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soobmint · 3 years

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voices | choi beomgyu [f] soulmates! au, 14.2k words

s u m m a r y : after seeing your soulmate for the first time (whether in passing or by actually meeting them), you are able to hear their voice in your head—but only when they are singing. you have never been very interested in finding love, and choi beomgyu has lost all interest in singing. what happens when the two of you begin to change one another’s minds about the things you wish to avoid more than anything else?

c o n t e n t s : soulmates au, strangers to sorta enemies to lovers, guitarist! gyu, freckle gyu, college au, yeonjun is your best friend, gyu is a brat but a cute brat, very fluffy, a tiny bit of light angst

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @chanluster @honeyju @magicalstellar @yeonjuniper (if you’d like to be added to the taglist for future oneshots, please let me know!)

n o t e : this was requested by my dear friend alice, and i hope i did the request justice! the lyrics used in the oneshot are from genius’ english translation of “runaway.” i hope you guys enjoy the oneshot, and do kindly leave a like, comment, or reblog if you enjoyed it! that would mean the world!

YOU MET CHOI BEOMGYU THE DAY YOU SWORE TO NEVER FALL IN LOVE.

As dramatic as it sounded, the day hadn’t been quite so terrible. You were sitting cross-legged in the floor of one of the many practice rooms in your university’s music department with a bag of popcorn in your lap, your head leaned back against the wall as you stifled back a yawn. Your best friend, Yeonjun, was going on and on about his most recent breakup, but the story was so similar to all the other breakups he had gone through in the past two years that you were having a difficult time staying focused. The afternoon sunlight trickled in through the windows, reflecting off the symbols of the drum set that rested in the far corner. You scooted to the side a bit so that the light wouldn’t shine in your eyes anymore as Yeonjun paced back and forth in front of you.

“And then she just stopped talking to me,” He said, running his hands through his hair. “Out of nowhere too! Things had been going so well, but then it was weird. Next thing I know, she’s breaking up with me—get this—over text.”

You tossed a piece of popcorn into your mouth. “Tragic.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but yes, it was tragic.” He finally stopped pacing and collapsed to the ground beside of you, leaning his head against your shoulder. “Love is so hard. You meet someone, you think it’s going to work and that you’ll spend a long, happy life together. Next thing you know, you’re single and stuck with your best friend in a stinky music room, waiting for some club meeting to start—or whatever it is we’re in here for.”

“We’re here because we are in charge of organizing the music and theater departments’ performance at the open house next month,” You corrected, flicking his forehead. “And didn’t you only date this girl for like, a week?”

He sighed, sitting up to glare at you. “Love knows not the boundaries of time, my dear friend. You’ll understand once you find it for yourself.”

“Calm down, Shakespeare. I am not falling in love.”

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t think you have any control over that,” He said with a teasing smile. “But why wouldn’t you want to?”

You scoffed, turning to stare at him. “Well, for starters, you haven’t exactly given me a good idea of what ‘love’ is supposed to be, seeing as you’re crying about another ‘true-love-gone-wrong’ every three weeks. Why on earth would I want that for myself?”

“Hey, love is different for everyone,” He said. “Just because my love life is vibrant and exciting and full of various names and faces doesn’t mean the same will happen for you.”

“How do you predict my love life will go, then?”

He hummed, tapping his finger against his chin in thought. “Well, you’re pretty boring, so you’ll probably be the kind of person that waits until they find their soulmate, then you’ll settle down and live a long, safe and uneventful life with them.”

“Shut up,” you said as you shoved him, but you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of you. “I think my soulmate is out of the question, though.”

Yeonjun frowned. “You still haven’t heard him since back then?”

You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned back against the wall. “Not a thing.”

It was quiet then as the two of you thought about what this meant. It wasn’t the first time you had been faced with the reality of your situation, but it still felt like a punch to the stomach every time.

In a world where people waited years, decades even, to hear the voice of their soulmate singing in their head, you had been considered extremely lucky to have heard the gentle voice of a boy in your mind at the age of thirteen. You knew that you had to have met him somewhere—at least in passing—in order to hear him, but you had no clue who he was.

Yet, in a way, it felt like you did. He sang often—so often you wondered if singing was as necessary as breathing to him. It wasn’t a bother to you though; in fact, it was quite the opposite. The songs he sang always told a story; some spoke of love and joy, others off loss and heartache. You felt like each song he sang held a piece of him, and that piece was something that was shared just between the two of you.

Until his voice was gone.

It was rare for him to go a day without singing. Yet suddenly, in your sophomore year of college, days and weeks went by without a single note, and you had yet to hear his voice since.

Your soulmate had stopped singing, and it was difficult to not imagine that the worst had happened.

Yeonjun must have noticed the solemn look that came over your face, because he leaned over and gave your shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t be so gloomy,” he said. “He could still be out there.”

You smiled the best you could, although the pit in your stomach remained. “Yeah, I guess he could.” You tossed the popcorn to Yeonjun and stood to your feet, wiping the crumbs from your hands. “Wait here, okay? The other guy that’s supposed to be helping us is—” You paused to glance at the time on your phone, “—ten minutes late. I’m gonna make sure he knows where to come or see if he’s lost or something.”

Yeonjun nodded, helping himself to what was left of your snack. “Who is the other guy, anyway?”

You sighed, picking up the piece of paper that the department head gave to you when she asked you to organize the showcase, claiming that it would be a great deal of experience for you to acquire in your senior year of university.

You were mostly doing it for the extra credit points.

You began to read the names of the seniors that were in charge of organizing the project listed at the top of the paper. “From the drama department, Choi Yeonjun and Kang Taehyun.”

“Taehyun had an appointment,” Yeonjun said through a mouthful of popcorn. “He’ll be here tomorrow.”

You nodded, tracing your finger along the page, stopping beneath the next pair of names. “From the music department, Y/N and Choi Beomgyu.” You looked up from the paper, tapping your forefinger against your chin. “Choi Beomgyu? Do you know him?”

Yeonjun pondered for a moment before snapping his fingers. “Ah—that guy!” You weren’t surprised; Yeonjun seemed to know everyone in the performing arts programs at your school. “He’s one of the top guitar students, if I’m remembering correctly. Have you not heard of him?”

You shook your head, looking back down at his name. Choi Beomgyu. It did sound familiar, but no images or information came along with the words printed on the page. It was nothing more than a tugging feeling in your stomach that made you feel like you knew him from somewhere.

You began walking towards the door, still staring down at the paper. Just as the tips of your fingers brushed across the metal handle, the door swung open, and you barely had time to glance up and see a head of fluffy black hair and big brown eyes before the door crashed into your forehead so hard you fell backwards to the tile floor.

With a hiss, you brought your hand up to your forehead, relieved to find a lack of blood there. Your eyes were blurred with tears, but through the fog you were able to see the same round doe eyes you had caught a glimpse of before you hit the ground.

“Are you okay?” It was a guy’s voice, clear and ringing in your ears. You rubbed your eyes to clear some of the moisture and were then able to get a better look at the boy in front of you. Curly black bangs hung over his brows, brushing just over the tops of his wide chocolate eyes. His sun-kissed skin was sprinkled with a light spatter of freckles across his nose and lightly flushed cheeks.

You blinked several times before responding. “Y-yeah, I’m okay.” You accepted his hand when he offered to help you stand back up, and soon, you were on your feet once more.

“Sorry about that,” he said, brushing a hand through his already tousled hair. He leaned forward a bit, tapping his finger against your forehead. “Just got a tiny bump, though. You’ll be okay.”

You backed away from his touch, but he didn’t seem to notice as he had caught sight of Yeonjun. Your best friend was quite literally on the edge of his seat, perched on the ledge of the desk while shoveling the last crumbs of popcorn into his mouth as if this were some movie unfolding before his eyes. If you had been close enough, you would have hit him.

“Yeonjun?” Door Boy’s face lit up, and he strode over to give your pink-haired friend a high five. “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Hey, man,” Yeonjun said with a grin, ruffling Door Boy’s curly hair with his fingers. “I know, it’s been way too long.”

“I’m sorry, who’s this?” You asked, still a bit dazed from your unexpected collision with the door.

Yeonjun looked back at you, gesturing to the newcomer. “Oh, this is—”

“Choi Beomgyu,” he finished the introduction himself, giving you an overdramatic bow as he said his name. “And you must be Y/N?”

Things were beginning to click together in your head: Door Boy was Choi Beomgyu. In other words, Door Boy was your assigned partner—the one you would be spending the next four weeks trying to plan a performance with.

For some reason, the fact that you had met one another by him slamming a door into your face didn’t leave the best feeling in your chest.

“I look forward to working with you, Y/N.” He gave you a big, lopsided grin, one that any other person would likely find heartwarming.

You forced a smile in return, rubbing your hand across the bump on your forehead. “Same here, Choi Beomgyu.”

PERHAPS IT HAD A BIT TO DO WITH HOW POORLY YOUR FIRST MEETING WENT, BUT SOMETHING ABOUT BEOMGYU REALLY GOT UNDER YOUR SKIN.

The day after you had first met one another, Yeonjun had asked everyone to meet up in the coffee shop inside the campus library. This time, Taehyun from the drama department was also able to be there. You had gotten to know him pretty well over the past four years because of how close he and Yeonjun had become, so the three of you hung out often.

In fact, for the first fifteen minutes of the meeting, it was just the three of you sitting there. You pushed your tongue against the inside of your cheek in agitation before taking another sip of your coffee. “Does this Beomgyu guy have a thing for being late?”

“Relax, Y/N,” Yeonjun said absently from across the table, his attention focused primarily on his cell phone screen. “Not everyone’s a time freak like you.”

“Time freak—What does that even mean?” You crumpled up the wrapper from Taehyun’s straw and threw it at Yeonjun. “Unlike you, I actually care about getting these extra credit points and would like to organize this event properly.”

“Hey! I care!” Yeonjun placed a hand over his heart, as though he had been wounded.

You and Taehyun exchanged a side glance with one another, eyebrows raised.

“Stop looking at each other like that! I do care!”

Before the point could be argued any further, a messy-haired boy crashed into the seat beside of you, out of breath, his backpack falling from his shoulder and onto the ground from the impact. You stared at him for a moment before realizing that it was Beomgyu.

“Sorry—I’m late,” he said in between deep breaths. “On my way here—saw one of the campus cats—got distracted.”

You stared at him again, almost laughing at how ridiculous of an excuse that was. However, considering what little you knew of Beomgyu, the thought of him being fifteen minutes late to a meeting because he got distracted by a cat didn’t seem all that unlikely. With a sigh, you slid a blank piece of notebook paper towards him and set a pen on top of it. “It’s all good. Mind taking notes?”

He nodded—a bit too enthusiastically, if you were to say so yourself. “Sure. Can I grab a coffee real quick?”

You were about to suggest that he should wait until after the meeting, since the three of you had been there for such a long time already, but Taehyun chimed in before you could say anything with, “Of course. We’ve got nowhere else to be.”

It took everything within you to not roll your eyes. You were usually on the same page as Taehyun, but of course, this situation had to be an exception, because Choi Beomgyu was there.

The slacker was rummaging around his backpack, searching for something. He pouted, looking up from his bag. “I forgot my wallet.”

“No worries! Y/N doesn’t eat breakfast, so she always has an extra swipe on her meal card,” Yeonjun said from across the table. Your mouth fell open, eyes wide as saucers. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind letting you use it. Right, Y/N?”

You weren’t quite sure that you did want Beomgyu to use your meal card, but what kind of jerk would you be if you said no? With gritted teeth and a glare at your best friend, you fished your meal card out of your wallet and placed it into Beomgyu’s open palm.

The pout left his lips instantly, a big grin taking its place. “Thanks. I’ll return the favor sometime soon.”

Doubt it, you thought, watching him rush towards the counter to order. You’ll probably forget you said that by the time you get your drink.

Soon he was back at the table, caramel latte in hand, your meal card back in your possession. You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat. “If everyone’s ready, we can go ahead and get started. I met with my professor yesterday—she’s also the head of the classical music department. She’s technically our ‘overseer,’ but all the responsibility of planning the performance is on us. We’ll only have about forty minutes total to showcase the drama and music departments, so we need to choose our sets wisely.”

“Yeonjun and I were talking a bit about this earlier,” Taehyun said. “We’ve been preparing for our winter show since the beginning of the summer, so we figured we could just perform a scene from the play.”

You nodded, liking the idea. “That sounds perfect. What’s the play?”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“Right, I knew that. Could you guys work on finding a scene around ten or fifteen minutes long to perform for the open house, then?”

Yeonjun and Taehyun both nodded. You smiled, glad that you were finally starting to get some things together for the event.

When you glanced at Beomgyu to make sure he had written that down, the smile left as quickly as it had come when you saw that he was doodling tiny flowers and hearts all over the page rather than taking notes.

He must have felt your eyes on him, because he glanced up and caught your gaze. Seemingly unbothered, he simply smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I was just about to write it down.”

Your fingers itched to reach over and take the pen and paper from him so you could just do it yourself, but you kept your composure. “Beomgyu. Any ideas for what the music department could do?”

He finished writing down Drama Department—Scene from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” before looking at you again. He shrugged, another nonchalant smile spreading across his face. “Not really. I’m down for whatever it is you decide to do.”

“Wow, helpful. Truly.” Your eyes went wide when you realized you had said those words out loud after Yeonjun and Taehyun began to snicker beside you. Your face flushed with embarrassment, but Beomgyu seemed unphased, that careless lopsided grin of his still on full display.

You sighed, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “Well, I was thinking about having the orchestra do a piece, and then having one of the student bands do a piece. That way we have something classical and something more contemporary. Thoughts?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Taehyun said. “If we do our scene first, the orchestra could kind of act as a bridge between Shakespeare and more modern art.”

“I agree,” Yeonjun said. “And since Y/N is in the orchestra, she can get in touch with the director and have them prepare something. Oh, and Beomgyu!” The curly-haired boy looked up from his doodling when his name was called. “You know a few different bands, right? Think you could piece together a group of performers?”

“Definitely,” Beomgyu said. When he noticed your eyes on him, he quickly scribbled down Orchestra—Y/N. Band—Beomgyu Me.

“Well, since we all have our first tasks, I guess that’s all for today.” You were happy that the meeting was over; you were ready to get back to your dorm so you could get to work and actually get things done.

“Wait!” Beomgyu said as you stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

Now you have something to say. You raised a brow at him expectantly.

“We should exchange phone numbers, right?” He smiled, standing up and holding his phone out towards you. “I have the others’ numbers, but I figure I should be able to contact my partner from the music department.”

You hesitated, but knew there was no logical reason why you shouldn’t give him your number. You were going to be working together for the next several weeks, after all.

After putting your number in, he took his phone back and grinned at you again, eyes scrunching up into crescent moons. “Perfect! I’ll try not to bother you too much, but I make no promises.” He reached forward and ruffled your hair, and you were too caught off guard by the sudden touch to back away, or to even react at all. He then waved at all three of you, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. “See you guys tomorrow then.” He turned towards you again, throwing you a casual wink that still managed to have you flustered. “I’ll be in touch, partner.”

You turned to watch him leave, face warm as you brushed through your hair with your fingers, trying to undo the damage your “partner” had done.

Something told you that he wouldn’t be keeping his promise about trying not to bother you anytime soon.

OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, BEOMGYU PROVED HIMSELF TO BE ONE OF THE MOST BOTHERSOME PEOPLE YOU HAD COME ACROSS IN A LONG, LONG TIME.

The worst part was the fact that he didn’t do anything blatantly wrong. He did everything he was asked to do when it came to preparing for the showcase. The first week of work consisted of the two of you gathering all the students who would be participating in the performances, along with Yeonjun and Taehyun preparing those from the drama department. Beomgyu performed all of his tasks just as he was asked to do, so it wasn’t as if he was bothering you by being unhelpful.

It was just something about the way he held himself that seemed to get under your skin for no apparent reason.

For the past week, your “partner” had basically been a tagalong—he would stand beside of you and do what he was asked without contributing much to the creative process of planning. You found it hard to criticize him up front, as he just did as he was told.

However, that was all he did. When the four of you would all sit down together to discuss plans or ideas, Beomgyu’s role never changed: he would sit beside all of you, jot down anything you told him to in his nearly-full composition notebook, and crack an occasional joke that would always send Yeonjun and Taehyun into fits of laughter, but only earned a stiff, forced smile from you.

You were starting to wonder why your professor had assigned him to your team. After all, putting on this open house was your last shot at making a lasting impression on the higher ups in your department. Everything needed to be perfect; mediocracy was not an option.

In other words, Choi Beomgyu needed to step up his game, and he needed to do it quickly.

You thought about this on the day of your first rehearsal, where all of the students who would be participating in the performances had gathered in the main auditorium of the music building.

Drama students were scattered in all directions, occupying the space around them with dramatic line readings and critiques for their classmates as they practiced their roles. Yeonjun and Taehyun were busy taking charge of the drama students, making sure everything was running smoothly amongst them. You watched as Kai, one of the freshman students Yeonjun had taken under his wing, followed your friends around like a baby penguin waddling after its parents, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Music students were spread across the stage, the orchestra setting up instruments and covering stands with sheets filled by notes and lyrics while the band tuned their guitars and plugged up their mics. Soobin, a tall, blue-haired student from the same year as you, waved at you from stage with his mic in hand. You waved back, happy that you had been able to snag him as the main vocalist for the band’s performance—his voice was angelic, able to captivate any listener.

“Hey.” You turned at the sound of the voice you had begun to grow quite accustomed to, whether that was for better or for worse. Beomgyu was standing beside of you, brushing a hand through the curly black bangs that hung just above his eyes. The tip of his nose was flushed pink, a sign that he had likely just been out in the biting cold that had begun to creep up as fall quickly approached. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder and his guitar case held in one hand.

“Running a little late, aren’t we?” You asked, glancing at the time on your phone with no attempt at hiding your frown. “Is this going to be a trend with you, Choi Beomgyu?”

He laughed, nudging his shoulder against yours. You wanted to be more irritated with him than you were, but he had the kind of laugh that put everyone around him at ease; the kind of laugh that filled one’s chest with warmth, as if you had been directly touched by a ray of sunlight reaching down from the sky.

So you settled with being only slightly irritated, pursing your lips to keep your expression in check as he responded with, “What fun would it be if everyone was on time?”

“It’s not about fun, it’s about making sure this whole thing runs smoothly,” you said as you turned to face him. “Speaking of which, since you didn’t have any suggestions, I went ahead and helped the band choose a setlist. They’ll only have time for two songs, but the ones I picked are really diverse and should be—”

“Ah!” He cut you off, snapping his fingers in front of your face, causing you to flinch back in surprise. “I knew there was something I forgot to tell you.”

“What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning as he shifted a bit closer to you. You could smell his cologne—a misty citrus scent that was so light you could barely tell it was there. “Well, it’s kind of embarrassing, but the professor actually wanted the band to perform one of the songs I wrote. If that’s okay with you, of course—you’re the boss, after all.”

“You—you write songs?” You asked, trying not to get irritated at the sudden disruption of what you had planned. He had been complacent this entire time, so of course, the time he actually had something to contribute, he would be messing up what you had already set in place.

“Well, if it’s a suggestion from the professor, I can’t just deny you permission, can I?” You said with a forced laugh. “Do you have the—”

“Sheet music?” He finished your sentence, shaking a stack of papers in front of you. “Right here, partner. Want me to go tell the band?”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Sure. Just tell them to switch the second song I had picked out with this one.”

He smiled at you again, ruffling your hair with the same hand he held the papers in. “You’re a saint. I’ll talk to you in a bit then?”

You had no time to respond before he was setting off towards the stage to talk to the band, papers and guitar in hand. You huffed through pursed lips, mumbling under your breath as you tried to put your hair back in place.

“What was that all about?” You dropped your hands to your sides when Yeonjun approached you, eyebrow quirked. Half of his cotton-candy colored hair was pulled into a ponytail, and he had on a pair of big round glasses with what you knew to be fake lenses—a fashion statement rather than a necessity.

“I don’t think Beomgyu knows much about personal boundaries or personal responsibility,” you mumbled, allowing Yeonjun to come up and finish fixing your hair with his fingers. “He decided to just now tell me that our professor wanted the band to use one of his songs in the performance.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, I just—” You hesitated, unsure of how to respond without sounding like a jerk. “I just wish he would have told me about it sooner. That’s all.”

“Y/N, you need to cut the guy some slack,” Yeonjun said, stepping back once he was finished fixing up your hair. “You act as though you have a personal vendetta against him or something.”

“I do not,” You argued, feeling you defenses flare up at his words. “Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, maybe because every time he walks in the room you start to grimace, and every time he talks to you I can literally feel the amount of energy it takes for you to not roll your eyes.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“If you say so.” He put his hand on your shoulder, giving you a stern look that did, in fact, make you roll your eyes. “Give him a chance, Y/N. You may end up liking him more than you’d expect.”

You scoffed as your best friend walked away from you, returning to work on his previous tasks with Taehyun. A vendetta? Was it really that obvious to the people around you that Beomgyu got under your skin?

Perhaps Yeonjun was right—you did have a tendency to be extra sensitive when it came to your academic responsibilities. Maybe you were being too hard on Beomgyu; his goal was the same as yours, even if his methods differed drastically from yours.

You looked up to the stage to see Beomgyu laughing as he said something to Soobin, the rest of the band analyzing the sheets of music in their hands—Beomgyu’s song, if you had to guess. His skin glowed like honey beneath the stage lights, and you noticed that when he laughed, he laughed with his entire body; his eyes disappeared into crescents, his shoulders shook, he clapped his hands together and even stomped his feet a bit. You smiled slightly at the sight, before a pang of guilt hit you.

He did seem like a nice guy. It was time you gave him a chance to be seen as such in your eyes.

ANY PATIENCE YOU HAD DESPERATELY TRIED TO HOLD WITH BEOMGYU WAS WEARING THIN, AND IT HAD ONLY BEEN AN HOUR SINCE YOU DECIDED TO GIVE HIM A CHANCE.

You had both stayed behind with Yeonjun and Taehyun to clean up the auditorium after the practice. “I think that we’re done, don’t you?” You asked everyone after picking up a few discarded sheets of paper left behind by the drama students.

“Almost,” Beomgyu said from the stage. You looked up at him to see him pointing at two large music stands left behind by the orchestra. “Someone left these behind.”

“Can’t we just leave them there?” Yeonjun asked.

Taehyun shook his head. “No, we were given specific instructions to not leave anything behind.” He glanced at his phone. “They’re about to close the building for the night, so we should hurry and put them up.”

“I know which room they came from, so I can take them back,” Beomgyu offered.

“They’re pretty heavy, Beomgyu. Are you sure you can carry them on your own?” Taehyun asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine—”

“No, no, someone should definitely help you. You have to carry your guitar too,” Yeonjun interjected, a mischievous glint in your eyes that sent sirens blaring in your head. The feelings of disdain only grew when Yeonjun made eye contact with you directly, seeming to give you a sweet smile, but you knew the expression was laced with ulterior motives. “Y/N, why don’t you carry one while Beomgyu carries the other?”

You wanted to smack him, but that wouldn’t have been a good look for you, considering that everyone already thought you hated Beomgyu anyways. You glanced up at him on the stage to see that he had already picked one of the stands up, his guitar in the other hand. He gave you a big grin, eyes sparkling like freshly fallen snow. “What do you say, partner? Care to give me a hand?”

You pushed your tongue against the inside of your cheek, knowing that there was no way you were getting out of this one. “Sure,” You said through your teeth, glaring daggers at Yeonjun before making your way up the steps to the stage. The music stand wasn’t too heavy, so you almost dared to ask Beomgyu to try carrying them both in one hand, but decided against it.

“We’ll go ahead and leave then,” Yeonjun said, throwing a taunting wink your way. “You two have fun.”

You hate to bite your tongue to keep from cursing at him as Yeonjun and Taehyun left the auditorium, leaving you alone with Beomgyu for the first time. You glanced his way, noticing that he already had his eyes on you. Instead of averting his gaze when yours met his, he just smiled wider, gesturing towards the door with his head. “Shall we?”

You forced another smile. “Lead the way, partner.”

You followed him out the doors and up the stairs to the first floor, where the orchestra’s practice room was located. You were very familiar with the area, being a violinist yourself. When the two of you reached the room, you rushed forward to open the door, as Beomgyu’s hands were full. He thanked you and stepped inside first, and you followed suit, letting the heavy door swing shut behind you.

“Where should we set them?” He asked.

You nodded to the far corner of the room. “Over there.”

The two of you set the stands down, and you instantly turned back towards the door, ready to get back to your dorm for some alone time after such a taxing day.

“In a rush?” Beomgyu asked from behind you.

You turned to look over your shoulder at him as your hand grasped the doorknob. “Nah, just tired. Aren’t you?”

He shrugged, shifting his guitar case from one hand to the other. “Not really.”

“Lucky you,” You mumbled, turning back towards the door. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow—”

You stopped mid-sentence, heart dropping to your toes. When you tried to turn the knob, it wouldn’t move. After a moment of shock, you tried again, and then again, violently shaking the knob, trying to get the door to open.

“No, no, no,” You said, shaking the handle desperately. “Come on, this can’t be happening!”

“What is it?” Beomgyu asked, setting his guitar on the floor before rushing to your side.

“The door won’t open.” You shook the knob more frantically than ever, the entire door shaking from the force.

“Woah, easy there, partner,” Beomgyu said, gently placing his hand on your arm. “Why don’t you let me try to—”

“What exactly do you think you’re going to be able to do differently?” You snapped, snatching your arm away from him. His mouth hung open, eyes wide with what you assumed to be shock. “We’re stuck in here, Beomgyu. We’re stuck, and we’re not going to get out for god knows how long, and with you as my ‘partner,’ I’m one hundred percent certain we’re not going to be able to find a way out of here on our own.”

You could tell that your words struck a nerve with him by the way his shoulders tensed and how his eyes went narrow. Looking back, you wished you could reel the words back in, but they had already done their damage.

“Why do you hate me so much?” He asked, his voice low and thick with irritation.

It was your turn to be shocked. “What?”

“I said, why do you hate me so much?”

You blinked rapidly, feeling exposed and vulnerable now that he was confronting you. “I don’t—I don’t hate you, Beomgyu.”

