watched the galaxies above them.

Childe offered another shot of the Fire-Water, which the both of them shared. Zhongli closed his eyes, deep in thought.

He had been trying to find the chance to give Childe his birthday gift, but he couldn’t find the opportunity to do so. Finally, now seemed like the perfect time.

He reopened his eyes and stared at Childe, who was watching the sky attentively, blue eyes shining unitedly with the stars.

“Childe.”

Upon hearing his name, he turned to look at the archon.

“Give me your hand,” Zhongli said, reaching his own towards the harbinger.

Childe automatically did so, and after searching for an object on the pocket of his shorts, Zhongli put the present on the other’s palm.

It was a single earring made of Noctilucous Jade and Cor Lapis, in a similar fashion as the one earring Childe normally wore.

“This reminded me of you when I saw it. If you do not wish to wear it, I understand, but I do hope you could keep it with you.”

Zhongli said that but the harbinger was already taking off his original earring, making the archon a bit embarrassed at the impulsiveness of the boy, yet very pleased.

Childe had been rambling about the, now, old earring and how he had gotten it in the first place, but after a while of no response from Zhongli, he gazed at him, being met by the image of the geo archon fast asleep.

Zhongli had a high alcohol tolerance, but with the nightfall, his drowsiness had grown to an almost unbearable level, and now, he was finally subdued by it.

Ajax couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest, his expression softened and he decided it was time for him to rest too.

He had never had a better birthday in his life.

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shippingtheswann · 5 years

Text

Answering the Call

A/N – this is my first ever One Shot. It is based off the prompt found on @bleebug Tumblr – Best friend CS AU where Emma butt-dials Killian when confiding in her friend(s) about her feelings for him, and he just sits there listening, confused and ecstatic and feeling like a jackass for eavesdropping, but mostly just relieved that his love isn’t unrequited like he’s believed for years. My story takes a little bit of a different route, but still has it all.

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His night wasn’t ending on a good note. There was no way after the day he had. He spent the last twelve hours preparing a presentation, and all he had to show for it was a slide that had his name and his professional information Killian Jones, COO, Jones INC. He was no where close to being ready for the conference next week. Normally, his brother Liam would be the one making the presentation. But, this time, Liam forced Killian to take on the job to impress potential investors and companies. He hated it. Public speaking wasn’t his strong suit – and neither was coming up with a way to make his company look good.

On top of that, he missed his weekly hang out with his friends. It had been a tradition that he looked forward to every week.

They would choose a new bar each week; trading off who was the designated driver (or the person who paid for the Uber) and who got to choose the location that week. You would think that after more than 5 years of weekly meetings, they would have run out of places to find – but each week, there was somewhere new within the hour drive of their universe.

Sure, Killian could normally tell what kind of bars he would be going to each week, simply based off his friend’s personalities – but he still enjoyed trying out new things. He especially enjoyed the company.

The past few weeks of bars had been an adventure to say the least. Mary Margaret and David had taken them to an 80’s themed pop up bar that had been opened and closed in quick succession. Ruby had decided on a biker bar out in the middle of nowhere that claimed to have the best moonshine. Regina took them up to Canada for her turn, opting for a special wine tasting at a place that looked like a castle. Trying to get 7 drunk Americans back into the country turned out to be easier than he expected. Graham had chosen another traditional sports bar.

Killian had been looking forward to this week. It was Emma’s turn.

Even though she wasn’t standing in front of him, his heart still skipped a beat when the thought of her.

Emma Swan was everything that Killian wanted but couldn’t have. She was untouchable. Not only was she too perfect for him – with her blonde hair and green eyes that brought just about every man she knew to his knees – but she had a dark sense of humor that Killian couldn’t get enough of. She was sarcastic half the time. She was the perfect drinking partner – never getting drunk enough to black out but keeping the pace with the men and showing them that she was just as much of a bad ass as they were. She was strong, yet gentle; loving but protected. She was perfect.

Ever since that night they met, Killian had been drawn to her; wanting to be around her every chance he got.

But, she was off limits. She was David’s adopted sister. She had been hurt in the past. She had walls sky high – and while Killian still worked on cracking those walls, he knew that nothing would ever come of it. David warned him the first night they met back in Freshman year. After another stupid frat party where Killian put on his best dashing rapscallion persona, David cornered him and told him to not mess with Emma.

They had grown up a lot in the last few years, but Killian knew it wasn’t enough to make Emma his, no matter how much he prayed for it to happen. And he knew that David wasn’t Emma’s keeper, that she could make her own decisions; but he respected David too much to cause any friction.

It was also worth remembering that Emma hadn’t once returned his affection.

As Killian walked through his apartment, in search of some much-needed aspirin, he remembered the last time that he brazenly flirted with Emma.

It was during their trip into Canada with Regina. They had all had too much to drink. When Regina said that she had paid her assistant to work extra hours and drive them home in the large van that she had rented, everyone pregamed in the van once they crossed the border. He could remember rolling his eyes when Regina had told them that they were traveling up in a rental van that night, but he couldn’t wait. He could remember pushing Graham out of the way to get to Emma’s side, not wanting anyone else to get all her attention. He remembered glass after glass of rum, even though Ruby was giving him a hard time about it being a vineyard. His hands, having developed a mind of their own, found Emma’s hair while they were sitting in a booth away from the crowd. As the night wore on, he got closer and closer to her, flirting a little bit more with each inch. Yet, she never reciprocated. She remained aloof. She was sweet and caring, but never crossed the line Killian was hoping she would. Her hands never traveled to him. They stayed firmly on her lap. The words that she whispered to him as he laid his head on her shoulder too tired to keep his eyes open as the van drove silently down the highway.

“You’re my best friend, I can’t”.

He had been placed in the friendzone – and he didn’t see himself ever leaving it. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear those words or not, but the weight they carried finalized everything.

While that thought weighed heavy on his mind, he also knew that just having her in his life was better than nothing. If all she wanted from him was a friendship, then he was willing to be that for her. All he really wanted was for her to be in his life forever, for her to cast her glow upon his life for eternity. So even if she never loved him the way he loved her, he was OK with that.

And he did. He loved Emma Swan as deeply as one could love. Everything he did, he did with her in mind. He took the job at Liam’s company simply because he knew he would be able to afford to give Emma the life she deserved, even if it meant sacrificing what he loved to do, which was sail. There was no real job market in sailing, but Liam’s investment company made money and provided Killian with a safety net he knew Emma would need one day. He begged Liam to open a branch of the firm in Seattle, not wanting to be too far from his second family. He even purchased the apartment in hopes that one day he would share it with Emma. It was only a 10-minute walk to her job, and Killian abused that knowledge at times, randomly bumping into her on her lunch break or seeing her as she walked into the precinct in the mornings.

He popped the two pills and drank some water. It was nearing midnight and he was too tired to eat, even though the leftovers from dinner the night before were calling to him. He sat on his bed, his hands playing with his phone. He missed Emma, and the group. He missed their antics. They always ended up getting into trouble, even if they didn’t mean to. He wanted nothing more to just call Emma and talk to her. She always picked the best bars and he wanted to hear about everything that happened. His apartment was just too quiet.

He flipped the phone in his hands a few more times, then opened the screen and clicked on Emma’s name. He knew she would probably be asleep, but he just wanted to hear her voice, even if it was for only a few minutes. They hadn’t spoken at length since that night in Canada. Just a few casual conversations when they saw each other at last week’s bar hop. Graham hadn’t left Killian and David alone that night – there was a big game on that kept their attention on the screens.

The time that passed felt endless. The ringing of Emma’s phone kept his brain alert, while sending his body into shock at the same time. The nerves pulsing through his system would have been enough to kill just about anyone. After 4 rings, he didn’t think she would pick up and his heart sank. The feelings that washed over him were worse than the nerves that had been replaced. While he knew she probably wouldn’t answer, he got his hopes up again. Her voice came through the phone causing a slight smile to develop on his face. But, it was only her voicemail, telling the caller to leave her a message or to text her like a normal human.

“Hello Love, I was just calling to see how the night went. I missed you all, but Liam was insistent that I finish the presentation. Call me when you get a minute, or you know, text me. Either one. You know that I worry you didn’t make it home ok,” he said with a laugh, referencing his weird motherly concern, as Ruby called it, “I haven’t talked to you in a while and I just wanted to catch up. Well… have a good night Swan and hopefully I will talk to you soon”.

He hung up with a sigh.

He threw himself rather dramatically onto the bed. His arm came to wrap around his head, sheltering his eyes from the beaming light on his ceiling.

Just as his thoughts started to drift towards the deep end, where he would wallow in self pity thinking that he ruined his friendship with Emma that fateful weekend, his phone rang in his hands.

She appeared on the screen, all bright and beautiful. It was a picture Killian had taken of her one weekend the group traveled down to San Diego. She was sitting on the beach, the ocean sparkling in the background. The strings of her bikini poking out from her red coverup. The large straw hat she wore to block out the sun bent back. Her smile was contagious, as she had just finished laughing at something Mary Margaret had said. He cursed himself for ever making that picture her caller ID. He wanted to stare at it more than talk to her.

He forced himself to answer the call.

“Good evening Love,” he started, waiting to hear her angelic voice answer him back.

He could hear mumbling, but no one spoke directly to him. There was laughter in the background.

“Emma,” he said, a bit louder than normal.

Still, no one answered. There was some scratching on the phone, and then things came in a bit clearer.

Ruby’s unique laughter came through the phone. He could hear Mary Margaret shushing everyone else. Regina’s voice then came in. He was able to hear the words out of her mouth, but something was muffling the noise.

“Come on Emma, Truth or Dare?” Regina said.

He could hear more giggling, then the woman he loved said “Truth”.

It finally dawned on him that Emma must have butt dialed him. Emma’s iPhone had been known to do that a few times. It was so old, and she refused to upgrade it even though her plan allowed her to. Yet, Emma kept the beat-up thing that took nothing more than any piece of fabric touching it to unlock it. A few times, she had accidently dialed her Captain when she was putting her phone in her pocket. He laughed to himself before yelling her name one last time.

“Emma” he screamed into the phone.

No reply.

As he moved the phone away from his face, about to hang up the call, he heard something that had him pulling the phone back towards his ear.

“Alright, tell us how you really feel about Killian,” Regina

He felt wrong to listen, but something in him needed to know what Emma felt.

There was a round of laughter as the girls were probably getting settled to hear Emma’s confession. He could imagine them. Regina was probably sitting in a chair, her icy eyes focused on Emma. Mary Margaret was probably on the floor, trying to contain her excitement. Ruby was probably lying down, taking up the whole couch of whoever’s apartment they were at. It was Emma that he had troubles imagining.

Was she smiling as Regina asked the question? Did her heart start to skip at beat at the mention of his name, the way it did for him? Were her cheeks flushed because of thoughts of him?

“Killian’s my best friend,” Emma said, muffled by her pocket. He could hear a smile in her voice.

“Come on Swan, there is more to that – tell us how you really feel about Killian,” Regina said, this time a bit more forceful than before.

He heard a sigh and he felt his heart completely stop; the breath caught in his chest.

“Oh, fuck it,” she started, her voice coming in a bit clearer, “I love the man. OK! I love him. I’ve loved him for years.”

He almost dropped the phone. Everything that was happening suddenly stopped – time stood still. Emma Swan loved him. The woman he loved, that he would go to the ends of time and space for loved him back. He heard the words straight from her mouth. Yet, the words didn’t sound exciting and promising. They sounded sad. It was if a knife was slowly cutting out his heart. She loved him, but clearly that love wasn’t enough.

“But I’m scared OK. I’m scared of what loving him might mean,” she concluded.

“What do you mean?” Ruby asked.

“Remember when we all went to that bar Regina found a few weeks ago,” she paused, probably waiting for her friends to nod their understanding, “Killian was being just so… Killian. He was the perfect gentleman and the whole night, I just imagined what being with him would be like. We aren’t even dating, but he was constantly touching me, throwing attention my way. What would that be like if we were actually together? Then, in the van, he put his head on my shoulder, and suddenly, my feelings smacked me right in the face. And then I got scared. He is my best friend – what would happen if I lose him? What would happen if I lose our friendship? I couldn’t live with that. The last few weeks, with us barley talking because I got scared of my feelings, has been so rough. All I’ve wanted to do is talk to him, be near him; it’s been torture.”

Killian let a breath out. A thousand things were running through his mind. How could he be so blind to what Emma was going through? How could he get her to change her mind and be with him? He needed to make her see that no matter what, they would be OK. She needed to understand that he would never do anything to hurt her, that he would spend eternity making sure that what they used to have will always be there, as a strong foundation to what they were going to have.

“Oh Emma,” Mary Margaret’s soothing voice echoed in his ear, “You can never be sure what is going to happen, but you can’t live your life surrounded by fear. Fear is natural and serves a purpose, but you can’t let it control your happiness. Love, true love, the love that I know you have for Killian and he has for you, is worth the risk of anything that may happen.”

“You really think he loves me?” her voice was barely audible.

“Of course, he does!” he heard Ruby yell.

“The man isn’t the brightest, but he isn’t a dumbass, of course he loves you,” Regina quipped.

Killian rolled his eyes at the words, but she was right – he did love her.

“What should I do?” Emma questioned.

“You tell him, you tell him everything. Be honest with him. Tell him you are scared. Tell him you don’t want to lose his friendship. But start with telling him you love him,” Mary Margaret told him.

He could hear shuffling, movement of fabric over the phone. Then, everything got very clear.

“Oh shit,” he heard Emma whisper, her voice louder than it had been before.

Suddenly, her face appeared on his phone. She must have turned on her FaceTime app.

“Well hello there love,” he smiled, not hiding the cocky grin that was now splashed across his face.

“How much of that did you hear?” She asked, her cheeks reddening.

“Enough to tell you that I love you too,” he said.

Maybe the night was going to end on a good note.

#One shot #CS #Captain Swan #captain swan fanfiction #Captain swan one shot #Captain Swan OS #Captain Swan FF #CSFF #fanfiction

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christophe-delorne · 5 years

Text

Good Dog: Chapter 14

Warnings: Blood, violence, NPC death.

Notes: Took forever just to get the energy to write another chapter. I've never sighed so much in my life more than I have this past week. Memory & ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

AO3 Link.

The rain on the old rusted tin roof was near deafening, a dull roar in the old abandoned warehouse. Christophe wondered why it hadn't been torn down already, maybe it was just too much money to spend on a location that wasn't ideal. The fringes of Denver, where the poor and the degenerates scraped to survive on what they could. It was Kenny's natural setting, people would be more loyal here to their own kind than in the more upper class parts of the city. Good for making deals that weren't meant to be noticed. Out here, you knew what to expect from a person, they were more upfront with their desires than in the city. That meaning they would stab you in the front than in the back.

With nothing to occupy his mind, Christophe's addiction clawed at his insides until he finally broke and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He'd smoked more this month than he had this entire year, a sign of how much he hated this job. He wasn't certain which was was, a slow death or staying in Colorado for another day. He lit up the cigarette just as he heard the sound of a door creak on rusted hinges, in this part of town, the 'rats' would be more stealthy if they intended on stealing something. So it must've been on purpose, Christophe didn't turn to look though his hand fell to the pistol holstered near his chest, hidden beneath his jacket.

He could hear the footsteps approaching, purposefully making noise to alert Christophe, smart move as the Frenchman didn't like to be snuck up on. Finally, he turned his head, peering over his shoulder to see the outline of someone holding a small flashlight. There was no light in the old building, leaving Christophe mostly in the dark, the only sight was the flare of his cigarette but it was enough to catch the other resident's attention.

"Who's there?" A familiar voice called out, recognizing it as none other as Kenny McCormick.

"Just me." Christophe didn't particularly care enough at the moment to toy with the blonde.

"Fucks sake, Chris. Creepin' around like a freak." Kenny grumbled as he made his way over before dropping a bag on the dirty floor at their feet. "Also, fuck you for leavin' Butters out there, shit move, man."

"Butters? Cute." Christophe exhaled smoke politely away from Kenny, even if the other was pissed at him, Christophe still held Kenny in some regard. "I got the job done and he wasn't harmed. Just like you requested."

"He's goin' to have nightmares for fuckin' ever after this shit, dude." Kenny shook his head, trying to calm his nerves. "Whatever, I got you what you wanted. Two uniforms and some ID cards. Better not fuck this up."

"I don't fuck up, its usually other people who fuck things up for me." He flicked his cigarette onto the ground, grinding it with the toe of his boot before picking up the bag. He hefted the strap over his shoulder, not bothering to check the contents, Kenny was reliable in a sense and wanted Cartman gone just as much as anyone did. Christophe and Gregory where their only hope in squashing out this menace before it got worse, not to mention Kenny seemed fairly attached to this 'Butters'. Love had a way of making people desperate, and stupid.