He scoffed, pulling his bottom lip under his teeth. “Come on, I’m not that much of an idiot. This entire time, from the moment we first met, you’ve been cold and snippy with me. You can barely hide how much you dislike me with your facial expressions. I thought maybe we just got off on the wrong foot, so I’ve been brushing it off and treating you kindly. But you still treat me like I’m some annoying fly that you can’t quite get rid of, and I want to know why.”

“That’s not—I don’t hate you,” You repeated, jumbling your words together as you struggled to figure out what to say.

“Well, what’s the issue then?”

“You don’t take anything seriously!” Your voice wasn’t quite a shout, but it was almost there. Beomgyu took a step back, arms dropping to his sides.

“You’re treating this entire thing like it’s an elementary school play,” You continued, your voice getting louder and your words coming out more and more rushed the more you spoke. “You don’t contribute in the meetings, you show up late, and you barely do the things I ask you to do. I understand it may not be anything special to you, but this is my last chance to do something memorable here. I’m graduating in the spring, and up until this point, I’ve been nothing but another violinist tossed in the orchestra. I don’t stand out to my professors, or to scouts, to anyone.”

Hot tears began to well in the corners of your eyes as thoughts of your mother surfaced. Every word she had ever said about your pursuit of music being a waste of time, of how little a chance you had of making it, how your only hope was to stand out in the department, which, of course, she highly doubted you would be capable of doing.

“I have to do this, and I have to do it right.” Your voice wavered as you swiped at your cheeks, where a few tears had fallen. “If I don’t, then I’ll—I’ll—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Beomgyu’s voice was gentle, in stark contrast to the razor-sharp tone he had held just seconds before. You looked at him through your teary eyes to see that his own eyes were wide, this time with concern rather than anger. “You don’t have to explain, I understand, okay? I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You sniffed, more tears gliding down your cheeks as you did so. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” He repeated, looking as though he were about to start crying himself. “I had no idea that’s how I was coming across. I’m really, really sorry.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. How were you supposed to respond to that? The last thing you expected to hear from him was an apology, especially since, now that you had yelled at him, you realized how unfair you were being towards him. You shook your head, wiping furiously at your eyes. “No, you don’t have to apologize Beomgyu. I should be apologizing—I’m the one being irrational, not to mention I’m also the one that locked us in here—”

“How about we just call it even then, hm?” He cut you off, looking around before he spotted a box of tissues on the front desk. He grabbed one and made his way back over to you, gently wiping the tears from your face, being careful to not touch you directly. “We’ve both apologized for something that the other person doesn’t think requires an apology. The grounds are neutral now.”

You laughed, gently taking the tissue from his hand so you could wipe your eyes on your own. He stepped back when you did so, smiling nervously at your sudden laughter.

“Thank you, Beomgyu,” You said quietly, wadding the tissue up in your hand.

He rubbed the back of his neck, rocking back and forth on his feet. “No need to thank me, Y/N.” He paused, seeming to be in deep thought. It was quiet for a moment before he stuck his hand out towards you, expression cautiously hopeful. “Now that we both understand each other a little better, do you think we could start over?”

You smiled, wrapping your hand around his to give it a firm shake. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

THE WORLD ALWAYS SEEMED COLDER WHEN YOU WERE ALONE.

Of course, it could have felt cold because you were alone in a hotel parking lot, sitting on the cool pavement in the late hours of the night. You hadn’t brought a jacket with you, and your dress was sleeveless and made of thin fabric that didn’t do much to protect you from the wind that sent strands of hair flying across your face.

However, you were certain that if your mother or father had been sitting beside of you that early winter’s night, you would barely even notice the bite of the wind or the goosebumps that prickled up all over your bare arms. Even the stars had denied you their company; the sky was pitch black, void of any trace of light.

Lower lip trembling, you sighed as you kept your gaze on the sky above, thinking that maybe, if you kept looking, you’d find a single star shining amidst the darkness. Tears filled your eyes, but you wiped them away before they could fall.

“You’re a strong girl, Y/N,” Your mother would say if she were to catch you crying. “Strong girls don’t cry, do they?”

“No,” You whispered, even though she wasn’t there to hear you. “Strong girls don’t cry.”

“What do you mean?”

You jumped at the sudden voice, placing your hand over your heart before you turned your head to see a boy sitting on the pavement beside you. He had curly black hair that stuck out from beneath a beanie, covering the top of his eyes, and a big jacket on over his clothes. He seemed to be the same age as you, but of course, you couldn’t be sure.

“W-what?” You spoke through shaking lips, pulling your arms around yourself in an attempt to stay warm.

“You said that strong girls don’t cry,” He said, eyeing you with curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh,” you whispered, looking down at your shoes—a pair of black flats with scuff marks all over the toes. “It’s nothing— just something my mom says.”

He hummed, leaning back on the palms of his hands. “Well, I think she’s wrong. Everyone cries, even the strongest people alive. If someone tells you they don’t cry, then they’re lying.” He turned towards you, a big grin on his face. “You don’t seem like a liar to me.”

You sniffled, wiping your hand across your cheeks to catch the few tears that had managed to slip down. “Thanks, I think.”

“It was definitely meant as a compliment.” He sat up straight then, narrowing his eyes at you. You shrunk back a bit, shoulders shaking as the wind only seemed to get stronger by the second.

A moment later, he was sitting right beside of you, so close that his arm brushed against yours as he slipped his coat off, revealing an oversized hoodie beneath it. He wrapped the coat around your shoulders, and zipped it up, trapping your arms inside. He smiled again and sat back, but he was still close to you, so close that your shoulders were pressed together and his pinky was resting on top of yours.

Eyes wide, you slowly shook your head and slipped your arms through the sleeves so you could reach the zipper. “No, I’m okay—”

“Hey, keep it on, please,” He interrupted, placing his hand on top of yours to stop you from unzipping the coat. “It’s freezing out here, and you don’t even have any sleeves.”

You hesitated, not wanting to be a bother to this unexpectedly kind stranger, but you would have been lying if you had said that the cold wasn’t starting to bother you. Not wanting your lips to turn blue, you nodded, pulling your arms back into the coat to keep them extra warm.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “What are you doing out here, by the way?”

“Me? Oh, I was just sneaking out to the indoor pool.” He pointed over his shoulder at the building with a large dome roof made of glass. “My parents are already asleep and didn’t notice me leave. You?”

“Ah, well, my family is staying here for the night. My parents and I are going out for dinner to celebrate my birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?” He asked, eyes growing wide. You nodded sheepishly and his smile grew bigger before he reached over to ruffle your hair with his hand. “Happy birthday!”

You giggled, smoothing your hair back down when he pulled his hand away. Your eyes met his, which seemed to sparkle with the light of billions of galaxies, paired perfectly with his beaming smile, and you realized that maybe you didn’t need the stars that night after all, because he alone shined brightly enough.

He looked around then, eyebrows furrowed. “But, where are your parents? Shouldn’t you guys get going before all the restaurants close?”

Your smile faded just as quickly as it had appeared. You swallowed, your eyes drifting towards a car that sat a few yards away from the two of you. The car was running and the lights inside were on, casting a yellow glow onto the two occupants seated in the front: your parents. Although you couldn’t hear what they were saying, you knew that they were yelling by the way they pointed their fingers at each other, and by the expressions on their faces, and the intensity with which their lips were moving.

The boy followed your gaze, his mouth parting slightly in surprise when he caught sight of your parents in the heat of their dispute. He glanced sideways at you before moving to sit in front of you, blocking your view of your parents.

“Why don’t you sneak to the pool with me?” He asked.

You shook your head immediately, a slight smile returning to your face. It was clear that he was trying to distract you, and you were grateful. That didn’t mean you were willing to sneak away from your parents, especially when the tension among your family was already sky high.

“Why not?” He whined, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout.

“Because I’m not supposed to move from this spot,” You said.

“And I wasn’t supposed to leave my hotel room, yet here I am.” He shrugged nonchalantly, brushing his bangs out of his eyes only for them to fall right back into place. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

There were a lot of really terrible things that could happen as a result of you sneaking away to go night swimming with a boy you didn’t know while your parents fought in the middle of a hotel parking lot. You could probably list ten off the top of your head. However, when you looked into the starry eyes of the boy in front of you, his lips spread in an encouraging grin that made you feel warm inside despite the cold, you hesitated.

What was the worst thing that could happen? The list seemed to be erased from your head as quickly as it appeared.

He tilted his head to the side, a playful glint sparkling in his eyes. He stood up and stretched his hand out to you, his fingers trembling from the cold.

“Should we run away?”

Your fingers twitched, urging to reach out touch his own. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to find the balance between being rational and following where your heart was leading. These two things did not seem to be lining up.

Before you could do anything, however, you heard a car door slamming shut. You jumped to your feet just in time to see your mother stepping away from the vehicle before your father drove off, leaving her alone in the parking lot. Eyes wide with worry, you watched as your mother brushed her hand across her cheeks before taking a deep breath and making her way towards you.

“Y/N,” she said when she reached you, not even glancing at the boy beside of you as she took your face in her hands. “Your dad is going to come pick us up in the morning. How about we just have a girl’s night to celebrate your birthday instead?”

With your heart dropping to your toes, you felt the tears welling in your eyes once again, but you refused to let them fall. You smiled and nodded, wrapping your hand around your mother’s. “Yeah. That sounds fine.”

You turned towards the boy to see that his face was full of concern. Forcing the best smile you could, you unzipped his coat and slipped it off your shoulders before placing it back in his outstretched hands.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. Before he could say anything back, you had turned away and began walking back towards the entrance, arm-in-arm with your mother.

“I was thinking we could order a pizza and rent your favorite movies,” she said, straining to keep the emotion out of your voice. “I’ll order the food once we get back to the room, okay?”

You nodded slowly, halting your footsteps just before the automatic doors that led inside.

But when you turned your head to catch one last look at the boy who shined brighter than the stars, he was already gone.

IN THE HAZY PLACE BETWEEN SLEEPING AND WAKING, YOU COULD HAVE SWORN YOU HEARD HIM SINGING.

With your eyes still closed, the sound rang through your head, clear as day. It was comforting, as if you had heard it before. Yet it wasn’t a sound that only echoed around you. This voice, so gentle and sweet that it seemed to drip with sugar and honey, filled all of your senses to the brim. You weren’t just hearing it, you were feeling it.

“In moments like those, when tears fill your eyes, hold my hand tight. Should we run away?”

You sighed, swept away by the sound and the words that the voice sang. You felt as though you had heard it before, but you couldn’t quite think of where. Snuggling closer to whatever it was that you were leaning against, you allowed the faintest of smiles to trace its way across your lips.

The singing stopped. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You pressed your face closer against the warmth you were leaning into, frowning at the sudden absence of the soothing voice.

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, slowly forcing your eyes open.

You weren’t quite sure where exactly you expected to be when you opened your eyes, but it definitely was not on the floor of the orchestra practice room with your head in Choi Beomgyu’s lap. Beomgyu was smiling down at you, black curls hanging over his eyes, freckles illuminated by the faint moonlight that spilled through the windows.

You sat up quickly, trying to fix your messy hair as you felt your face grow warm. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you were incredibly embarrassed that you had.

“How—how long was I asleep?” You asked, your voice hoarse.

“Just an hour or so. I think you got so stressed out after trying to call so many people that you just passed out,” Beomgyu said. He reached his hands toward you and helped you straighten up your hair, which only served to make your face even warmer than before.

“Sorry,” you said, gesturing to his lap. “For . . . that.”

He waved his hand at you before folding his hands behind his head. “Don’t apologize. Seems like you needed the sleep—you were dreaming pretty intensely.”

“I was? Did I say anything weird in my sleep? What did I say? Was it embarrassing?” You grabbed his sleeve, eyes wide as you bombarded him with questions.

He laughed, shaking his head in reassurance. “Don’t worry, it was nothing embarrassing. But you were talking.”

“What did I say?”

“Hmm, something about it being your birthday?” He placed a finger against his chin, eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure exactly what else. It was all kinda random.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting the inside of your cheek as you let go of his sleeve. You remembered every bit of the dream you had—well, it wasn’t really a dream as much as it was a memory. It was embarrassing to think that Beomgyu had heard any part of the memory, but you tried not to think about it too much.

“Beomgyu,” You said, opening your eyes once more to look at him. “Were you singing just now? Before I woke up?”

He didn’t say anything at first, his expression blank. Then, he smiled, nudging your shoulder with his. “Of course not—you know I don’t sing. Why?”

“Actually, for the record, I did not know that,” You corrected. “And I don’t know, I just . . . thought I heard someone.”

“Maybe it was your soulmate,” Beomgyu said, moving his eyebrows up and down.

You sighed, looking down at your feet. “I wish it was. I haven’t heard from him in two years.”

The smile fell from Beomgyu’s face right away. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize.”

“Do you . . . know what happened to him?”

You shook your head, staring at the moon through the window. “No. I don’t even know who he was.”

“Hey, why are you speaking in the past tense?” He turned towards you and grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to face him. “Think positively, Y/N. He could still be out there. When did you first hear him?”

“When I was thirteen,” You answered. “But he stopped singing two years ago.”

“And you haven’t heard anything since then?”

You hesitated, thinking back over the past two years and all the sleepless nights you had spent waiting and hoping to hear any trace of a note ringing in your ears, the faintest hint of a voice. Sometimes, when you were just about to close your eyes, you would’ve sworn that you could hear his voice for the briefest of moments before you drifted off, but you would always blame it on being sleep deprived.

“No,” you said quietly. “I haven’t heard anything. He used to sing all the time, too. I would wake up to the sound of his voice, and it would carry me throughout each and every day. I know it sounds weird to say this about someone I don’t remember meeting, but I felt . . . connected to him, if that makes sense?”

Beomgyu didn’t say anything, so you continued. “He’s actually the reason why I picked up the violin. I got so used to his voice, I would go around humming all day. I guess my mom got tired of hearing me, because soon after I started hearing him, my mom signed me up for violin lessons. And, well, now I’m here.”

You looked over to see Beomgyu smiling softly, but his eyes didn’t meet yours. “Do you have any idea of who it might be?”

You were quiet for a moment. The image of the boy from the hotel parking lot with his star-struck eyes and diamond smile came to your mind, as always.

“No. But I have someone I hope it is.”

You looked over at him again, and this time, his eyes met yours. The silvery light of the moon highlighted the right side of his face and the bridge of his nose, casting a stark shadow across the other side. He was neither smiling nor frowning as his eyes searched yours. What exactly he was looking for you couldn’t be sure of, however, you liked the eye contact well enough to let it go on for a moment longer before you cleared your throat, looking back towards the window.

“Did you try calling Yeonjun again?”

“Yep. No answer.”

“Taehyun?”

“Nothing.”

“The professor?”

“Didn’t pick up—I left a message though.”

You sighed, allowing the back of your head to hit the wall behind you. “We’ll be stuck here all night at this rate.”

“Well, now that you’ve had a little nap, we may as well use this time to be productive,” Beomgyu said, standing to his feet and stretching his arms above his head as he did so.

You crossed your arms, raising a brow as you watched him pull his guitar out of the case. “What’s this? Choi Beomgyu taking initiative?”

“Hey, we said we were starting over.”

You laughed as he sat on the edge of the desk in front of where you were sitting on the floor. He pulled the strap over his shoulder and began tuning his guitar by ear, something you always struggled to do with your violin.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

He strummed through all the strings, nodding when he was satisfied with the sounds. Glancing down at you, he smiled. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to show you the song I wrote.”

Interest piqued, you sat up straighter and smiled back at him. “I was hoping that’s what you’d say.”

He laughed, adjusting his position on the desk before his fingers found their place on the neck of the guitar. You listened attentively as he began to pick the first notes, watching the way his fingers moved deliberately across the frets, yet, his movements never lost their grace. At first, he kept his eyes focused on his hands. But as the song went on, his eyes slowly closed, and he played without seeing, relying solely on the sound of the notes he was creating and the feeling of the strings that pressed into his calloused fingertips.

Awestruck would have been an understatement for the way you felt as you watched him play. The way he became one with the sounds he created, the way his wrist twisted to strum and how his fingertips slid across the length of the instrument as if it was the very thing they had been created to do. You were hypnotized, allowing the music to seep into your heart and make it thump against your chest like a caged bird begging to be set free.

If you had to put a word to how he looked in that moment, “beautiful” was the closest you would be able to get.

He opened his eyes as he strummed the last note, a gentle grin on his lips. You noticed how his eyes sparkled in the darkness, despite his back being towards the moonlight rather than his face.

“What do you think?” He asked, his voice sounding sharp as it pierced through the thick silence that had settled over the room.

“It was—”

“It was real pretty, kid.”

You yelped in surprise at the sudden voice, jumping up to your feet as Beomgyu practically fell off the desk, nearly dropping his guitar in the process. You helped steady him, and together, you looked towards the door to see that it was wide open, fluorescent light from the hallway spilling into the room as the janitor stood in the entry way, arms crossed over his chest as he blew a bubble with the gum in his mouth.

“If you’re done serenading your girlfriend, would you mind leaving so I can clean up and go home? This building closed an hour ago, but if you both leave now I’ll keep quiet.”

Your cheeks went hot, and you struggled to form words as Beomgyu scrambled to put his guitar back in its case. “Girl—girlfriend? No, we’re not—I mean, I’m not his—we just got stuck and—”

“Thank you, sir. We’re really sorry.” Beomgyu cut you off as he picked up his guitar case with one hand and wrapped his free arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You gasped, but were too stunned to do anything but follow Beomgyu’s lead as he pulled you out of the room.

“What was that about?” You asked once the two of you had safely made it out of the building. “You were not serenading me.”

Beomgyu shrugged, letting his arm fall from your shoulders. Your mouth fell open at his lack of a denial. “Choi Beomgyu! Stop messing around.”

“Who said I was messing around?” He teased, winking at you as he began to walk towards his dorm building, which was on the other side of campus from yours.

You scoffed but said nothing as you watched his back while he walked away from you, trying to piece together what had just happened.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!” He shouted, turning around as he walked so he could wave goodbye.

You gave him a weak-hearted wave in return, pressing your hands against your flushed cheeks as you slowly began to tread back to your own dorm room.

How strange it was that just that morning, you would have given almost anything to avoid seeing Beomgyu.

But now, you found yourself counting down the minutes left until the next day so you could see him again.

WHEN YOU GOT BACK TO YOUR DORM FROM REHEARSAL THE NEXT EVENING, YOU HAD A TEXT.

Beomgyu: I know we said we were starting over, but I can’t forget that I still owe you a coffee. Meet me at the library in 15?

You felt like an idiot, but you couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face. Slipping your shoes back on, you typed out a quick reply before slipping out the door.

You: Make it 5. I’ll be waiting.

When you arrived at the library, you were surprised to see that Beomgyu was already there. The line for coffee was very short, as most students had settled into their dorms for the night. Only a few stray overachievers and those that were desperately trying to cram for exams were there, and Beomgyu had claimed a place in line amongst them. He held his guitar in one hand, as per usual, and you wondered if there would ever come a time in which you would see him without it.

“How is it that you demanded to meet me ten minutes earlier than I planned, and I still got here before you?” He asked once you had reached him.

“First of all, I did not demand anything from you,” You said, pushing your fist against his shoulder. “Secondly, that is so unfair, because you know that your dorm is way closer to the library than mine is.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me, but okay. Ah, it’s our turn.” He placed his hand on the small of your back and pulled you closer to the counter. Your stomach flipped, but for some reason, you didn’t mind.

After the two of had gotten your coffees, Beomgyu told you to follow him up the stairs. You expected to stop at the second floor, but to your surprise, he kept leading you. He took you through a door in the back that you didn’t even know existed, where there was another flight of stairs. At the end of these stairs was another door. You stepped outside and found yourself on the rooftop, with a great view of the campus below.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be up here?” You asked.

“Well, no. But I’ve come up here a lot and never gotten in trouble, so what’s the harm?”

“That does not make me feel any better.”

“Come on, Y/N.” He took your hand in his and brought you over to the wide ledge, big enough for the two of you to sit on without the fear of falling off. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

You paused, eyes growing wide. He stared back at you as he hoisted himself up on the ledge. He took a sip of his coffee before asking, “Why are you staring at me like that?”

You shook your head, setting your coffee beside of him before bringing yourself up to sit on the ledge yourself.

“Nothing,” You said. “You just reminded me of someone.”

“Ah.” He stared at you for a moment longer before he slipped his jacket off and wrapped it around your shoulders. You opened your mouth to protest, but he placed his finger against your parted lips, which was more than enough to shut you up.

“Just accept an act of kindness, would you?” He said, zipping his jacket up over you. You watched him as he did so, noticing the way his chocolate eyes sparkled in the midst of the cloudy night.

You swallowed, averting your gaze. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

It was quiet then, but not in an uncomfortable way. You enjoyed sitting beside of him in the silence, watching the lights of campus below you, feeling the warmth from his jacket spread over your chilled skin.

“Actually, Y/N, there’s something that’s been bothering me,” Beomgyu said, breaking the silence.

You turned to face him, curious. “What is it?”

For the first time since you had met him, Beomgyu looked nervous. He picked at the skin around his nails, doing everything he could to keep his eyes from meeting yours.

“Remember how you asked me if I sang? When we were locked in the orchestra room?” His voice was a bit quieter than it had been before.

“Yeah, you said you didn’t.”

“Right. Well, that—that was a lie,” He blurted, seeming to regret his words the second they had left his mouth. “Well, not a blatant lie, because I don’t sing anymore. But I used to.”

You were a bit confused, but seeing how nervous he was, you decided not to ask him why he would lie about such a seemingly trivial topic.

“What made you stop?” You asked carefully, not wanting to upset him.

He hesitated, wringing his hands together. After taking a deep breath, he spoke again.

“My father and I used to sing together,” He began. “I taught myself how to play the guitar, but he was the one who taught me how to sing. He loved to sing, more than anything else, and he always told me that I had a brilliant voice. He said it would be a shame to keep such a voice to myself.”

He smiled fondly as he spoke of his father, and you couldn’t help but smile as well. The joy slowly faded from his expression, however, as he began to speak again.

“I lost him two years ago,” He said quietly, voice thick with emotions that caused your heart to clench. “He was in a bad car accident. I was doing really well here, in vocals and guitar. But when I lost him, I just . . . I couldn’t sing anymore. I tried, I really did. I just couldn’t do it.”

“Oh, Beomgyu,” You whispered, gently placing your hand over his trembling one.

“It’s pathetic, isn’t it?” He sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Singing was the one thing he wanted me to do, and now that he’s gone, I’m failing at it.”

“No, Beomgyu,” You said, your voice firm as you squeezed his hand. “It’s not pathetic at all. You’re doing the best you can, and you’re still here. And most importantly, you tried. That’s what matters.”

He brought his eyes back to yours then, glistening with moisture in the moonless, starless night. He smiled at you then, and you smiled back.

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“Have I told you yet that you’re really, really beautiful?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you froze, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. You were frozen for a moment before you scoffed, pulling your hand away from his and tucking it into your lap.

“I thought you were going to start being more serious,” You mumbled, refusing to look at him. “Stop messing around.”

Then, he moved closer to you, placing one arm behind you while he brought the other to rest against your cheek, gently turning your face towards his. He leaned in, so close that his breath brushed against your skin. He smelled of citrus and vanilla, and you found yourself leaning closer to him.

He glanced at your lips, then met your eyes once again.

“What makes you think I’m not being serious?”

His lips were soft when they pressed against yours, and it felt as though your heart would burst right out of your chest. You allowed your eyes to fall shut as he gently moved his mouth against yours, slowly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as he did so, before allowing his fingers to gently trace their way along your cheek, then your jaw, until he rested his hand against your neck, pulling you a tiny bit closer to him.

He broke the kiss for a fleeting moment, just to open his eyes so he could look into yours. You liked the flecks of light that beamed in his irises, as though his eyes were made of starlight. He smiled, allowing his nose to brush against yours as his eyes moved back down to your lips. Once again, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips with his for the second time. He tasted like coffee and cheap cherry chap-stick—and odd combination, but you didn’t mind as you brought your arms around his neck and shifted closer to him, twisting your head to the side as you moved your lips in time with his.

The moment was unexpected, to say the least. But perhaps that was what made it feel that much more magical.

At least, it was magical until you felt scalding hot liquid splash all over the side of your leg, seeping through the fabric of your jeans to burn your skin.

You gasped against Beomgyu’s lips before pulling away, staring wide eyed at your jeans that were now stained with coffee. Your cup, which had been sitting between the two of you, was now knocked on its side, the contents drained.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Beomgyu said frantically. His lips were shining from the aftermath of your kiss, his freckled cheeks and nose red as a cherry. He gently pressed his hands against your leg, pulling them back when you winced from the impact. “Oh god—I’m sorry, I forgot that it was there and I was leaning in and I knocked it over and—”

You laughed at how flustered he had become, amused by this side of him that you hadn’t seen before. You grabbed his face and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips against his in a swift kiss, effectively shutting him up.

“It’s okay, Beomgyu,” You said once you pulled away, letting your hands fall from his face. “I guess you just owe me another coffee.”

The goofy lopsided grin you had grown accustomed to took place of the frightened expression he had worn just moments before. He hopped off the ledge, extending his hand towards you to help you down.

“Come on, partner. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

IT WAS THE DAY OF THE OPEN HOUSE, AND YOU WERE SLIGHTLY UNNERVED BY HOW WELL THINGS WERE GOING.

You had hoped that everything would go smoothly. The past few weeks, you had spent all your time and energy making sure that the event would be as close to perfect as possible.

Well, you had also spent a bit of time with Beomgyu, but only when you had the time to spare, of course.

The performers were all setting up; the drama department was working on setting up the stage props, as they would be going first, and they were busy rehearsing with the orchestra for how they could effectively move the props to make room for the instruments in a timely fashion. Yeonjun was rushing about, directing them with the grace and efficiency only he could pull off.

Everything was going perfectly. You should have just been happy about that, but for some reason, it felt as though you were just waiting for something to go terribly wrong.

“Y/N.” You turned at the sound of Beomgyu’s voice, smiling as he walked towards you. He was dressed in a white button up shirt that he tucked into a pair of black jeans. His sleeves were pushed up a bit, exposing his forearms.

“Everything okay?” You asked once he had reached you. You glanced at the members of the band, who were talking in hushed voices right behind Beomgyu. Your eyes narrowed when you noticed that something was amiss. “Where’s Soobin? Is he on his way?”

Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his already messy curls. “That’s what I was coming to talk to you about. He’s sick—he won’t be able to make it. I just got a text from him.”

You blinked slowly, trying to process what you had just been told. Soobin was the main vocalist for the band. Without him, or someone to fill his position, there would be no performance.

You quickly walked over to the band, desperately trying to think of something to fix the situation, and Beomgyu was following right behind you.

“Can any of you do lead vocals in Soobin’s place?” You asked.

“No,” the main guitarist said, looking just as stressed out as you were. “We’d have to change the entire key for it to fit my range, and even if we had time to do that—which we don’t—we wouldn’t have any backup vocals.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut. “There’s got to be something we can do to replace him. We can’t just take the band performance out.”

“How about Beomgyu?”

Your eyes flew open at the sound of Yeonjun’s voice, and you whirled around to see him standing behind you.

“When did you get there?” You asked.

“A minute or so ago,” He said, striding forward so that he stood on the other side of you. “But seriously, everyone knows Beomgyu can sing. He used to do it all the time. Why not have him take Soobin’s place?”

“It would make sense,” the guitarist said, his face lighting up with a glint of hope. “He’s been here for all the practices—I mean, he even wrote the song!”

You turned your eyes towards Beomgyu, worry overtaking you in an instant when you saw his expression. All the color had drained from his face, his lips pulled between his teeth. His hands were trembling, and he refused to meet your gaze.

“Beomgyu,” You said quietly, taking his shaky hand in your steady one. “You don’t have to. We can figure something else out—”

“I’ll think about it,” He said, eyes finally finding yours. He did his best to force a smile, but it was so strained, your worry only grew at the sight. “Just . . . can you give me a little while?”

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “Of course.”

He slipped away from you then, disappearing behind the stage. Your eyes followed him until you couldn’t see him any longer, worry creasing your brows.

“What was that about?” Yeonjun asked, stepping a bit closer to you. “I understand not wanting to force anyone to do something last minute, but we don’t really have many options.”

“There’s more to it than that,” You said quietly. “Just trust me, okay? And if he says he can’t do it, he can’t. We are not going to force him to do this.”

Yeonjun still looked confused, but he simply shrugged. “Whatever you say, captain. But just so you know, if he can’t do it, you’re gonna be the one singing in Soobin’s place. And trust me, no one wants to hear that.”

You fought the urge to flip him off as he walked away, wondering why on earth you still kept him around as your best friend.

The rest of the preparations went on, and soon, the audience had begun to fill the auditorium. You hadn’t seen Beomgyu since that moment during rehearsals, and you were beginning to grow worried.

You stood in the right wing of the stage as the show began with the drama department. You tried to focus on the performance—it was amazing, of course, especially since Yeonjun played a lead role in the scene they had chosen. Everyone knew he was an amazing actor. However, rather than being able to enjoy the show, you could only think about where Beomgyu was and wonder if he was doing alright, your stomach twisting itself into knots as the seconds ticked by.

By the time the drama students were finished, the audience standing to clap for their flawless performance, you had bitten your nails down to nubs as you grew increasingly worried. Yeonjun rushed over to you when he left the stage, smiling widely as he stretched his arms out to his sides. “How’d we do?”

“Hm?” You snapped out of your daze, shaking your head as you gave him two thumbs up. “Oh—wonderful. You guys were great. Hey, will you make sure everything goes well with the orchestra? I have to go find Beomgyu.”

“Well why don’t you stay here and I’ll go find him—”

“Nope, I’ve got it! Thanks best friend, you’re the greatest!” You gave him a quick hug before he could say anything else, quickly rushing out of the auditorium. You made your way down a few hallways, taking a couple of turns until you had reached one of the dressing rooms. You knew this was where Beomgyu had been getting ready because his guitar case was propped against the wall outside of it, so you hoped he was still inside.

You knocked on the door. “Beomgyu? Are you in there?”

It was silent, but you heard someone sniffle from behind the door. You sighed, leaning against the wood. “You don’t have to say anything, okay? But just hear me out.”

There was no response, but you could have sworn you felt someone leaning against the door from the other side.

“I know you may feel like you have to pressure yourself to do this, but you don’t,” You said gently. “Nobody is going to be disappointed if you can’t get up there to sing. Not me, not Yeonjun, not the band.”

You paused, biting your lip before you continued. “Your father wouldn’t be upset either, Beomgyu. The fact that you’re willing to even think about doing something this hard just to help out shows just how great of a person you are. He would be so, so proud of you. I’m proud of you, too. Whether or not you get up there and sing tonight, I’m proud of you. Okay?”

You stayed there, waiting in silence for a moment longer before you pushed away from the door, walking back towards the auditorium.

The orchestra was almost finished with their set by the time you returned to the wing. Yeonjun and the band were waiting with anticipation when you returned, eyes wide and searching behind you, probably hoping that Beomgyu was close behind.

“Is he coming?” Yeonjun asked.

You sighed, shaking your head slowly. “I don’t think so. We’ll just have to call off the band’s performance, but it’ll be okay—”

“That won’t be necessary.”

You turned at the sound of Beomgyu’s voice, unable to help the big smile that overtook your face. You hurried towards him, grabbing both his hands in your own.

“Are you sure?” You asked. “You know you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t,” he said with a smile. “But I want to.”

He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss against your forehead. “Thank you. For everything.”

He went up to talk to the band after that, leaving you a blushing mess. The orchestra had just finished their set and were busy making way for the band. Yeonjun walked to your side as Beomgyu and the rest of the band took their places on the stage.

“Did he just kiss you?” Your best friend asked. For some reason, he didn’t sound surprised.

Dumbfounded, you brought your hand to your forehead and nodded, unable to speak. Yeonjun laughed at you, causing you to snap out of your daze so you could punch him lightly in the shoulder.

Once the band had finished getting ready, Beomgyu cleared his throat, tapping the mic before leaning forward to speak into it.

“Hello everyone, thanks for coming out tonight. My name is Choi Beomgyu, and these lovely people surrounding me are some of the many talented musicians in our music department.” He paused when the audience clapped, waiting until the applause died down before he spoke again. “To wrap up this showcase, we’ll be performing a song I wrote myself. I wrote this about someone I met a long, long time ago.”

He turned his head to the side then, making eye contact with you from the stage. He smiled, not taking his gaze away from yours. He looked heavenly in the light cast from the spotlight, strands of his black hair seeming to turn silver beneath the glow, his golden skin shining brighter than ever. You were sure that if you were close enough, you would see the star-like sparkles in his eyes that you had grown to adore.

“I hope she remembers me, even after all this time.”

“Is he talking about you?” Yeonjun whispered into your ear, noticing the direction of Beomgyu’s stare. “You guys just met like, a month ago.”

You were just as confused as your best friend, so in response, you simply shrugged, unsure of what was going on. He was definitely talking to you, but you had no idea what he was referring to.

“I hope she remembers me, even after all this time.”

You racked your brain, trying desperately to think of what he could mean. Had you met him before? Did he remember you from somewhere, from a memory that had somehow slipped your mind?

The music began to play, and you took a step closer to the stage, eyes narrowed, ready to focus on the lyrics, wanting more than anything to remember what Beomgyu was talking about.

“In moments like those, when tears fill your eyes, hold my hand tight. Should we run away?”

Your eyes went wide. You stumbled back, reaching up to hold your head in your hands.

“Y/N?” Yeonjun’s voice was distant, overpowered by the sound of the honey sweet voice that filled the air. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You gasped, hands tangling in your hair as the singing continued.

“Be my forever, call my name. Run away, run away, run away with me.”

Your head was ringing. Not only were these words the same ones you had heard in your head the night you were locked in the classroom with Beomgyu, but the voice—Beomgyu’s voice—was the same one you had heard day and night while growing up.

It was your soulmates voice.

You knew it was, not just because of the lyrics or the familiarity of the voice. You knew it was your soulmate because you didn’t just hear the words and the notes of the song, you felt them. Every inch of your being felt as though it had been struck by lightning. The voice filled up all of your senses, overpowering you in the most beautiful way imaginable.

But it was too much. His voice coming through the loudspeakers paired with it ringing inside your head built up so much pressure that it caused your vision to blur. You quickly stumbled out of the auditorium, fumbling your way through the front doors that led outside.

You sat down on the pavement, taking deep breaths as your mind began to calm down. No longer overwhelmed by all that was going on around you, you closed your eyes, listening to Beomgyu’s voice as it filled your mind.

“Don’t wanna stay, now we can go. Take me now to the magic named ‘us.’”

With those words, the voice died down, and you were surrounded by silence.

You simply sat there for several moments, your eyes remaining closed as you tried to understand everything that had just happened to you.

Beomgyu was your soulmate.

Beomgyu was your soulmate, and he was alive.

Bit by bit, you started to piece things together. The night of your thirteenth birthday, the day before you heard his voice for the first time. You had met the boy with sparkling eyes and a lopsided grin in the hotel parking lot. He had offered you his coat, and then his hand.

“I hope she remembers me,” Beomgyu had said.

You smiled to yourself, placing your hand over your heart as it beat fiercely against your chest.

“Yes, Beomgyu. I do remember you.”

“Y/N!”

Your eyes flew open at the sound of the door being thrown open behind you. You turned to see Beomgyu barreling towards you, practically collapsing to the ground in front of you. He took your face in his hands, eyes frantically searching yours.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his fingers gently running along the length of your cheeks.

You nodded, smiling even though tears began to pool in your eyes. “Beomgyu,” You said quietly, lifting your hands to hold his wrists. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Knew what?”

“That you’re my soulmate.”

He paused, the worry in his face slowly being replaced by a wide, sparkling smile.

“So you finally figured it out, huh?” He said, brushing a strand of your hair back behind your ear. “If you didn’t figure it out after tonight, I wasn’t sure how else I was supposed to show you.”

You laughed, a tear slipping down your cheek as you tightened your grip on his wrists. His expression changed once again, brows knit with concern. “Are—are you crying? What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing, it’s fine,” You assured him, resting your forehead against his. “I’m just happy. I’m so, so happy, Beomgyu.”

He sighed with relief, wrapping his arms around you in a hug, pulling you snugly into his chest. His chin rested on top of your head as you slipped your arms around his middle, pulling him even closer than he already was.

“I was a little worried that you’d be disappointed when you found out it was me,” He said with a light laugh.

You shook your head against his chest, snuggling even closer to him. “Of course not. You’re exactly who I hoped it would be, Choi Beomgyu.”

The two of you stayed like that for a bit longer before Beomgyu pulled away and stood up in front of you.

The boy with stars for eyes and a smile that outshone the moon stretched his hand out towards you, fingers shaking from the cold, cheeks flushed from your embrace.

“Should we run away?” He asked.

This time, you placed your hand in his and let him pull you to your feet.

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2jaeh · 3 years

Text

Bibliophile | Xiaojun x Reader

Genre: fluff, smut

Word count: 2,3k

Warnings: mature themes

Author: SIN

Two literature master students decide to make their steamy romance troupe debates a reality.

——————————————————————————

Your heels clicked against the marble floors as you ran over to the university library, hoping the evening rain wouldn’t worsen when you crossed the open courtyard.

Most of the students were either heading back to their dorm rooms or messing around in the common areas, while the only thing that rang in your head was to not be late for your part-time job at the restricted section of the library.

At first you had no damn clue why they needed someone to work there, especially since some of the books were even restricted to lecturers. But thanks to your century old university and their obsession with keeping their sacred books in pristine condition, all they needed was a literature masters student to help out from time to time.

You entered the library and greeted the woman at the front desk before she buzzed you in through to the door that led upstairs to the restricted area.

You quickly jogged up the stares and swung open the door only to be greeted by the only other person working around here, Xiao Dejun.

“You’re late again” his lips curled into a smile as he pushed up his gold framed glasses and inspected a dust covered book.

“Yeah the rain was just-“

“Crazy ?” Dejun peered up and pursed his lips, knowing that every excuse you had always ended in the same word.

“Yeah crazy” you half chuckled and removed your burgundy coat, making your way over to sign in the shift card.

All you knew about Dejun was that he finished his masters and was offered a lecture position at the university but decided to take up this job instead. He was very reserved and once told you that he craved the utter peacefulness of the restricted area, where he was usually either on his own or with you.

“I’m halfway on my thesis now” you said casually as you started fixing the binding of a physics book from the 70s.

“Oh?” Dejun raised his eyebrow and pulled out a chair next to you to tend to his own book repair, “I’m sure you’re glad it’s almost over right?”

You squinted your eyes and sighed, burying your head in your hands as that familiar migraine began to set in. “I’m....stuck” you groaned and peered up at Dejun, “I decided to dissect the romance genre of literature and honestly most of it is hot garbage.”

Dejun let out a laugh and you admired how his dark eyebrows knitted together, making his face look quite animated.

“What books have you studied if you don’t mind me asking ?” Dejun asked, his curious eyes met with yours as he shifted closer in his chair.

“Everything from Shakespeare to Nicolas Sparks, I just hate them all” you pouted and slumped back in your chair, moving the half bound book aside,

“Don’t get me wrong, I chose romance because I love it you know ? I just don’t think that those ‘classics’ do it any justice.”

Dejun nodded at your words and shrugged, “I agree with you, not a fan of that forbidden romance and rich girl poor man stuff either.”

“Right ?” Your eyes lit up and Dejun grinned at your passionate attitude. He’d always found you cute. Every so often he had the chance to work with you on a shift we’re always his best days. He’d listen to you rant about your professors, the music you hated on the radio, or the fact that someone stole your favourite parking spot.

“So....” Dejun folded his arms, “how would you change it ?”

“Change it?” You quirked a brow.

“What’s your perfect romance troupe ?” Dejun smiled softly and his soft brown eyes drew you in and made you feel warm, safe.

“Well for starters I think intimacy should come first and then the characters learn how to love each other as they develop their relationship” you explained, getting up from your chair and began pacing the small room,

“I don’t mind the cliche of they grab the same book or vinyl, I just prefer that instead of 7 chapters of them thinking about that moment they just take the leap right there.”

Dejun pondered on your words for a bit and also got to his feet, leaning against the table as he watched you pace back and forth.

“Would it work for people who somewhat knew each other before hand though ? A friend ? A colleague ?” Dejun quizzed and you nodded quickly,

“Yeah if there’s no prior feelings or hookups then why not ?”

“I guess we can’t test it then since we like each other huh ?” Dejun smirked returning to his seat innocently as you stopped abruptly and quickly tried to process what he had just said.

“I....we...don’t like each other ?” You stammered while ignoring the fact that your heart was racing against your chest.

Dejun chuckled as he carefully inspected one of the pages of his book, “the funny part is that you’re practically experiencing your ideal romance troupe and contradicting yourself by not owning up to the fact that we do in fact...like each other.”

Your mind was racing on every evening that you’ve spent with Dejun up until today. First day it’s true you both did a double take on each other and you found him extremely attractive. Day seven the two of you reached for the only hard cover copy left of Pride and Prejudice and spent the whole night critiquing the book until you lost track of time. Day seventeen you were packing books on the top shelf and as you descended down the steel steps you lost your balance and fell right into his arms.

You were literally living a goddamn romance troupe without even knowing it.

“By your words y/n, we need to skip a few steps now shouldn’t we ?” Dejuns eyes were still on his book, but he knew damn well that your eyes were on him.

“You’re right Dejun” you finally said and folded your arms across your chest.

Dejun turned his head to face you and narrowed his eyes, “I’m supposed to be the one making the move ? What happened to a change of scenery ? Uh women empowerment?”

You grabbed his hand and headed to the back of the room where the roof slightly slanted and the window panels were covered with water droplets as the night sky drew in. You neatened your blue plaid skirt and leaned against the old wood of a work station desk. Dejun cocked his head as you bit down on your lip, not knowing how to proceed to the next step.

“Why here ?” Dejun raised an eyebrow, removing his glasses and tucked them in the top pocket of his white buttoned down.

“I don’t know the setting is....pretty, also when we first met you were sitting at this desk reading the last book a literature master student would be reading” you stifled a laughter.

“Hey Harry Potter is my childhood” Dejun groaned, cutely rolling his eyes, something he did quite often and you would pester him to the point of seeing that reaction.

“Dejun,” you placed your hand on his cheek and his attention was focused on you, those soft brown eyes bore into yours as he took a step closer.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach as he softly wrapped his hand around the small of your back and placed the other on the back of your head. You finally leaned in and he did the same meeting your lips, for the first time and sighed. The kiss was soft, the two you just melted in the instant connection, basking in the feeling before continuing to deepen the kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer until your bodies were pressed against each other, fitting each other’s silhouettes perfectly. Dejun slipped his hands down to your thighs and picked you up and placed you on the desk, not breaking the kiss as he slipped in between your legs.

“I’m afraid I’m going to want more than this” you sighed into the kiss, unable to remove your hands from his toned body as you felt the closeness of him between your legs making you feel aroused.

“Come back to my place” Dejun whispered as he began attacking your neck with kisses and played with the hem of your skirt.

You can’t remember if you said yes or just nodded but you were now in Dejuns car on his way to his place. You enjoyed the passionate kiss he shared with you at the stop street and the occasional squeeze of your thigh when he would make turn into a new road.

The rain had begun pelting down and thankfully you were already pulling into his apartment lot before it became really hazy. Dejun turned to his backseat and realized he had left his umbrella back at the library and sighed,

“Running hand in hand in the pouring rain troupe ?” He held out his hand and you chuckled, “always been on my bucket list anyway.”

The two of you ran for about half a minute in the pouring rain but it was enough to completely drench you from your head down to your shoes. Dejun quickly punched in the code of his door and pulled you inside, already covering you in kisses as his blonde hair stuck to his forehead.

It was one item of clothing after another as the trail of clothes led down to his bedroom, where he had you in just your lacy nude coloured two piece set while he was slowly ridding himself of his pants.

You fell into his bed as you watched him slowly pull his leather belt from its hoops and his black slacks finally fell to the ground,

“You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met you know that ?” Dejun groaned as his eyes scanned over your body and he hovered over you.

“I could say the same about you Xiao Dejun” you mused and pulled him in for another hot passionate kiss. His warm body settled on yours and you wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting him closer even though it wasn’t even possible at this point.

Dejun unclipped your bra and moved his lips down to your breasts, squeezing one in his hand while licking and nipping at the other. You arched your back wanting more but also not wanting to rush him.

“Really want this to last much longer but I’m at my wits end right now” you moaned and Dejun chuckled as he peppered kisses all the way back up to your mouth.

“We have tonight, tomorrow, the next day and the day after that” he smirked against your lips before tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth.

Distracted by the stinging sensation from your lip you shivered at Dejuns icy fingers that was now hooked in the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down.

He watched as you squirmed beneath him. Watched how your eyes closed and how you sucked in your bottom lip, awaiting his next move.

You mewled when you felt the cool air hit your arousal and Dejun rubbed slow circles on your clit before pushing two fingers inside you, making you moan his name for the first time that night.

His fingers moved slowly but roughly while his lips softly pecked your hips, abdomen and the very top of your mound.

He was so gentle with you but his movements were still dominating, the mixture was absolutely intoxicating. You pulled him up missing the taste of his lips and before pressing his mouth on yours he caressed your cheek,

“Let me know if it’s too much okay?” He whispered against your lips and you nodded not knowing what you were in for.

Dejun locked your arms above your head and used his free hand to remove his boxers before entering you, already finding a rhythm to his thrusts. You threw your head back and moaned his name yet again as he slammed in and out of you, his grunts and your whimpers filling the bedroom.

His hand stayed locked on your wrists as he used his other hand to knead your breast, giving you multiple sensations at once. You almost hated the fact that you were close to your peak and it hadn’t been more than five minutes of him inside you.

“God I really don’t wanna cum right now” you whined as he still pounded mercilessly inside you.

“Good thing I’m not gonna let you” Dejun murmured and just as you thought your orgasm had reached, he pulled out of you and rolled onto his back,

“Get on top.”

You listened to his instructions but before sitting back on his member you gave him a few pumps, finally able to see him squirm under your touch this time round. Dejun gave you a small smack on your butt, and you finally abided to his request and sat on top of him, the new position already bringing you back to where you started.

Dejun sat up to meet your thrusts as you rode him, and you found your hand tangled in his messy locks as the two of you practically screwed the hell out of each other. The kiss this time was filled with lust, filled with lip biting and exchanging of saliva as you felt your orgasm fast approaching and noticed Dejun’s pace was slowing down too,

“cum for me baby” Dejun mused as he used the last of energy to give you a few hard thrusts until you finally came undone and he followed quickly after.

It took about two minutes of trying to catch your breath before you finally rolled on the bed next to him and wiped the beads of sweat from your forehead.

“Yeah this...this was definitely missing in some of those novels” you turned to Dejun who had a smile spread across his face.

He pulled the covers over your bodies and pressed his lips to your forehead and cheek,

“Should we write our own novel then ?”

“Yeah, yeah we should” you smiled, closing your eyes feeling at peace as his warmness enveloped you.

#nct scenarios #nct smut #nct imagines #nct angst #nct au #nct drabble #wayv imagines #wayv au #xiaojun smut #Xiaojun fic #Xiaojun au #wayv smut #xiao dejun #kpop smut

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samnyangie · 3 years

Text

It’s from a book called ‘conversation in the wings’ by Roy Harris; it’s a transcript of the interviews he had with actors and this is the section of rsl.

Just a warning it’s quite long.

(Source)

________________________________________

1994: CONVERSATIONS IN THE WINGS

The Author's Intentions Are Good

by Roy Harris

Conversations in the Wings

1994

This interview took place on Friday, May 24, 1991, on the Mainstage at Playwrights Horizons where Jon Robin Baitz's The Substance of Fire was playing. Considering that he is the youngest person who talks here about acting (he was 22 at the time of the interview), it is remarkable that Robert Sean Leonard speaks with so much ease and apparent knowledge on a subject that can be as elusive as this one. The clarity he has as he discusses how he works on a role is not unlike the focus he brings to the characters he creates on stage. At the time of this interview, Mr. Leonard had recently finished a run of Romeo and Juliet for the Riverside Shakespeare Company.

Roy Harris: So let's start at the beginning. If you get a script and you read it and say to yourself, "I've got to do this," what makes you feel that?

Robert Sean Leonard: Well, that's hard to say. It depends on if you're reading for a certain character-I mean, if you're not sure who you're going to play yet. I guess I read specifically for the author's intentions of the play.

Roy Harris: Do you ever take a role-maybe it's not so wonderful-to be a part of that writer's particular world?

Robert Sean Leonard: Oh, yes. But if the play is important to you and that moving to you, then a small role becomes important because of what the author's saying. I'll be doing Our Town in London this fall and early winter. George is a very nice, I thought, young juvenile role to do. But then I read the play again, and I was astonished at the simplicity and importance of Wilder's message. Suddenly, George became much more important to me. I realized his place in that world, and it was big. If you look at the play, no one talks to each other. Except for the soda fountain scene. And there they talk. That's why they get married. Seeing this made playing him exciting. The way George has to deal with life and death is amazing.

Roy Harris: When you decided to do, for instance, the Greek pianist Alexandros in When She Danced, what made you make that decision?

Robert Sean Leonard: Joanne Woodward told me I had to do it.

Roy Harris: That's a good reason; she's very smart.

Robert Sean Leonard: Well, that play defined the undefinable qualities and questions about what I do as an actor. And I'd never seen that in a play before. So, I guess it was both things: the play itself and what a wonderful character.

Roy Harris: When you were working on Alexandros, what did you find the most challenging thing about it?

Robert Sean Leonard: Oh, come on, Roy, you remember?

Roy Harris: Well, I have to ask you now as if I weren't there. I'm an impersonal interviewer now.

Robert Sean Leonard: His incredible self-confidence. The guy walks into a room and you look at him. I've never been able to do that. I've seen other people who have that. And, it's not a quality you can play. It's not like an accent. It's a within quality. And you're in awe of it when you see it.

Roy Harris: Well, you have a quality as an actor of self-effacement. Do you think you had to get past that, go beyond it in some way?

Robert Sean Leonard: Oh, yes, but what a time I had working on it. It was a breakthrough for me. Sitting at that piano, standing up and saying, essentially, "I am a prodigy." I would say it in the mirror at home and I couldn't do it. It goes against everything you try to be as a human, as an actor. To never assume you know because then you'll stop growing. That was completely foreign to me.

Roy Harris: Did you feel you were the right choice for the role?

Robert Sean Leonard: Oh, yes.

Roy Harris: Me, too. It has to do with the other quality we talked about: something reserved and thoughtful. If you don't have that, then the sureness of Alexandros will be obnoxious.

Robert Sean Leonard: What was fascinating for me: to have an amazing bravura, and at the same time, as Quixote says, to have the humility to "love pure and chaste from afar." To love purely requires a lot of humility. It goes against the bravura. With Alexandros, I had the humility, but as you know, it took weeks and weeks to get the right assertiveness.

Roy Harris: It was fascinating watching it happen. All right, let's back up a minute. You got that role a couple of weeks, at least, before we started rehearsal. What sort of work did you do, if any, before the first day of rehearsal?

Robert Sean Leonard: Well, the bravura element didn't even occur to me until I started saying the words out loud in rehearsal with the likes of Marcia Jean Kurtz, Elizabeth Ashley and Jonathan Walker all sitting there watching me. Actually, the thing I dove right into was the Greek accent. That sort of gives you a center. It's a tangible task. And you have to accomplish it in a certain amount of time. The accent gives you a guideline. You go to the dialect coach and you sit down and start. "No," he says, "the A is pronounced this way. It's always pronounced this way." It was so refreshing to have a guideline as your beginning point. Otherwise, where do you start?

Roy Harris: Did the actual pronunciation of particular words tell you anything about who the person was?

Robert Sean Leonard: I would say the rhythm of it more than the pronunciation of it. The clipped musical rhythm gave me a sense of his spontaneous movement, his vital energy. There's a snappiness to Alexandros, which I really don't have as a person. Something happens to you when you get to have that snappy, clipped musical speech coming out of your mouth. You change inside.

Roy Harris: Let's say it's Thursday night and tomorrow you're going to work on the scene where you introduce yourself to the translator, Belzer. What sort of ordinary, basic work do you do on the scene?