"Whatever, dude." Kenny didn't seem to keen on holding much of a conversation with Christophe, but he couldn't blame him. It was rare that anyone could stand him after a few minutes anyways, Kenny had been different, a level of understanding. However, Chris had harmed someone more important to Kenny, something Christophe could understand. While his relationship with Gregory was abnormal, he would not tolerate anyone harming the Brit either. A strange bond that couldn't be broken, no matter how much Christophe was aware of how much it wore at him mentally. It was his life, all he ever knew and though at times he thought of just vanishing from Gregory's life, he would never be capable of doing so.

"Pleasure doing business with you." Christophe nodded, though he looked ready to get back to Gregory. Something was unnerving him, maybe his mind lingering on the relationship between Kenny and Butters had twisted him up inside, he wasn't certain. However, he was certain to always trust his instincts, they had saved his life in the past and he wasn't going to ignore them just because he didn't want to feel anything that would turn him into a moron. He lifted a hand in a return of a farewell as Kenny departed, seemed like the blonde didn't want to spend any longer out and about than necessary or else he'd likely would have invited Christophe out for a drink.

Christophe pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking it just in case he missed any messages, nothing. He took a moment to send a text to Gregory though, updating him on receiving the goods for their next mission and he'd be heading back now. Gregory was always keen on wanting updates, Christophe didn't want to bother with him nagging and complaining for days on end. Better just to do whatever Gregory wanted than suffer the consequences of displeasing him. He used one hand to send him a message, short and straight to the point as usual. Christophe had never been one to hold decent conversations, even in text form.

He waited before he received confirmation from Gregory, wanting to make sure the Brit received the message before heading out. His phone chimed, alerting him of a new text, Gregory seemingly pleased with how easy the transaction went down, as if he doubted that Kenny would hold up his side of the deal. In their line of work, it was always good to have a reasonable amount of doubt, people had a way of turning on you in an instant, without warning. It was good to never let your guard down around anyone, especially ones closet to you.

Christophe pocketed his phone and exhaled out heavily, time to face the downpour of rain, he wasn't looking forward to that. Settling his shoulders, he pushed open the old metal door and stepped out into the torrent of rain. Immediately he was drenched down to the bone, the sheet of water falling from the sky made it near impossible to see much. It'd cover up his whereabouts for anyone he might be following him, though he doubted anyone could truly keep up with him, he was far too paranoid. Instead of calling to be picked up by a driver, he decided to walk for a bit, another paranoid trait he'd picked up, not wanting anyone to know where he'd been and what he'd been doing.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, alerting him he received another message. Annoyed, he pulled it out of his uncomfortably soaked jeans. Rain splattered over the screen, making it hard to read. Luckily it was water proof, in his line of work he needed a durable phone, he couldn't count the times he'd ruined a phone from various, unorthodox ways. The text was from Gregory again, 'asking' him on what they should get for dinner. It wasn't much asking as it was just Gregory mocking him, Christophe knew Gregory wouldn't agree to anything Christophe suggested unless it was something Gregory originally wanted.

Christophe decided not to play this game, he was soaking wet and still had a ways to travel before he could be picked up. So he began to type a response, which left him distracted from his surroundings. He'd let his irritation for the Brit hone his focus so tightly that the surroundings fell away, the reason why thinking with your dick and your heart was never a good idea. Pain suddenly flared out across his torso, starting just below the ribs, closer to his side. He immediately knew what had happened, the pain was familiar. He'd been shot, the sound of the gun muffled by the rumbling of thunder and the roar of the rain, though out here, he doubted that gunshots were unusual.

He didn't hesitate to react despite the pain threatening to crumble him to his knees, instead he dropped his phone into a puddle so he could reach for his own pistol hidden under his jacket. The movement made the person behind him panic, firing off two more shots but only one managed to land in his shoulder, the other grazing his cheek. It wasn't enough to stop a man like Christophe though. He'd already whirled around to face his assailant, such sloppy work made him aware that this was no true hitman, likely just someone looking for money, or someone who didn't really know how to hire a proper killer.

Unlike the man shrouded in rain, Christophe wouldn't miss. He only needed a single shot, one pull of the trigger and the bullet was sent on its way, nailing the would be mugger right between the eyes. Even in such shitty conditions, Christophe would come out on top because he'd be damned if he'd let some scum put an end to him. Dying out in the gutter in such a way wasn't appealing, after everything he'd lived through, it would've been pathetic. Tucking his gun away, he pressed his hand against his side with a wince. It was hard to tell how much blood he was losing already when rain poured down his body, washing away the scarlet liquid into the darkness.

Hunching over a little as if that would lessen the pain, he limped is way over to the fallen mugger who stared blankly up at the clouded sky. Christophe didn't bother, wasn't the first time he'd seen a man's face contorted with surprise and horror right before death and likely wouldn't be the last. Crouching down with a pained grunt, Christophe searched the man until he found a wallet. He needed to ID this man, just in case he was a hired hitman, a terrible one at that. He took his pistol too, tracing guns was fairly easy if one knew where to look. Thinking about this made it easier for Christophe to focus on something besides the pain that threatened to consume him.

Tucking the wallet into his jacket pocket and the gun in the back of his jeans, Christophe went back to find his phone in the dark of a rainy night. The sidewalk wasn't smooth or new, leaving puddles just deep enough to hide a phone. Lucky, or unlucky, for Christophe, he managed to find it by stepping on it. He grimaced at the feel of it cracking under his boot, but regardless, with a smidgen of hope, he picked it up out of the rainwater. It still worked as light faded on the screen, but the screen was badly cracked. Great, probably wouldn't work for long though in this rain. He had to act fast.

He had to get out from the open, away from the body before someone found it. He doubted it'd be anytime soon, but Christophe wasn't going to risk it. The rain would wash away any trail he might leave behind as blood and water streamed down his body, draining into the gutters. Christophe quickly texted Gregory, sending him his coordinates and a single word. Help. That was all he needed to say, Christophe wasn't the type to ask for help lightly, so Gregory would take this summon seriously. Christophe tucked his phone away again, hoping it'd last long enough for Gregory to track his location if Christophe's address wasn't correct.

Honestly, Christophe could barely see clearly at this point, but far too reluctant to admit to it. He was aware that he'd likely pass out soon from blood loss, so he had to find somewhere to hide, and quick. Luckily, the grimy alleyways offered the perfect source of hiding places. Overfilled dumpsters forgotten by the city maintenance, forgotten boxes and even an old cushion-less couch lay to waste in the alley. There was also danger here as he likely wasn't the only one lurking in these shadows, but Christophe was willing to take that chance for now. He slumped against an old brick wall, feeling exhausted, a sign that he was fading from consciousness.

He could only hope that Gregory found him.

#south park #good dog #gregstophe #fanfic #gregory #christophe

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darkling-er · 4 years

Text

In Another Lifetime || a far cry 5 story

Summary: another chance to fight the Seeds or to leave well enough alone.

Note: I haven't written for far cry in a long time, also I'm from phone so sorry I don't know how to add a keep reading break to this .-.

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Montana. Big sky country, the treasure state. People got a lot of names for it. I just call it home. Lived here my whole life, still amazing how beautiful it is. Maybe that's what blinded us of how ugly the people were getting...

The cult crawled it's way into the county before we knew it. They were friendly at first, until things changed rapidly. Some people blamed me. I blamed me for a while as well. Things really got bad, once we tried to arrest them, the Seeds. It was a war, and no one could stop it. Not that either the Resistance or the Project tried. We were no different from one another. At first I believed we were in the right, part of me still does. But after all the murders, people dying out there to win this fucking thing. I realized it was no matter, who won, if so many lost their lives along the way. I wished things were different, if maybe we could change things, a peace treaty. But it was too late for that. After killing the Seeds and confronting Joseph, I knew it was too late for both of us to turn back. He had my friends... And yet he still gave me a choice.

What a choice it was. I turned around like a coward, took the sheriff, took Pratt and Hudson - though she wanted to fight - and we left them all behind. Until Whitehorse turned on the radio I thought we were free of this insanity. But he just HAD to turn the god damn radio on. Even if Jacob was dead, the song still stuck behind, crawling it's way into my mind like a worm, until my nose started bleeding and I looked at the Sheriff with panic. I could hear Pratt's cries as well, only to hear Earl say: "What's wrong?"

Then everything changed. I didn't black out. I didn't turn red and go frenzy. But the world spun around...

When I was just a child, my Uncle and I were traveling at night, I fell asleep in the passenger seat of the moving car. Lulled to dream by the motion and noise of rain on the window. I felt weightless. Then my Uncle lost control over the car, it slipped on the wet concrete, taking a turn too fast. And I woke to see the world spinning outside the car windows, and the sickening sensation of falling at high speed.

That experience comes to mind at first to describe how I felt in the moment. Not the time I fell down with the chopper, or the countless times having a car accident during this war. But that one time, during the rain, with my uncle.

I felt sick, like I was punched in the gut, probably the seat belt I wondered. But I couldn't see straight, until the spinning stopped. It didn't slow down at first, giving me time to adjust. It just suddenly stopped as I fall to the ground with full force. At first I wondered if Pratt pushed me out of the car, afraid of what I would do to them.

But what frightened me more was the silence. No cars passing by, no shoutings from my colleagues. Not even that damned music, which always stuck around in my head after actually hearing it play.

I was laying face down on the ground. My body ached, especially my chest, until I realized I wasn't breathing. I took the air in my lungs, like I was a drowning person finally coming up to breath.

At first I didn't move, I just took slow breaths in, to calm my nerves down. Grass. I was laying on grass, instead of concrete, like how I thought I would. Crickets were chirping in the distance and I looked up to see the moonlit forest I was laying in the middle of. It reminded me of the night of the arrest, when I was lost in the woods, trying to get rid of the peggies.

It seemed familiar but yet so different then that night. It was too quiet.

My first thought was I killed them. I killed Whitehorse, I killed Pratt and Hudson. And I had another blackout about it. I looked down at my hands but I wasn't covered in blood. I was clean. In fact I was surprised how clean my skin was. Where were the bruises and scars from the time I got during the fights? It was only covered in some grass that I was layed upon just now.

"Hellooooo?" I called out into the night, which only caused some birds to fly away from between the trees.

I don't know who I was expecting to find, peggie or resistance, it didn't matter. I was just afraid. I was afraid for my friends, for my colleagues. For what I might have did.

It's no use standing around, move your ass soldier. I could hear the voice inside my head so I choose a direction and started walking. I almost tripped in the trees' roots a couple of times, until I finally arrived near the road. I wasn't sure which road it was. Probably the one leading out from Joseph's compound to the Henbane, I wondered. I watched out for any broken down cars, thinking maybe I would find Pratt or someone, but I didn't see any. So I decided to walk from the compound towards the valley. It was quite, no guns were fired in the distance or any peggie music playing. Not even planes in the skies. Just some owls and crickets. I found the silence unnerving.

Right until I could hear a car coming on the road. I turned around to see the headlights coming closer and I moved my hand towards my holster. Only to be dumbfounded to see I didn't have my holster. I didn't have my gun on me. I suddenly felt naked without a weapon and means to protect myself and wished for the truck that came closer to not be one of the peggies.

I frowned from the lights as they got closer and I heard the car slow down until it stopped right next to me.

Hope County Sheriff Department, it said. It was one of our cars. The driver pulled the window down and that's when I felt like I was about to faint.

"Are you alright, miss?" the voice asked, which I haven't heard in a long time. Not since... "Miss?" he asked again for my lack of response.

But it was him. It was his voice, and his face, just like I remembered him. My uncle. Only difference, he wasn't dead.

"Are you out here alone?" he asked again, like he didn't even recognise me.

That's when I felt the world spinning again, only I knew this was a familiar feeling. I heard him utter shit, before I could reach the ground and the world to turn to black as I fainted.

---

And now, I'm in here. The old sheriff's department in Fall's End. In the middle of the old interrogation room. Only I shouldn't be, because the building burnt down, couple years ago, thanks to Sharky's shenanigans.

A mug is placed in front of me, filled with tea, but I don't care to drink at the moment. It is all too surreal, me being back at the old place, with my uncle sitting in front of me. He's been asking questions, about my name, about where I came from, what I was doing out there, whether I had anyone to call. I don't... My family died. He died, yet he still talks to me like I am a stranger.

I decided not to answer, or more like couldn't answer from the shock and confusion. One moment I'm in a car, with Jacob fucking Seed's brainwashing song, the next I sit in front of my dead uncle in the burnt down sheriff's department.

After what felt like hours, from the lack of clocks in the room I wasn't sure actually how long he was questioning me, he sighs, scratching his greying beard.

"Look kid. I want to help you. Just talk to me." he says but I still just stare at the mug in front of me and the contents, which is probably cold by now.

He waits, then sighs again, then gets up from the chair. I look at him, startled as he walks to the door. I don't want to lose him again, but it seems like for some reason he won't recognise me and I feel it's better if I don't start bombing him with questions.

Once he leaves me alone in the room I look in the mirror of the interrogation room. I can't believe it still, though when I first entered the room and looked at my reflection I almost fainted again.

I look young. And I don't say that as some shitty self-love quote. I am young. Around my teenage years young. The harder edges of my face disappeared, and the childish look appeared again. The bags under my eyes gone. All those scars? No where to be found.

And now that I'm alone I dare to move the collar of my shirt down a bit. It's gone as well. The tattoo that John scared me with, WRATH, is no where to be found.

That's it. I'm either dead and stuck in a limbo, or somehow, even if it's hard to believe it, I'm back in my seventeen year old body, back in the old Hope County, where my uncle is still alive. Even if he doesn't recognise me.

I wish Alex was here. He would understand or at least try to make sense of all this conspiracy leveled bullshit of an event. Then I wonder. If my uncle is alive... Is Alex alive as well? I don't get my hopes up and before I can wonder about anything further more Whitehorse steps into the room.

He sits down in the chair in front of me, with a paper in his hand. It's a form, ready to be filled. I can't make out what kind from where I'm sitting, but he tells me before I could even ask.

"Listen kid. My colleague asked you a couple of questions. Now I don't recognise your face from around town, nor the county even. You're not on our records. Not even a missing person description that could be you... Without your name of any form of identification I want you to cooperate with me now, alright?" he starts.

He looks young as well. Well, younger then I last saw him. And he doesn't seem to know me either, just like my uncle. Least he's alive and I didn't kill him. I don't say anything still, though, so he continues.

"You were found in the middle of nowhere, with a Hope County Sheriff's Department jacket on you." he points at me, still wearing the clothing, which I absolutely forgot about. It's only natural I wore it for months, but now, being a stranger to them it must be confusing how and why I'm wearing this piece of clothing.

"You have no ID cards on you. No cellphone... If you won't give me anything kid, I have to call Child Services. Chances are you escaped from your family? Ran away from home? Maybe an adoptive family... Or worst case scenario juvie."

He starts listing and I want to argue that in no case a 24 year old woman needs child services, but then I remember how I look like again, so I stay silent.

He looks at me, then at the paper in front of him, then starts to get up.

"Fine..."

"Wait!" I stop him, not prepared with a speach or any kind of defence. He looks at me, then sits back down, waiting for me to continue. But I can't. If he doesn't recognises me, and neither can my uncle. Chances are... I'm not in the system. And if I'm not in the system that means whatever name I give him, he knows I'm lying.

"Yes?" he asks, expecting for me to say something.

I am known to talk before I think, and the next sentence I say is a great example of that.

"Call Alex Gallner." Earl raises an eyebrow at that.

"Alex Gallner? You friends with him?" he asks, knowing about the young boy, who usually gets in trouble for things like recording videos in the middle of church, and disturbing locals with his theories and questions.

I nod. "He's my cousin. I'm staying with him and my uncle during the summer. I'm not used to the rural life and to be honest I got lost trying to go home."

"And you only mentions this now because..?" he asks, not believing my story.

I smile and try to act like I'm telling the truth.

"I got scared. I'm sorry... This room is getting on my nerves. Feels like I'm some kind of criminal or something for getting lost."

I laugh nervously.

"You fainted." he tries to argue.

I nod again.

"Yeah, I'm on a new diet. Trying to lose weight... I didn't eat much today, then walking around at night, trying to find home. I guess my sugar was low?" I was never good at lying, but I am trying my hardest to sell my story to him.

"And the jacket?" he asks again.

Well, shit...

"Alex gave it to me. I thought it looked cool. He said he found it near the ranch. Wanted to return it, of course, I just borrowed it while going for a walk, you know. Cause it's cold outside."

He looks at me and I feel like he can see right through my lie.

"Didn't know Andrew had a sibling..."

Of course he doesn't.

"Well, he and my parents aren't close anymore. But I tried to contact him and Alex. So it's my first time visiting."

He nods, and looks like he still doesn't buy my story.

"We should call them, then. They are probably worried sick about you."

I shake my head.

"I don't know. I'm probably in trouble already, I don't want to give them the bad impression. If the Sheriff calls them they might send me home." I try to plead, and not look guilty at the same time, so I add. "I'm so sorry for causing you so much trouble, Sir."

"I understand. But I have to follow the procedure, I'm sure you understand."

I'm so screwed.