Robert Sean Leonard: You know, the first time this ever came up was when I was doing Beachhouse with George Grizzard. I was sixteen. I was up there one day doing it, you know, just doing it, and Melvin Bernhard the director said, "What are you doing here? What is this about?" And I had no clue. I was just asking my dad where the letter was. Well, he said, "Do you have any assumptions about it? Who's it from? Is it from your mother? If so, what would that mean to you?" When I went home that night, I wanted to quit the business. I cried. And to this day, it's always an obsession of mine-not getting general and relying on some phony charm. What I want to do is get specific and ask myself the necessary questions: what is his intention here? what's he after? why? So, to answer your question, I read the scene, trying to pick out where they're starting, where they're heading, and how they got there. If something changes, where does it change? However, I usually find out more in rehearsal than at home.

Roy Harris: Sometimes, do you find after a rehearsal or a series of rehearsals on a particular scene that there's more there?

Robert Sean Leonard: Oh, sure. The more you work, the more you find. You can be hitting your head against a wall, as I was with Alexandros, and the director can say, "It's because you're not as confident as he is." Like any trouble you have, once you define it, it's so much easier to deal with. Then you know what you're after.

Roy Harris: Do you try to look and see an intention in every line, or a basic intention in a scene?

Robert Sean Leonard: I'm sure that you should, but I've found that there's a level of subconscious work that goes on. I find that it's much better for me to find out what's there with the person in rehearsal. It doesn't mean I don't I really think about it before though.

Roy Harris: Would you say-I'm asking a loaded question now-that you are more an instinctive actor or one more given to plan?

Robert Sean Leonard: I think I'm more instinctive than planned, but both, I guess.

Roy Harris: From having watched you in two different rehearsal situations, I'd say you seem to have done a lot of work when you came in.

Robert Sean Leonard: I would say that's basically true. But there are all sorts of ways of being prepared. For instance, take Romeo. My God, I spent hours just finding out what all those words mean. And then, with Shakespeare, it's so maddening because one thought can mean many different things. You don't have to choose one. Another form of preparation is just knowing your character so well-the background you've come to through what the playwright made up-that when something comes up, you instinctively know what's wrong or right.

Roy Harris: When you re working on a role, do you ever get a picture of what the character should look like?

Robert Sean Leonard: Yeah, and it's never me!

Roy Harris: Well, it shouldn't be you. You're playing somebody else.

Robert Sean Leonard: But I never get that out of my head. I can think back on every role I've done and picture who should have played it instead of me-what type of person; what he looked like.

Roy Harris: Does it help you to do that?

Robert Sean Leonard: Sometimes. Slowly the picture in your mind becomes you. I can look back now and say, yes, I'm Eugene Jerome. Yes, I'm Romeo. But it took a while for me to get there, to get me in the picture. It was always someone else.

Roy Harris: When you're working on a role, do you ever get a sense of how that character should dress?

Robert Sean Leonard: Actually, not much. I know there are actors who do. I guess it doesn't matter so much. I just had a problem with that on The Speed of Darkness, however. The designer was very intent on including the actors in her plans. I drove her crazy. "I don't know. Why are you asking me? Whatever you put on me, I can justify." She didn't like that. But I guess it would depend on the role. The only battle I lost was she put a letter jacket on me, a varsity letter jacket. It was the only thing I didn't like. Any time I see a varsity jacket on stage, I think, 'Oh, here comes a young actor.' I want to be a person. It's too much a sign to me. But I ended up wearing it. She liked it too much.

Roy Harris: When you're in rehearsal, what are you looking for from other actors?

Robert Sean Leonard: Well, hopefully we'll all be pretty solid in our agreement about what is going on in this play and what our part in it is. Of course, there are technical things: like you don't upstage someone when they're talking. An important thing is knowing when the scene is moving, and knowing when it's time to take a moment for yourself. And that's hard. A lot of actors get up there, and understandably, the play is about them. If you're playing a milkman, the play is about a milkman. But when that becomes your only reality, you lose sight of the intentions of the play. You know, it's so obvious to me when an actor feels he is the most important thing in the play. It's so portentous. Every line means something. It's so boring. Maybe that's why I'm a little afraid of finding intentions in every line. Then it all gets too much meaning.

Roy Harris: Have you ever worked with an actor-you don't have to give a name-whom you had a problem with?

Robert Sean Leonard: Sure. I worked with an actress in a film who had no clue, didn't know the first thing about acting. The camera would go to you, and she'd be off camera reading her next film. She would say her lines not looking at you. That drove me crazy. On stage, I must say I've never worked with anyone where there was a problem. I've worked with people who really snapped with me and then people who were just all right to work with.

Roy Harris: Who is an actor you've really liked working with?

Robert Sean Leonard: Cynthia Nixon - when you work with her, she's so in tune with what's going on. When a scene is playing, it just lifts and rises. She's like a dancer. I love all her work. Something happens when that actress walks on stage. It elevates into another world.

Roy Harris: What are you looking for from the director?

Robert Sean Leonard: An unshakable vision. You know when they have it, because you'll ask questions and immediately there's an answer that makes sense, and it makes sense in relation to everything that's happened so far.

Roy Harris: What if it's a vision you don't agree with?

Robert Sean Leonard: That doesn't matter. I want a vision that's like a force running through everything.

Roy Harris: What happens when there's not a vision?

Robert Sean Leonard: Well, my sister told me once, when she was in third grade, her whole class went into the city. When they came up from the subway, the teacher-for a moment-didn't know where she was. My sister saw that look, and suddenly was terrified. She lost all faith. And that's horrible when it happens with a director, and it can happen in an instant. If they have an unshakable vision, it won't happen.

Roy Harris: Have you ever had a director tell you something and you felt that you just couldn't do it?

Robert Sean Leonard: Couldn't from myself?

Roy Harris: Yes.

Robert Sean Leonard: Well, no, because the minute someone asks something of me, my first reaction is, "God dammit, I can do this. I can do whatever they want." You know, to me the author's intentions are God, and the director the channel for those intentions. The very idea of not being able to do something a director asks, or being averse to it, is upsetting to me.

Roy Harris: Have you ever been in a situation where some or all of the actors didn't trust a director? How do you deal with that?

Robert Sean Leonard: Good question. Well, if a director can't give you an answer for why he wants you to do something a certain way, then you shouldn't trust him. If I initially don't trust a director, I try to find out why I don't. Maybe it's me. But if he can't give you an answer, you can't get bitter. You have to rely solely on yourself, or on yourself and who you're playing with. You do the best you can and hope for a short run.

Roy Harris: What director would you most like to work with?

Robert Sean Leonard: Mark Lamos.

Roy Harris: Why?

Robert Sean Leonard: In everything of his I've seen I always witness such clarity and devotion to the author's intent, even if it's complex, as in Hamlet or The Master Builder.

Roy Harris: For someone your age, you've had a chance to play some very good roles. What's been the most challenging role so far?

Robert Sean Leonard: Romeo. I think I misunderstood him the whole time I was playing it.

Roy Harris: Oh, Bobby, everybody who plays him feels that, don't they?

Robert Sean Leonard: Probably. When I took the role, I thought, I'm going to make him honorable, which I think he is. Most people feel he's a sap. My mistake was making him that way from the beginning.

Roy Harris: What do you mean?

Robert Sean Leonard: A friend of mine said late in the run that that first scene is not about a man who knows love. It's about a kid who thinks he knows what love is. Then he meets Juliet. He said, you should make us puke in the aisles when you tell Benvolio what you think love is. And he's right. From the moment I walked on stage, boy, did I play passion. All through the Rosaline stuff with Benvolio, it was passion. Consequently, when I met Juliet, I just didn't have anywhere to go. It was like starting with a nine and getting to a ten.

Roy Harris: But you seemed to have a good time working on it.

Robert Sean Leonard: Well, I learned from it. You need to see his feeling about Rosaline in order to really appreciate the great feeling he comes to have about Juliet. I didn't look at it intelligently enough. I didn't realize the simplicity of: he doesn't know what he's doing and then he does know what he's doing. It's also our job as Romeo to convince the audience that once he's in love with Juliet-and some people would scream at this-it's worth dying for. With all the mistakes I made, it was a great experience.

Roy Harris: Ten years from now you can do it again and think what that will be like.

Robert Sean Leonard: I'll have a whole new series of questions about it. That's why acting is so phenomenal. You can't ever be good enough.

Roy Harris: Does there come a point for you in rehearsals, or probably in performance somewhere, where you think you got it?

Robert Sean Leonard: No. There are points where I feel I've gotten something. I've never given a perfect performance. I wonder who has?

Roy Harris: Well, if they think they have...

Robert Sean Leonard: I don't want to talk to them.

Roy Harris: Me either. Have you ever been praised by a friend for a performance that you thought was bad, or certainly not adequate?

Robert Sean Leonard: Sure.

Roy Harris: How do you deal with that? How does it affect you?

Robert Sean Leonard: Well, you're praised very often for things that you don't deserve to be praised for. But you learn pretty quickly who does that and who doesn't. So I guess you learn who to listen to. How do you deal with it? I get very indignant. I go home and I say, 'Well, they're wrong.' When I was filming Dead Poets Society, I noticed that Peter Weir (the director)-as soon as he'd say, "Cut"-would look to John Seal (the cinematographer) first. As soon as the play is done, I consider myself a cinematographer; I check with myself. Then I check with the director. A friend may be right in saying something I did was false, but I have to go by what the director is asking for. So, it's complicated when friends say things. Very complicated. It's very sacred between you and the director, and frankly, people need to honor that.

Roy Harris: What's the biggest difference between acting on stage and acting for the camera?

Robert Sean Leonard: In some ways, they're very different and then in some ways they're not so different at all. It's a little like recording music and then playing it live. In one sense, you're part of the whole, but fragmentally. In film, you're offering pieces, and the director makes it whole.

Roy Harris: Do you prefer one over the other?

Robert Sean Leonard: No. I don't know. I think I prefer theatre. Is that three answers?

Roy Harris: You can change your answer later. I'm trying to find out what your feeling is at this moment. In film, you go in on the first day of shooting and you may shoot pages 68-72. In terms of preparation, how do you shoot something that's in the middle of that character's (for want of a better word) journey? What do you do with all that comes before?

Robert Sean Leonard: Homework becomes much more important in film, ironically, because in film, usually your work has much less to do immediately with other actors. It's much more a solitary art. Because you start with page 68, you have to know exactly where that character is and has been before page 68. Hopefully, the director will know, too. And you will discuss it together, as Peter Weir did with me through the shooting of Dead Poets.

Roy Harris: Where do you think the director is more important, or is he: in film or stage?

Robert Sean Leonard: They're more important for different reasons in both areas.

Roy Harris: Have you ever been asked to do something by a film director that you didn't want to do, or thought you shouldn't do?

Robert Sean Leonard: Yeah. Usually it has to do with poor writing. Sometimes the director will want something because of what's in the script, and you have to do it, even if you're not sure it's right.

Roy Harris: Let's say you did a role on stage for six weeks, night after night, and then you go and make a movie of it. A scene you've done many times, you're now going to do and the camera is going to be this close to you. Does it do anything to your way of thinking about it, to know the viewer is now so close?

Robert Sean Leonard: The relationship with the director becomes much more intimate. It would be like having the director on stage with you at all times, saying, "How about this? how about this? or how about this?" They are creating with you at the moment, and they know, and hopefully you do too, the journey of this character. It would be wonderful to do it on stage first because your homework would be done for you. An obvious thing is that when the camera's so close you do bring it down, even though you try to keep it as truthful as you would anywhere. In film, you do a lot more with your eyes, where on stage you use your hands and body language.

Roy Harris: So far, what is your favorite film role?

Robert Sean Leonard: Well, I'd have to say Dead Poets Society is for me in film what Brighton Beach Memoirs was for me on stage. It was kind of my baptism because I suddenly found myself on the set with a powerhouse of a director. It also has to do with the time. I was nineteen. Peter took me in as the leader of this gang. He had me read poetry. Also, I had to play Puck, and he wouldn't tell me which scene we were going to do, so I learned all of Puck. Without a doubt, it was the most glorious film experience. It was college for me. All of the guys, we lived together. We had a whole floor of a hotel, and we became this group of young men. We did everything together. We created together. Ethan Hawke and I used to practice scenes listening to Beethoven's Ninth.

Roy Harris: What is your favorite scene there?

Robert Sean Leonard: Well, for personal reasons, the scene with Ethan on the roof where we throw the desk set off. We came up with that scene. Originally, it was a scene which ended very sadly, with Ethan saying his parents didn't love him. Peter pulled us aside and said, "Okay, we know all this. Let's just have a scene about friendship." And the three of us came up with the scene where we destroy the desk set. That was a real accomplishment for me because improvisation has always scared the hell out of me. I don't like it that much as a working technique. When the director is as strong as Peter is, then improv is wonderful.

Roy Harris: We've talked a little about this, since you and I are such fans of hers, but what was it like to play Joanne Woodward's son in Mr. and Mrs. Bridge?

Robert Sean Leonard: It's funny. They're an amazing team, she and Paul. He's reserved. Though I don't know a thing about him, I like him a great deal. Joanne is-well, you know, there's a love you have for certain celebrities. I think she knew I had this huge feeling, and she takes that feeling and makes you feel comfortable. It's okay to have it. Know what I mean?

Roy Harris: Absolutely.

Robert Sean Leonard: She embraces this feeling you have about her, and it frees you. Therefore, working with her was a dream. She's completely honest in her work.

Roy Harris: What was a favorite scene of yours in that film?

Robert Sean Leonard: I don't know. I was so racked with his age throughout the filming-you know, when he was fifteen, when he was seventeen, when he was nineteen. But I guess it would be the boy scout scene. I was so worried that no one would buy that I was fifteen years old. I was twenty at the time, so they gave me braces to help me get a sense of youth. It helped. Really, though, it was memorable because Joanne was so wonderful in it. She did everything for us. She made us all look good. I remember during filming looking over at Paul when I don't kiss her and begin to sing. And he wasn't Paul, he was Mr. Bridge, my father, and looked at me with such hatred, and it was startlingly clear that he loved his wife more than me. For him, his son wasn't going through something; no, some guy just hurt his wife. The most joyous scenes were coming home from the air corps through the final scene where I take her hand. For me, Douglas is the only one in that house who grows up with a true sense of other things in the world. After all, he's the one who writes the books.

Roy Harris: Well, you do feel he's the least selfish of those children.

Robert Sean Leonard: Yes, well, I think that's evident even when he's behaving like a brat with her. I wanted people to feel: yes, he's doing it, but it's killing him to do it. I remember feeling, 'If this guy can write about these people so brilliantly and so warmly, there's got to be something there, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to get that feeling into the film.' In his air corps training, Douglas met so many different kinds of people that he was able to look at his parents objectively and with love. To me, it's the only moment in the film where anyone reaches out to Mrs. Bridge as a human being, not the mother. Actually, Paul would probably disagree with this. But I guess we each see it from our own point of view in the film.

Roy Harris: One more quick thing before we close. If you could work with any actor, actress, director, and pick your own role; in other words, what's your ideal situation?

Robert Sean Leonard: I think doing The Seagull with Joanne would be an amazing experience. Doing anything with Ian Holm. I've always had a dream of playing Horatio to someone else's Hamlet. Horatio to Gary Oldman's Hamlet would be very good.

#robert sean leonard #rsl #interview #theatre #dead poets society #films #I didn’t realised how many times he mentioned about flying desk scene #I just love how he is in this #so natural and honest

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juno-of-the-sky · 3 years

Text

pink in the night / tetsurou kuroo

eleven times you and tetsurou kissed throughout your lives. [based off of mitski’s pink in the night, i strongly recommend you listen to that while reading]

tags: lots of kisses (no duh), traditional couple things, gender-neutral reader word count: 3,092k my hand slipped a/n: wow look my first work! obviously i made it about kuroo because he’s one of the easiest ones for me to write LOL— anyway i hope you enjoy! requests will be open soon as well in case there’s anything specific you’d like to see <3

Kuroo’s lips were chapped.

There were a lot of things you could’ve been focusing on at that moment, but his lips were chapped against yours, and that was the main thing. Or, it was the main thing until the weight of what you were doing — kissing Tetsurou Kuroo — really sunk in, and then it was everything. It was his chapped lips; his palms, resting so gently on your cheeks, his thumb rubbing circles into the apples of them; the pitter patter of the rain hitting the puddles on the concrete and the umbrella above the both of you that you were holding.

In only a moment, you’d managed to notice so much and so little at the same time.

Kuroo was the one to break the kiss — you had to hold back from dropping the umbrella and pressing your hands against his neck and pushing him into your lips because you just had to have him again.

“Ah, sorry,” The messy-haired boy muttered. When you opened your eyes with a confused, incoherent murmur, he was staring down at the ground, his cheeks dusted with pink. “That was… impulsive, my bad—” “Kuroo,” You breathed. “That was amazing.” He was silent for a second, before a slightly shocked, “Really?” “Do it again.”

He chuckled, putting his loving gaze on you again for only a second before stealing another kiss. This time, you took note of every detail.

And I know I’ve kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right

“Oh, come on, that was a lame kiss,” Kuroo rolled his eyes, slipping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him. The sudden force knocked you off of your feet slightly, but you were happy to be close.

“It was not,” You insisted, squinting your eyes in the sun to see him accurately. Upon your declaration that the kiss of the night before — your first kiss with him, no less — had been the best in the world, Kuroo was annoyingly set on proving you wrong. “It was a great kiss.” “My lips weren’t even moisturized,” He said, shaking his head. “You have meager standards, (Y/N).” “If it was so bad, then kiss me again to make up for it.”

Kuroo was silent, unmoving for a second before slipping his arms around your waist and lifting you ‘till you were level with his lips and kissing you.

If last night, someone had told you that the next day you would have a kiss that was even more amazing than the one you shared with Kuroo in the rain, you wouldn’t have believed them.

Now, kissing him in the sun with your arms around his neck and his arms around your waist, you definitely would’ve.

Can I try again

“Do you wanna be my partner?” The bouquet of pink roses in your hand seemed to glow a million times brighter as Kuroo stared at you with that smile on his face — confident, mostly, but with undertones of a sort of innocent shyness.

“Y—You mean to ask me?” You squeaked.

“Obviously. Who else would I ask?” He responded with a light chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re the one who… y’know.”

It all seemed so impossible — how in the world did Tetsurou Kuroo fall for this next-door-neighbor-type person? Yet, you felt like you were glowing pink, pink with adoration and affection and…

“Yeah,” was your final, whispered response. “I’ll be your partner.”

Kuroo smiled even wider, reaching out his arms — but before he could do anything, you went in for the kiss you knew he was planning. He hummed, surprised, which made you pull away momentarily.

“What are you doing?” He said, eyes closed and forehead pressed against yours. His hand was tracing up the back of your neck. “C’mon. Stop being a tease.” And his hand pushed against your neck, and then you were in your favorite place in the world — with your lips pressed to Kuroo’s. The serene hill the two of you had been sitting on, watching the clouds go by, was a lovely backdrop for this romance, this early love that was starting to form between the two of you.

You weren’t just glowing pink — the whole world was.

Try again

Kuroo had his head pressed against the wall when you found him, tears pouring down his cheeks in unrelenting streams. You didn’t know what was wrong, but there was something — Kuroo didn’t just cry like this. He’d never cried. It was such a strange sight to behold, but it wasn’t a bad one.

You sank down on the brick wall beside him, placing your hand on his knee. Through all of the tears, he gave you a side-glare that could’ve been full of a lot of different emotions.

“Hey, Kuroo, it’s okay,” You said, squeezing his knee. “It’s gonna be okay, alright? You’re not alone.”

He spat out something incoherent, his voice sounding nasally and hoarse like he had to force the words off of the tip of his tongue.

Gently, you slipped your hand under his chin and lifted his head slightly to face you. He stared impassively at you, despite the tears still rolling down his cheeks before the tiniest glimmer of a smile appeared on his chapped, broken lips.

Your hand ran through his uncombed hair like clockwork; your other hand fit in the spaces between his fingers perfectly. You kissed him, but this kiss was different than your previous ones. It was gentle, full of affection and attention and warmth and love; that was the strange, fluttering feeling you felt in your chest every time you kissed Kuroo. It was love.

And as you pulled away from each other, you couldn’t help noticing that against this wall was where you had your first kiss.

You figured it was a good enough wall to say something else noteworthy.

“I love you,” You whispered, the three beautiful words rolling off your tongue like marbles from the depths of your heart.

Kuroo was silent, and for a second, you thought you’d messed up. You were assembling an apology in your head before, so quietly you almost missed it, a chuckle.

“I love you, too.”

Try again

“Well, babe, we did it.”

The air had a chill to it, despite the June evening — you nodded, teeth clattering together, and pulled your jacket tighter around you. Kuroo noticed this and turned to you, chuckling. “Are you that cold?” “It’s freezing out here,” You said, nodding frantically. “The memories here are good, but I’m starting to think it wasn’t worth it.”

“Here,” He said, pulling off his jacket and handing it to you. “‘m not cold.”

“Aw, Kuroo, you’re too nice.” “What can I say,” The boy grinned, already looking older despite high school graduation having been only a few hours ago. “Only the best for my babe.” “Maybe we should come up with a better pet name. That’s kind of basic, isn’t it?” He shrugged. “I guess it is. What are your ideas?”

To this, you didn’t have an answer. Kuroo had been calling you Babe for… a while — there wasn’t anything else you wanted to hear from him. Just not Babe.

And before you could convey any of this, Kuroo’s face was only inches away from yours, his hand on the back of your neck. “Maybe if I kiss you,” He suggested with a mischievous smile on his face, “You’ll come up with an idea.” “Bring it on—” Your proposition was interrupted by lips on yours, and for the millionth time, you were in your favorite place in the world. This was the beginning of the rest of your lives, wasn’t it?

And as you kissed Tetsurou Kuroo, you wondered how many more times you would kiss him.

No matter how many times those lips connected, you were confident that you would never, ever get tired of it.

Try again

“Ew! Don’t kiss me!” You laughed, faking more disgust than you held for him. Kuroo sighed dramatically, holding his hand to his head like a Shakespeare character. “What do you mean you don’t want kisses from your boyfriend?” He asked broken-heartedly, shutting his eyes tightly. “How rude, Sugar.”

“It’s because you’re all sweaty and gross,” You said, still laughing and taking a seat against an empty box to drink some water. Moving into your new house had been a task, to say the least, but Kuroo’s presence made it a lot more tolerable. You couldn’t wait to have that comforting presence with you every day in this new beautiful home. “I’ll be happy to kiss you once you take a shower.”

“That’s too long,” Kuroo pouted like a five-year-old, drawing out his vowels and sitting next to you, leaning against the same old cardboard box. “I wanna kiss you now.”

He was too cute when he was all whiny like this — despite the sweat covering every inch of exposed skin on his tall frame, you leaned in and pecked his lips. They were more moisturized than they’d been in high school, you noticed.

“Thank ya’, Sugar,” He said, beaming at you. “Love you.”

“Yeah, I love you too. Now, let’s finish this up so we can go take a shower.”

And again

Kuroo was crying, you were crying — but instead of waves of sadness and grief that you would usually feel in this situation, it was only warmth and happiness and love.

His sliding of the ring onto your left hand was sloppy because he was too excited to look at your face and kiss you. And as you kissed, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer to him, he couldn’t help his face breaking into a smile even though your lips were still firmly connected.

You were his.

He was yours.

And there, holding you in his arms kissing you — his fiance — like there was no tomorrow, he had never been prouder of the fact. You broke away the messy kiss — not because of the kiss itself, but more of the fact your tears had somewhat merged to create a weird flow of engaged couple tears that were now streaming down both of your faces. You looked at Kuroo — your fiance — and beamed.

“Tetsurou, I love you.”

“I love you, too, (Y/N).” Even though you had heard those words a million times, hearing Kuroo say them at that moment was the most beautiful sound ever to grace your ears. You couldn’t wait to have him say it to you a million more times, now that you had an engagement ring around your fingers.

And again

“You may now kiss the—” “C’mere!” Kuroo, the eager boy, was apparently too good to hear the officiant declare you officially his spouse and launched into you in a passionate, loving kiss. You squealed his name a few times, caught off-guard, but that died out into soft hums of satisfaction as you melted into the kiss. Kisses had always been something so unique, so sacred to your relationship — and now you were married. How was one to believe it?

“I love you,” He declared as soon as he pulled away, taking your wrist and holding it up like you were a wrestling champion. And to the whole room, he declared like it was a judge’s ruling, “(Y/N) and I are officially married, and I’m proud to call myself (Y/N)’s husband! I love (Y/N)!” “Tetsurou, you’re embarrassing me,” You laughed, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly. “Oh, grow up,” He rolled his eyes, collecting you into his arms and kissing you again. Then, before you could say anything at all, he took your hand and nearly yanked you down the aisle with him in a sort of dance.

“Tetsurou!” You started to scold, but he cut you off with another kiss on the lips, easily a few seconds.

“Can’t complain if I’m kissing you,” He said with a smirk. “Congratulations on having the best husband in the world.”

“You’re the worst,” You laughed as you caught up with his pace to sprint outside. “I love you!” “Happy wedding day, Sugar!”

And again

“(Y/N),” Kuroo said groggily, tugging on the leg of your sweatpants as you tried to slip out of bed without him noticing. The morning was new, sunlight casting an ethereal glow through the thin curtains of your bedroom you’d shared for years. Today was the fourth week you got to call Kuroo your husband, and you adored every single second of it.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” You said tiredly, rubbing your eyes. “Can you let go of my pants?” “No. Stay a little longer.” “I have to go to work, Tetsurou.”

It was a fact you didn’t like, but a fact that was true nonetheless — work was taking you away from your poor husband. But work was pretty significant, you’d say.

“Please?” Kuroo pleaded, using his puppy dog eyes that he wasn’t that good at, but you always melted for regardless. It was like an A for effort sort of thing. “Just a few more minutes, Sugar.” “Sorry,” You shook your head. “Gotta go to work.”

“Give me a goodbye kiss, then.” With no hesitation, you pinned his arms to the headboard and planted a kiss on his cracked, dry lips.

“Happy?” You asked, already pulling away before his strong arms broke your grip and wrapped around your back, pulling you onto his chest and making you collapse on it.

“Another one,” He demanded in a whisper. Rolling your eyes, you complied. “One more?” He asked. “Just for good measure.” “Tetsurou,” You whined irritably but kissed him again — a long kiss to keep him satisfied. This seemed to satisfy his need, and he leaned back as he watched you leave the room.

About an hour later, you were about to leave the house when you heard his tired voice from your bedroom, “Love you, Sugar. Have a good day at work.”

“Love you too, sweetheart!”

This was an excellent start to your day; you thought as you closed the front door behind you, the cold air embracing the skin that wasn’t covered by your work clothes. A perfect start.

And again

Kuroo was up in front of you like a puppy called to attention as soon as you entered the house, and he was quick to notice the muffle on your mood as you said a tired hello to him and collapsed on the couch, kicking off your work shoes.

“How was your day?” He inquired, sitting next to you and slipping an arm around your shoulders. His hand smelled like disinfectant wipes, you noticed. You sighed, shaking your head slowly. “Long.” “I can tell.” Affectionately, he lifted your arm to slip into your embrace and nuzzled into your shoulder. It had been years since you’d gotten to call Kuroo your husband for the first time, but you had never, ever gotten tired of the little things in your marriage — doting cuddles and tender kisses being high on the list of little things.

You were proud of your marriage and your relationship — not a day was boring with Kuroo, even after the initial stages of newlywed wore off. Every time you looked at his smile, or even just his face that was beginning to differ with age, you were reminded of how much you’d stuck on the line for this man. Honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Sorry you had a rough day, Sugar,” He murmured, planting kisses on your collarbone. “Wanna talk about it?”

“There wasn’t anything in particular. It was just… long, you know?” “Yeah. You’re probably tired, aren’t you?” “Super.” “Well, I made dinner for you,” He smiled. “I got hungry early, but you know I like to eat with you. So, when you want to eat, it’s ready.”

Silently you closed your eyes and thanked whatever deity had blessed you with this angel of a husband, of a person named Tetsurou Kuroo. And while your eyes were closed, he took the opportunity to kiss you.

Kuroo’s kisses tended to be hungry, full of need and want — this one was gentle, giving you the comfort you so desperately wanted. And, as he kissed you, you melted into his embrace.

You loved Tetsurou Kuroo so, so much. And, there, on that couch, you got a feeling that you hadn’t gotten since high school.

The world felt as if it was glowing pink.

And again…

Kuroo was still asleep next to you. As he breathed softly, you took note of his bedhead — all these years of marriage, and you’d never even seen him touch a comb.

You couldn’t fall asleep — insomnia had become a sad commonality for you, and tonight was another one of those sleepless nights. However, you were more than content just to watch your beautiful husband sleep the night away.

He was so perfect, and you loved him so much. You’d always loved him from the second you laid your eyes on him. Even if he hadn’t kissed you that one rainy evening, you’d still love him; even if he hadn’t given you that bouquet of pink roses and asked you to be his partner, you’d still love him; even if he hadn’t let you comfort him that night, you’d still love him; even if you hadn’t graduated high school together, you’d still love him; even if you hadn’t moved in together, you’d still love him; even if he hadn’t proposed to you, you’d still love him; even if he wasn’t as much as a devoted husband as he was, you’d still love him.

You loved Tetsurou Kuroo with your entire heart, and there was nothing in the universe that could change that.

“Tetsurou, I love you,” You whispered, running your hand along the cheek that wasn’t pressed against the pillow. “You’re perfect.”

His aged face twitched a little, which made you smile. And then, whispered, an almost inaudible, “I love you, (Y/N).”

That ever familiar warm glow filled your heart — pink. You were glowing pink; he was glowing pink; the whole world was glowing pink.

Like it was a prayer, you whispered, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over again — you counted in your head. Nine times over.

And there, holding Tetsurou Kuroo, your husband, your soulmate, the love of your life, in your arms — the pink world felt perfect.

#actual writing.💫#tetsurou kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou #tetsurou kuroo #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #kuroo fanfic #pink in the night #fkajsdhsaj this was so fun to write #even though it took me way too long pls

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 9: Intruloceit (Pt 1)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 9: When you write something on your own skin, it appears on your soulmate’s skin as well.

Content warnings: implied abuse (nothing graphic), self deprecation, some internalized homophobia concerning polyamory, angst.

(Happy ending in next part)

Word count: 1.7k

Janus didn’t sleep the night before his eighteenth birthday. Instead, he sat curled up on his bed, wrapped in his blanket, watching the minutes pass in the dim light of his alarm clock. His heart pounded as it drew closer to midnight, feeling like the numbers on the display were a countdown to his death.

He didn’t have friends, and that wasn’t a topic he would ever admit to being sensitive about. Most people would spend the eve of their eighteenth birthday surrounded by their loved ones, count down the seconds until they reached the strike of midnight, and then huddle around the birthday person as they wrote a message to their soulmate for the first time. A little greeting, an introduction, something to begin the process of meeting the love of their life. In a decent amount of cases, probably half, Janus would speculate, they wouldn’t get a response until their soulmate also turned eighteen, but the first note was still a special moment; something to celebrate. He’d never been a popular person though, by any standards. Even back in elementary school, his general dark demeanor and habitual lying kept people away from him. Sure, it would be more fun to play at recess with the other kids instead of laying in the sun and watching the clouds float by, but his defense mechanisms were not something he was going to let go of any time soon.

When his bedside display finally read 12:00, he expected to feel something. A shiver up his spine, a tingling under his skin, anything. But nothing happened, and he couldn’t tell if he was more grateful or upset. He stared down at his skin, pen held in his shaking hands, debating if he should do it. The minutes ticked by, suddenly a lot slower than when he’d been fighting for breath in anticipation and fear, and the pen continued to shake.

Downstairs, the front door slammed shut, causing Janus to flinch so hard the pen clattered to the floor. His dad wasn’t supposed to be home for a couple more days, and he could hear his mom voicing similar confusion as she made her way downstairs to greet him.

“Darrel? Did the trip end early?” He could hear the hesitation and uncertainty in her voice even from behind his closed door. His father had left with the excuse of a work trip. They both knew that wasn’t true, and both had an unspoken agreement to not say a word about it.

“What are you doing awake?” The man’s voice was gruff, sleep starved, annoyed. He clearly hadn’t intended to run into his wife, the soulmate he had stopped loving years ago.

“The headlights shone through the window, they woke me up.”

“Well, go back to bed. I don’t want to be grilled by you right now.”

“Do you want some dinner? I think there’s some leftovers in the fridge-”

“I said, go back to bed!”

“Darrel, please! You’re going to wake Janus!”

Janus shut his eyes and ears as the yelling started, abandoning the pen and what little excitement he’d had previously. Like every night, his sleep was as restless and chaotic as the day time, haunted with flashbacks and nightmares that he had no way to escape. Words hit with as much impact as fists, reminding him of how he was meant to be alone. A soulmate could never love a royal fuck up like him. His dad’s words echoed and distorted as the blows landed, shouts of unlovable and worthless setting in his mind as tombstones. Images of his parent’s failed bond rifled through his mind’s eye at record pace. Whether they were a one in a million flaw or just a cruel reminder that soulmates are never as perfect as displayed, he’d never know. All he knew is that he’d rather be alone for the rest of his life than be submitted to the fate that had befallen them, abuse and hatred but unable to leave, not with the expectations and stereotypes they lived under. ‘Soulmates were perfect, never failing, an unshatterable bond.’ Bullshit. He knew he was also subjecting his soulmate to a life alone, but his fear easily outweighed his desire to be loved, or his sense of compassion.

He woke up the next morning with a new heaviness in his heart, glancing at the time habitually. It was ten minutes before his alarm, but the thought of going back to sleep was too daunting a quest, so he rolled off his bed and padded to the bathroom to get ready for school. It was his senior year, and no matter how much he would rather stay at home and mope in his room, zoning out as he tended to do, he needed his grades to stay decent. It was the only way he was getting out of here. Half asleep, he threw on his yellow comfort hoodie, a stark contrast to his mood. It had been a present from his mom a few years ago, given with the uncomfortable smile between two people who lived together but rarely spoke.

He clambered down the stairs two at a time, freezing on the last step as his eye locked on the person in the kitchen. His mom sat at the table, nursing a cup of coffee silently, barely acknowledging he had entered the room. Without so much as a word, he scooted by her, eyeing the bruise forming on her left cheek and slunk out the door. They didn’t talk much anymore, why would today being his birthday change that?

The day was nothing out of the ordinary, and Janus didn’t know why that made a certain hole open up in his chest. Boring classes followed by lonely breaks, a quiet lunch hour in an abandoned classroom and an uneventful walk to the park after school. He preferred doing his homework anywhere that wasn’t home, especially now that his dad was back in town. He needed to get these done, and who knew what would pull him away from his work there. Besides, the grass was soft and the sun wasn’t too overbearingly hot, and he desperately needed a tan. The darker his skin, the more unnoticeable was the huge birthmark that covered the left side of his face, a little something that just made him that much more avoided by his peers.

His pen had barely scratched the paper when a tickle over his right arm made him gasp, like a feather ghosting over the skin. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was, and after a moment of adrenaline and panic, it occurred to him that no amount of putting it off would prevent the inevitable. He’d have to acknowledge his soulmate’s existence eventually. With a deep breath, he tugged the sleeve of his hoodie up, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

From wrist to elbow on his forearm, a deep blue ink had scribbled down bullet points that he must have not noticed throughout the entire day, since there were too many for them to have happened in the last few minutes. He started at the top, eyes drifting hungrily over the writing until he reached the last note, still being finished.

Chemistry test next Friday, study cephalopods

English paper on William Shakespeare, ask Roman for advice

Talk to Patton about moving movie night to next weekend

What far away is Andromeda from earth?

Fix V’s pin

Yell at V to stop breaking their pins

Get dad to sign detention slip

Extra credit for calculus due tomorrow

Do you want to get coffee?

Janus froze. That last one… what the hell? Sure, his brain was decently sleep deprived, but he was almost certain he hadn’t written to his soulmate last night. Except, damn, that question certainly didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of his notes; it seemed aimed at someone. Nevermind how they knew he was there, knew he had turned eighteen, they were trying to contact him, and that was more important. He picked up his discarded pen off the grass, twirling it in his fingers. What should he say? Should he even say anything? His original plan to ignore his soulmate was suddenly significantly more difficult, now that they were making the first move. They were a real person, not just a stranger, no longer a figment of his imagination twisted into something evil.

But before he could touch the tip to his arm to respond, to maybe introduce himself or ask where they were in the world (why were they offering coffee if they’d never even established where they lived, he wondered distantly), a barrage of green script exploded under his poised pen.

YES PLEASE! I was awake all night. I just saw your notes, you want help with the cephalopods? I can quiz you, I know everything about them. And I guarantee I know just as much about ya boi Billy Shakes as Roman, and I know the FUN stuff too! Not the prissy romancey stuff. Did V tell you their pin broke because they tried to stab me with it and hit my pocket knife? Because they did. What did you get detention for this time?

Even with the small writing, Janus had to rotate his arm to follow the messy scratching as the… new person continued to rant about their day. He sat in shock, not able to process what was happening. This had to be a mistake, right? It was astronomically rare to have more than one soulmate, and there was no way he was one of those people. He had never been special before in his life, in either a good way or a bad, so he in no way was deserving of… this. Maybe this was a mistake after all, just like his parents. Another cosmic fuck up, where he’d have to live out the rest of his life, watching the two people fall more and more in love while he looked on like a creep. Isn’t that what he deserved, though? The two other people obviously knew each other; two soulmates who must have turned eighteen before him and met a while ago, if their casual interaction was anything to go by. And… he couldn’t intrude on that. Even if he did, if he popped up out of nowhere like a bad cold, they wouldn’t want him to join their pre-established relationship already. They probably weren’t even polyamorous, and the whole idea would just make them uncomfortable.

His mind was too far gone for homework. So with a lump in his throat the size of a meteor and tears stinging the corner of his eyes, he capped the pen, rolled down his sleeve resolutely, and packed up his supplies. Anything his dad would do to him would surely hurt less than this.

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #sanders sides #intruloceit #janus sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #ts soulmate au #soulmate september #soulmateseptember

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dreamingoftinystars · 3 years

Text

tag nine people to learn about their interests

thank you for the tag @sinterblackwell <3

MUSIC

1. Favorite genre? Indie pop/folk and musicals

2. Favorite artist? dodie

3. Favorite song? that’s too difficult a question sorry lmao

4. Most listened to song lately? Before the Line by dodie

5. Song currently stuck in your head? Cleopatra by the Lumineers

6. 5 Favorite lyrics?

And I don't deserve you // You deserve the world // Though it feels like we were built // From the same dirt - Your Sister Was Right by Wilbur Soot

But I must admit it, that I would marry you in an instant // Damn your wife, I'd be your mistress just to have you around - Cleopatra by the Lumineers

I know I loved the world, but now it's flat to me // Oh, tell me, did someone snatch the light? // Why doesn't it look right? - Before the Line by dodie

My life has lost all porpoise // I lost my hare // I lost my hair // I lost my tortoise - Your Shell of Grief from Alice By Heart (mock turtles my beloved)

City life, apple pie baked just right // Home is wherever you are tonight - Apple Pie by Lizzy McAlpine

BOOKS

1. Favorite book genre? Classics or Contemporary

2. Favorite Writer? Virginia Woolf, Casey McQuiston, Gabriel García Márquez, Kurt Vonnegut

3. Favorite Book? There are many but Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

4. Favorite Book Series? I don’t really read that many series but I just finished PJO and liked it

5. Comfort Book? Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston and We Are Okay by Nina LaCour and Heartstopper by Alice Oseman

6. Perfect Book to Read on a Rainy Day? We Are Okay by Nina LaCour kind of fits the mood of a rainy day and also like is fairly easy to read structure wise. I also think rainy days are a good time for a good classic piece of literature (like Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf, etc) especially if you have a fire going during that time. A fairly easy classic book in my opinion is The Great Gatsby. If you want to be emotionally wrecked on a rainy day so that your face can match the outdoors, read They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera.

7. Favorite Characters? Everyone from Heartstopper, Nora from Red, White, and Royal Blue, (I don’t really focus on characters while reading lmao)

8. 5 Quotes from Your Favorite Book (these will all be from Red, White and Royal Blue)- also there are all from memory so they might be slightly incorrect:

But the truth is, also, simply this: love is indomitable

On purpose. I love him on purpose.

Exploring your sexuality: Healthy, but does it have to be with the Prince of England?

I loved you. And then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back

Two homes side by side

(the entirety of the turkey scene)

TV AND MOVIES

1. Favorite tv/movie genre? Cartoons, Contemporary, RomComs, or Documentaries

2. Favorite Movie? Rocky Horror Picture Show, Nightmare Before Christmas, Dirty Dancing, The Princess Bride, Frozen, Beetlejuice (there are more but those are off of the top of my head)

3. Comfort Movie? Starstruck (and any of the ones above) and almost any animated Disney/Pixar movie

4. Movie You Watch Every Year? RHPS, Nightmare Before Christmas, Mickey’s Once Upon a Christmas

5. Favorite TV Show? I don’t really have favorite TV shows, I more so have tv shows that I obsessively rewatch which are: One Day at at Time, The Owl House, She-Ra and The Princesses of Power, Julie and The Phantoms, Young Royals, New Girl, Criminal Minds, Legends of Tomorrow, *insert more shows here*

6. Comfort TV Show? One Day at A Time (and any of the others above)

7. Most Rewatched TV Show? Probably JATP, Young Royals, or TOH also ODAAT

8. 5 Favorite Characters? I genuinely don’t really have any off of the top of my head but like Elena from ODAAT is one, Stargirl is one, Entrapta and Perfuma

No Pressure Tagging: @c-nan @spookiest-sapphic @midnight-stereo @fanofthepod @book-and-music-lover @sunsetmolinas and anyone else who would like to

#I genuinely enjoyed this!!! so thanks for tagging me :)#this one is especially no pressure because it’s a long boy

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emptysatellite · 3 years

Text

breaking and entering according to hy + gar-bear

Ao3

one.

“This is a horrible idea.”

“No, it’s genius.”

Hyacinth was skipping ahead in the moonlit field while Gareth just mopped in amazement. It was midnight and they were at the one place they shouldn’t be; Clair House.

They were only there because of that stupid journal Hyacinth was translating. Gareth’s grandmother, Isabella, had written it throughout her entire marriage, when she moved to England with her new husband. The journal was written in Italian, a language Gareth couldn’t understand in the slightest, leaving Hyacinth to translate for him (although, as she made clear, she was not fluent). Most of the entries centered around Isabella’s daily life, but Hyacinth discovered a secret; a little while before her death, Isabella hid diamond jewelry in the house so her money hungry and gambling-obsessed son couldn’t sell them.

Once Hyacinth found this out, she rushed to Gareth’s, demanding they go to his father’s property at once. Lucky for them, Mr. St. Clair was out of town on a hunting trip, leaving the house completely empty.

“Hyacinth,” he attempted to reason with her, “we could get in trouble for this. Like real, legal trouble. Trespassing and breaking and entering are crimes.”

“Good thing my brother’s a lawyer. Anthony would defend us, no questions asked,” she retorted, hiding behind a tree to get a good look at the dark house.

“I think there would be lots of questions asked, Hyacinth. Lots of questions asked,” he leaned against a nearby tree, although completely in sight of any passerbys.

“I don’t think so. I’m Anthony’s favorite sister.”

“I don’t think that matters in the court of law… Aren’t you studying law? Shouldn’t you know this?”

“I’m studying politics and international relations, actually,” she tore herself away from the tree, strolling closer to the house. “Do you have a key to this place?”

“No.”

“What? Why not?” she froze in place.

“I don’t live here, why would I have a key?”

“I don’t know, you used to live here so I just assumed,” Hyacinth whisper-yelled, turning back to him. She gave Gareth a pointed look, “how are we supposed to break in if we don’t have a key?”

“We could break a window like they do in all those karate movies.”

“This isn’t a karate movie, Gareth! Besides, we can’t break a window; the neighbors might hear something and call the cops!”

“Like the neighbors wouldn’t call the police if they saw two suspicious individuals go through the front door when they know my dad lives alone and is out of town.”

Groaning, she said, “well, do you know anyone we could get a key from?”

“My grandmother, maybe?” he suggested, his calm exterior crumbling upon meeting her angry gaze.

“Professor D?” she demanded.

“I’m sure. She has a collection of keys from homes and apartments she doesn’t live in.”

“Perfect,” Hyacinth gave him a wide smile of pearly white teeth. “I’ll call her tomorrow morning and get the keys by lunch so that we can both come back at nightfall.”

“Aren’t we going on a date tomorrow night?” asked Gareth.

“Oh right! Well, we’ll come here after our date, then.”

There was no point arguing; when Hyacinth’s mind was made up there was no use debating it. They’d be back tomorrow, no doubt in Gareth’s mind.

two.

“God, I love your grandmother.”

“More than me, apparently.”

“Oh, knock it off,” Hyacinth gave Gareth a light shove, playing with Professor Danbury’s key to Clair House in her free hand.

“I wore the cologne you like to dinner and you still wanted to come here to find some stupid diamonds instead of back to my apartment,” he replied.

“Okay, well, three things. First, diamonds are not stupid, they’re my best friends. Second, I love the cologne you wore to dinner, it smells so Gar-bear St. Clair. And third, I still want to go back to your apartment, but when we get the diamonds,” she explained, taking a tangle of manila rope out of her bookbag, with a (seemingly) heavy rock tied to an end.

Her whole statement was questionable. Gareth barely knew how to respond. “Gar-bear?” is what he finally managed. “What is that ?”

Hyacinth laughed, covering her mouth with her hand in order not to wake the neighbors. “It’s your nickname,” she said at last. “Isn’t it cute? I think so. I came up with it last night, when I was making this!”

She pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of the pocket of her leather jacket. “Read it and weep,” she thrust it into his hands.

“ Breaking and entering according to Hy and Gar-bear? ” he demanded. “What the fuck , Hyacinth?”

“I’ve done loads of research on breaking into houses. I’m practically an expert,” Hyacinth replied, throwing the rope up onto the balcony with a huff. “I just thought I should add your name too, even though you didn’t contribute because we’re partners. Get it? We’re partners in crime .”

“Har-har,” his response was much more sarcastic than intended, “disrupting the peace is so funny.”

“We’re not disrupting the peace,” Hyacinth rolled her eyes. She added, “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you.”

“For better or worse.”

“Little early to be saying that, don’t you think, Bud?”

“Nope, your face is adorable.”

“Damn, you know flattery gets you everywhere with me.”

“I know.”

“Climb up the rope.”

“Wait, what?” he was shaken out of the blind flirtation. “You want me to climb that?”

“Of course,” said Hyacinth. “That’s why I brought it. I thought you’d be too wuss to scale the building, so I thought the rope might help.”

“Is it even secure?” Gareth asked, glancing upwards, for any sign (or omen) he should not pull himself up the rope because it was a risk to his health. “Like, will that rock support our weight?”

“Yes; I wouldn’t tell you to do something if I didn’t think it was safe. And the rock should support us… I tried like five other rocks before picking this one.”

“You’ve… already tried this?”

“Obviously.”

“How heavy is the rock?”

“Not sure.”

“Why are we climbing up to the balcony, anyway?”

“To go through the balcony door. Duh.”

“Why can’t we just go through the side door. No one would see us.”

“No one would see us go through the balcony door, either.”

“But going through the balcony door seems more complicated.”

“You know, we’re spending all this time arguing when you could just climb the damn rope and we could find the damn diamonds.”

“No.”

“Do you want me to go first?”

“Yes, that would make me feel better.”

Without another word, Hyacinth caught the rope, pulling herself up in a way that vividly reminded Gareth of secondary school physical education class. Still, she made it to the balcony.

“See, it’s totally safe!” she called down. “Now, come on.”

“I don’t know, I’m still nervous, Hy!” he replied.

“I’m holding the rope tight,” promised Hyacinth, “I won’t drop it!”

“If you drop it, we’re breaking up and I’m suing you.”

“Noted. I won’t drop you.”

And she didn’t. Gareth was able to scamper up the rope safely to see Hyacinth’s wide grin at the top.

“I told you that’d you’d be fine,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved a hand dismissively. “You wanna do the honors?”

Hyacinth nodded, taking the key out of her pocket. Carefully, she put it in the deadbolt, twisting it unlocked, then doing the same with the door lever. “Aha!” she exclaimed, opening the windowed door. “It worked!”

three.

“Old Dicky may be an arsehole, but he has good taste in books.”

“Never once in my whole childhood did I ever see Richard in the library.”

“Well, then Grandpa St. Clair had good taste in books.”

“Right-o.”

“Hm,” Hyacinth ran her fingers along the book spines. “So much Shakespeare.”

“God, I hate Shakespeare,” said Gareth, fumbling with his flashlight.

“Literally stop. We’re breaking up. Right now,” she replied, turning her nose up. She sneezed.

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I have dust allergies, just so you know.”

“Good to know.”

“Now, Isabella wrote that the diamonds ―or another set of clues that will lead us to the diamonds―should be in the place where the imagination can run wild,” Hyacinth said, “so I assumed it was the library. What do you think?”

“It could also be the nursery,” suggested Gareth, “because my brother and I would play there all the time; I assume Dick and Uncle Ed would have done the same.”

“That’s true,” she scribbled a note on her arm. “We’ll check the nursery after we finish here.”

“Hyacinth?”

“Yes?”

“It’s going to take us forever to go through here,” Gareth said, spreading his arms for dramatic effect.

Hyacinth seemed to think on this for a brief moment, tapping her marker against her chin. “Hm,” she finally replied, “it won’t take forever if we get started now.”

“Capital plan,” he commented, rolling his eyes.

“I know right,” she retorted. “Besides, even if we tear this room up, we can just leave it; we’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, too?”

“Of course. We’re not resting until we find these damn diamonds.”

“Dick is coming home in less than a week.”

“We’ll just have to be very thorough and efficient then,” she replied. “Now, do we want to start by ripping the books off of their shelves? Or go through all the drawers and cabinets by the desk?”

“I’ll do the desk and you do the shelves.”

“Works with me.”

They went to work, flashlights glowing in the dark library. They didn’t talk, concentration ruling their motions.

“I think I found something!” Hyacinth called, after less than an hour of searching.

“What?” Gareth replied, looking up from the stack of dust-covered papers he was flipping through.

“Hold on, I’m translating,” she paused. She looked up at him, saying, “basically, the hint is that the diamonds are in a washroom.”

“There are five washrooms in this house!” he groaned, collapsing onto the nearest chair.

and four.

“We’re literally going to jail. We’re going to spend the night ―and probably quite a few nights―in jail! ”

“It’s okay, Anthony will defend us in court. Simon will too, I’m sure; I’m his favorite sister-in-law. He got me a miniature pony for my sixteenth birthday, you know.”

“Hyacinth, I’m glad you and Simon and Anthony have good relationships, but we’re still going to jail! ”

“Lower your voice, you’ll upset the cop,” Hyacinth shushed Gareth, placing a finger on his lips.

“I think the cop is already upset,” he replied, grumpily, “because he just arrested us for breaking into my father’s mansion and we didn’t even find the diamonds.”

“Okay, to start, Richard is not your father ―” she started, waving her hand dismissively.

“Believe me, he’s made that clear―” Gareth interrupted.

“But Edward is.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Edward is your dad.”

“Edward? As in my uncle Edward ?” demanded Gareth.

“No, as in your dad Edward,” Hyacinth replied.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am.”

“Uncle Ed was my dad?”

“Yes, didn’t you hear what I said?”

“I did,” he breathed in amazement, “I just―it’s hard to believe.”

“You can come to therapy with me, if you want,” Hyacinth suggested. “I have my weekly sessions on Wednesdays.”

“Honestly, I might have to take you up on that offer…”

“There’s no shame in it. My therapist is the best, I’ve been working with her for years.”

“Nice, nice.”

“Oh! I forgot to add,” she reached into her jacket, pulling a trinket ―no not a trinket, a necklace, bracelet, and set of earrings―out of her pocket, “we did find the diamonds.”

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Gareth.

“Shh, the cop will hear,” she mumbled, untangling the jewelry from one another.

“I just… Hy, you’re amazing!”

“I know,” she flipped her hair with her free hand, “I’m told all the time.”

“Where did you find it?”

“In Clair House. Duh.”

“No, I meant , where in Clair House?”

“Under a floorboard in the nursery washroom. When we split up and you were in the master washroom.”

“We’re here, hooligans,” the policeman peered at the couple through the rearview mirror.

Hyacinth locked eyes with Gareth, slowly putting the diamond jewelry back into her jacket. She smiled at him and he returned a favor.