"Yupp, it's fine. Just tell Alex I found the hiding spot for Mr. Caramel."

Earl gives me a weird look, then I make a gesture. "He'll understand."

I don't think he will. Chances are Alex doesn't know me just as much as anyone else here. Then they will call Child Services and I'm screwed. I have to figure a way out of escaping. A way to solve this whole thing. My uncle, me being young, the Seeds... The Seeds, after 4 months I actually forgot about the Seeds.

Earl leaves the room and I feel the urge to throw up from the anxiety. But after a couple of minutes he returns to the room. He seems troubled and I can almost picture the orphanage already, but then he says.

"Alex will pick you up soon. He says his dad is out of town, but you probably know that." I nod along like I do, but I absolutely don't. "I will take the jacket back, but you can go. And for god's sake next time start with that... And eat something."

He says with a friendly smile and leads me out of the room. I give him back my jacket, and I follow him outside of the station to wait for the car. Now the next thing I have to figure out, is a way to tell Alex all about this. The code word worked. He promised me to memorise Mr. Caramel in cases of emergencies. I just didn't think he would get it in a world, where I don't seem to exist.

---

Tag: @onl-you

#kaydee miller #Far cry 5 story #Oc story

2 notes · View notes

antihero-writings · 5 years

Text

The Things We Say Aloud—Pandora Hearts Fic for Phmonth18 Rainsworth Trio Week—Prompt 2: Family (Full Fic)

Fic Title: The Things We Say Aloud

Fic Synopsis: The Rainsworth Trio has a tradition of midnight snowball fights. But what if this is Break’s last?

Notes: This is another fic I wrote last Christmas (for the prompt “Rain”), but I think will work well for Phmonth18. I think it works best for the Rainsworth Trio Prompt 2: Family. You don’t have to have read the previous Christmas fic to understand it, but they are supposed to take place in the same year, and there are a few connections/references between them. (The other one is called “In Plain Sight” and you can read it on this blog, and/or at I_prefer_the_term_antihero ‘s Ao3!)

Out of all the PH fics I’ve written so far, this is honestly probably my favorite. I would deeply appreciate it if you commented to let me know you enjoyed it!

I feel like the Rainsworth Trio–especially Sharon and Break–don’t really talk about Break’s death, even though they know it’s coming. I thought it would be interesting to explore how such a conversation would go, and almost made myself cry writing it!

Also, point of interest, a song that I think works really well for the section of this fic where Break is pondering if it will be his last Christmas is “Into the Open Air” from the Brave soundtrack.

P.S. This is a repost of an old fic!

Fic:

Rain pounded its tune on the roof. It was the kind of rain that swarms the air, making it misty, grey, and cold with the buzzing of a thousand tiny drops.

It wasn’t that he disliked the rain. There will always be something about the rain that’s soothing to people dealing with sorrow. But rain like this; that pounds, and pounds, and doesn’t dissipate, sometimes serves to extend the mistiness inside too. Though it could be a rest, a relief, people like him always pray for the sun to come back. For sunny days and summer light were something people like him, with red eyes, and a past full of sin, knew they didn’t deserve, but couldn’t help seeking all the same.

Xerxes Break walked through the hallway of the Rainsworth manor. He wore his turquoise and gold outfit, half of his white hair falling across his shoulder, the other, shorter side, messily added to the covering the bandages provided—bandages over the place where his left eye should have been, though it rarely bled anymore.

As he passed by one of the rooms, he saw Sharon. She looked so small, but so regal, sitting on the windowsill, with her back to the glass, now frosted with condensation. Her chestnut hair was pulled back with a ribbon, and she was wearing her little pink dress. The little girl was pouting, staring at the ground, her arms folded over her chest in the characteristic expression children wear when they don’t get their way.

He paused, resting his hand on the doorframe.

She lifted her head.

When she met his eyes, he remembered very quickly that was not in his skill set to comfort little girls.

When he glanced back, she was giving him a look that said Well? Aren’t you going to come comfort me?

He knew better than to disobey such a look. He took a deep breath and walked in, hopping up on the windowsill next to her.

Like the rain, it wasn’t that he disliked kids, he just didn’t know how to deal with them. When they cried and threw tantrums…in short, he didn’t know how to deal with emotion (well, strong ones anyways). He couldn’t help hoping that kids like her could stay happy, and innocent forever. Like he had hoped for his young mistress from another time, and seen it go so very wrong, then later heard, through his own interference, that he had made it go far worse. But children would have to get hurt, they would have to grow up, some day. And in turn, they would become the kinds of creatures who hurt, and caused pain, who even killed, and made excuses for it…creatures like himself.

Luckily, he found that Sharon was a much happier, much kinder, much stronger child than most.

When she didn’t speak—(he didn’t dare ask, for fear of making it worse)—he turned to look outside the window.

“Xerx-niisan,” she began at last, “Why is the sky crying?”

He turned back to her, raising an eyebrow. “Huh?”

They weren’t siblings; they weren’t even remotely related. But for some reason, the name fixed itself in her mouth, and nothing he did or said could change that.

She could be a little tyrant sometimes.

At his misunderstanding, she continued to pout, averting her eyes. Then she jerked back to look at him, (he flinched a little), and said in a high pitched voice, “It’s almost Christmas! Why is it raining? It should be snowing!”

“Oh,” he relaxed a little, contemplating his response, “Well…it’s not going to stop raining just because you want it to. Sometimes,” he gave a sardonic smile that was more painful than the frown that seemed fixed on his face, looking away into the rain, as if he would find answers reading the drops, “things…people…that should be happy, just can’t be. And no matter how much you want something…”

He trailed off, and when he turned back, he saw tears welling in her eyes.

Nice going, Xerxes, you barely have to open your mouth to make a little girl cry.

There they were, brimming to the surface: all those emotions he didn’t know what to do with. He could only sit there, waiting for her own brand of rain to start, wanting more than anything to escape, to not have to figure out the right words to fix her.

It was the crying he hated the most. Maybe it was because it reminded him too much of a certain day, long ago, of a certain girl…but the snow did fall that day…

Still, he wasn’t going to tell her that if she just wished hard enough, if she believed in hope, the-general-goodness-of-the-world-and-its-inhabitants, and maybe a little bit of magic, that the snow would fall, that she could change things. Wishes were dangerous things, and he didn’t suggest anyone make them. You never know who, or what, might be listening.

Fortunately, before the tears reached her cheeks, Sharon’s mother, Shelly Rainsworth, appeared at the doorway. She looked almost exactly like an older version of her daughter, the same chestnut hair, the same smile that shined with a light of its own.

Upon seeing the tearful look on her daughter’s face, she marched into the room, put her hands on her hips, and turned to Break.

“Xerxes,” she said his name like he really was Sharon’s brother, “what did you say to her?”

“Why do you assume it was my fault, Shelly-sama?” he muttered, sounding like the child she was calling out.

“Let’s just say you have a habit of stepping on people’s feelings.”

He sighed. “I was only telling her that it won’t start snowing simply because she wants it to.”

“It’s almost Christmas, mother!” Sharon said like she was pleading her case, the tears reappearing in her eyes.

Shelly smiled, shaking her head.

“What am I going to do with you two?” she crouched down in front of Sharon, and paused, contemplating her own question for a moment. “Tell you what, sweetie; I can’t promise it’ll start snowing because you want it to, but I can promise this:” she pushed her daughter’s tears away, “The moment it starts snowing—or, I suppose,” she interrupted herself, “the moment there’s enough snow on the ground, but no later!—we’ll go outside, and have a snowball fight. How does that sound?”

“Really?” Sharon raised her head, the sadness lifting a little.

“Even if I’m busy, or it starts snowing in the middle of the night,” Shelly elaborated, grinning, “No, especially, if it’s in the middle of the night,” she placed a finger on Sharon’s nose, at which the little girl giggled, “I’ll wake you up—or you me—then, while everyone else is asleep, we’ll run around the house in just our pajamas and coats, we’ll wake Xerxes—”

“What?!” Break blurted out.

“Yes, we’ll wake Xerxes,” she repeated smirking, “drag him outside—”

“Do I get a say in this?!”

“Nope,” she grinned mischievously, “Don’t think I’m letting you get out of this one.”

“Tch.” He looked away.

She walked calmly to the couch, picked up one of the pillows, as if she was going to fluff it, brought it over to them, and smacked him with it.

He growled, his red eye starting to blaze, like some caged beast.

She threw the pillow back onto the couch, sighing, saying seriously, “I don’t want you sitting here on this windowsill forever…I know, somewhere inside you, there’s someone…” she pondered it, then smiled, saying simply, “Someone who’s not afraid. You’re stronger than you think. Deep down, I think, these sorts of things that seem childish, like snowball fights, and tea-parties,” she smirked, “fun things, you actually enjoy.”

He looked away, as if knowing he could only disappoint her.

She added softly, placing a finger on his chin, making him look at her,

“We’ll see that smile someday, Xerxes Break.”

He stared at her as she took her fingers away, then he blinked, averting his eyes again. murmuring something about, “Really, Shelly-sama…I’d just ruin—”

“Sharon,” Shelly interrupted his mutterings, turning to her daughter, “Do you think Xerxes should sit here sulking, day in and day out, or do you think he should join our snowball fight?”

“Xerx-niisan should come with us!” she didn’t even take a breath before she answered.

He stared into the little girl’s eyes, so full of hope, no question, no hesitation, just…kindness, endless kindness.

Shelly smiled at her daughter, which turned into devious smirk when she looked at him.

“Checkmate.”

He bit his lip before jumping back down to the ground, muttering incoherently his displeasure, knowing once they were set, he couldn’t change their minds.

They could be tyrants sometimes.

Most people wouldn’t have gone near him, much less want him to be a part of something…well, fun. He knew what people said about him. It didn’t matter, it had been a long time since he had cared what other people thought, plus, he more than welcomed the lack of company. But, the thing is, he knew they were right; he was creepy, and dark, and very, very dangerous. So, he too, often wondered why they had taken him in, why they treated him like something worth saving, worth dragging out of bed for snowball fights, and tea-parties, rather than being sure, like rest of the world was—like he was—that he would just darken everything with any amount of light in it.

That’s what Children of Misfortune were for, right?

A little girl, who should have been more scared of him than anyone, who should’ve wanted him as far away from her and her snowball fights than anyone, could not only go near him, but fail to hesitate as she bounded up to this dark-and-dangerous man, looked into that blood-red eye, and asked him why the sky was crying, gave him flowers, and called him “brother.”

And that was worth more to him than he would ever dare admit aloud.

*****

It was from nightmares about knights, and blood, little girls, dolls, and names that he never mentioned, that Xerxes Break awoke from.

Breath and heartbeat weighed heavily on his chest. Once the memories faded enough for him to remember that, though it may have been real, it was not now, he gritted his teeth together, slamming his fist into the wall behind him. He didn’t care how much pain was pulsating through his hand.

If only it would take his mind off the throbbing in his empty eye socket.

If he had been a weaker man, perhaps he would have screamed, even cried, perhaps he would have whispered something pitifully to the sheets about not wanting to remember again, not wanting nightmares like this one to show their faces in his head. But he had already made a wish, and these nightmares were its descendants. He didn’t have the authority to dream anymore.

All he had was the anger and regret surging through his body, and nowhere for it to go, except make his past a weapon that shattered him just as much as it did his enemies, into glass shards, and cold bones, and bloodstained roles.

Still, there was some part of him that hoped after so many years they would have stopped haunting him. And sure, maybe it wasn’t every night, but they did come. Perhaps that’s why they call them ghosts; There were too many horrors to be reminded of, too many sins to feel guilty for, too little he could do to fix it, and the nightmares were all too eager for the task. One lifetime was not enough for them to let him forget.

They say ‘there’s no rest for the wicked’, and his mind was often cruel enough to remind him.

When he raised his gaze, he saw that the curtain was open just slightly, and something in the sliver of window flickered.

The Mad Hatter sighed, throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

It was awfully cold.

He stepped up to the window, gently pulling back the curtain, just enough so he could see.

He drew in a breath softly, his eye widening at the view:

It was snowing.

There was enough moonlight to see flakes falling upon the grounds—which were cloaked in white by now.

Like that time years ago, for the whole month, the only thing that fell from the clouds was rain, and finally, the sky decided that Christmas Eve was no time to be laying in bed, sleeping, or else dreaming about past follies.

“Well, Shelly-sama, what do you think?” he spoke softly to the merciful sky, “One last snowball fight?” he paused a moment, turning, leaning against the window, as if waiting for an answer to be whispered in his ear.

He stepped over to his wardrobe, throwing a coat over his pajamas, taking up some winter gloves, putting on socks and boots, and, as always, placing Emily on his shoulder (she wouldn’t want to miss this).

Lighting the candelabra on his nightstand, he ventured into the hallway, making his way toward Sharon’s bedroom.

Opening the door as quietly as he could, he walked in, setting the light on her nightstand.

Sharon was sleeping soundly on her curtained bed, her hair splayed all over the sheets, wrinkled in the night’s sleep, and she hugged her pillow.

He resisted the urge to laugh at her un-proper appearance.

Break sat on the side of her bed, by her head, saying quietly,

“Ojousama.”

She stirred in her sleep, muttering something indecipherable.

He gently ran his hand through her hair, saying louder, “Sharon.”

She blinked open fuchsia eyes to see her servant.

“Break,” she muttered his name softly.

Slowly, she sat up, yawning, looking around.

“Break, what’re you…?” she began, fatigue weighing down her words, then shook it away by shaking her head, “What are you doing in my room?! In the middle of the night! How dare you wake me up!”

He knew what was coming next: she grabbed one of the pillows, and he dodged it before she hit him with it. “Do you think you can just come in here as you please?!”

“Really, Ojousama,” he laughed, standing back up, “You think I’d risk injury without good reason?”

She folded her arms over her chest, pouting. He walked over to the window, throwing open the curtain, standing beside it.

“This better not be one of your pranks, Break,” she muttered, walking over to the window.

“Relax. When have I ever been that cruel?”

She glared at him, as if to say I-could-name-a-few-times, then turned to the window, surveying the landscape outside.

Her aggravated expression broke for widened eyes and a smile.

“Break!” she exclaimed, all grievance forgotten, grabbing his hands and spinning him around, “It’s snowing!!” she let go of him, and jumped up on the bed, repeating, “It’s snowing!! It’s snowing!!”

He smirked, folding his arms over his chest; No matter how old she really was, she still looked like that little kid to him.

“What do you say?” he helped her down from the bed, “One last snowball fight?”

“What are you talking about ‘one last’?” she grabbed the pillow and managed to catch him off guard this time. “You better not be talking about that again!”

She didn’t wait for him to respond as she dropped the pillow and ran over to her wardrobe, found a little coat to throw over her nightshirt, boots, and gloves, then handed him a ribbon to tie her hair back.

“Ready?” he tapped her on the shoulder when he had finished tying her hair.

She nodded, beaming.

They weren’t too far from Reim’s room when Break asked her to hold the candelabra, and stepped down the stairs to the front door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, “Reim’s room is this way.”

“This will only take a moment,” he grinned.

She put her hand on her hip, scowling at him as he ran out the front door. Quickly he returned, with the first snowball in his gloved hand.

“Break! Just what are you intending to do with that?!”

“You’ll see!” said Emily.

Sharon sighed, placing her head in her hand.

Reim stayed at the Rainsworth’s often enough that he had his own room (albeit, not a very fancy one). They quietly entered it to see the servant laying on a bed, much neater than either of theirs, facing away from them. His glasses, and some extra paperwork he just couldn’t leave at work, lay dormant on his nightstand.

Break tiptoed up to his friend, gently pulled back the collar of his shirt, and stuffed a snowball down the back of his shirt.

It was a moment before it took effect, but when it did, Reim skyrocketed out of bed, dancing around, until the snow fell onto the floor.

Break could barely contain his laughter.

He rested his hands on his knees panting. When he regained his bearings enough to figure out what had just happened, and saw Break laughing, he shouted,

“XERXES, YOU BASTARD!!”

Reim lunged at Break, at which the older man only needed to step out of the way, to make Reim trip onto the floor.

“Yes, a tired Reim-san, without his glasses, is definitely a match for me,” he remarked, leaning over him,

“A normal Reim-san isn’t exactly a match either!” Emily squeaked.

“Now, now Emily,” Break chided his doll playfully, “we mustn’t rub this sort of thing in people’s faces.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Reim’s voice was muffled by the floor

Break laughed, “Is that so?”

“All in good fun!” Emily chirped.

“It’s not fun for me!” he retorted, sitting up, “How can your idea of fun be tormenting your best friend!” Reim got up off the floor and sat on his bed.

“Come now, Reim-san, ‘torment’ is a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“I meant what I said! I mean, who in their right mind thinks a good way to wake their friend up is to stuff freezing-cold snow—”

He interrupted himself, looking at each of them with question in his eyes. He repeated the word, “Snow…?”

Sharon and Break grinned at each other.

Break helped his friend up, saying, “And whoever said I was in my right mind? Didn’t you know? All the best people are mad.”