Still, they spent the night in jail.

#hyacinth bridgerton #gareth st clair #bridgerton #bridgerton fic

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everybodyscupoftea · 3 years

Text

let it snow

college isaac x reader

finals week hell capped off with the first snow of the season

(warnings: mentions of not taking care of yourself during finals - lack of sleep, over-caffeinating, etc; cursing; very little editing)

Finals week fall of your third year was ugly. It was a grueling combination of coffee and protein bars with absolutely no sleep. There was a table you’d managed to claim on the third floor of your campus’s library, and the only time you left was for an ill-advised gym trip to wake yourself up.

Isaac didn’t like the silence of the third floor like you did, so he’d been working with some of the kids in his major. You texted him a few times a day, but for the most part, you’d been reworking every single homework assignment you’d been given all semester.

Mid-way through the week, you made a trip to Taco Bell for actual food that wasn’t toast or a protein bar, much to Isaac’s displeasure. He watched you eating it with a weird look, so you finally asked, “What?”

“How much have you eaten this week?”

“Lots of protein bars and breakfast.”

“And instead of letting me cook something good for you tonight, you got fast food?”

“Yep. Braincells are overworked, so I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Stiles was sitting on the opposite end of the table, working on a research paper for his criminal justice course, and snorted, “Dude, she’d rather Taco Bell than your cooking.”

“That’s not true, I definitely said I forgot.” you muttered, trying to defend him.

He shrugged, “That’s not what I heard.”

Isaac rolled his eyes and shoved Stiles’s shoulder, “Fuck off, dude.”

“Who’s editing your Shakespeare paper? Me. Show some respect.”

“Stiles makes a point,” you responded, taking the last bite of your quesadilla before breaking off into a large yawn.

The furrow between Isaac’s brow was back when he looked at you, and you stood up, rolling your shoulders out, ready to go back to the library to work through another set of structures homework.

“Hey, when’s the last time you slept?” Stiles asked, shutting his computer gently.

“Like,” you paused, trying to think, “last night.”

Immediately, Isaac chipped in, “How long?”

“Three hours?”

“And the night before?” Stiles was walking over to you.

“Oh, no sleep that night. Got sucked into some geotech homework and the next thing I knew it was 6 a.m. So I went to the gym to get some endorphins going, had some breakfast, and got another coffee.”

“You should sleep,” Isaac told you.

“Only two more tests, and then I can rest.”

Stiles sighed, “At least take a shower.”

“Actually, that would be great.”

Isaac nodded, and you could tell he was already trying to figure out the best way to get you to stay the night. You were determined to power through for a bit.

Getting out of the shower, feeling significantly more alive, you put on the clothes Isaac had left for you, and started toweling your hair off. You checked the outside temperature, wincing when you saw how fucking cold it was, and started layering back up.

Isaac was sitting on the couch, scrolling through Netflix, when you walked out. He jumped up, “Where are you going?”

“Library for a few hours and then bed.”

“What time is your first test tomorrow?”

You sighed, trying to think, “Fuck, I need to check. I think 10:30 in the morning.”

“What class?”

With a grimace, you answered, “Structures.”

He looked like he didn’t really want to let you go, but he knew you’d be really upset if he tried to keep you back. Nodding, he smiled softly, “Text me after your test tomorrow.”

“I will.”

Putting a hand on his shoulder for balance, you rose up on your tiptoes to give him a goodbye kiss. When you pulled apart, Isaac reached over and grabbed a beanie from the hook next to the door, gently putting it on your head, tugging it down to cover your ears.

“Don’t want you to get sick,” he flicked your nose.

You clutched your chest dramatically, “My hero.”

He sighed, feigning exasperation, and nudged you out the door, “Go finish the semester.”

Structures and geotech, both on the same day, kicked your ass. After the geotech final at 2:00, you stumbled out of the classroom, eyes practically shutting. You weren’t sure that you could make the drive back to your apartment.

Taking one more sip of coffee to power through, and after a few minutes, pulled out your phone. Isaac’s apartment was fairly close to the civil engineering building, so you decided to call to see if you could crash there.

“Isaac,” you started when he answered.

“Hey, bub.”

“Can I stay at your place?”

“Yeah of course,” you heard ruffling in the background and suddenly his voice got louder, “are you close?”

“Walking that way. I don’t think I should drive back to my apartment.”

“Have you eaten today?”

“Fuck,” you muttered, “I was gonna pick something up on my way home, but I forgot.”

“No worries,” he was quick to reassure, “I have plenty of food here for you.”

“God, you’re the best.”

He stuttered a few times, and you could practically feel his blush through the phone, “Hurry up,” was his weak response, and you laughed, hanging up.

The walk was easier after that, though the sky was grey and the wind was picking up. You frowned, pulling your jacket tighter around you, and Isaac’s hat lower on your head. It took about three seconds for him to answer after you knocked, dressed exactly the same as the day before.

He had a plate ready for you, leftover fried rice and chicken, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Before you could start eating, he asked, “How were your tests?”

“Geotech was easier, but structures melted my brain in the morning, so who actually knows. What about your Shakespeare essay?”

“Stiles read it over for me last night and I submitted it online and dropped it off this morning. Been watching Netflix since then.”

You yawned again, stretching out with the hand not holding your plate, and walked over to the couch to sit down. Isaac sat next to you and hit play on whatever movie he’d been watching. Curling up, you dug in.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. You faintly remembered dozing off during the movie, plate still in your lap, before Isaac woke you up and made you go to bed. He woke you up once more when he climbed in next to you.

The third and final time you woke up, Isaac was gone. It was light outside, grey like snow was coming, and you had no clue what time it was, just that you were hungry again. You heard a burst of loud laughter before someone shushed them, equally loudly.

WIth a laugh, you climbed out of bed, heading to the bathroom connected to his room to brush your teeth and wash your face. Luckily, the clothes you’d left the night before were washed and sitting on his dresser, so you were able to change.

Scott and Stiles were on the couch, playing COD, when you finally walked out. Stiles hit pause and whistled, “Damn, look who managed to resurrect herself.”

“Looks pretty good for a dead bitch,” you joked back.

Isaac was in the kitchen, and you went over to see what he was cooking. He handed you a mug with a smile, “It’s hot chocolate. Figure you’ve had enough caffeine for a whole month this week. There is some coffee in the recipe, I saw it online.”

Taking a sip, you hummed, “This is fantastic.”

He beamed, “I’m glad you like it. I’m making taco soup for tonight, did you want a sandwich?”

“That would be great.”

Hopping up on the counter, you swung your legs back and forth and watched him make you a grilled cheese just the way you like it, tomatoes and everything. Isaac handed it over and ruffled your hair gently, “Eat up.”

“Very nutritious,” you commented before taking a bite.

He laughed, “I’ll make you eat veggies later. I want to go outside first, it snowed.”

“Oh my god, actually?” you gasped.

Leaning against the counter next to you, he nodded, “First of the year.”

“What time is it?” you finally remembered to ask between bites.

“3:00 in the afternoon. I texted your roommate while you were asleep to let her know you were alive.”

“Oh shit, thanks.”

Scott wandered into the kitchen, “So, we going outside soon?”

“We need to get out there before it gets all ugly,” Stiles added from where he was still on the couch.

“Let’s fucking go,” you hopped off the counter, eating your last bite.

The four of you traipsed outside after bundling up. There were a few other people outside walking around, a group of girls taking pictures under a really pretty snow-covered tree, and then your group making noise and kicking at the snow.

“I can’t take you guys anywhere,” you snorted when Stiles slipped and fell on his ass.

“God damn,” he muttered, “that hurt.”

Scott helped him up and immediately shoved a handful of snow down his shirt. Stiles squealed, twisting away from him, cursing loudly. You and Isaac laughed, his arm draped over your shoulder, until Scott turned your way with two more handfuls.

“If you put that down my shirt,” you warned, “I’m calling your mom.”

“You won’t.”

“Fuckin bet, bud.”

He dropped one hand slowly and turned to Isaac, “You’re on your own.”

While Scott chased Isaac across the parking lot, Stiles walked over toward the edge of the sidewalk, you following closely behind, interested to see what he was going to do with the mischievous look on his face.

With his foot, Stiles spelled out penis in the snow.

“Oh that’s mature.”

He glared at you, “Do better, I dare you.”

After a few seconds of thought, you spelled out send nudes and he had to concede defeat. Isaac came back a few seconds later, panting, cheeks red, and looked down, “Cute.”

“Thanks. Should I leave my Snap too?”

He rolled his eyes, “No.”

“You’re probably right. I have no interest in seeing an unsolicited dick pic this close to Christmas.”

“Just this close to Christmas?” Scott asked, “You’re okay with it the rest of the year?”

You paused, “Well no. Don’t make fun of me, my single braincell is still recovering.”

Stiles snorted, “Head empty snow day.”

“My mom will want a picture,” you told them, “set up the timer.”

It took five attempts, but you finally got one you were happy with. Isaac leaned over your shoulder, “Tell your mom I said hey.”

“Will do,” you muttered, looking at it again.

Scott stood on the right, eyes squinted with a wide smile, Isaac a bit behind him, one arm over Scott’s shoulder, one around you. Isaac’s smile was soft, looking straight at you. Stiles stood on your left, your arm wrapped around his shoulder, his hand reaching for yours, cheeky grin on his face while you glared playfully at him.

“Come on,” Stiles yelled, halfway up the stairs back to their apartment, “hot chocolate awaits!”

You hit send and followed after them, ready for another mug.

day eleven of @obxmermaid‘s holiday challenge: playing in the snow

#college isaac #isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey fic #obxmermaidholiday

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fictionalcharactersrbetter · 2 years

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Marmoris

Orm/OFC fanfiction (Also posted on AO3)

Hi! This is an Aquaman (DCEU) fanfiction that I've been working on for a while, but I finally managed to put it into actual words lol. I have some awesome plans for the story, and I'm so excited to share them with you. I do have to warn you that in this story there is graphic violence and alcohol usage in some scenes as well as discussions and scenes of PTSD, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, and depression, so if those scenes trigger you in any way or you are uncomfortable reading them, I strongly suggest you do not read this. I will put warnings before each chapter starts as to what is being discussed/shown, so if you want to skip those chapters feel free to do so. This story is not all angst though and there will be many happy moments so hopefully, it won't make you sad all the time. If you have any questions or just want to talk, feel free to DM me! Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year!

Summary:

All I asked for was a quiet morning with some coffee on the beach. I didn't ask to spend Christmas running for my life from a hoard of angry sea monsters who want to kill me. But here I was, trying to breathe while trying not to plummet to my death. Why do bad things always happen to me? ............................................................................... Elena thought her life was normal, until the morning when she found a man washed up on the beach who says he's her brother, the prince of an ancient ocean kingdom. Things only get worse when he tells her that she has to claim her birthright to the throne and unite her people before New Year's eve, or the world will face the wrath of an ancient undersea power that has been asleep for thousands of years. Faced with an age-old prophecy that makes no sense, Elena teams up with her best friend's brother to uncover the secrets of her kingdom before time runs out, all while a festering power awakens within her.

Chapter 1

The pen in my hand clicked and unclicked as I tapped it repeatedly against the blank sheet of notebook paper in my lap.

"The ocean waves shimmer in the moon's dying light as the....no, that's not it. It has to be more...philosophical somehow," I mumbled as I crossed out the beginnings of a poem, shaking my head. All morning I had tried to finish a poetry piece that was due by tomorrow morning, and my professor was expecting only the best from us. It was only a level 100 literature class, yet he graded us like we were all Shakespeare reincarnated.

"I expect only perfection from this class. I did not obtain a PhD in literature from Cambridge to teach a class of brainless college students how to write. At the end of the semester, you should be fashioning the world's next historical works like Plato and Machiavelli. I expect nothing less than absolute perfection," his speech from last week still rang incessantly in my mind as I sighed, laying back on the sand as the sea breeze ruffled my hair where it had fallen loose from the braid I had spent an hour trying to do in the mirror earlier today.

"Arthur should be getting back by now," I said under my breath as I stared up at the cloudy sky, the waves lapping gently at my bare feet as I closed my eyes. Ever since childhood I had spent my days with Arthur Curry, a local lighthouse keeper's son. My parents were always working, so Arthur and his father Tom were my only family. We met when we were in kindergarten, during a field trip to the aquarium. I had wandered off from my class to look at the sharks and found him talking with the fish. I remember thinking that that was kind of weird at first, but when I started hearing the sharks talk to me, I dismissed the thought. We had looked at each other with a mutual understanding then, and ever since we had been inseparable. Besides, who wanted to be friends with the only two kids in town who could talk to fish? On the days when I would be home alone with the nanny, I would sneak out my bedroom window to go play in the tidepools with Arthur, finding small crabs and fish to bring back home with me in the kitchen bowls that I filled with seawater. The nanny, a 50 something-year-old woman who always slept and watched reruns of Jeopardy was always asleep in her chair when we came home, so Arthur and I would grab junk food from the fridge and sit on my bedroom floor talking and watching old movies until the sun rose the next day. He and grew up like siblings, and by now we had spent so much time together that the locals thought we were. Around our 14th birthday, he had disappeared for hours at a time, walking back to our spot on the each with a battered body and tired eyes. When I had asked him once what was going on, he had told me, "ahh, it's nothing. Dad's just teaching me how to sail, and it's a lot harder than I thought it would be."

It was only a few weeks later that I figured out he was lying.

When he once again left me to "go sailing," I had gone to his house to see where he was and had seen Tom sitting on the front porch drinking a beer and reading a book on sea monsters. When he saw me staring at him he stood up quickly, calling my name, but I ran back the way I had come, tears filling my eyes.

Why would he ever lie to me like that?

Very quickly I found out why, just as I was about to go home.

I took the back way, which I never did because it took about two hours longer just to go around the beach to my house, but I figured I would need time to think. As I stumbled out of the treeline I saw Arthur fighting a guy in a strange wetsuit holding what looked remarkably like a trident, and I had just stood there and watched, not believing what I was seeing. When the strange man looked over at me a few seconds later, I saw him stop and say something to Arthur, whose face had blanched when he saw me.

"Elena, I-" he started to say, but I stopped him, shaking my head.

"So this is why you've been lying to me. You've been here all this time, fighting with some random dude with tridents like you're Poseidon or something. I guess this means more to you than our friendship," I hissed, and a guilt lool passed over Arthur's face.

"First of all, his name is Vulko. And no, I-It's hard to explain. You wouldn't understand,” he said, but I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes.

"Try me."

When Vulko nodded at him after a few seconds, Arthur hesitated before speaking.

"My mother was the Queen of Atlantis. She died because she had me, and I need to train to become the future king. If I don't, then bad things will happen, okay? I don't like this any more than you do, but it has to happen. I'm sorry. As I said, it's difficult to explain."

My eyes widened a fraction before I burst out laughing.

'Wait. Do you mean to tell me that Atlantis is real? Like, the underwater city that you and I made up stories about when we were little? You've gotta be joking," I said, and Arthur and Vulko looked at me seriously.

"Atlantis is as real as both of you are. Its king is nothing short of a madman, and if Arthur does not claim his birthright by wielding Atlan's trident, then Atlantis will fall," Vulko said, casting a glare at me, and I gulped, knowing that he was telling the truth.

"Okay...well, next time, could you tell me when you're gonna be doing this, because I don't want to be stuck by myself all evening," I told Arthur, and he chuckled, nodding. Just as I was about to turn around, I remember sensing something out of the ordinary, and as I locked eyes with Vulko, I saw something akin to surprise spark in his gaze. I had looked out at the sea then, feeling something swirling in my fingers as my heart started to pound, and I could have sworn I saw Arthur and Vulko share a quick, knowing glance before it disappeared. On the walk back home I tried sorting out the moment, but the feeling in my hands had gone as quickly as it had come. Ever since, I had gone down to that spot on the each, again and again, trying to see if what had happened was just my imagination, and when every time had ended in disappointment, I had concluded that it was just my mind playing tricks on me.

"Whatcha doin'?"

Arthur's question startled me out of my thoughts as I turned my head to glare up at him from where he stood staring down at me.

"Just thinking," I said, closing my eyes again to try and get some peace and quiet, but he had other plans.

"Whatcha thinking about?' he asked, sitting down next to me, and I groaned.

"How I'm gonna write a museum-worthy poem by tomorrow morning," I grumbled, pushing my thoughts away, and Arthur stared at me for a second before staring out at the sea.

"You know, you could always take up my offer to ditch class and come with me to Atlantis," he said, and I shook my head.

"You know my answer to that, Arthur. How would it feel to watch your best friend having a panic attack every two seconds?" I said, and he laughed, shaking his head. I had always been afraid of the ocean, even though I had lived next to it my whole life. Tidepools and swimming pools I was fine with because you could see what was beneath you.

The ocean was a different story.

I felt safe where I could touch the ground and know for sure what I was walking on, but when I swam in the sea for the first time years ago, I was terrified. The water underneath me was dark. bottomless, and murky, and I ended up surrounded by jellyfish. I stopped breathing, and it took Arthur coming in after me and dragging me back to the beach when I finally managed to feel alive again.

"You know, eventually you'll have to get in the ocean. It’s not that bad," Arthur said, but I ignored him.

"I'll take my chances on land, thanks," I replied, looking out to the seemingly endless sea and feeling a tug in my chest. A few moments of tense silence passed before Arthur spoke again.

"Looks like there's gonna be a storm tonight."

I glanced over at him curiously, and he shrugged.

"The clouds are gathering. Plus, the sea is nervous, for some reason. It's not usually like this when a storm hits," He said, scrunching his eyebrows in worry. I stared at the clouds, noticing that they were indeed moving towards a spot farther out in the ocean. Thunder sounded distantly, and Arthur stood up, rolling his shoulders.

"Well, that'll be my cue. You sure you don’t wanna come? We're making some pretty good stuff down there. Plus I want you to meet someone. I think you'll like him," he told me as he started moving towards the water, but I shook my head.

"Nah, I'm good. I'll stay here where I know a shark won't come and eat me while I'm sleeping," I joked, and Arthur laughed before jumping into the sea and disappearing under the waves.

Even though I missed him from time to time, I knew he was happy where he was now. Ever since the battle on the sea last year with the previous king of Atlantis, Arthur and his fiancee Mera had grown Atlantis from a surface-hating kingdom to a place where Atlanteans regularly visited the surface and intermingled with people. There were still older Atlanteans who were set in their ways, and Arthur’s mom Atlanna was still trying to set up meetings with them to try and change their minds to no avail. Many times Arthur would sit on the beach with me and just talk and complain for hours about the new laws he had to make and new people he had to meet, and I honestly dreamed that I could be there with him, not worried about college and life here on the surface. I didn’t feel like I belonged here, alone and constantly trying to fit in. It’s not like I didn’t try to make friends, it’s just that I didn’t feel a connection to anyone for very long. All the girls here were snotty and only concerned about makeup and boys and dresses and getting married, while I was trying to constantly force myself to act normal. It was kind of difficult to do that though when you can understand every word your friend’s dog says and you spend your evenings conversing with fish and dolphins on the docks. Everyone thought I was some sort of weird humanoid mermaid, and honestly, I was starting to think they were right. I didn't look like my parents at all, and I hardly ever saw them anymore save for the times they would facetime me from their business meetings overseas. They said I was adopted, but I’d checked every single database in America and none of them had any record of me being dropped off. A few years ago I had finally confronted my parents about it and they reluctantly told me that they had found me on their doorstep when I was a newborn, a small golden basket and a note written in an undecipherable language the only things with me. I hadn't trusted anything they said to me ever since then, and their presence in my life was more or less reduced to a Christmas and birthday card every year with a postcard of wherever they were. I envied the life Arthur had with Tom and Atlanna because he had his parents to go home to, while I had virtually no one except for my dog Chester and the random pet fish I kept in small tanks around the house.

A loud clap of thunder jolted me back to the present, and I stood up quickly, turning on my heel to leave when I spotted something laying on the rocks near the tidepools.

"What the-" I said as I ran over, the hulking shape now recognizable as a man dressed in a black wetsuit with strange markings groaned and tried to sit up, flopping back onto the rocks. As I knelt beside him, I saw that his right leg had a festering wound, a chunk of metal stuck in the bone. A pool of dark red blood poured out of the injury, and the guy wasn't making it any better with his moaning and shaking. From what I could see, he had short, finely trimmed dark brown hair, a chiseled jawline, and soft facial features that made him look more like a Disney prince than an actual human. His body was lean and muscled, and he radiated soldier vibes. He opened his eyes blearily to look up at me, and I gasped when I saw that his eyes matched mine. He had the same swirling colors of green, gold, and blue in their depths, and as he continued to stare I saw a spark of recognition in his gaze.

"Hey, hey, buddy. I need you to stop that. You're gonna make the wound worse by moving around," I told him, and he stopped, watching silently as I tore off a strip of my shirt to bind his leg.

"Gods that hurts," he hissed, trying to pull his leg back, but I pressed a firm hand to his calf to keep him from moving. His voice was accented, almost Greek sounding but sharper, and I wondered just where this guy was from.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. But I have to keep you from bleeding anymore, okay? I don’t want you to die," I said, looking up at the storm as it rolled closer.

"Is it okay if I carry you back to my house? It’s warm inside, and I have a first aid kit and some other supplies that might help you," I asked, not knowing why I was so comfortable being around this strange man, and he nodded, grunting as I put my arms under his shoulders to carry him.

"Okay. You're strong and I'm not, so could you do me a huge favor and try to walk on your good leg? I can’t carry you by myself," I said with a forced smile, and the man nodded tiredly, groaning at the effort of moving. Slowly but surely we made it across the beach and back inside, and just as I locked the front door the rain started. Moving him to the couch in the living room, I lied him down while I rushed to the kitchen to put hot water in a bowl and get some washcloths. Grabbing the first aid and suture kits I scooted a chair to the side of the couch before quickly unwrapping the bloody makeshift shirt tourniquet on the guy's leg.

"Okay, this'll sting a bit. Sorry in advance," I apologized as I poured antiseptic onto the wound, and the guy cursed loudly, screwing his eyes shut.

"Hey, language sir," I said sternly, cocking an eyebrow, and the man laughed.

"You're just like mother," he whispered, and I stopped, my eyes widening.

"...excuse me?" I questioned, and the man quickly looked away.

"Nothing. Continue with your ministrations," he replied, and I smirked at his strange use of words.

"What are you, 200 years old?" I joked, and he shrugged.

"Give or take. What century is this?"

I stared at him.

"It’s 2021."

"Oh. Then I am 268,' he said seriously, and I continued to stare.

"What?"

"You heard me, Elena. Gods, how incoherent have you become since mother and father left you here?"

My mind shut down as he spoke, and I looked at him sharply.

"...how do you know my name?"

The man's eyes widened as he realized what he said, and sat up, staring back at me.

"I...oh no. You don't know, do you? I specifically instructed Arthur to tell you! I should have come with him," he rambled to himself, and I glared at him darkly.

"You better fess up now, whoever you are, or I'm gonna leave you here to bleed to death," I said dangerously, and the man swallowed nervously.

"I am Prince Nikolaos of Marmoris, and you, Elena, are my sister, who has been in hiding for 24 years. You are the sole heir to the throne, and I have come to take you to Atlantis where you will be safe. I was waylaid by our uncle’s soldiers on the way here which is why I currently have half a piece of a trident in my calf, but I assure you it will be healed by morning. Now, we must leave, before the soldiers come," he said, and I blinked.

"Um...what?"

That poem would have to wait.

#aquaman #arthur curry #orm marius #original female character #fanfiction #dceu fandom #oc

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taeyongdoyoung · 3 years

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summary: the forest is your only escape from the everyday troubles with your family until you find danger lurking behind the trees. or rather, danger finds you. your fateful encounter with the vampire ravn leaves you wishing for a different life. you strike an unexpected deal with the stranger that will soon turn into something more…

pairing: vampire! human ravn x reader

side characters: seoho, xion, non-binary oc named robin inspired by the wonderful @byccn 💜

genre: vampire!au, romance, humour, FLUFF

warnings: i don’t think there are any?? just sweet tooth-rotting fluff, some biting, a few shakespeare references, some swear words and a lot of cheesy lines, i mean, they’re eating pizza in italy and it’s valentine’s day soo...

word count: 2.3k

author’s note: the final chapter of twilight has arrived, i just want to thank you all so much for embarking on this journey with me, for reading it and for leaving your comments, it truly feels like the end of an era but i hope everyone enjoyed reading my story as much as i enjoyed writing it, i don’t know what else to say other than “parting is such sweet sorrow” 🥺🥺💞💞

part one 🌙 part two 🌙 part three 🌙 part four 🌙 part five 🌙 part six 🌙 part seven 🌙 part eight 🌙 part nine 🌙 part ten🌙 part eleven 🌙part twelve

You felt like you were dreaming but no matter how many times you pinched yourself, you didn’t wake up, because this was reality. Ravn was safe and sleeping soundly, his arms wrapped around you. And he was so warm you’d have a difficult time getting used to it. But it didn’t matter, because you loved him for him and that was all that mattered. You ran a gentle hand through his dark hair. He was still so beautiful, still so soft, still your Ravn. And despite the fact that he, too, was mortal now, you had the strange feeling you had all the time in the world. And in a way, it was true. You were so far away from any dangers that this newfound sense of freedom seemed eternal.

“Are you watching me sleep?” Ravn murmured curiously.

You attempted to withdraw your hand, but his reflexes were still fast enough to catch you.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he opened his eyes and smiled at you fondly.

“I just can’t believe this. You’re alive,” you pointed out.

Ravn chuckled.

“Me neither. I’ve wished for this for so long that now when it actually happened it seems unreal.”

“Well, no use questioning it, let’s just enjoy ourselves,” you quickly kissed his lips and intended to get out of bed to brush your teeth, but Ravn stopped you by holding onto your hand and pulling you close.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He kissed you once more, this time more deeply and not willing to let go.

“Mmm, Ravn, darling…” you tried to argue.

“Stay a bit longer,” he pleaded sweetly.

“You’re impossible to resist,” you laughed and started kissing his neck, occasionally biting him gently, which amused him immensely.

“Oh, no, I’ve corrupted you entirely,” Ravn wailed.

You rolled your eyes and pressed your hands against his cheeks.

“I love you,” you said seriously.

“I would not wish any companion in the world but you,” Ravn replied and your eyes filled with happy tears.

“My favourite Shakespeare nerd,” you stroked his chin.

“Am I not the only Shakespeare nerd you know?” he challenged.

“Well, he will never admit it, but Seoho is secretly as much of a Shakespeare enthusiast as we are,” you joked.

“But you like me more, right?” he had to make sure.

“Of course, silly, is this even a question?”

“Let’s get up and annoy him about it, then!” Ravn suggested excitedly.

“Unbelievable,” you giggled and sneaked out of his arms. “Bathroom’s mine first!”

Ravn hurriedly chased you but to your complete amazement, you beat him to it. Now that he was human, too, it was all fair and square.

“Come on, sweetheart, let me in!” Ravn complained, knocking on the door.

You smirked triumphantly as you were putting toothpaste on your new brush.

“What will I get out of this?” you bargained, suddenly remembering one of your initial encounters. It felt like a century ago.

“More kisses? My undying affection? Anything you wish, I just really need to…”

You quickly opened the door upon hearing the desperation in his voice. He was only human, after all, the thought making you laugh.

“Thank you!” Ravn rushed inside. He was obviously on a mission.

A couple of minutes later, you were both out of the bathroom and dressing up for the day.

“Being a human is so hard,” he complained. “So many needs.”

“Come on, you’ve been human before,” you reminded him.

“How do you deal with all this?” Ravn asked, overwhelmed by everything new.

“It’s just life, I guess,” you shrugged. “Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough. And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“Unless when you lock me out of the bathroom,” he teased you.

“A mistake I won’t repeat again,” you chuckled. “We’ll have to share.”

“I can live with that,” he winked. “For the rest of my life.”

These were words you’d never expected to hear and yet, they’d somehow turned into the much needed reality.

🌙🌙🌙

“Now that Ravn’s human, you won’t say stuff like ‘all humans are trash’, will you, Seoho?” you joked over breakfast as you were spreading jam over a slice of bread.

“Unfortunately, I’ve been forced to change my mindset,” Seoho groaned and added under his breath. “Ugh, humans.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Ravn scolded him.

“I thought your super hearing was gone?” Seoho asked awkwardly.

“It is, but I can still hear shit,” he punched his friend playfully.

“Fine, fine, I’ll try not to be a dick.”

“Thank you very much,” you said. “I’m thinking of checking out the local bookshops today. Ravn, do you want to come with?”

“You know it,” he gave you a high five.

“Seoho, do you want to join us?” you offered politely, because after all, if it hadn’t been for Seoho’s magical abilities, you probably wouldn’t be here, in Verona, alive.

“So I can watch you lick each other’s faces between the bookshelves? I’ll pass,” Seoho scoffed.

“Hey, if it makes you uncomfortable, we’ll stop doing it in front of you,” you promised.

“Nah, it’s fine. I have other plans, anyways.”

“You do?” Ravn eyed him suspiciously.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Seoho finished his juice, got up from the table and grabbed his jacket. “Have fun, nerds!”

Before you could register where he was going, Seoho had teleported himself out of the room.

“Okay, that was weird,” you pointed out.

“Definitely. We’ll grill him for more information when he comes back,” Ravn vowed. “But for now, let’s finish our human breakfast and explore the town.”

“It would be my honour,” you smiled.

🌙🌙🌙

Seoho’s POV

Was I being too obvious? I knew that sooner or later I’d have to inform Ravn and Y/N what this was about, but I didn’t want to jinx it. After all, there wasn’t much to tell. Not yet, at least. The truth was that yesterday when I’d gone to buy pizza and pancakes for my friends, I’d seen someone that grabbed my attention rightaway. They had beautiful short hair, a vibrant smile and they were selling ice-cream. At the time, I couldn’t muster up the courage to talk to them, even though I was usually confident and carefree. There was something special about this person. And despite my previous distrust of humans, I realized I could no longer be so prejudiced about them. My best friend was now human and his girlfriend had proved me wrong countless times. Maybe it was because I was in a new town, where no one knew me. Maybe it was because after almost losing Ravn, I had realized that life was too short and precious and I had to make each day count. I don’t know what exactly came over me but when I lied to my friends about having plans, I decided I want to see the person selling ice-cream again. And this time, I would talk to them.

Luckily, I was good at finding my way around. I quickly remembered where the pizza place was and that the ice-cream stand was right around the corner. I felt a bit nervous, but I knew that I had nothing to lose, so I approached it. They were there. The minute I saw their smile I forgot everything that I had planned I would say. How I wanted to play it cool and tell them I really like their style and their hair and…Before I could open my mouth, they’d spotted me and spoke first.

“Hi, would you like to order some ice-cream?” were the cheerful first words they said to me.

“Um, hi, yeah, what would you recommend?” I asked.

“My personal favourite is chocolate,” they replied.

“Alright, then, I’ll have that.”

“Sure thing,” they smiled and started scooping up a ball of chocolate ice-cream as I placed the money on the table. Now was my chance to say something dumb or remain silent and regret it forever. Or I could just come back again tomorrow. I wouldn’t do that, right?

🌙🌙🌙

I was a fool. I did come back again the following day. And the day after. I came back to that ice-cream place every day for two whole weeks, without succeeding to say much to the person I was obviously crushing on, other than the usual small talk surrounding the process of buying ice-cream. I tried all the different flavours until one day the unimaginable happened.

“I’ll see you again tomorrow,” I murmured instead of goodbye.

“Actually, I won’t be here tomorrow,” they responded sadly. “You see, this was just a summer job for me and I’m going back to college so I won’t have time to work.”

“Oh, I see,” I replied dumbly. “Well, in that case…”

“Can I get your number?” they beat me to it. “Or at least your name?”

Internally, I was screaming with joy. Externally, I attempted to maintain a perfectly composed expression.

“Seoho,” I said, already writing down my phone number on a napkin. “And yours?”

“Robin,” they chuckled. “Wow, you’re so old-fashioned, you could have just typed it in.”

I shrugged and handed them the silly napkin.

“Better not lose it,” I warned them.

“No worries, I’ll treasure it forever.”

“Well, technically, the ink will probably wear off with time…”

“Wow, way to kill the mood,” Robin laughed and I could swear, I would never get tired of that beautiful sound.

“Sorry,” I looked down apologetically.

“I can’t help but wonder what took you so long?” they further amazed me with such a straightforward question.

“Um, I’m shy?”

“Me too, but it had to be done,” Robin winked.

In that moment, I had already made up my mind. Maybe humans weren’t so bad after all…

🌙🌙🌙

One year later

You were sitting next to your fiancé, holding hands under the table at a pizza restaurant because you didn’t want your engagement rings to show. You intended to surprise your friends Seoho and Robin and had kept it a secret for a while. A week had passed since Ravn proposed to you. He had booked plane tickets to Paris for a weekend getaway and what you thought was simply a short vacation turned into the best moment of your life. Forever the romantic, Ravn had completely amazed you with the unexpected question. An evening walk alongside the Seine River and under the city lights, French music playing all around…You had been so overwhelmed by positive emotions that you burst into tears before managing to respond. Ravn had gotten worried that he’d upset you and you’d somehow succeeded in letting him know you were happy crying and that of course you’d marry him. It felt like a dream come true.

As you were waiting for your friends to arrive, you and Ravn exchanged a knowing look.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Born ready,” you replied, completely certain of your feelings for him.

He squeezed your hand in support and soon after, your friends showed up.

“Hi, darling,” you hugged Robin tightly. “Seoho.”

“We have news,” Ravn announced directly.

“Can it wait?” Seoho inquired. “We kinda have a surprise that’s waiting outside.”

“Oh? You got us a puppy?” you asked, guessing wrongly.

“Nah, it’s not a puppy,” Seoho chuckled. “Much better, actually.”

“Come on, tell us already!” Ravn insisted.

“Okay, stay here, I’ll get the surprise rightaway. Robin, keep them occupied.”

Robin rolled their eyes.

“So bossy,” they complained affectionately after Seoho was out of earshot. “Anyways, how have you two been?”

“Splendid,” you squealed. “We can’t wait to tell you the big news, but apparently Seoho’s going to steal our thunder.”

“Yeah, so rude of him,” Ravn joked.

“Oh, trust me, it’ll be worth it,” Robin promised, already aware of who was standing outside.

“It better be,” you laughed.

As soon as you’d said that, Seoho returned, holding a young-looking guy you’d never seen before under his arm. The first thing you noticed was his pale skin that looked so out of place next to Seoho’s flushed cheeks. And your limited experience led you to the conclusion that this was probably a vampire.

“X-xion,” Ravn stammered in shock and quickly rushed to get up and hug his friend he hadn’t seen in way too long, completely forgetting about the secret you were supposed to hide under the table.

“It’s been a while,” Xion replied. “Sorry for showing up unannounced…but I wanted to see you.”

“Of course, it’s not a problem,” Ravn reassured him. “This is Y/N, my…fiancée,” he introduced you, dropping the other big surprise for the evening.

“HOLY SHIT,” Robin exclaimed, finally noticing the rings. “Congratulations!”

Seoho didn’t seem shocked at all, the magical bastard had probably read your thoughts a long time ago.

“T-thanks,” you murmured nervously. “And it’s really nice to meet you, Xion. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He shook your hand awkwardly and smiled.

“So, what brings you here?” Ravn asked his friend.

“Well, Seoho mentioned about…you know…how Y/N and you…and how you’re no longer…you know.”

“It’s okay, Xion,” Robin chuckled. “Seoho told me everything about the supernatural world, you don’t need to speak in riddles.”

The vampire scratched the back of his head bashfully.

“And like, I was wondering if it was possible for this miracle to happen to me, too. So I came to ask for advice.”

“You want to be human, too?” Ravn inquired. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

You gave your fiancé and Xion an encouraging smile.

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” he confessed openly.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, it’s not like I was planning for this to happen.”

“Anything can be helpful,” Xion pleaded. “Just tell me the whole story. How you met Y/N. How you fell in love. Don’t leave anything out.”

“It’s gonna be a long night,” you teased.

“Well, it all started at twilight…”

The end

#oneus #ravn #ravn x reader #ravn moodboard #twilight #oneus fanfic #kim youngjo #seoho #xion #ravn fluff #romance #vampire au #vampires #writing

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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do i even know you?

title: do i even know you? pairing: im changkyun/reader genre: aspiring actors!au/scriptwriter!au/best friends!au/forbidden love!au summary: The idea comes to them after one of their classes, making them widen their eyes as they scurry to start the first draft of the movie of their dreams. Changkyun promises to her that if this movie ever airs for the world to see, they are going to take part on it and how ironic it is that he does get a role in it once the script is accepted, but she is suddenly erased from his life. Will Changkyun pick fame or friendship? type: angst/fluff/humor/romance word count: 22,689 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

The most beautiful stories never happen.

As a recent graduate, she holds onto the words she heard at two in the afternoon once, cold coffee on one hand, a pencil on the other and when the professor said such words to a group of sophomores willing to give their lives out for the art of scriptwriting, she had to jot it down. Most people believe that, in some way or another, they have to pour their souls out into their writing—as if words are only meaningful when felt, but she wonders if when there is too much sentimentalism in a piece, it loses meaning.

The notebook that she used for that class now rests on top of her kitchen counter. Next to it, a recipe of lemon meringue pie reminds her that time has passed by, for she doesn’t even remember watching said recipe on YouTube. Whenever she has an idea, she likes to grasp that same old notebook and jot something down, in scribbled notes that will definitely be read in the future in complete confusion. She has never understood her handwriting when she’s rushing, and her mind just never connects with the feeling that once existed. Maybe, that’s what the professor was trying to say—that the best writers are the ones that can convey feelings that they haven’t gone through, while those who need to sense in order to inspire an idea will live with the doom of being detached from it with the passage of time.

Instead of trying to remember the good old times of being more youthful than today, she should really wake her friend up with a cup of coffee to continue the script that has been the cause of their issues for the past seven months. Or a year, because Changkyun was the one to speak the plot while in a drunken night, and she had been the sober one to make it into something bigger while he slept.

Changkyun is that one stain in her life, exact like the one on the counter, beside the notebook that she has now closed. He has always been there, sometimes faintly, sometimes strongly. In the bubblegum that once caressed her hair when she was thirteen thanks to a devilish smile from him, and the bob cut that followed soon after. In the days of high school in which they would write the worst of stories and make their theater club friends play them out for groups of people, nothing ever to big. In her university days, most of the time spent dating around, once even dating each other for the sake of not being alone, only to break up a week later. And now, in her room, limbs interlocked with her blanket as if hugging someone’s body, cheek squished to the plaid material and the curtains of his black hair make his closed eyes disappear from her eyesight.

Though, she could recognize Changkyun’s face anywhere, for the simplistic existence of him is just second nature to her. Even in the times in which he could have left, he stayed—and vice versa. A pull that brought the two of them together, like gravity, so strong that her mind liked to imagine that it could never be broken.

If she knows the kind of coffee he likes in the morning—more milk than coffee, mind him—, then she really has to have a grasp into the kind of person he is.

One smack of her hand against his thigh is enough to have him open one eye, only to stretch his legs, joints and bones cracking alike, before his feline-like eyes are closed again. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t move, and after an all-nighter of re-writing the last scene of their final draft for their script, she is not surprised that tiredness seems to cling to him in his comfortable clothing. Around midnight, something of the like of the number two, asleep had ridden her to forget about the existence of their beloved work, the one that they had put their entire hopes into. Changkyun, however, must have fallen asleep later.

Resting the coffee on the bedside table, her weight fell on top of his, horizontal when reaching for the curtains next to her bed. Pulling them open coats her with the image of a city that holds her dreams, and yet seems too small for them. After all, making it as a scriptwriter is already difficult, but paying the bills is even more so. The tall buildings seem too tiny for her daydreaming, but the groan under her is loud enough to ground her and tell her that she is still, very much, tied by the wrist to the one man that has been almost crucial to her life…and that, clearly, none of them have made it.

“What do you think you are doing?” He asks, voice empty and with no feelings behind them. The light of that professor’s eyes, Changkyun used to be. He feels, of course he does, his body count is enough to say that the man feels with his entire heart—and in the depths of those, she likes to believe the fan of conspiracies believes in love—, but he has always been intelligent enough to differentiate his craft from his everyday life. She doesn’t.

With one hand resting over his face for the purpose of annoying him when she puts weight on it to bring her body up and straight, she answers. “Waking you up.”

“Don’t, then.”

And with his two fire eyes sending a look of despair towards her, he brings the sheets up his face to dim the sunlight that she had gladly welcomed him to. “Changkyun, we really need to finish this script today. Tomorrow’s Monday and you know I have to work—” No response, that is what she receives, to the point her hand has to bring another harsh smack to his thigh. It rings, probably leaves a red mark behind with the way he pulls the blanket away from his face, a frown painted on his features.

“Of course I do, I work with you.”

She imagines it, then, conceives it from her reality as she always does. Two recent graduates from university that had, thanks to the power of unemployment, ended up as teachers in some high school for the dramatics and lovers of shitty musicals and TV shows. They are too young to be taken seriously, most of the time, and Changkyun loves that part of his job…but that is not what has been imagined by the two of them. Cheap costumes and Shakespeare lines are not less important things, but they are not her priority, much less her dream.

Every single morning since she was twelve, she has gotten to see Changkyun. Sometimes, she doesn’t even realize he has grown up along with her. However, growing up in one thing—growing is another. As artists, scriptwriters to be exact, they have gotten stuck. Perhaps, their ideas are not enough for consideration, or the industry is closed enough to leave them out, but each morning that she gets to see him…to work with him, she knows that they deserve better.

That, in reality, her professor was never wrong.

The most beautiful stories never happen…

But fuck, she will do anything to make their dreams come true.

Sitting down beside him, she really studies him. Changkyun has his eyes closed again, the black strands of his hair a bit lengthy, the shadow of some facial hair appearing if she looks at him from close enough. His gray hoodie has a mark on it, perhaps saliva if she is judging him from well-earned knowledge, and his hand reaches out for her. It rests on her knee, weights that part of her down to remind her that no matter how many times they argue, they will always be together.

That’s the promise life brought to them.

“If you want to keep working as a theater teacher for the rest of your life, go ahead, keep sleeping, but you know that Kwon told us that he has some connections to have our script reviewed by very important people so—help me finish it?” Kwon is more of a friend of Changkyun’s than he is hers. Older than them by a few years but not wiser, the man still keeps believing that he is nineteen even when he is nearing his thirties, but his party-going ways has led Kwon to have a name in the industry, albeit important. Less of a scriptwriter and more of a costume designer, it wouldn’t surprise her if he ends up working internationally in a few years from now.

Changkyun finally opens his eyes, pointing at the tablet on top of her bedside table, near the coffee cup that must be getting cold by now. “Finished it, now let me sleep.”

Her heart feels as if it has momentarily stopped. “Finished it? What do you mean?”

“That I finished it.” Changkyun’s deep voice gets rough, the lack of water getting to his throat when he takes matters into his own hands and picks up the tablet before giving it to her. “It’s in our shared document. I finished it at five…I don’t know, six in the morning?”

With fear, as if the world is too fragile for her astoundingly strong hands, she lets herself unlock his tablet and look through the document. Through the cracks of the screen, all caused by the disaster that is Changkyun, she reads the art that he has crafted. The scenery, the dialogue, the description, all powerful, spoken into existence for the characters that have been brought to life by them. Every breath taken by the main characters is harsher than the last one, stronger, leaving her speechless with every sentence given, every line that finishes it off with a bow and a twist that fits perfectly.

When she looks at him, Changkyun has one arm splayed on top of his eyes. His other hand still rests on top of her knee, though the fingers hold her looser, as if he’s off and very close to arriving to dreamland. Tired, perhaps too much so, she realizes that this idea that had been begun by him could have only been finished by Changkyun. He has always been a better writer, she repeats as a mantra, but he begs to differ. If anything, Changkyun defends it as saying that he simply sees the picture with other lenses and the different perspectives created something out of a movie. Something worth of being turned into a movie.

“Kyun…” She says, only hearing a faint hum from her best friend. Almost as if she is back to the days in which they were both teenagers, she launches herself into his arms. Her head looks for leverage on his bony shoulder, lips pressed into a tight smile the more she feels the warmth of him. Somewhere on the bed, the tablet blinks for her attention, and Changkyun can barely place his other hand on top of her back when she speaks again. “How the fuck did you even get that idea? You wrote such a beautiful ending—”

“Ah, you were sleeping and I was listening to music and it just popped inside my mind.” Changkyun says, seriousness in his voice when her hair cascades around his face, pulling her body away from his to look at him, their ribs connected while she remains seated on the bed, but still caging him into the mattress. “You like it?”

“I think—whew, I’m just surprised!” She speaks in a louder tone, realizing that a lazy smile has appeared over his face. His mouth parts the slightest and it wouldn’t surprise her if he’s breathing through his mouth, typical of him. “Changkyun, I really could kiss you right now…if you were another person, that is.”

Changkyun quirks an eyebrow at that, soon after doubling in laughter. “We’ve been there.”

“When we were twenty.”

His shoulders, wrapped tightly in that hoodie with the unknown stain, shrug at her retaliation. “Not too long ago. You can’t make fun of it when we were both all in for it at that moment.”

Thinking back of that day, she can’t help but feel her toes curling, her spine shivering and her neck folding the slightest to stop the motion. “We lasted one week, that’s enough of a confirmation that we shouldn’t do it again.”

“Most likely.” Changkyun chuckles, sitting up on the bed before tossing the hoodie up his head, throwing it somewhere in her room. The white t-shirt underneath clings to his slim body as he moves through the place, knowing it as if it was his. A sense of nostalgia may not cling to him, but it does to her—recently, her thoughts have been invaded with the reality that she will have to move away from this shared apartment soon. To find a life that is more fitted for someone that is not in university, and hence, should probably follow the societal rules of living alone. “I’m going to go pee. Check for spelling errors if you want to.”

Her back touches the surface of her bed, looking at the document on the screen per his request. “On it.”

For a moment, perhaps seconds, words merge into their own momentum in front of her—she feels as though she is reliving this last scene again, saying her goodbyes to the characters that oh-so-pleasantly had been crafted by her best friend and herself. Nonetheless, the sound of Changkyun’s feet jumping against the thin wood of her flooring has her looking away and towards the door, not surprised to see her small, yet incredibly extroverted roommate.

Jiyoung is one of her closest friends, as well, companion of her life since university, the source of the music around her house, the one to sing at the top of her lungs and to constantly have her dyeing her hair, because Jiyoung can’t do it herself—or doesn’t want to—. Something about leaving Jiyoung behind to look for another home makes her heart ache, but her roommate remains ignorant to her advances. Instead, her liking of Changkyun has inflated into one big balloon the last few months.

If Changkyun is interested, he doesn’t show it.

So, that leaves her to believe he really is not interested.

Not to say the woman is not attractive. Jiyoung, now with a bob in a blond shade, is just too pushy for Changkyun’s liking. Hence, watching her standing in front of his best friend’s door with a glass in between her fingers must have given him the clear sign that she must have been eavesdropping to whatever they were saying. It wouldn’t surprise her one bit if that was the case.

“Changkyun—”

“Sorry, need to pee.” But behind the complexity of Changkyun, he likes to play ignorant more than he likes to play with a heart. Not outspoken enough to sit Jiyoung back on her seat and ask for some privacy, he scavenges away to the bathroom, leaving her roommate with a pout on her lips and said glass in between her fingers.

“Do you think I freaked him out?” Once, she nods and that is enough to have Jiyoung sighing and pressing one hand to her forehead. “I just wanted to listen to what you were saying.”

“Did you listen to us?”

“No. This didn’t work.” Almost exuding rage towards the glass on her hand, Jiyoung tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ll go make breakfast so I can make myself look better.”

Hiding a laugh on the depths of her throat, she nods once again. “Good idea.”

With one last turn on the balls of her feet, Jiyoung is away from her room, leaving her with an opened door, an annoyed sigh and a script to revise. Thankfully, the conclusion of such a prolonged project is enough to have her resting back on her bed and taking a sip of the cold coffee that must have been for Changkyun.

Her companion, the only person that artistically gets her, Im Changkyun.

###

For the past hour, she has been looking for one box in the colors of red and white. Enough to distract her in the party-obsessed crowd that she finds herself in, but also a way of fitting in that doesn’t get her out of her tracks. In between empty bottles of alcohol and people blowing smoke into her face, concentrating comes with difficulty, pushing through said bodies until her hand clutches the desired cigarettes and she is off to find her best friend, though an almost impossible task.

Not that she is much of a smoker, she has possibly had around four in the entirety of her life—to try them out and concentrate on something else when her anxiousness is up the roof. The taste is not the most tranquil one, the smoke does capture most of her attention, pushing it out in little rings that never come out as perfectly as Changkyun’s. Then again, a beginning is also an ending, and the first person to ever steal a cigarette from a party to try them out had been Changkyun, sharing it with her to have that first experience together, as well. One of many, and hopefully one in a million.

Once, she had taken the time to read some myths off of a book in the library in high school. She was bored, and it was around that time of her life in which reading came easier to her. In the back of her brain, she can remember saying that losing a friend is even worse than losing a partner, a soulmate, one’s life even. As if our hearts are tainted, deliberately looking for someone who is always there, something in a stronger presence, sometimes duller. Past kissing, past hugging, past presents…to be listened to intently and to listen with equal interest is more than anyone could ever hope for. And she has that.

Seated on the same place that she had left him in, near the entrance, his body dragged down until he is on the floor. No seats are left and the backyard of this big mansion smells like rotten egg and something of the like of puke, leaving them by the door with the need to have Kwon finally making some time for them. To spend time, however, she lets her weight rest back on his side, crossing one leg over the other to avoid flashing anyone and getting a good glimpse of Changkyun when he turns to look at her.

When she was twenty, she could have really fallen for him. Or not. She likes to believe that what happened was the best—them fearing and scurrying away from the possibility of being together and losing their friendship. Changkyun said that once everything became serious, it would be too difficult for them to keep it, and she had added that maybe, they were just curious to feel for the other, to kiss until their lips were sore and their hearts were aching for a break. Now, she realizes that there had been some kind of attraction in the past, a reason as to why Jiyoung wakes up earlier than usual to get ready when Changkyun comes by.

His black hair is pushed away from his face elegantly, a few strands out of place, matching the sweater that covers his body and causes a layer of sweat to rest on top of his forehead. He wipes it off, but the clothing may have been a bad option in such a packed party. Shoes scatter around him, around them to be exact, the walls bathed in the glow of lights that are far too artificial to settle well in her eyes and when she shows him the package of cigarettes, his lips quirk up in a recognizable smirk.

“Aren’t those the brand that we stole when we first smoked cigarettes?” Changkyun asks, his attention to detail often misunderstood—he remembers the most random of situations, just not anything special like dates or exact momentums that are more important for other people.

Back at the time, when they were seventeen, he had insisted on bleaching his hair and she remembers it because the image of Changkyun wearing a beanie on top of his hair to cover the disaster that he had made, even making some strands fall out in the process, can’t ever leave her brain. At the time, he had been better than her with smoking, even going as far as impressing the older kids with the rings he could blow into the thin air. On the other hand, the sound of her throat contracting when blowing the cigarette wrongly had been enough to dust her skin in embarrassing heat. “I thought it’d be fitting to have some cigarettes for good time’s sake, considering that you’re not balding now and we haven’t done this since we were seventeen.”

Changkyun rolls his eyes, perhaps mockingly, as he smacks his index finger on top of the closed box of cigarettes after opening it, the cig popping out at his motions. “So you can choke again, homie?”

“Don’t homie me.” Watching as Changkyun reaches for the lighter that she had almost managed to snatch away, the flames take over the cigarette in between his lips. The smell is horrid, and part of her wonders why she even wanted to craft that memory back to life, but watching him is more of a sight. His thin lips almost shyly wrap around it, taking his index and middle finger to push the cigarette away. “Come on, do the little rings.”

He lifts a finger from his free hand up in the air, putting his lips into an ‘o’ shape and almost as if he had never stopped smoking, he blows four rings into the air, dissipating into the crowd of people in front of them, not caring about their existence. In their little bubble, they are, when she cheers for him and Changkyun has to cough out the excess of smoke that he managed to swallow accidentally, only reacting when her fingers reach for the cigarette and puts it between her lips.

His eyes, windows to the soul, concentrate on her lips as they play with the cigarette, taking it away from her mouth before she could even let it burn the slightest. “You shouldn’t be smoking these.”