Reim rolled his eyes.

Sharon and Break stepped up to the window to unveil the answer to his question. Reim followed to inspect the view outside.

Then he looked at each of them, shaking his head and smiling. “Really, you two, after all these years…”

He trailed off, going over to his wardrobe to put on the winter clothes he kept there.

They barely had time to blow out the candles before Sharon grabbed both their hands and dragged them out into the moonlit hall.

They were like little kids trying to get a peek at Santa; bumbling down the hall, almost falling over each other, shushing each other, as they made their way through the manor, down the stairs, out the front door, into the cold grounds.

Even with their winter clothing, the cold still crept in. The snow muffled ordinary sounds, falling seamlessly, sparks of scattered moonlight gleaming off the flakes.

“So, we’ll—” Reim was interrupted by Break throwing a snowball at the back of his head.

“Oy! I was talking!” he whirled around.

“What’s there to talk about, Reim-san?” Break tossed another snowball up and down in his hand.

“I was simply—”

This time it was Sharon who threw the snowball at his face.

“Nice shot, Ojousama,” Break mentioned.

“Thank you,” she grinned, “You’re next, Xerx-niisan.”

“Alright, you two are going down,” Reim challenged.

“That’s more like,” Break smirked.

It didn’t make sense that three adults could have so much fun doing something so childish as playing in the snow. But between exploding snow and shouting, their laughter was what radiated like light from the scene. Maybe they forgot they weren’t children, they forgot that they had grown up things to do, responsibilities to attend to, and that the world was really comprised of blood and pain, and worthless names, not innocence and friendship.

The mad tea party, forever trapped in a moment, forgotten by time.

It was a while later when another voice broke through:

“Hey, what are you guys doing?”

They paused, turning to see Oz at one of the balconies.

“Our humblest apologies, Oz-sama!” Reim shouted back, bowing low, “We didn’t intend to be so loud!”

“No worries!” he yawned, “Are you…having a snowball fight?”

“That’s right, Oz-kun,” Break answered, “Would you like to join us?”

“Really?! You’ll let me?!”

“Sure,” he tossed a snowball up and down in his hand again, “but we certainly won’t be going easy on you!”

Oz beamed. “Hang on a sec! Lemme grab Gil and Alice!”

Not long afterwards, they heard the all-too-familiar sounds of Gilbert and Alice shouting, and they their annoyed faces appeared on the balcony.

“Why are you three having a snowball fight at 6:00 in the morning!” Gilbert yelled down to them.

“Oh? You scared you didn’t make the cut?” Break taunted . “Clown! Is this your doing?!” Alice demanded, “I’ll come down there and make you pay for waking me up!”

As Break spoke to them, Reim saw it as an opportunity to get his own revenge, and snuck up behind him. Break, of course, still heard him coming and, once again, tripped him, as he got close.

Break walked around him in a circle, grinning shaking his head, “You’re going to have to try harder than that to beat me.”

Reim gave an expression akin to Gilbert’s evil eye.

Break kicked some snow onto his head as he walked by, just to rub it his face (quite literally).

Oz, Gilbert, and Alice tumbled down the front steps, already laughing and yelling at each other before they even joined the fight.

“Well look who it is,” Break taunted, leaning over them, then Emily continued,

“The dumb bunny, the spoiled brat, and—” he didn’t get to finish, because the two lunged at him.

There weren’t really any teams, or way of keeping score—it was everyone against everyone else, though each of them had their own approach: Gilbert had a more meticulous method; creating a stash of snowballs, and walls to hide behind, (often getting hit in the building process). Oz was would sneak up on people, and took particular pleasure in knocking down, or stealing, Gil’s hard work, while Alice ran around pelting everyone in sight, holding a particular grudge against anyone who landed a hit on her (who were mostly Break and Oz).

Near the end of their fight, as Break snuck up on Sharon, just about to land a hit on her, he found himself falling, and was then somehow on the other side of the yard,

He paused to regain his bearings, and stood back up to his full height, quickly discerning what had happened.

“Is that really fair, Ojousama?” he called across the yard, knowing she had used her Chain.

She chuckled like it was a trivial offense, “Since when have you cared what’s fair Xerx-niisan?”

Well, she got me there.

It was at this moment he felt a rush of cold! against his neck, and tensed, resisting the urge to spill some choice words. He spun around to see that Reim had been waiting behind a nearby tree and, as he addressed his mistress, Reim had managed to get the perfect revenge.

Break pulled back his shirt to make sure the snow fell, scowling at his friend.

“Say it,” Reim folded his arms over his chest.

“What? That you got me?”

Reim’s expression was unmoving.

“I’ll say nothing of the sort, Reim-san,” he flicked his glasses, “After all, you merely copied me. You should be more creative next time.”

Reim’s fingers curled into fists, practically growling at him.

“I didn’t know we could use Chains!” Oz called, running up to them, having noticed Sharon’s expert use of Eques, (but not the following exchange between Break and Reim.)

“Seaweed-head! Release my limiter!” Alice shouted when she heard, “I want to smash the clowny bastard to smithereens!”

“Is that so?” Break called, “You really want to go down that path, Alice-kun?” Break smirked evilly, “My Mad Hatter would destroy you before Gilbert-kun even had the chance.”

“You wanna go, clown!” Alice hollered, and Gilbert had to hold her back to keep her from rushing at him with teeth and claws.

Reim looked worried, and Oz—wearing a similar expression—spoke in hushed tones, “No, Alice! You don’t want to go up against his Mad Hatter!”

“Try me, Manservant!”

“Break! No one wants to see you killing yourself over some stupid fight with some little girl!” Gilbert scolded.

“Oy! Who you callin’ ‘some little girl’?!” Alice snapped at Gilbert.

That seemed to return Reim to his senses,

“That’s right!” Reim scolded, “What did I tell you about being reckless with your powers?!”

“Always so tense, you two,” he walked up to Alice and ruffled her hair, “I’m only teasing.”

Alice broke free, and the fight resumed, though the others were glad to see neither managed to draw blood, and that it quickly returned to the antics of the snowy game.

And for one brief moment, Break forgot about everything else. About the nightmares, the regrets, and the answers he clung to so desperately as a reason to keep himself from falling further. And for one moment, he could see those flickering lights behind dark eyes, and he was happy he could feel the cold biting his skin, he was happy he could see their faces—rosy-cheeked, all smiles and laughs, even if they were yelling at him—for one precious flicker of a moment, he was happy to be alive.

That moment would end. The shadows would crawl back from the corners of his mind, the smiles would become fake again, the world would become a wax museum of happiness. Reasons that were just that, empty reasons; desire had left them behind in an alleyway long ago, for better, darker wishes. The pain would come back, and once again he’d convince himself, I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care about them. About what happens to me. The snow white chaos would return to tears too fast. But in this moment, it was okay. He was okay.

Sharon and Reim ran at him, but instead of getting out of the way, this time he let them bowl him over, the three of them collapsing in the snow.

Shock flitted across their faces, which broke for smiles.

He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to tell them over and over I love you both so very much. But he wasn’t the only one who knew that those words falling from Xerxes Break’s lips was all too close to admitting defeat. Because if he admitted he cared, then he wouldn’t be able to let them go when the end came. And he knew it would come all too soon. His lips wouldn’t dare betray him with such miserable words.

So they settled for a smile.

His real smile. Not the smirks and grins he gave away at a moment’s notice. The smile that was barely perceptible, but which, for them, captured within its folds more sunlight than anything else in their world.

Sharon and Reim glanced at each other, then smiled back at him, deciding not to sully the moment with words.

And, as soon as it came, the true smile was replaced with a smirk.

“You two really are gullible,” he put snow in their hair.

They jumped up, shouting his name, trying to rub it out, then quickly ran after him.

He couldn’t tell them the truth. He couldn’t tell them that he was thinking how this might be his last Christmas. He couldn’t tell them how he was wondering if they would still put his stocking on the mantelpiece when he was gone.

He didn’t get a chance to anyways, because it wasn’t long afterwards when beads of citrus and crimson light began tracing the navy sky.

They paused, panting, raising their eyes to look into the sunrise.

For a moment they stared silently at the art the morning made of daybreak, gentle smiles tracing their lips at the beauty.

Then Oz broke in, exclaiming,

“Merry Christmas, everyone!”

“Merry Christmas!” they answered, a little tiredly.

“What do you guys think?” Reim asked, “Ready to go inside?”

“Aww, but we were having so much fun!” Oz protested, trying to mask the fatigue in his voice.

“Easy for you to say, we’re exhausted!”

“To be fair, we were out here much longer than them,” Break panted, realizing just how tired he was. “Perhaps I have gotten old after all. If you youngin’s want to go on—” he flapped a shirt sleeve their direction.

“There he goes again calling himself old!”

Sharon broke in, “Don’t you want to open presents?”

“Presents?!” Oz repeated, like a dog who had seen a squirrel, glancing at Gilbert and Alice, his grin widening.

They began to make their way inside, still laughing and talking about the plays they each had made, and how they would eventually get each other back. As they walked back, instead of joining the conversation, Sharon gently tugged on the corner of Break’s coat, holding him back.

He turned to see that instead of the tired, but joy-full smile that had traced her face moments earlier, she was hanging her head low.

“Ojousama?” he asked worriedly, crouching down beside her, seeing tears begin to grace her cheeks.

The others noticed, and stopped too.

“Xerxes! What did you do?!” Reim demanded.

“Yeah, Break! How dare you make a girl cry on Christmas?!” Oz questioned, running up to her.

He rolled his eyes at them.

“I’m fine, everyone,” Sharon reassured them, giving a somewhat plastered smile, “I’ll just be a moment.”

They all glanced at each other, knowing something was clearly wrong.

“Are you sure?” Gilbert asked.

“Yeah, Sharon-chan, if you need something—”

“Yes. Please, go inside. Break and I will catch up with you.”

They glanced at each other.

“Alright, Sharon-chan. Just let us know if you need anything, okay?” Oz put a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you, Oz-sama,” she smiled.

The others gave similar smiles back to her, then they gave Break a collective you-better-not-make-this-worse look before walking up the stairs into the manor.

“Sharon?” he asked softly.

No matter how many years went by, he still couldn’t handle the sight of a child in tears.

“Xerx-niisan,” he could tell she was fighting back against the tears, “What if… What if this is your last Christmas?”

He gasped; he didn’t expect her to be thinking about the same thing.

“What if…” she continued, breath taut, “What if we never get to have another snowball fight? What if…?”

“Well,” he rubbed his neck, looking away, “you and Reim can still—”

“Don’t act like everything will be the same when you’re gone!” she threw snow into his face.

He fell back onto his elbows, gently brushing it out of his hair. After a moment a laugh bubbled in his throat, and he put his hand on his face.

“What’s so funny?!” she demanded, scowling.

Obviously that was the wrong thing to do.

If only she had chosen someone else to comfort her; someone like Oz, who could read the situation, and chose his words carefully. Or Gilbert, who was sensitive enough to understand. Even Reim would be better, despite his rather unemotional, straightforward nature. But she had chosen him.

“It’s funny…to tell you the truth,” his voice became more serious, “It’s just…I was thinking about the same thing.”

Shock added to the concoction of hurt and yearning in her eyes.

“Y-You were?”

He looked at the ground and nodded ever so slightly.

“How dare you laugh at that?” she balled a fist in the snow, but the strength seemed to leave her.

She shook her head, tears fluttering back to her eyes, “You can’t…Xerx-niisan, you can’t! I…I don’t want to be alone!” she put her arms around him and fell onto him.

His eye was wide, his breath harsh and cold as he looked at the girl in his arms, forgetting for a less than a moment that she was not that little girl in a darkened room, surrounded by coffins.

He shook his head of the memory.

“You won’t be alone, you’ll have Reim, and Sheryl-sama, and—”

She lifted her head to scowl at him, as if to say must-I-repeat-what-I-said and he cleared his throat, changing his method of attack.

“Well, I won’t go down easy, that’s for sure. But, despite how it might seem,” he gently ran his finger along her cheek, giving that sad but true smile, and whispered, “I am not that strong.”

“You think you can talking about you dying all the time and I’ll just—?!” she tried to fight back, to be angry, but her words fell like the snow, and she murmured again, she let her head fall back onto his shoulder, and whispered back, “Xerx-niisan…”

He gently wrapped his own arms around her.

“I want to be there for you…” she murmured, “I don’t want you to do something stupid…You’re always running into fights without a second thought…” she sobbed for a moment before saying, “Maybe we could…maybe we could stop it? I-I could go into the fights with Eques…Oz-sama and Gilbert-sama—”

He pressed a kiss into her hair, and as she lifted her head off his shoulder to look at him with the wide and teary eyes of her younger self. The look in his eyes was enough to say I’m sorry, Sharon.

“It’s just like I told you, Ojousama,” he ran his fingers through her hair, and murmured into her ear, “No matter how much I may want it to, I can’t stop it from raining.”

She lifted her head off his shoulder to look at him.

“No matter how much we might want it to, we can make the snow fall. Our wishes can’t change things. Even if…” his words were blown by the wind into the stars.

She shook her head gently, murmuring that name.

“Just promise me you won’t make any illegal contracts to bring me back,” he laughed a little, which turned into a grimace, and she knew just how serious he was being.

She smiled for the first time since the conversation started. “I promise.”

For a moment they sat there, together, in a sort of limbo, watching as the sunrise turned into a light blue sky—a present sorrow caught between the earlier joy, wondering which emotion of the two would soon come. Moments were so finicky.

“I can’t promise I’ll have another Christmas, but we still have today. Let’s not waste it with talking about depressing things.”

She nodded, smiling.

He gently reached down and picked her up.

“Xerx-niisan!” she protested at first.

He touched her nose with his finger.

After a moment, as he took her inside, she rested her head against him sleepily, murmuring, “Xerx-niisan, I don’t want…I don’t want you to pretend you’re okay for my sake.”

His eye widened and he jerked his head to look at her.

“Don’t give me that look,” she responded, “I know you do it. You think I can’t handle it.”

He took a deep breath, “I’m fine, Ojousama,” he murmured, and smiled, “It’s Christmas, after all.”

She shook her head, “No you’re not!”

Once again he kissed her head gave her his real smile, “No, really, Sharon. I am. At least for today.”

The smile she returned was real too.

And that was worth far more to them than either of them needed to say aloud.

12 notes · View notes

softlyoongi · 6 years

Text

You Made a Home in My Dreams

Summary: They say that 4 in the morning is the epitome of loneliness. Jimin knows this better than anybody, spending his nights walking around campus in an attempt to finally get some sleep. When he finds a mint-haired stranger playing the piano, it's like a lullaby that instantly lulls him to sleep. The only problem is that he doesn't know who this man could be. Word Count: 14926 Warnings: mentions of sex, cussing, jimin walks in on taekook doing it A/N: Hey guys! I'm super excited to upload this fic! I've been writing this for about a month and I'm feeling really good about it! Plus it's my first fic I've written in this fandom, so I'm glad to be able to share some of my work with you guys (: Thank you so much to my beta, @dandelionisonfire, for helping me rant and smooth this story out. I also want to thank @princejoohoney for being super excited about this fic and making me Yoonmin trash #1. Title creds for this song go to Then Again, Maybe You Were Right by La Dispute. Disclaimer: In no way do I claim that this is real or cast aspersions on the members.

Read it on AO3 -

They say that 4 in the morning is the epitome of loneliness.

There’s something about the stillness of the air, the way the Earth still turned and was yet completely silent. Where daytime was usually littered with chattering figures and friendly faces, the night was a purgatory, an absence of light and business. Here and there, somebody would walk past, their hoodie over their head and feet shuffling along the pavement in fast, long strides. They wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t speak, barely made a sound except for the echo of their footsteps.

A dog would sometimes barked in the distance, but it was hard to tell where the sound was coming from when the noise encompassed you, suddenly pouring into your eardrums like it was attempting to cause a sensory overload. Any noise that was made snuck into your head like old ghosts, whispering and taunting and laughing as you buried yourself in the surrounding darkness.

Because ghosts, those were the things that haunted the streets at four in the morning. They came in the form of shadows, of old memories that you’d thought you’d forgotten. They followed you, a prickling sensation trickling up your spine because surely somebody was watching you, yet when you turned, there was nobody there except your forgotten dreams and a feeling of impending doom.

But not all bad things came at four in the morning.

Sometimes the birds would start chirping or a thunderstorm hit, the sound of rain pattering against the windowsill relaxing to the ears. In the dead hours of the morning, eyes heavy with exhaustion, inspiration would hit and you would spend until daybreak drawing or writing or singing until the words and images blended together and suddenly you were left in bleary bliss of everything and nothing at all.

Jimin had a love-hate relationship with the early morning. He loved the quietness, the stillness of the air. He loved the way he could see some stars glittering in the air here and there, peeking through the smog on a cloudless night. He loved how the crickets chirped and the grass would get all dewy.

But he also despised it. He despised it because he wanted to sleep, but he couldn’t. His eyes burned but his body was unable to shut down. His roommate snored softly beside him as he tossed and turned, his head slowly beginning to throb as the night wore on. He hated how he became aware of the loneliness tickling his gut, despite how many friends he had that loved him. He’d never understood why 4 in the morning opened up a hole in his chest in the space his friends usually filled.

On nights like these, Jimin would get out of bed, slip his shoes on, and go somewhere else. He read somewhere once that tossing and turning in bed would only increase his unlikeliness to sleep and that he should get up and do something for a while before he tried again. Something about becoming used to the bed and not recognizing it as a place for sleep.

He usually stayed in his pajamas unless he was dressed inappropriately, and he had been liking the fluffy pants he’d been wearing recently, ones that were fuzzy and pink and had little kittens on them. He had matching slippers to go with them, which he wore if he was going to he staying inside of his dorm complex.

His location usually depended on his mood. Sometimes he would go to a different dorm complex, meeting up with another sleepless friend so they could whisper to each other in the night air, filling the stillness with their soft voices. Sometimes he would make his way to the dance studio where he practiced until his limbs were aching, or to the art building where he stared at paintings for so long that his eyes began to water, wondering what their purposes were. His other favorite location was the campus library, which was open until the early hours of the morning for students who stayed up studying until the brink of death.

As it was, that night Jimin decided to wear his slippers and made his way through the hallways of his dorm complex. The sound of the elevator was too loud as he made his way to the ground floor, and it brought the attention of the desk staff, who was watching something on youtube on the computer. Jimin gave a polite smile as he considered his options.

He could go to the laundry room, but that didn’t make sense because he hadn’t brought his laundry with him. He could go to the little work out room they had, but he wasn’t in proper workout attire. There was also a gaming room with board games and a pool table, except he was all alone. Maybe he could go to the computer lab? There was also a soundproofed room that held a piano, which Jimin quite liked to go to if he wanted to sing or smash his fingers on a keyboard.

He opted for the piano room, deciding that he was in the mood for a good keyboard smash.

His footsteps echoed through the halls as he made his way down the corridor. It was completely silent, the lights far too bright, and the windows were so dark he couldn’t see outside. He quickened his pace, hating the uneasy feeling that came along with passing a dark window at night. He’d always hated that for some reason, as though a ghost was going to just press itself against the window or something.

It felt like it took a long time before he reached the music room, but really it had only been a few seconds. He fumbled with his university ID, which worked as a key to let him into the dorm’s facilities, but eventually was able to swipe it through the reader. The reader beeped in acceptance and he pushed the door open a tad too quickly, but he immediately paused at what he found inside.

There was a boy. His back was facing towards Jimin because he was sitting at the piano that was against the opposite wall. His fingers danced along the keys like he was caressing a lover, and his head was tilted back, face towards the ceiling. The window was open in front of him and the lights were dimmed so Jimin had a view of the university quad right in front of him, of the shadows the trees cast along the sidewalks, of the moon that hung up high in the night sky.

Jimin couldn’t help but notice that the boy’s hair was a shade of mint, which should look terrible in theory, but seemed to go well with the boy’s complexion. Or at least, Jimin thought it might. He couldn’t actually see his face to form an opinion.

But from what he could observe, the piano playing was literally perfect. His long fingers danced along the keyboard and Jimin found that it was a nostalgic song, one that made him think about childhood and all the joy that it brought, the sadness it brought as well. It was absolutely beautiful, he had never heard anything like it before.

He closed the door softly with a click and sat down against the wall. The boy didn’t seem to notice him, too engrossed with his music, but Jimin would make his presence known after the song was over. He didn’t want to interrupt such a lovely song.

He sat with his knees drawn to his chest and rested his chin against them, staring at the boy with half lidded eyes. He was tired, beyond tired, his eyes burning and watering the longer he kept them open. The melody was soothing to his ears, almost like a lullaby his mother used to sing to get him to go to sleep.

Before Jimin could fight his body, he found his eyes flickering closed, his breathing slowing. The tinkling of the piano is what eventually lulled him into sleep, the darkness of his mind welcoming him with dreams about pianos and childhood.

When he woke up, it was to sunlight streaming onto his face and a jacket wrapped around his shoulders to keep him warm. The mint haired boy was nowhere to be seen.

Taehyung, his roommate, was awake when Jimin finally trudged his way up to his dorm room. He was nursing a cup of coffee that suspiciously looked like it had a clump of vanilla ice cream in it. Jimin learned to stop asking about Tae’s Ice Cream Problem after he walked in on him pouring whiskey into a bowl of chocolate ice cream. They had both frozen in place, Taehyung staring at him with challenge in his eyes and Jimin staring back with genuine fear, until they realized that the bowl had started to overflow with liquor, and had to scramble to clean up the mess.

Taehyung took a sip of his coffee sundae and waved at Jimin with his other hand, which was holding the latest copy of some BL manga that Jimin was also too frightened to ask about. “Hey buddy,” Taehyung said nonchalantly. He raised his eyebrows at Jimin’s disheveled appearance, of the unfamiliar black sweater in Jimin’s arms. “Rough night out?”

Jimin huffed and launched himself onto his own bed, groaning as the mattress complained loudly under his weight. “I wish it was a fun night out, but alas I’m going to die from sleep exhaustion.”

“Couldn’t sleep again?”

Jimin shrugged. “I slept just fine in the fucking practice room,” he huffed, taking off his slippers so he could curl up in bed without the gross feeling of having something on his feet. He grabbed three of the five blankets sitting on his bed and wrapped them around himself like a burrito. The other two he buried his feet under so they wouldn’t get cold. He was still hugging the sweater to his chest, having forgotten all about it. He just liked to hold something while he was sleeping, it wasn’t anything to do with who he thought might have been the owner of the clothing.

Taehyung squinted at him. “Right,” he said in a disbelieving tone. “More like you slept just fine after fucking in the practice room.” Jimin sputtered, shaking his head as best as he could while being wrapped up in all of his blankets. While he was trying to get all of his thoughts together to deny the statement, Taehyung went on. “You can’t lie to me, Chim. You come up here with your hair all over the place and a stranger’s sweater in your hands. You know you can tell me anything.”

Not wanting to say that Taehyung would just rat him out to Jungkook if something had happened, he just ended up rolling his eyes and rolling over in his bed. That way he wouldn’t have to look at the two half-naked men on the cover of Taehyung’s manga. “Nothing happened, you soggy potato. I just fell asleep and someone wrapped this sweater around me while I was sleeping.” He didn’t mention the beautiful stranger, or the way he’d fallen asleep to pale fingers dancing across the keys of the piano. There were just some things that Taehyung didn’t need to know. “Don’t you have to be in class in, like, 10 minutes?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung said nonchalantly.

“Are you going to go to class?”

Taehyung was silent and Jimin wriggled around in bed so he could turn around and give him his best glare. “Tae. You can’t miss class again, you already missed five days and it’s only the third week of classes.”

“Is it so bad that I wanted to make sure my roommate wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere?” Taehyung asked, as though he wasn’t considering skipping class just so he could finish his coffee.

“Tae,” Jimin said flatly. “Go to class.”

His best friend grumbled and ran a ring-laden hand through his blond hair. He was already dressed in something that resembled a quilt with parachute pants and sandals, but Taehyung was already such a weirdo that it looked normal on him. He stumbled around the room, grabbed a neon orange travelling mug, and Jimin watched in disappointment as he got ice cream out of their mini fridge, dumping two large scoops in it. He then grabbed the container of honey and poured a little in there, then sprinkled some cinnamon in the mug. Once he was finished with that, he poured coffee into the mug until it was completely full and screwed the cap on. Only when he was done did he turn to Jimin, giving him a finger heart and blowing a kiss. “Alright, I’m out. I’ll text you.”

“Please don’t,” Jimin said, but Taehyung just repeated the statement and then walked out the door before Jimin could say anything else.

Jimin sighed deeply and buried himself deeper into his blankets. He nuzzled the sweater in his arms with his nose, inhaling the scent of mahogany teakwood and lavender and tried to pretend that he didn’t enjoy it as much as he did. Maybe he could ask around for the stranger with mint green hair. If he lived in the same dorms, surely somebody would know him.

But he didn’t have to worry about that just yet, he decided as he closed his eyes and hugged the sweater closer to his chest.

Jimin had looked for the mint haired stranger in every nook and cranny possible, but he had yet to see him again. He had even ventured back down to the practice room in the early hours of the morning every day for about a week, to no avail.

It was frustrating for no reason other than the fact that Jimin wanted to give the sweater back to the other boy. Obviously. Even though he quite liked the comfort of the sweater hanging off his frame, so oversized that it fell past his hands. It was a lot worn out, the tiger printed on it beginning to crumble from being washed too much, but it was still so soft and warm that Jimin wore it almost every day.

Taehyung told him that he had an obsession, but Taehyung didn’t have any room to talk after Jimin had found out about his dabbling with Thor fanfiction. He wrote (and read) a lot about ‘Thor’s bulging muscles that could throw someone around’ and hardly had the decency to look ashamed as he told Jimin about the fic he read Thor having a gangbang with the rest of the Avengers.

In comparison, Jimin didn’t think his liking for wearing a goddamn sweater everyday was winning in the obsessive scale.

Taehyung scoffed as Jimin slipped the sweater over his torso. It hung past his thighs, made him look like he was wearing a dress over his black leggings. Sadly, the sweater was losing the scent of its original owner, the smell of mahogany teakwood and lavender disappearing after Jimin had worn it so much, instead being replaced with Jimin’s own. It was disappointing but not surprising.

“This is like the tenth time you’ve worn that this week,” Taehyung said flatly, finishing up his eyeliner in the mirror. He had drawn freckles across his cheeks with a brown eyeliner pen and had curled his hair. On top of the short white shorts and the pink v-neck tank top he was wearing, Jimin thought he looked like an even bigger flowerboy than usual, which was quite impressive. “Don’t you think it’s a bit weird to wear that thing so much when you don’t even know who the owner is?”

Jimin shrugged and pushed his friend over so he could apply some eyeshadow. “It’s soft and it smells good. Plus if I wear it all the time then maybe the owner will recognize it and ask for the sweater back.”

“I can’t tell if I’m impressed by your logic or if I just think you’re really stupid.”

Jimin rolled his eyes and decided not to respond, instead focusing on doing his makeup. Sometimes Taehyung just liked to talk and talk and talk and Jimin really just wanted to slap him, but he never did. One of these days though, he promised himself. One of these days.

They left for class soon after, as they both shared the same Dance History class. Taehyung had taken it to fill in his fine arts credit (apparently History of Jazz sounded boring) while Jimin had to take it because he was majoring in dance. It wasn’t exactly the most interesting class he had ever had to take, but it was eons better than his math class, so he didn’t really mind.

The only downfall about having class with Taehyung was that they were either two minutes early to class, or they were twenty minutes late with Starbucks in hand. There was no in between and it was usually the latter.

Today was no exception, apparently.

They burst into the room, twenty minutes late, iced americanos splashing in their cups, and a dark flush on Jimin’s cheeks from running. Taehyung looked even worse, way more out of shape than Jimin was, gasping for air, and a bright pink frappuccino in his large yaoi hand.

The class went silent as the door closed behind them, and Jimin kept his eyes to the ground as they made their way to the back of the classroom to the open seats there. Their professor, Dr. Chae, huffed in displeasure at their late entry. While they made their way to their seats, he quickly filled them in on how there was a guest speaker there for a few more minutes who was talking about the music and fine arts program, and then told the speaker to continue on as though they hadn’t just interrupted.

He did, his low voice filling Jimin’s ears, but Jimin wasn’t really paying attention, too focused on making his way back to his seat. When he got to his seat, he unzipped his backpack and got out his laptop, placing it on top of his desk. He opened the screen, made sure the sound was all the way down before logging in, and then pulled up his notes for the class. Then, he looked over at Taehyung to see that he was just leaning back in his seat, eyes to the front of the classroom, straw in his mouth.

Jimin reached for his coffee, took a sip, and looked to the front of the classroom. Immediately, his coffee got stuck in his throat and he began to sputter, coughing with alarm and embarrassment. Taehyung snorted something about Jimin sucking too much dick this morning but he didn’t pay his friend any attention. His face felt hot as Dr. Chae and the students and the fucking guest speaker all turned to glare at him, but his eyes were glued onto the speaker like he was seeing a goddamn ghost.

Because right there, standing at the front of the classroom, was the guy from the practice room, the one with mint hair, the one who’s sweater Jimin had been wearing for the past week.

Maybe. Probably. In all honesty, Jimin wasn’t completely sure. That night, he hadn’t actually gotten a good look at the guy. He knew he had pale skin, that he had long fingers, mint hair. But he hadn’t seen his face, didn’t know anything about him aside from those miniscule details.

The man in front of him was of short stature, probably around Jimin’s own height. He had on ripped black skinny jeans, and a black bomber jacket over a white shirt. He was wearing a delicate gold choker with a moon hanging on it that reminded Jimin of the moon at four in the morning. His lips were small and pink and he had a button nose and dark, almond-shaped eyes. When he flashed the class a smile, his gums showed and his eyes crinkled and he scratched behind his pierced ear as though he was embarrassed. And- and-

Jimin was in love. Probably. Maybe. If not in love, then he was truly and utterly enraptured, and he could practically smell the mahogany teakwood and lavender from where he was sitting in the back of the room.

Jimin turned to Taehyung, who was already watching him with curious eyes. “That’s the guy who gave me this sweater,” he hissed, which only made Taehyung’s eyes grow wider than they already were.

“What?!” he hissed back, looking back up at the dude, who was talking in a deep, almost monotone voice, but one that completely captured everyone’s attention because he was just too goddamn perfect for this entire world. “I thought you said you didn’t know who it was!”

“I didn’t- don’t,” Jimin replied earnestly. “I just saw his hair color. Hard to mistake someone’s fucking hair color when its mint fucking green.”

“But he’s so hot,” Taehyung whined. “You have to talk to him, I swear to God Park Jimin. I will jump over this desk and fucking throttle you if you don’t talk to him. You’ve been burying your nose in that stupid sweater for a week, that means you’re halfway in love with the guy already-“

“Taehyung-ssi, Jimin-ssi, can you keep it down for two seconds in your life?” Dr. Chae groaned, and Taehyung’s lips pressed together to keep him from saying anything more.

Jimin shrunk in his chair, eyes falling to the laptop on his desk before flickering back up to the mint-haired stranger, and oh god, he was looking at Jimin now, his eyes dark, his lips turning up into a smirk. He didn’t stop talking, not even once, but his tongue flicked out to lick at his lips and he maintained eye contact with Jimin for a moment too long until he finally looked elsewhere.

Jimin didn’t know if he was horribly embarrassed or massively turned on, but he did know that Taehyung whispered ‘holy shit’ next to him and that he was definitely in love.

It occured to Jimin halfway through that he wasn’t listening to a goddamn thing that this man was saying, that he still didn’t know his name, what he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to get out of this weird headspace that he’d found himself in. This man, whoever he was, was absolutely perfect. Just the kind of man that Jimin wanted to get to know in more ways than just one.

The stranger stopped speaking and Dr. Chae stepped forward, thanking him for his speech, the man giving a smile in response. Dr. Chae turned to the students, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Does anyone have any questions for Yoongi-ssi?”

Yoongi. Jimin had a lot of questions, but he couldn’t exactly ask them. At least not in class. Thankfully (horrifically?) Taehyung’s hand shot up beside him, making the professor sigh deeply. “Yes, Taehyung?”

“Yoongi, yeah?” Taehyung started, to a slightly amused Yoongi. “Serious question here, and I’m sure everyone’s wondering about it.” A small pause. Jimin was going to murder him. “What are your thoughts on love at first sight?”

The students snickered, Jimin smacked his hand to his forehead, and Dr. Chae looked about ready to accept death. Jimin wondered why he was still friends with Taehyung.

Yoongi’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. He still had an amused tilt to the corner of his lips, but otherwise his face was blank. Jimin wanted to know and understand all of the emotions that passed over his face every day, how he expressed himself. “Well, I personally haven’t experienced it before, but who am I to tell someone their feelings aren’t valid? Nobody feels love the same way, so I assume someone’s probably fallen in love before right off the bat.”

Taehyung nodded, eyes wide, and opened his mouth again. Jimin leaned closer to him, cutting him off with a harsh whisper of, “I’m going to suck his dick one day,” which probably didn’t help the situation in the slightest, but there was a fog over Jimin’s head and he couldn’t seem to think straight in the slightest.

Maybe his issue was just that he wasn’t straight in the first place.

Class was dismissed a few minutes later, after several more serious questions from the class. Stuff that was more about music and less about topics that Jimin really wanted to know. Jimin packed his things quickly, taking a deep breath as he catapulted himself to the front, where Yoongi was thanking Dr. Chae for allowing him to speak that day.

Taehyung hovered behind Jimin, who was hovering behind Yoongi. When Yoongi finally turned, brows raising in surprise as he caught sight of them, Jimin didn’t let him speak. “You left your jacket for me, right?” As if Yoongi couldn’t see it on him, he gestured to the worn tiger sweater on his torso.

“Uh- yeah,” Yoongi said, lips quirked in a small smile. Jimin reached to the hem of the sweater and tugged it off his frame. “Oh, no don’t worry-“ Yoongi started, but Jimin already had it off and was shoving it into his hands. Yoongi’s eyes lingered on Jimin’s biceps as they were revealed by his black tank top.

“I’ve been wearing it every day just in case you saw me and wanted your sweater back! I felt so bad that you didn’t have it anymore and I couldn’t find you anywhere. I’m so glad I finally found you, where have you been hiding?” Jimin ignored the stifled laughter from Taehyung and pointed an accusatory finger at Yoongi’s chest.

Yoongi, who was looking at Jimin as though he didn’t know if he should be affronted or endeared. His tongue flicked out to lick at his lips and Jimin followed the movement mindlessly, noting how soft his lips looked. “I don’t live on campus,” Yoongi said slowly, grabbing the sweater from Jimin’s hands like he was taking a toy from a puppy. “I usually just go to class and go straight home, so that’s probably why you haven’t seen me.”

Jimin gaped at him, his mind in shambles. He lives off campus? But how? “Why were you in my dorms then?” he accused, and Yoongi laughed quietly.

“My best friend lives in your dorm. I was spending the night there. Sometimes I use the practice room there if all of the ones in the music department are taken up.”

Oh. Well that certainly explained everything, then. Although that also meant that Jimin wouldn’t be seeing Yoongi around much. He didn’t know why he was so disappointed by that fact. (Well, he did know, but he hated himself just a little bit). He didn’t really know what to say so he just stayed silent.

“Thanks for this back, Jimin, I appreciate it,” Yoongi said. “I have to get going to my next class. See you around, though?”

Jimin nodded dumbly and stepped to the side, letting Yoongi pass by him. He kept his eyes on him as he walked out the door, dragging Jimin’s entire heart (and ass) with him.

“Well,” Taehyung exclaimed, patting Jimin on the back. “That went well, you thirsty bitch.”

Jimin shrugged his friend’s hand off of him. “I will fucking cut your entire dick off tonight, Tae. Don’t fucking test me.”

Another sleepless night filled Jimin with anxiety. He tossed and turned, his heart pounding in his chest as he desperately tried to fall asleep. He had an exam tomorrow, one for his contemporary class where he was performing a minute long piece, and he kept going over the motions in his head, trying to make sure he wouldn’t forget it.

But he knew there was no way he would fall asleep like this. He already had trouble sleeping when he wasn’t ridden with anxiety. Adding emotions and self-depreciation to the mix did nothing but make his insomnia worse.

The internet had told him before that if he couldn’t sleep, he should go do something else. It’s what he’s done for years now, even though it didn’t necessarily help. So with a sigh, like every week, he dragged himself out of bed, put on his cat slippers, and snuck out of the room, leaving Taehyung behind.

He knew where he was going before he arrived, because that’s where he always went now, hoping for a flash of mint hair and the sweet melody of a piano. He still hadn’t seen Yoongi there since that first time, and he didn’t think this night would be any different.

The halls of the dorm smelled like stir fry, which was hilarious considering it was three in the morning. Somebody else couldn’t sleep, and Jimin related to that. As he passed by the various rooms, he could hear low talking in a few of them, sometimes even the thrum of a television. The lights in the hallways were dimmed so they didn’t brighten up the students’ rooms, and the eeriness of it made goosebumps rise on Jimin’s skin. He resisted the urge to look behind him with every step he took.

When he finally reached the practice room, he took a deep breath, pausing just outside. He tried not to get his hopes up, telling himself that Yoongi wasn’t in there. He was never there. He didn’t even live here.

The card reader beeped as Jimin scanned his ID, the door unlocking automatically when it recognized him. He put his hand on the handle, fingers shaking for no other reason than anxiety, and then he was pushing the door open.

It took him a moment to realize that there was somebody playing the piano. Not just somebody. But Yoongi.

There he was, the man Jimin’s been dying to see again for forever, only a few steps before him. He didn’t look up, but his head ducked a little as he played, as if he was acknowledging Jimin’s presence, inviting him in. His fingers danced across the keys, slim and long and beautiful, so beautiful that Jimin wanted to hold his hand to see what it would be like. If it would make flowers erupt in his lungs as he entwined their fingers.

Jimin clamped his mouth shut, resisting the urge to speak and to break the calm aura. He didn’t want Yoongi to stop playing. He wanted him to continue, to lull Jimin to sleep, to melt away his anxieties.

So he sat, much like the first time, except this time, he curled into a ball and fell onto his side, lying down with his face pressed into his knees. Like this, he felt small, he felt safe. He felt the music reaching his soul, caressing his heart, soothing his lungs.

It was easier to breathe. It was easier to close his eyes. It was easier to pretend that everything was okay, that he didn’t exist, when the music was surrounding him in warmth.

He awoke the next morning to his alarm going off on his phone, his battery at five percent. There was a pillow under his head and a blanket tucked around his body.

Unlike last time, there was a note tucked under his phone, crinkled at the edges, handwriting messily scrawled.

You can keep the pillow and blanket this time. Get more sleep, kid.

-Yoongi

Jimin pounded on the door to his dorm, annoyance running through his entire body. “Tae, open up!”

“Uh, I’m kinda doing something important right now, Jiminnie.”

Jimin pounded again, putting his key into the lock. “I don’t give a shit! I’m coming in!”

“Jimin, Jungkook is literally balls deep inside of me right now. You better fucking not.” A small hey from inside affirmed that yes, Jungkook was probably inside there, screwing Taehyung into the mattress.

Jimin twisted the lock and it clicked open, free for him to enter. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, Tae. Have you just conveniently forgotten that time at the party a year ago when we just happened to have sex in the same room at the same time with each other? I’m coming in.” And then he flung the door open.

Taehyung glared at him from where he was buried under the blankets, Jungkook spooning him from behind. Except, Jimin wasn’t stupid enough to think that Jungkook was just spooning him, especially since the duvet went all the way up to their chins and there was a dark blush and sweat on Jungkook’s brow. “What the fuck, man? Was it that necessary to come in right now? I wouldn’t walk in on you if Yoongi was screwing you.”

Jimin threw his best friend an annoyed glance and shoved his new blanket and pillow onto the bed. “No, of course you wouldn’t. You’d just casually watch for a minute and then ask to join.”

“Hey, I’m not one to turn down a good dicking.”

Deciding to ignore Taehyung’s stupidity, Jimin cast a look over at Jungkook. “How ya doing, Kookie? You eating well? Drinking enough water?”

Jungkook’s face was scrunched up and there was sweat pooling on his forehead. He looked like he was physically in pain. “I’m great, yeah. Eating enough, drinking water, all that good stuff.”

Jimin snorted out a laugh and turned away from his friends, grabbing his dance leggings, a tank top, and his foot paws for his contemporary exam. “Let me just change and you guys can get back to whatever you were doing.”

“Fucking, Chimchim. We were fucking.”

“Right, fucking,” Jimin replied as he changed into his dance clothes, slipping his foot paws into his backpack so he didn’t have to carry them all the way to the studio. “I hope to God you’re using protection,” Jimin said as he slid his shoes on and made his way to the door.

“We are!” Taehyung exclaimed. “Have a good exam!”

“Thanks, you too,” Jimin replied mindlessly, before closing the door and hurrying to his class.

After Yoongi gave Jimin the blanket and pillow, Jimin started to see him in the practice room more often. They never spoke, never acknowledged each other’s presence, but Jimin was happy. Even though he yearned to talk to him, to learn more about him, to hold his hand, Jimin realized that he was getting to know him in a way.

Because music was Yoongi’s soul. It was a part of him, something to keep him together when the world around them was falling about. Jimin learned about the way Yoongi’s fingers danced along the piano, just as Jimin danced across the floor in his classes. Whereas Yoongi made music with his fingers and his brain, Jimin made music with his entire body.

They were two separate entities, but in the tiny space of the practice room, with the piano filling up the air between them, Jimin felt a connection with Yoongi like he had never felt before.

It was just comfortable. There were no expectations, no need for conversation. Yoongi just let Jimin listen to his playing until he fell asleep, covered in Yoongi’s blanket. One day, he even woke up to Yoongi’s tiger sweatshirt laying in front of him, along with a store bought canned coffee. Not exactly Jimin’s favorite drink, but the knowledge that Yoongi left it for him made it taste all so much sweeter.

Taehyung teased Jimin about how in love he was, and Jimin couldn’t even say anything as he sipped on shitty canned coffee, his cheeks as red as cherries. Tae didn’t understand how he could like someone so much when they had only spoken once, claiming that Jimin was a child and needed to grow a pair for once. Jimin didn’t really understand himself either, but he was happy, blissfully in love, and he wasn’t going to pretend like everything was some magical story where he could just kiss Yoongi and ride away into the sunset. There was always the possibility that Yoongi didn’t like him, that he just liked his company, that he didn’t want to get to know him.

It was sad, but Jimin truly didn’t mind. He was just glad that he could fill the empty spaces at night with Yoongi, that he had even been able to have the pleasure of meeting him. He didn’t expect anything from Yoongi, so while he yearned for so much more, he understood that this was his problem, and he didn’t let himself get caught up in what could be. He just wanted to focus on what was.

Sometimes, when Yoongi thought Jimin was asleep, he would start to sing quietly along with the piano. His voice wasn’t polished at all, but rather rough and raw. Despite that, Jimin found it relaxing. During those nights, Jimin would fall asleep to the sound of Yoongi’s voice, and he would dream of a single red rose in the middle of a large grassy field. The grass danced in the wind, playing a melody that Jimin had seldom heard before.

Jimin was happy with how things were. But when things started to change, he was ecstatic about it.

One morning, he woke up to the sound of the practice room opening. He squinted his eyes in the morning light, vaguely noticing a weight on his shoulder. He yawned, his eyes blurry from sleep, and turned to glance at whatever was laying on him.

It took him longer than he’d like to admit to understand that it was Yoongi whose head was on his shoulder. He traced Yoongi’s features with his eyes, smiling softly at the way his fading mint hair messily fell over his forehead. His cheeks were slightly pink and his lips were slightly open. He looked so incredibly soft that Jimin had to force himself to stop from reaching out and just running his fingers down Yoongi’s cheekbone.

He was torn from his thoughts by a soft cough and a presence in front of him, drawing his attention away from the soft man beside him and towards a very tall, lanky man with thick lips and purple hair. The man smiled awkwardly at him and gestured to Yoongi. “I’m Kim Namjoon, Yoongi’s friend,” he explained. His eyes kept flickering from Jimin’s face to Yoongi’s, and it was hard to miss the curiosity in them. “I was worried when he didn’t come back up to my dorm last night, but I guess he fell asleep down here.”

Jimin chuckled and nodded lightly. There was a warmth in his chest and his throat felt like it was closing up with happiness. Added to his sleep-addled mind, he felt very slow and a bit like he was on another universe. “I’m Park Jimin,” he replied softly, bowing his head. “Sorry we worried you.”

Namjoon shrugged and kneeled down onto the floor. He reached out a hand and gently shook Yoongi’s shoulder, who groaned deeply and stretched out his entire body. He resembled a cat, and Jimin almost expected him to purr. “Morning, hyung,” Namjoon murmured quietly. “It’s time for you to wake up now. You really should get better about getting sleep. If I have to hear Seokjin hyung complaining about your late night disappearances again, I might not be able to stop him from withholding food.”

“I don’t think hyung would be able to withhold food from anybody,” Yoongi muttered, his voice so deep and sleepy that it made goosebumps take over Jimin’s entire body. Yoongi sat up and rubbed at his eyes, groaning about how he forgot to take out his contacts last night. He then paused and looked over at Jimin almost as though he’d forgotten he was there. Jimin fell in love with the way Yoongi’s eyes were puffy with sleep, his hair a ruffled mess atop his head. “Ah, sorry Jimin. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“I don’t mind,” Jimin replied automatically, his voice soft but sincere. He tried to hold Yoongi’s gaze but it felt like he was looking into the eyes of a god, so he ended up staring at Namjoon’s socks. He had on two different pairs of socks, one with pizza slices on it and the other with cat mermaids. Jimin decided that he liked Namjoon.

Namjoon laughed a bit at Jimin’s answer. “He definitely didn’t mind you sleeping on him,” Namjoon teased, and Jimin glared at him. What kind of person started teasing like that with someone they had just met?

It was all in good fun though, because Namjoon was grinning, cheeks caving in with dimples, and Yoongi croaked out a laugh as well, bumping Jimin’s shoulder with his own as he stood up. “Do you want to get coffee with me, Jimin?” Yoongi asked, giving Jiming a smile. “Consider it an apology for me falling asleep on you.”

Coffee? With Yoongi? Jimin was either dead or still in dreamland, because there was no way this was actually happening. He breathed heavily through his mouth, swallowing, trying to calm his heart down. “You really don’t need to apologize for that, hyung,” Jimin assured, biting his tongue so he didn’t blurt out how much he wanted Yoongi to fall asleep on him again. So he didn’t blurt about how he loved the way Yoongi looked when he first woke up. Speaking of just waking up, “before we get some coffee, can I get changed and take a shower? I probably smell weird.”

“You smell fine,” Yoongi said. “But sure. Meet you at the Bookmark Cafe in an hour?”

Jimin licked his lips and nodded, staying still as Yoongi and Namjoon stepped out of the room. He was dazed, practically gaping, wondering what the hell had just happened and how it’d happened. A lot of shit had gone on at once. Firstly, he woke up with Yoongi sleeping on his shoulder. Then Namjoon made an appearance and made a joke about how much he liked Yoongi. And finally, Yoongi had invited him to coffee.

Jimin needed to look good. He needed to make Yoongi fall for him.

With that in mind, he nearly bolted to his room, thankful to find it unlocked. Shouting a quick hello to Taehyung, he grabbed his robe and his shower supplies and then booked it to the restrooms where he took the quickest shower possible. He wanted to be able to have time to look good, and somehow he always spent longer than needed to get his makeup all finished.

When he was done, he dried off, slipped his robe on, and power walked back to his room. Taehyung squinted at him from where he was lying upside down on his bed, butt and legs on the wall. “What’s got you all in a rush, stranger?”

Jimin took out his purple handheld mirror and his bag of makeup supplies and got to work, trying to create a masterpiece out of a paper bag. “Hot date in less than an hour with a hot man,” he replied nonchalantly, spreading toner all over his skin.

Taehyung jumped off of the bed and came to sit on the desk beside him. Jimin didn’t look at him, but he knew for a fact that he had a shit eating grin on his face, one so wide that it looked like a square. “You’re fucking with me? Yoongi asked you out?”

Shrugging, Jimin spread foundation on his face, being extra liberal where he had bumps on his skin. “He fell asleep on me last night and ended up asking me to coffee. I told him I wanted to take a shower beforehand so we’re meeting once I’m finished up here.”

“Well good thing I’m here. I’m going to make you into an absolute god.” And with that, Taehyung snatched the eyeshadow palette away from Jimin’s hands and twirled him around to face him.

Jimin let him, deciding not to complain. If there was one thing Taehyung was good at, it was makeup. He was a drama student, so he often had to do his own makeup for showcases and recitals and by now, he was a pro. He knew how to handle a brush, knew how to blend and how to give Jimin a sexy smokey eye. Knew how to put just enough lip tint on to make his lips pop. Even if Taehyung went slightly weird with the makeup occasionally (Jimin especially wanted to forget about the time he put red lipstick on his nose and lined his eyes with brown and put dots on his cheeks in a weird attempt to look like a dog).

“You should put in blue contacts,” Taehyung murmured quietly. Jimin strapped himself in for a ramble. His best friend never did know how to stop himself from talking when it came to fashion. “It’d go well with your blond hair. I’m also going to use a white eyeliner pen to put white freckles on you. I suggest you wear that large yellow knitted sweater and your light blue skinny jeans. Oh and wear a choker as well. Maybe the gold chain one with the moon on it? That one always looks so nice with your skin.”

Taehyung went on and on and Jimin just let him, staying quiet as Tae picked out the exact outfit and shoes he was going to wear. He vaguely wondered if he was overdressing, but he also didn’t want to under dress, because he needed Yoongi to fall for him right then and there. He wanted Yoongi to feel like he was worth his time. So he let Taehyung dot white freckles on his cheeks, let him pick out his outfit. Jimin always did look good in yellow and golds.

When Taehyung was finished with his makeup, he threw on the yellow sweater, light blue jeans, and Jimin’s choker at him, and watched with pursed lips as Jimin put everything on, feeling a bit like an animal on display. Jimin opted out of the blue contacts, feeling like that was a bit much, and he only wore one ring, the one that his mother had given him before he had gone to university.

“Something’s missing,” Taehyung muttered, circling around Jimin like a shark with his prey.

Jimin looked at the time. He cursed. “It’s gonna have to be put on hold, Tae. I need to be there in 15 minutes and I still have to walk.”

“But- Jimin,” Taehyung whined, but Jimin put his hand up, checking himself out in the mirror. Taehyung did an amazing job on him as usual. The yellow sweater went well with both his skin tone and his blond hair, and his eyes had just a hint of brown shadow on them, not overpowering, but just enough to make him have some color to his skin. His lips were slightly pink and glossy and looked pretty damn kissable. It was the perfect mix, in all honesty. Jimin wasn’t too done-up, Taehyung hadn’t put eyeliner on him or any heavy lipstick. He just enhanced some of Jimin’s best features and dressed him in comfortable clothing. Taehyung sighed dramatically. “You’re so cute, Chimchim. Why can’t you just be with Jungkook and I and forget about Yoongi?” His voice was childlike, a bit whiny.

Jimin laughed loudly while he tied his shoes. “Maybe if Yoongi doesn’t work out I’ll consider it.” He straightened himself up, brushing off his sweater. He felt pretty confident in his looks, but nerves were starting to build up inside of him at the realization that he was about to be alone. With Yoongi. Talking.

Oh god, they were going to be talking. Not through music, not through their shared insomnia. But with their mouths.

Jimin was absolutely fucked.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. He could do this. He’s got this. He’d spent days already with Yoongi, so exchanging words was just what came next. This wasn’t even a date, they were just getting together for some casual chats.

It was going to be okay. And yet Jimin felt as though he was going to throw up all over his dorm.

He waved to Taehyung as he exited the room, ignoring his roommate as he screamed after him to text him all the dirty details. He would much rather pay attention to Yoongi than to text his annoying best friend any day.

The walk to the cafe was a short one, but Jimin picked up his pace anyways. He was too excited, too nervous, and it showed in his strides. He tried to slow himself down, to take a few breaths and ignore the autumn air, but it only served to make him more nervous. He put his earphones in, trying to block out the chatter from all around him, putting on a soothing song that never failed to make him relax.

The air seemed chillier than yesterday, not quiet cold but definitely not warm either. He was thankful that he was wearing his sweater so that it blocked some of the air from digging into his bones. He noticed with a sad smile that some of the flowers littering the campus were dying from the change of season. It was bittersweet, how life would die only to be reborn again.

The cafe loomed in front of him, the small blue building looking cheerful in the light of the morning sun. There were flowers decorated on the building, yellows and reds and purples, and Jimin knew from experience that there was also a tiny reading lounge inside of the cafe, a room filled to the brim with books and comfortable chairs. On a Sunday morning, most students were still sleeping the weekend away, dreading the next day when they would have to wake up and go to class.

Jimin opened the door at the same time that he took out his earphones, biting his lip to stop himself from taking in a shaky breath. He closed his eyes to ground himself, and when he opened them, he immediately sighted Yoongi, sitting at a table by the door.

It seemed that Yoongi had already seen him, standing with a soft smile on his face, one that was much different from any expression that Jimin had seen on him before. It transformed his face completely, his lips curling up, his teeth showing slightly. It reminded Jimin of an eclipse in the way that Yoongi always seemed so closed off and reserved, but when he looked at Jimin, he was suddenly shining, so bright that it practically hurt his eyes to look at directly.

“Good morning again,” Yoongi chuckled, scratching behind his ear. Jimin took that moment to drink in all his features, to commit them to memory. He seemed much more awake now, eyes no longer puffy and filled with sleepiness. He had on a cream colored turtleneck that complimented his skin tone and made him look softer than humanly possible. Jimin wanted to drag him into a hug, maybe squish his cheeks between his palms, maybe kiss the breath out of him. All of the above.

“Morning,” Jimin greeted quietly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You look really nice.”

Yoongi hummed and ducked his head. There was a dusting of pink on his cheeks that Jimin would have missed if he hadn’t been paying so much attention to Yoongi’s features. “You too. You look really nice in yellow.” He paused for a moment, trying to figure out the correct words to say. “Anyways, I waited for you so that we can order. It’s on hyung today,” he stated proudly.

Just hearing Yoongi call himself hyung so confidently and nonchalantly made Jimin’s heart nearly give out. They had barely even spoken and yet Yoongi wanted Jimin to call him hyung already? If Jimin died that day, he would definitely die happy.

“Ah, thank you,” Jimin stuttered out, adding on a flustered ‘hyung’ to his sentence that sounded more like an absolute mess than anything else. He followed Yoongi to the line, only a couple of people in front of them, and eyed the menu, trying to take his mind off of the nervousness running through his entire body.

Yoongi was standing so close that Jimin could smell that familiar mahogany teakwood and lavender, and it was making him dizzy. He was playing with the strap of his backpack like he didn’t know what to do with his hands and there was a seasonal drink menu that Jimin’s eyes were glued to without taking any of the drinks in. It was autumn anyways, so the drinks would be undeniably pumpkin flavored. He wasn’t a huge fan.

“What kind of coffee do you like?” Yoongi asked, breaking Jimin out of his daze.

Jimin made a vague gesture at the menu. “The sweeter the better,” he said honestly. “Sometimes I get extra flavoring if I’m feeling wild.”

The comment brought a chuckle out of Yoongi and his face was soft. His mint hair glowed softly in the morning sun leaking through the windows. Jimin wished he was an art major so he could capture the moment for several more years to come. But even then, he still wouldn’t be able to convey the utter beauty of Yoongi on a simple sheet of paper.

“Yeah?” Yoongi mused. “Are you feeling wild today, then?”

It was their turn in line, so Jimin got to answer in the form of his order. The barista typed in the praline pie latte and smiled when Jimin put an emphasis on the extra praline flavoring. He ordered it in a porcelain cup with whipped cream and caramel drizzle, and the barista probably hated him, but the gummy smile that Yoongi shot him made it all worth it.

If Jimin was all sugar and whipped cream, Yoongi was bitter black coffee and absolutely No Fun. Jimin teased him for it, saying that the only reason he ordered black coffee was to be edgy, and Yoongi shrugged and agreed.

“I hang out with a bad crowd,” Yoongi sighed dramatically as they made their way to a seat in the small library section. The loveseat was red and well loved, frayed at the edges and fading. There was a book on the table next to it called Bad Feminist, and Jimin felt like he was at home as they sat down. “I was peer pressured into drinking black coffee,” Yoongi went on, taking a sip and making a face like he was dying. “All day they would tease me for ordering strawberry frappuccinos. Said I had no taste and that I would eventually become a white girl named Katie if I kept drinking them. After a while, I gave in and started ordering my coffee black, and I’ve been too afraid of my friend’s opinions to go back to my fruity ways.”

Jimin stared at him in disbelief, an uncertain giggle pulling from his throat. Was Yoongi kidding? His face was so serious that Jimin could hardly read him. His eyes were burning with passion and he was leaning forward a bit to show the serious nature of the conversation. Jimin had never heard Yoongi talk so much before (aside from when Jimin wasn’t listening to him in Dance History but that didn’t count), and he couldn’t believe Yoongi had gone on a rant about something such as this. “You- really?”

Yoongi nodded solemnly. And then his facade cracked with a giant grin and another sip of coffee. “Nah, I’m just too lazy to order anything else and this is the quickest drink to make.”

The laugh that Jimin let out was nothing short of hideous, little squeaks escaping his chest as though he were a mouse. The noises made Yoongi crack a smile as well and the way he was looking at Jimin made him wonder if this truly was a date.

The conversation flowed easily between them, and Jimin slowly got used to the low thrum of Yoongi’s voice, of the way he scratched his ear when he was shy, of the way he hissed in air when he couldn’t quite put into words what he wanted to say.

Jimin learned a lot about Yoongi in the early hours of the morning, both of them still soft from sleep and the slowly rising sun. Yoongi was a quiet guy, but he was blunt about what he liked and disliked. Sometimes he got overly excited, and would do a little body wiggle or make a stupid joke, and it was those moments that Jimin felt as though his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He learned that Yoongi played the piano when he was five years old and had started to make his own music at the age of thirteen. He learned that Yoongi lived with someone named Seokjin who was practically his mother, and that he spent the night at Namjoon’s dorm when he was feeling existential. He taught some piano classes off campus and he was also the piano player for the third year ballet class.

“Will you still play for the ballet next year?” Jimin wondered aloud, excitement swelling inside of him at the thought of Yoongi playing piano for his ballet class. He could certainly hope he would, but Yoongi was already in his last year, so there was a large chance that he would get a real job and say goodbye to campus jobs for good.

Yoongi shrugged and licked at his lips. Jimin tracked the movement with his eyes and tried not to lean forward to see if he tasted like the coffee he was drinking. “They offered, but I haven’t decided yet,” he replied. He ran his fingers over the spine of a book lying next to him mindlessly and flashed Jimin a bashful smile. “But if you’re going to be there, then I might just take the offer again.”

Jimin ducked his head, his face hot and his cheeks aching from smiling so widely. Yoongi was flirting. There was no way that he wasn’t. Unless he was just being nice, but this felt like too much of a date, like two people who wanted to get to know each other for reasons more than friendship. With Yoongi’s thigh pressed against his, books and the smell of coffee filling the room, Yoongi’s compliments and gummy smile, there was almost no doubt in Jimin’s mind that Yoongi had at least a little bit of romantic interest in him.

Just as Jimin was going to stutter out a stupid response, a voice screeched from the entry to the library and suddenly a body was crashing into his, arms wrapping around his neck in a tight hug. For a horrifying moment, Jimin thought that Taehyung or Jungkook had decided to crash his date. But then he saw the glimpse of burgundy hair and a rainbow sweater, and he decided that this was a much worse situation.

“Jiminie!” Hoseok exclaimed, nuzzling his cheek against Jimin’s. “Why are you here?”

Jimin slapped Hoseok out of the way and gave his friend an unimpressed glare. “I’m busy,” he replied, casting an apologetic expression to Yoongi.

To his surprise, Yoongi was smirking, but there was also a tinge of annoyance there. Something fond and familiar that Jimin didn’t understand until he said, “yah, we’re busy, Hobi.”

Jimin froze in complete shock as Hoseok then launched into Yoongi’s arms with as much familiarity as he showed Jimin. Yoongi showed his fondness in a small twitch of his lips, the way he pat Hoseok’s head like a dog, how he just let Hoseok hang off of him as though this happened every day. “Wh- you two know each other, hyung?” Jimin asked, shock apparent on his face.

“We were roommates our first year of university,” Hoseok explained happily. “Best friends ever since!”

“Namjoon is my best friend,” Yoongi said flatly.

Hoseok turned to Jimin. “We’re best friends,” he reconfirmed. At this point, Hoseok was sprawled across both of their laps, his head on Yoongi’s shoulder and his legs thrown over Jimin’s thighs. It didn’t look comfortable in the slightest, but Jimin had long since given up on trying to understand him. It was moments like these where Jimin wondered why most of his friends were idiots.

Yoongi sighed like an old man dealing with the ideals of modern youth and pushed a whining Hoseok onto the floor. He bumped into the coffee table in front of them, knocking off a stack of books, but he barely paid any mind to them as he sprung to his feet, affronted. “What the hell was that for?”

“We’re busy, Hobi. I told you that.” Yoongi’s voice was gruff, blunt, but didn’t hold any mirth other than fond annoyance.

Hoseok looked between Jimin and Yoongi, and Jimin saw the exact moment where he zoned on their coffees, their close proximity, how their thighs were touching. His mouth fell open in understanding and his face flushed red with embarrassment. “I now see that I’m an idiot and I’ll excuse myself,” he said apologetically.

Both Yoongi and Jimin waved him off, and for a moment Jimin felt like a parent sending his child away to their bedroom. “I’ll text you later,” Jimin promised, and that was all Hoseok needed to take leave, a heart-shaped smile on his face and a pink frozen drink in hand.

“How’d you meet Hobi?” Yoongi asked once he was gone.

“He’s the teaching assistant for my hip hop class,” Jimin replied. “I’m a contemporary dancer so I was having trouble in the class. He ended up having to give me a few extra lessons during his office hours and we got pretty close.”

Yoongi hummed thoughtfully, quieting for a second. Jimin let him think about what he was going to say, knowing that it was sometimes hard for Yoongi to put his words together. “You’ll have to let me see you dance sometime,” he suggested quietly.

Even the suggestion made Jimin grin, because that meant they would see each other again, that they were close enough for Yoongi to want to know more about him and what he does. Jimin had already seen Yoongi perform dozens of times, and now it was Jimin’s time to shine. “I’ll consider it if you play me something worth dancing to,” Jimin teased.

The last thing he expected was for Yoongi to nod, accepting the joke as a challenge, his eyes curving into little crescents as he smiled. “Deal.”

“You have to tell me all about it. Did you guys kiss? Did you fuck? Oh god, please tell me you used protection. I’m not ready to be an uncle yet.”

Jimin shot Taehyung a look, and then sent Jungkook a similar one, as though asking how the fuck he dealt with that all the time. Jungkook shrugged his shoulders minisculely. Jimin didn’t understand but he supported them. “We didn’t kiss, we didn’t fuck, and I don’t have a uterus so you’re not going to be an uncle yet,” Jimin replied flatly. “We just got a coffee and talked. It was nice.”

“You… you talked,” Taehyung said disbelievingly.

“Yes, we talked,” Jimin replied. “Not all of us meet by doing body shots on one another and then start dating the next day.” He cast a meaningful glance at his two best friends, and was glad that at least Jungkook had the decency to look embarrassed. Taehyung just grinned and blew Jimin a kiss, which Jimin pretended to punch out of the air. “We got coffee, talked about our interests. He told me he’d like to see me dance sometime and I told him that I’d like to dance to a song he plays me. Hoseokie hyung showed up too, which was a bit annoying, but not as annoying as you are.”

“I resent that.”

“Not as much as I resent you.” Jimin sighed and flopped down backwards onto his bed. It was nine o’clock at night and he felt like he could go for a nap right about then. At the same time, he was way too wired from the day’s events and knew that there was no way he would be able to sleep right about then. “He was perfect, Tae. A literal grumpy angel sent from a goddess herself. Imagine like, a grumpy cat who has a soft spot for one person in particular, yeah? Yoongi is the grumpy cat and I’m the person in particular.”

Jungkook laughed lowly and put his arm around Taehyung’s shoulder, resting his head on his boyfriend. “You sound pretty sure about that.”

Jimin nodded. “I am sure. I’m like 99% certain that was a date. He said he would be the pianist for ballet next year as long as I’m in it, even though he won’t be a student anymore.”

Taehyung gasped dramatically and put a hand over his heart. Damn theater majors. Not even the dance majors were this bad. “Damn, okay then. That’s love bitch.” He turned to Jungkook and pouted. “Why don’t you treat me like that?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I guess I just don’t love you.”

“That’s fair,” Taehyung said and turned back to Jimin. “So what are you going to do about this then? You should tell him how you feel.”

Jimin sniffled pathetically. He wasn’t even close to tears, but he felt a bit emotional, always the one catching feelings more than his other friends did. “I don’t know. Emotions are hard.”

He heard the bed opposite from him creak as Taehyung stood up, and then there was a body curling up next to him, cradling him to Taehyung’s chest. If there was one thing that Jimin loved about Taehyung, it was his cuddles and how they made Jimin feel so small and warm. His friend made a motion with his hand, and then Jungkook curled up on the other side of Jimin, squishing him between the two. He closed his eyes and soaked up their warmth and friendly vibes like a purring cat underneath the sun.

Maybe this was why he kept the both of them around.

“For what it’s worth,” Jungkook started in his soft voice as Taehyung nuzzled Jimin’s cheek with his nose, “I think he really does like you. You’ve been meeting up at night for weeks and he brings you blankets and stuff when you fall asleep. Then he fell asleep with you and asked you for coffee the next morning. I don’t think I would do that unless I really really liked someone.”

“That’s love bitch,” Taehyung reiterated in a whisper. Jimin ignored him. It was Kookie time now, not Taehyung time.

“What if he doesn’t though? What if I’m wrong?”

Jungkook brushed a hand through Jimin’s hair, smoothing out all the knots from the day. He smiled a soft smile and gave Jimin a friendly kiss on the ear. “Then at least you won’t beat yourself up for never trying. And I could always punch him if you need me to.”

“And if it doesn’t work out with you and Yoongi hyung, you know that Jungkook and I will happily accept you into our loving relationship,” Taehyung added gleefully. Jungkook and Jimin glared at him and he pouted. “What? I’m just saying it’s an option.”

Jimin sighed, shaking his head. But his chest was full and he was warm and his two best friends were wrapped around him like pretzels. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet you still love us,” Jungkook stated, a fact that’s been proven over and over again.

“Somehow I do,” Jimin replied and tightened his hold on his friends.

Taehyung kissed his cheek and started to pet his hair with Jungkook. Jimin didn’t think he could last much longer before he would fall asleep. He’s always been a slut for having his hair petted. “You should tell Yoongi how you feel. Text him or something. Go get your man. And then tell us all about it so we can be jealous that someone else gets to have our Jiminie.”

Jimin giggled and relaxed fully into them, succumbing himself to his best friends’ arms. “Fine. But no promises that anything will actually work out.”

Yoongi hyung

7:13pm

Can you make it to the ballet studio at 8?

Jimin

7:15pm

Ya, why??

Yoongi hyung

7:19pm

Do some stretches and wear something you can dance in

Jimin

7:20pm

So either im going to be doing ballet or a lapdance. Got it.

Yoongi hyung

7:21pm

Why can’t it be both?

Jimin

7:21pm

omfg.

Jimin

7:22pm

ill be there

Yoongi hyung

7:23pm

:-)

Jimin arrived at the ballet studio two minutes before eight o’clock with his leggings and a light pink hoodie, foot paws stuck in the pocket so he could slip them on once he was ready to dance. He’d shoved as much hair as he could into a little ponytail atop his head and had Taehyung use bobby pins and a headband to keep the strays down.

He probably looked a bit weird, but considering that Yoongi had already seen him asleep multiple times, Jimin didn’t think he’d care too much. Besides, he’d kind of asked for this.

The soft sound of someone playing the piano filled his ears as he entered, going to the end of the hall where the largest studio with a small brown piano sat in the corner. Jimin was pleased but not surprised to see Yoongi sitting there, his mint hair messy and fading to blond. His lips were pouted slightly as he played, his fingers dancing across the keys, his dark brows furrowed in concentration.

He didn’t stop playing when Jimin came in, just like those other times when Jimin would interrupt him. This time, his eyes flickered up and he gave Jimin a soft smile, cheeks rosy and a black mask tucked under his chin. The song he was playing started out slow, an easy rhythm that put Jimin’s ears at ease. When it picked up, Jimin closed his eyes and felt himself get lost in the music, in the feel. It was nostalgic, something that reminded him of his childhood, maybe of when he first started to dance. The slow notes appeared again, and Jimin remembered how he had taken years to get used to dancing, had started out as the worst in his class, but that was what ultimately urged him on to become better, to show everybody that he could be the best. When the song picked up once more, Jimin thought about his first dance competition, how he had been so nervous that he’d made a mistake on stage. Afterwards, he’d been so upset that he ran away from his friends and had thrown up in the bathroom, locking himself away until his instructor had found him and told him that everybody gets like that, but that it doesn’t mean he’s not good enough.

When the song came to an end and Jimin opened his eyes, he found Yoongi gazing at him, raw around the edges, lips turned upwards. “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice calm, almost in harmony with the song still ringing around the room. His foot was still on the peddle, and it seemed like he realized that, because he took his foot off and the note cut off a little bit too suddenly.

“You’re amazing,” Jimin replied sincerely. He walked over to the piano and leaned over it, resting his arms under his chin. “Did you write this by yourself?”

Yoongi hummed in agreement. “Had to make a song for my composition class,” he confirmed. “We had to write something about love, so I wrote about my relationship with the piano.” He gave the piano a fond smack on the wood, and Jimin chuckled at that. Yoongi was too good for this world.

“It feels really nostalgic to me,” Jimin admitted, smoothing his hands over the piano and feeling the grooves and dents, showing how well loved it was. “It reminded me of when I first started dancing and all the struggles and joy that brought me. You’re very talented, hyung.”

“Thank you,” Yoongi beamed, and his cheeks were rosy and Jimin wanted to smooch him. He always wanted to smooch him. “Anyways, it’s good you get emotion from it because this is the song I want you to dance to for me.”

Jimin expected that, but he was still a bit surprised with it. Yoongi had created an entire song and he wanted Jimin to feel it in his body, with every fibre of his being, wanted to watch Jimin create an entire new art form with his song. To Jimin, that felt a little bit like trust. “Play it for me again,” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi started without complaint, the notes ringing around the room, and Jimin took his time slipping his foot paws over his toes. He sat in the middle of the room on the floorboards, staring blankly at himself in the mirrored wall, and then he laid on the floor, closed his eyes, felt the music. He listened to every single note, committed it to memory, imagined which moves would be the most powerful where. A pirouette there or a fouetté? Arabesque or a pas de chat?

Once the song was finished, Jimin asked Yoongi to play it again, and once more, and then he was moving just his arms with the music, figuring out the feel with his body, tracking the music and how he could move along.

Alas, he felt like he figured it out enough that he could probably come up with some decent dance that Yoongi would appreciate. He was probably overthinking this, anyways. Yoongi knew almost nothing about dance, and most people could look at a dancer and think that they were doing amazing even if they weren’t.

“Can I film your dance?” Yoongi asked quietly, and that gave Jimin’s stomach a tight swooping sensation, but he nodded and grinned.

“Of course,” he replied, getting into his spot as Yoongi perched his phone on the top of the piano, using a book to prop it up.

He pressed play. “Ready when you are.” Jimin gave him a thumbs up, and Yoongi began to play once more.

After listening to the song so many times, Jimin felt as though he knew it by heart. He hadn’t always been so adaptable to music, but years of being forced into improv (and even having to take a college class on it), he’s gotten so much better at making up entire dances on the spot.

The trick was that you had to go by feel of the song. You had to use the song to move your body, to stop thinking and just let your body and the song do the talking. Yoongi’s song was nostalgic, full of childhood and happiness, a tinge of sadness thrown in there for all the hard times that came with growing up. Jimin used this to his advantage.

The song started out slow, and so did Jimin. When there was a pause in the notes, he would exaggerate his breathing, would suddenly collapse to the floor, would grasp his heart as though he were shot. But when the music was constant, he moved along with it, never ending. He would throw himself across the floor, do leaps and turns, would turn his face towards the sky and reach with both hands like he was grasping something he couldn’t quite grab.

It was fun, it was exhilarating. He suddenly knew how Yoongi had felt when Jimin watched him playing, the sense of accomplishment that came with the knowledge that someone was there, was watching you perform, and could barely look away. Jimin couldn’t see Yoongi’s face except briefly when he caught his eye in the mirror, but he did manage to capture the way Yoongi’s mouth was gaping slightly, how he gulped, smiled and nodded his head in approval.

Jimin danced like his life depended on it, and it was all for Yoongi. He wanted to show Yoongi through his dancing just how highly he thought of the mint-haired man, how thankful he was to have met him those months ago. He wanted to put his feelings on display, to show that he never wanted Yoongi to take his eyes off of him.

When the song was over and there was sweat pooling on Jimin’s brow, he collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily, feeling content. Even though it was only a three minute song, the amount of energy he’d used was equal to how much he used during competitions. He wanted to show Yoongi everything that he was capable of, that he could make a dance as beautiful as the song Yoongi had played for him. His heart was jumping out of his chest, his limbs ached, and he was a bit too sweaty from dancing in his sweater, but he felt like maybe he’d achieved what he had wanted to. Judging by the glimpse of Yoongi’s face he’d gotten while he was dancing, he thought he might have.

He opened his eyes when a weight fell beside him and cold plastic touched his forehead. Yoongi was sitting beside him, pressing a water bottle to his feverish skin, and the smile that Jimin loved so much on his face. Jimin gave him a relieved smile and grabbed the bottle, sitting up so he could chug it. “Thank you, hyung,” he said when he finished, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Yoongi shrugged. “It’s the least I could do.” He licked his lips and looked down at his hands, which were fidgeting with his fingers. “You weren’t kidding when you said you could dance,” he chuckled. “I’ve seen Hobi dance at some of his showcases before, but you- you’re on a different level? Maybe it’s because you’re trained in a different area than he is, but it made me want to write more songs that you could dance to.”

Jimin opened his mouth to respond, but found that he couldn’t. His tongue was useless in his mouth and his heart felt as though it was going to fall out of his ass. He bit his lips, took another sip of water to see if that would help him speak. It didn’t, but he didn’t need to, because suddenly Yoongi was sliding his hand over his, holding it softly as though Jimin were a precious piece of art he was afraid to ruin.

He didn’t seem to mind that Jimin’s palms were sweaty, dirty from where they were perched on the ground. “Come here,” Yoongi murmured, and then he was tugging Jimin to his feet, not letting go of his hand. Jimin took a moment to appreciate the weight of Yoongi’s hand in his own, how his fingers were long and completely engulfed his own, skin soft and pale against Jimin’s own.

“What are we doing?” Jimin asked as Yoongi pushed him onto the piano bench. He let Yoongi take the water bottle out of his hand and set it on top of the piano before taking a seat next to him and running his fingers over the keys lovingly.

“I’m going to show you how to play,” Yoongi replied simply. He took Jimin’s (very small) hand and pressed one of his fingers to a random key. He did this a few times with different keys until he was plucking out the notes to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and Jimin giggled, amazed even though it was such an easy tune.

The thing is, Jimin had never played the piano before. Sure, he’d done some random keyboard smashes and had pretended to know how to play before, but he hadn’t actually played something. He knew that it was just Yoongi controlling his hand, showing him how to play simple songs, but he couldn’t pay attention to remember anything that Yoongi was saying in that soft, raspy tone of his.

Jimin was admittedly a bit starstruck. Yoongi was speaking about the placement of his fingers on the keys, something about musical notes, and Jimin was nodding, following his fingers with his eyes, but he couldn’t hear a damned thing. Yoongi was touching him so gently, his hands so big in comparison to Jimin’s, and he was sitting so close that his thigh was pressed completely against Jimin’s. He was so warm, and Jimin was still hot from dancing, but the feeling of Yoongi pressing against him was a welcome sensation, one that he wanted to remember.

Yoongi was talking in a low tone, and it was music to Jimin’s ears. He sighed softly, closed his eyes, let Yoongi press his fingers to the keys, and just drowned himself in the moment.

It didn’t take long for Yoongi to realize that Jimin wasn’t paying attention. After all, Jimin’s hands were completely slack, and his head tilted to the side, brushing against Yoongi’s shoulder. He was trying to resist just putting his head on Yoongi’s shoulder and dozing off because he wanted to remember this for life, he didn’t want to sleep through the experience. But Yoongi’s voice was just so soothing, and Jimin doesn’t sleep much, and his body was relaxing after dancing, and he was comfortable.

Yoongi stopped pressing Jimin’s fingers to the keys and paused, chuckling. He moved a little closer to Jimin and entwined their fingers together, and Jimin opened his eyes to see Yoongi grinning at him. “Sleepy?” he whispered.

Jimin nodded and yawned a little bit. “You make me feel calm,” he admitted shyly, glancing at their entwined hands, and then back into Yoongi’s sparkling eyes. “Being with you like this is relaxing. I feel like I could fall asleep right here.”

Yoongi’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and Jimin was immediately hypnotized. It was amazing to him how Yoongi was always able to do that to him, how easily he could put Jimin under his spell. And Jimin just sat there like a lovestruck fool, believing that Yoongi was possibly the best and most beautiful thing on the entire Earth. “You always were able to sleep when I played,” he commented, and now they were both whispering into the air between them, like they were keeping a secret

“When you play, it feels like I’ve escaped into an entirely different world. Like all of my worries have gone away and I can just relax. I’ve heard dozens of people play the piano before, but none of them have made me feel like this before.” Jimin paused, hummed, and then smiled. “But maybe I’m a bit biased.”

“What do you mean?” Yoongi wondered, although he was smiling as well, almost like he knew exactly what Jimin was going to say.

Jimin took a deep breath. He was going to do it. He didn’t think he was imagining everything that was between them, the comfort and level of trust, the blatant interest that Yoongi held for Jimin, and vice versa. And if he was imagining it, then at least he would be able to know for certain. “When I first saw you playing, I had never seen someone so beautiful in my entire life. When you gave me your sweater, I wore it every single day until I found you. Not because I wanted you to see it, but because it was yours and I wanted to wear something that belonged to you. So maybe I’m a bit biased because I like you so much that everything you do is amazing to me.”

Yoongi inhaled sharply and Jimin definitely wasn’t imagining the blush on his cheeks or the way the tips of his ears turned red. He tugged a little on his mint hair, running his hand through it, and he licked his lips again, eyes flickering down to Jimin’s. “I-,” he started, then cleared his throat. He seemed nervous, but Jimin didn’t mind. He let Yoongi take his time. “I’ve seen you around the dorm before that night,” Yoongi finally admitted with an awkward laugh. Jimin’s eyes widened and he racked his brain, trying to think of a moment where he’d seen mint hair around, but he came up short. Like Yoongi knew what he was thinking, he said, “I had blond hair until a few days before you walked in on me. I always saw you around, but you just seemed, I don’t know. Unattainable to me, I guess? You’re just-” he waved a hand, gesturing to Jimin’s face. “You’re so beautiful, you know? And you were always smiling when I saw you. So when you came in that night, I was too afraid to turn around, because I was afraid you might disappear.”

Jimin’s throat felt tight. His entire body was on fire and there was no way he could douse that fire anytime soon. He could barely breathe and Yoongi was so close, and he felt like they were in some stupid romcom or something. He voiced this to Yoongi, who laughed, face filled with such bliss that it completely took Jimin’s breath away. He squeezed the life out of Yoongi’s hand, struggled to get his next words out when he was suddenly incapable of breathing. “Can I kiss you, hyung?”

“Fuck,” Yoongi hissed under his breath, and it might have been funny if Jimin didn’t feel like his heart was going to give up on him. Yoongi gaped at him for a moment, blinking slow and cat-like, before letting out a long breathe. “C’mere,” he murmured, and tugged Jimin forward with his hand.

With Yoongi’s other hand, he cupped Jimin’s cheek. His thumb brushed over Jimin’s cheekbone so gently that Jimin thought he might cry. And then, he was leaning forward, his eyes fluttering shut, and Jimin had never seen such a beautiful sight before, of Yoongi leaning in to kiss him, lips slightly opened, their noses brushing. Jimin closed the gap between them, leaning forward that extra inch, and then he was melting like chocolate in Yoongi’s arms.

Yoongi kissed like he played the piano, softly and full of love. He held onto Jimin like he was holding onto something precious, something that he didn’t want to ever let go. His lips were small against Jimin’s, but they fit perfectly, and he tasted a little bit like cherry chapstick and black coffee. It was a sweet kiss, just the movement of lips against lips. There was no tongue involved, and Jimin was glad that Yoongi didn’t just shove his tongue down Jimin’s throat like some people had before.

Jimin took this opportunity to run his hands through Yoongi’s hair, tangling them in the strands before releasing and tracing down his neck, his shoulders, the small of his back. Yoongi was very delicate under Jimin’s fingers, everything about him small and slim. His waist was tiny and if Jimin had bigger hands, he may have been able to actually break him. Jimin grinned into the kiss at this, making Yoongi whine and pull back as he suddenly kissed Jimin’s teeth, which probably wasn’t the best feeling in the entire world.

“What are you smiling about, twerp?” Yoongi asked in a gruff tone, but he was hiding a smile as well. His lips were slicked with spit and his hair was a mess, and Jimin squeezed his hips lightly.

“You’re so tiny,” Jimin sighed dreamily, pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s nose.

Yoongi glared at him, and with anyone else, it might have made them back off immediately. But with Jimin, he just grinned widely and chuckled. “Speak for yourself. I thought you were going to snap if I kissed you any harder.”

Jimin wiggled his eyebrows. “I can prove that theory wrong.”

Yoongi made a face. “That’s gay,” he said.

“You’re right. I apologize. I forgot to say no homo before we kissed.”

“I can forgive you just this once, I guess. Just don’t do it again, okay?”

Jimin nodded seriously, looking Yoongi in the eyes. “No homo,” he confirmed before swooping in and kissing Yoongi. Except this time, it was Jimin who was kissing teeth, and he pulled back, groaning. Definitely not a good feeling. “I take it back, I don’t want to kiss you anymore.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. You’ve been waiting to press me against a wall for months.”

Jimin glared. “I could say the same thing about you, hyung. Except I actually had the balls to do something about it.”

Yoongi pushed him and grumbled something that Jimin didn’t catch. They locked eyes, and then they were both grinning at each other, snickering like school girls, and Jimin was so happy that he didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted to stay here like this forever, wanted to sit his ass on this piano bench and listen to Yoongi play for the rest of his life, wanted to kiss the absolute daylights out of him until he couldn’t feel his own lips. He wanted-

Jimin yawned right in Yoongi’s face. Yoongi smirked and kissed his cheek.

“Come on,” he said, and got off the chair. He grabbed Jimin’s hand and helped him off as well.

“Where are we going?” Jimin asked as he followed Yoongi to the door. He would probably follow Yoongi to the ends of the earth if he asked.

Yoongi turned and grinned, his gums showing, his eyes turning into little crescents. As they stepped out of the studio, the moon created a halo around his head and made his skin glow like a mythical creature, and Jimin was so, so in love that it hurt. “Maybe we should try to sleep in an actual bed for once, yeah?”

#bts #bts fanfic #yoonmin #yoongi #jimin #yoonmin fanfic #bts fanfiction #writing #yoonmin fluff #bangtan #bangtan fanfic

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