“It’s only one. I’m not getting addicted.” She replies, her chest coming in contact with his when she puckers her lips to reach for the cigarette, only to have him twisting it around and taking another drag himself. “Besides, I was the one that stole them.”

“You shouldn’t steal.”

“Well, I was bored.” Finally relenting, just when she rests her head on top of his shoulder to further accentuate her boredom, she feels his fingers slipping the cigarette in between her lips, grabbing it properly to have a taste. “It’s your fault that Kwon had us coming to this horrible, rich party just to check if he has gotten out script.”

But Changkyun is deep in his thoughts, as if the lights in front of them, the smell of beer and cocktails, the people dancing are the ones trancing him. He doesn’t pay attention to the smoke that appears in his line of sight, not when he lets out a fragile smile appear on his face. “I don’t think it’s a horrible rich party.”

“Why?”

“They have money.”

“Yeah, and?”

“That’s all everyone needs, right?” Changkyun asks, perhaps a bit lost in the way he raises his eyebrows, looking into her eyes for the briefest second when he voices out something so…volatile. In a way, she knows that money is important, but even thinking about the weight of it makes her sick in the stomach. Another difference of theirs—she escapes, while he roams the world to look for his one light. She looks at the city from far away, wishing to have a bigger dream, while Changkyun makes himself silently known in between the buildings. “And wants, actually. If we had money, we wouldn’t be teaching a bunch of teenagers how to be or not to be. We’d be…I don’t know, you remember how Matt Damon and Ben Affleck were back in the day? Like the closest of friends but rich? We’d be that.”

She pushes the cigarette towards his lips, as if to shut him up for a second, and she tells him the truth from up close. “I’m happy with being your friend, no matter how much we earn or how famous we are. We may not be famous celebrity friends, but we’re amazing friends.”

And then, she switches her mind. Part of her begs for him to say something, to agree that there is nothing more than there shall be needed in between the two than relishing over memories and creating new ones, than knowing each other to the core. Instead, Changkyun hums, taking the cigarette from his lips and looking at it. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“…Life? Yeah, I know.”

With laughter from him relishing his lack of response to her previous statement, Changkyun shakes his head. “No. Smoking. You blow the smoke out too fast; you’ll never get to do the rings if you just spit everything out.”

“Teach me.” Fixing her posture, she twists until her legs are interlocked with his, watching as he takes the cigarette once again and like second nature, blows out three smoke.

“Put your lips up, like blowing a kiss, but control the air you’re letting out. In little spurts, you know?”

She doesn’t. Not when she gets to see Changkyun from up close and realize that there are angels in him, singing choirs, making it dangerous to get too close…but knowing that he’s the same man she has always known. Her friend. Growing up doesn’t mean he has changed, but uniting the past and the present made her realize that, in most occasions, there is never a future. The finalization of their script taught her that there will always be a perfect ending, and beginning to think of hers—hers alongside Changkyun’s, has a knot forming on her throat, not distinguished by the man that laughs when she, once again, can’t blow rings into the air.

To control his laughter, she says: “Shut up, you’d look hotter doing that little trick of yours if you had a lip ring, but you look dumb now.”

Pushing the cigarette onto the floor to dull its flame down and extinguish it, Changkyun replies: “At least, I get to do the party trick.”

“…You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“I’m not!” He adds, grinning widely when he takes the package of cigarettes and tosses it somewhere on the dance floor. “Now, let’s pretend you never stole anything now that you had your fun.”

“Now that you got to make fun of me?”

“That, too.”

With light following after him, as well as a lover for the night, a particularly known head of brown hair appears in front of her. Long strands, a bit wavy at the edges, only pushed back by the fashionable pink sunglasses that are doing nothing to conceive the blessed-out look on his eyes. Kwon is a sight to see, someone that is made for fashion and has conceptualized it. The pristine red shirt with some buttons opened, paired with some nicely shaped pants already make him the highlight of the night, taking her by the hand to have her up her feet and away from Changkyun.

“Guys, you don’t have to sit on the floor. Come on, you’re my friends!” But this elongated slur on Kwon’s tone just lets her know that he has been drinking too much, and while she welcomes the hug by the shoulders that he gives her, his lover of the night doesn’t seem equally pleased.

Changkyun dusts the back of his jeans before speaking up. “Sorry, the backyard just smelled like shit and we decided to stay here.”

“As per usual. These parties get crazy.”

The interest on the situation perks up when she realizes that Kwon is in front of her. Growing rich Kwon, who has been an excellent friend to the two of them—more to Changkyun than her—but his pleasant personality is only the cause of a million questions inside her head. “Changkyun told me this is your mansion now. You’ve really made it big, huh?”

“My boyfriend helped me find it,” Kwon says, not caring that someone is holding onto his arm at that moment, or that he takes a sip of his beer right after he says it. “You know, he gave me all this to shut me up. It worked.” Yet, the laughter that leaves his lips sounds a bit strained. This fear of richness has always existed within her, and it may come from a place of deep, rooted jealousy that she has never explored in her, but fame, money and having everything in life is just too much for some people. Too strained, too fake, surrounded by people who rarely cared about them…and knowing about that destroys whoever is in that position, too.

“I like it!” She says, trying to change the subject, placing her arms over her chest just in time to have Kwon nodding at her words.

“Just like how I like your dress. Is it thrifted?”

In such a place, it may be a sin to say what she just did. “It is!”

“I like the whole putting a shirt under the dress situation. Makes it look more fashionable.” Kwon explains, swatting his companion’s hand away and wrapping his arms around Changkyun’s and her shoulders, the smell of alcohol dense in the air. It worries her, for no matter how close or not close Kwon is to her, he means a lot to Changkyun. His innocent face, rounded, going together with his pair of twinkling brown eyes and huge grin, has now transformed into something more somber. The typical smirk, a dark glance, and a tinge of pain beneath those eyelids. “How have you two been? Changkyun, you’ve been taking care of her, I imagine.”

“…Of each other, I guess. We’re always together.” Changkyun explains, walking towards the main hallway, much quieter than the rest of the mansion. “By the way, did you read our script?”

“Twice.” And that excitement that characterizes Kwon reappears, letting go of them to grasp his own hands together. “Couldn’t expect anything less from you guys!”

“So?” She asks, biting down on her bottom lip out of pure curiosity, only to have Kwon looking at her.

“I’ve sent the script to some of my friends. Connections, you know, I’d do anything for two of my real friends.” The pain behind that statement is brushed off by the man who says it, but she can’t help but stare at him in awe. How she wishes she could talk to him once sober, and make him feel as though he is more worthy than he lets himself on. Some stars lose their light, dulled in the skies and losing themselves in their darkness, and Kwon is one of them. “But it may take a while. Three months minimum. You know how big producers are, much more if they are companies, but I’m doing my best here.”

“That’s more than we could ask for.” Changkyun speaks, already patting Kwon’s back. “Man, thanks for helping us out!”

“I want to be in the speech when you win an award, that’s all I ask for.” Kwon says, stopping on his tracks. “And a drink, you guys want one?”

“How about…some tea? Just so you can unwind…and not get drunker.” She replies, a chuckle to her tone to seem more amicable, and the way Kwon smiled at them breathed all senses of hope out.

“I haven’t had tea in so long. Sure!”

Because Kwon may have earned a million friends, but none of them cared as much as a real one did. As much as she cared for Changkyun, and vice versa, the reason as to why she believes that it is harder to find a friend than for it to rain in hell.

And it may be hell for her to live without her best friend.

###

“You know that one movie with the pants and the girls?”

Changkyun lifts his eyebrows from his position on the couch, legs too parted in the cramped space, her knees pressed to her chest, heartbeat unmatched to the crickets making their noises outside. The wind blows on the window obnoxiously, far too old for it to stand upright with the commotion, trembling under its weight before falling silent and repeating again. However, her mind is off to one of those corners of her brain that goes unexplored, only opened when around Changkyun—the only person that brings a sense of comfort that only comes with the candidness of her favorite denim jacket.

His eyes don’t divert from the screen, instead speaking with that patience that characterizes him. “You have to be more specific,” But lastly, he decides to look at her. His face turns to her, eyes inspecting her quiet stance the more she tries to think about that one movie…now roaming her brain with images of watching it on a girl’s night with some friends that are no longer in her life. Nostalgia, what a curse for her, a lover of vintage things and then, some. “I am sure that almost every woman in movies wears pants. Unless we are talking about…I don’t know, The Little Mermaid? I doubt she wears pants, but that’s because she is not a woman but a mermaid instead.”

“You know the one!” She tells him, her fingers absentmindedly reaching for his arm, touching the taut and delicate skin there before tugging at him. “The one with the friends…and they have these pants that represent their friendship—”

“What?” Changkyun asks in a whisper. “What kind of movies are you watching?”

“I’ve watched it a long time ago, but it has come to me that maybe our friendship would be stronger—”

“With a pair of pants?”

“Jeans, to be exact.”

“…Don’t.” Changkyun has lifted his voice to an amused tone now, laughing to his heart’s content. Sometimes, she wonders why she is so sensitive to sound—the reason as to why she enjoys (and fears) horror movies a lot more than the normal person. Her ears can pick out the noise of him perfectly well, the ruffling of the fabric of his shirt, the sigh that barely leaves his lips as he rests his head on top of hers and gently lowers down her face to his shoulder. The spot that she normally takes. “We don’t need fucking jeans to strengthen our friendship. There’s nothing to strengthen there.”

But, perhaps, this is just the rom-com equivalent of a best friend—and while those friendships last a lifetime, and include memories of looking for that one love affair for the main character. Only that she is not worthy of being any movie’s main character, and this is reality that she is talking about. The harsh one that reminds her that there is a world of badness outside those windows, in streets and in houses alike. “Don’t you…? I want to word this correctly…” She says, pulling away from him to look towards the ceiling. “Don’t you wonder if we’re…going to be friends forever?”

“I never think that far ahead,” Changkyun says. “That’s one of the reasons why I haven’t even given Jiyoung the time of the day.”

At the sound of her roommate’s name, she perks up. Jiyoung had proclaimed to be out for the night to run some errands, and by errands it must be that she has gotten tired of chasing around Changkyun and to ease the stress of not being paid attention to, a man had fallen into the traps of her perfectly manicured nails. “Ah, she’s only like that with you. Feel honored that you have an almost sex goddess right behind you.”

“It’s not pretty when she’s eavesdropping on every conversation we have or when…when she tries to become this image of the typical girl anyone thinks I’d like.” Changkyun confesses…and those are the moments in which the wind almost whispers to her that Changkyun has standards. That slim, somewhat pensive, sometimes intelligent and unknowingly funny man has thought about real love, or at least, has made an image of it inside his head. “To answer your question, though—”

“Please, do.”

“If I had to think that far ahead, like me…all wrinkly…on the verge of dying…one of the people I’d see right beside me is you.” One would think that there is a hidden meaning behind his statement, that Changkyun laughing at his words soon after makes it lose its sincerity, but the image is so clear in her head that she cannot imagine it not happening. Not with hands interlocked, not with a band around her finger, but chuckling to her heart’s content at the mere presence of him. Dreaming of the youth they had once lived, and not regretting it once. That is the real future she expects to have.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t think the same thing.” She answers, placing one hand over his thigh when she goes stand up. For a moment, when she looks over her shoulder, his smile pulls her in. In moments like these is when irrational ideas make sense inside her head, like the one time in the midst of a conversation, they had opted to date. Something about Changkyun would always tell her to take a sip of life and let it simmer in her mouth, to breathe and relish in the feeling of having a new day to exist…and one new day with him. “I can imagine you as an old man. The one uncle that tells you about how he always knew about the existence of aliens.”

The infamous part of their friendship is that she knows him and that knowledge comes with the hindsight of feeling Changkyun trailing right behind her, just like she expected, when moving towards the kitchen. Jiyoung must have left some of her chicken leftovers somewhere for them to enjoy. “Let’s be honest.”

“Sure.”

“Aliens do exist.”

“They do.” She utters, hands already reaching for the refrigerator for something to pair up with cereal, for the leftovers are not in her line of sight, when the coldness of it all makes her feel…small. In a world in which she is simply one woman and her friend. Two people, two souls, only the two of them. For the longest time, she had wondered if there were friendships that felt as substantial as the one that has lasted her since the early days of her youth, and the answer is always inconclusive. Not a lot of friendships reminisce the most meticulous of things—she remembers the first meal they shared together, bowls of rice made by themselves, and still remembers the nights in which the conspiracies of the world were more interesting than homework. “I could be one, and you wouldn’t have known. Aliens are clearly more intelligent than us.”

Seated by the counter, waiting for his own serve of food, Changkyun answers: “That’s the reason why you’re not one.”

“Are you calling me dumb?”

A glint on his eyes and a shake of his head are the answers she gets: “Maybe.”

The sugary treat enters her mouth thanks to her spoon, not concentrating on the taste when she speaks with her mouth full. “I’m not that dumb.”

“We’re equally as dumb, I’d say.” Changkyun unites them in a sentence, almost as if their friendship was meant to be, leaning forward until his mouth diverts another spoonful from her cereal to his lips, only chuckling when her hand comes in contact with his shoulder. “Hey, I’m joking. Are you unable to take a joke?”

Before she could respond to him, the sound of her phone ringing has her perking up. A pointed glare towards him does nothing to push him away from her meal, instead opening his mouth to take another spoonful. Struts are what bring her closer to her phone, catching one glimpse of the contact name before leaning against the counter swiftly. “Kwon, how are you doing?”

The pop of the man’s lips is the first answer she gets. “Much better now that I get to hear your voice. Haven’t heard that sincerity in a while.”

“Three months, you say?”

“You haven’t visited me.”

“Been busy.”

“With your students, I’m guessing.”

“Entirely. Also, with finding an apartment, I’m trying to move out soon…and grow up, you know?”

“Please, don’t.” Kwon adds in between a chuckle, perhaps leaning his head back, the sourness of his voice mixed with alcohol. “Growing up is not a nice thing.”

“I know,” She conquers, voice softened at the edges when she looks at Changkyun. Once smaller, shorter, much more innocent, with his eyes looking for the art in the shape of movies—for wanting to create stories of universes he has yet to explore. Given the chance of sharing a snippet of Changkyun’s mind, she could not be more thankful of meeting him. “How’s your boyfriend?”

“Ex?” Kwon asks, a tilt to his voice and then, the movement of curtains being drawn open captured her attention. “Forgotten. I’m in Paris, living the life of a single man in the city of love.”

Music blurs in the background, far too distant for her to catch when a smile spreads through her features. “I see, better lonely than with a bad man.”

“Exactly.” Kwon breathes out before chuckling to himself. “But that’s not why I’m calling. I actually have a reason to bother you.”

Taking the spoon from Changkyun’s fingertips, she takes a bite and lets the crunch fill the air as she speaks. “You don’t bother me…or us, really! Changkyun is right beside me, stealing my food.” The man in question sends a screamed greeting over the phone, warmth brought to her chest when she imagined reuniting—the three of them—in a place in which there weren’t as many people, in which conversations could take place better than at a party.

“Put me on speaker, I have huge news for you.” Back when she was younger, she had learned how to not get excited. Her heart is not beating rapidly, imagining that Kwon is going to talk about one of his rendezvouses while in Paris, but Changkyun’s face is glued to the phone, eyebrows furrowed when listening intently. “I got a few replies for your script, actually. Mostly no’s, and three yes’s.” Kwon indicates, her eyes widening at the image of producers—out of the best places in the world—thinking of their project as worthy of a positive answer. “So, I kept going. I reunited with a few of these people and I got you a contract with the best of the trio, and the one that gives you the most money, as well. They are in love with your work and would wish to meet you to go over the contract with their lawyers and the lawyers I’ve contracted for you.”

The generous soul of Kwon is the least of her worries when images flash through her eyes. Getting out of a limousine with Changkyun right behind her, cameras flashing, the posters on the red carpet showing the pictures of their film—theirs, crafted by their own two hands, actors and actresses in love with the film, the reviews coming in whether negative or positive. Reviews, nonetheless. This is what makes her let the phone rest on the table, soon after expanding her hands to cage Changkyun in a hug that is welcomed by him immediately, hands settling on her waist when he leans her back—enough to be considered a tango when her lips part in delight and let out the biggest of cackles, almost smiling at life and the beauty of it.

Changkyun is equally as excited, thanking Kwon from the top of his lungs as he twirls her around on the kitchen and it is the most beautiful of moments when her hair is tousled, his chest is heaving and Kwon is speaking in the background, the two friends staring at each other’s eyes. Two worlds that are now part of the huge universe of future stardom. “I’m so happy that you two are getting this opportunity.”

“It’s all thanks to you, man!” Changkyun speaks in his deep voice, moving over to where the phone is resting before laughing to himself. “Oh fuck, you really did not disappoint us one bit.”

“Wait until you see how much you’re getting paid and how in love they are with this film. They couldn’t believe they were written by two theater teachers.”

“They better believe now.” She replies, looking to the side to see Changkyun already staring at her, whispering in a low, almost unbelievable tone.

“We will make it.”

The word ‘we’ holds so much weight, two people united to the end of the world…but one will always be left alone.

We will make it, he says, and she chooses to believe that is the truth.

###

Her head is tilted down, chin resting on the crook of her elbows, both arms spread on top of the table as she stares at the other groups of people. Quite a lazy, yet somewhat childish, pose…but waiting for Changkyun always comes with its downsides. For one, he is late to this ever-so-awaited dinner they planned to have the night before they meet with the people that want to take their script to the big screen, and secondly, she can’t text him more times without getting blocked on the end. Intense, she is, and Changkyun is still very much late.

The restaurant is not quite as expressively elegant as one would believe. If anything, the cheering of children, the cackles of couples and that one alone costumer that is too occupied on their phone feels far too homely. She has been there before with Changkyun, plenty of times, sometimes deciding on something like a pizza, other times thinking that the biggest dish on the menu is their way to go. Adventures spoken in between food, she’d like to call it, and it is such an excellent contrast to be there to celebrate other than, obviously, eat. To worship the idea of finally getting to be just like the people they used to look up at when younger.

A woodened wall that covers half of her body is what separates her from the main area, instead opting for the one that carries most of the drinkers of this bar-restaurant. A man is shouting about the game that she couldn’t care less about, but with the boredom clinging up to her, she decides to rank the soccer players from most handsome to least. Something about athletes has always caught up to her, after all.

Her body perks up at the weight of someone’s lips pressing to the top of her head, turning around to scream at whoever has decided to break this barrier of personal space. However, Changkyun’s arm is already wrapped around her shoulder, their friendship bracelet caressing her shoulder. His reads the first two digits of the year in which they met, while hers has the last two. The white fabric of his t-shirt covers her vision until she decides to lift her gaze, watching his eyes from under the cap over his black hair, an apology in them.

“Sorry, I was getting ready.”

“I can tell,” She says, staring into his eyes before taking the fabric of his shirt in between two fingers and sniffing it. “You smell like you are a walking deodorant. Did you really want to get that dolled up just for me?” The teasing tone of her voice earns her a laugh from him, sitting across from her to take the menu from between her fingertips.

“One of the waitresses here is hot,” Changkyun starts, pointing with his shoulder to his left and indeed, there is someone right there that is—at the very least—a ten on his mental scale. A bit over six feet, the over-the-knees socks looking good on her, displaying the same soccer t-shirt as the men on the game and the ones screaming for them, long hair touching the edge of her shorts. “Do I really smell that strong? I think ladies like it when a guy smells like this.”

“We do,” She says, pushing her weight forward to squint at him. “Rapunzel over there is such your type. You really don’t change.”

“Ah, you know I don’t have a type—” Changkyun has already put the menu down, calling a waiter over and with a raise of his hand they order two individual pizzas, never able to share one without fighting for the last piece.

“You’re what I like to call the ‘book example of a guy’.”

With a cackle, he takes a sip of the Coca Cola he ordered ahead. “How so?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she spares another glance to the long-haired waitress. “She’s so attractive, for one. Two, you’re a legs guy—and she’s got some pretty strong pair, I may ask for her leg workout.” There is a bit of comedy in her tone, wanting to ease the night as something to enjoy. Two friends having conversations that are not rare for them. “And you have this thing for the ‘two sides of the coin’ girls. That can give you both the innocent look but with some spice.”

“Those are all pretty general things!” Always one to defend his point of view, Changkyun stared at the TV screen and almost like he read her thoughts from earlier, he says: “I’m sure you’ve checked out one of those soccer players.”

“I did,” She admits, shrugging her shoulders before quirking an eyebrow. “But since I’m so secretive about everything, I doubt you’d know which one I liked the most.”

Changkyun continues watching the game for a while longer, his ring-cladded fingers playing with the edge of his bottle of soda, the perspiration clinging to the skin and reddening it when his mind is made up in about a minute. “Son Heungmin.”

Much more knowledgeable on the sport than her, the name rolls off his tongue easily and she has to look over her shoulder to catch a glimpse or repetition from the goal he just scored. And indeed, shown in the screen in high definition is the man that she had deemed as attractive earlier, only studying his expression while playing, the layers of sweat on his face doing nothing to conceal the clear beauty of him. “Maybe…” But the way she bites on her bottom lip has Changkyun clapping his hands and pointing at her as he cackles.

“I knew it!”

“How?” Suddenly interested, she asks him. Changkyun leans back on his seat, quirking a smile up.

“Wouldn’t you wanna know, love?” He sings, only to have her kicking his shin from under the table.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Changkyun—” Whining, she continues. “Please, I need to know how you guessed that.”

Relenting takes a few minutes and only after a lot of insistence and when the food gets to their table, Changkyun finally surrenders. His mouth is already muffled with a big bite of his pepperoni pizza when his theory is spoken into the easygoing air in between them. “I based it off something you once told me,” His cheeks are dusted in pink thanks to his laughter, his lips coated in grease while the cheese parts ways with his slice, chewy in just the way they like it. “He has good hair, and styles it exactly how you like it.”

Hair? She doesn’t recall ever talking about hair, frowning deeply when she shakes her head. “I never said that…when? What? I never said that!” That doesn’t mean it is not true. While it is not the first thing she notices, nor is it a deal breaker, she loves a good hairstyle on men.

“You so did, I remember.”

“When?” She whispers, trying to recall one of the drunken nights in which they would speak about various matters, but her thinking is cut to an end when Changkyun says—

“You said that once when we were dating.”

Oh, the one-week-trial that they had, of course it had been at that time. While recalling if Changkyun ever dolled his hair up that way while they were together, her mind makes out the image of a younger version of him laying by her side, her fingers trailing over his jaw and to his hair, gripping the thick strands that had been styled back, playing with the soft hairs that had slipped the hairdo and feeling the soft sigh that had left his lips at the time. Changkyun is one good of a kisser, but the memory comes to her because she doesn’t think she has ever seen Changkyun that dolled up around her since then. “Oh, right! We made out once because you had styled your hair like that.”

He shrugs, taking a bite of his pizza. “I got what I wanted, and ever since then I just knew that you loved hair like that. Without knowing, but you do.”

With a chuckle, she pours some sauce on top of her pizza, not putting it up to her lips until after she spoke. “You should style it like that more often.”

“So we can make out?”

“No! Gross!” But the tone of her voice is a bit too high. He may not have noticed it, neither does she think it is that important, because she knows that something like a relationship with Changkyun just wouldn’t end well. “Tomorrow you should do your hair like that. After all, we should be elegant when meeting these people…and we want to make the best impression.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” He answers, pointing his chin towards the waitress. “Do you think she would like it?”

“I think she is way over your league.” She sarcastically adds, only to have Changkyun throwing one of the slices of pepperoni to her face.

“You’re such an asshole sometimes.” Changkyun finishes, only to have her doubling in laughter and throwing her head back.

Absentmindedly, she may have known that Changkyun was getting that number on the end…and that, of course, the waitress would send a smile his way in hopes of seeing him again. It is exactly what happens, the reason as to why she stands on the sides and watches him grow away from when they were twenty, from that one-week-trial that should not mean anything, and it never did.

###

This part of town is unknown to her, far too pretty to ever match her small neighborhood and her equally as tiny group of friends. The cars that pass by Changkyun’s seem to be fresh out of the shop, doors opened by buttons, the big wheels not once turning, looking as though they have not been used—ever. The houses, not to be spoken about, are on the hills far away. Mansions that are separated from each other, probably some pools to match the unnecessarily immense glassed windows. This is the way, Kwon said when giving them the address, but the more she nears the offices in which they are supposed to meet in, the more scared she feels.

Kwon would have made her feel more at ease, but the man beside her is equally as nervous, deep in thought and not once reciting the words to his favorite song of the month. Instead of paying attention to Changkyun, she plays with the edge of the skirt Jiyoung had given her. A sixties moment, she had called the flared skirt, dots on it scattering in delicate pieces, black and white to match the red of her shirt, snug to her body, long sleeved, paired with a necklace that screams faux. Probably a gift from some relative, if she can remember correctly.

It doesn’t feel better when getting out of Changkyun’s old Toyota, the sun touching their skins, the wind too strong as they move accordingly to the guide that they have been assigned. Buildings too tall, not differentiated by color but in a strong beige instead, almost caressing a shade of orange. The guide speaks and speaks, rambles too much and all she can think about is the expanse of the person in front of her, Changkyun, who had styled his hair exactly like that one night in their twenties, and while no romance was held in her heart, her hand extended to interlock with his.

Dropping his voice to a mere dance of his tongue, he speaks near her ear when she keeps up with his steps. “What’s going on?”

“I’m about to shit my pants.”

“Skirt.”

“Same thing,” She replies, selling a smile to the guide that looks over her shoulder to look at them. When opening one of the doors, her grip on Changkyun’s hand grows so strong that the rings on his fingers dig into her skin, breathing closely to his face, his lips parted when she says: “Don’t let go of my hand, please. I may pass out if I ruin this opportunity for us.”

And with the certainty of a man much older than him, Changkyun answers with a simple: “I won’t.”

These producers that Kwon had spoken about as the highest beings in the world are nothing but wolves, she realizes when she meets them. A screenwriter is there, as well as some director that she recognizes but Changkyun plays off as if he does, unknown to her best friend. The meeting room welcomes such few people in a big table, copies of the contracts given to the lawyers that had been waiting for them, and the lawyers of the company themselves. The host, the producer in this case, speaks with such mightiness, going over the most important parts that sound amazing. They sound as if they were taken out of a movie, quite literally.

Her hand is cramped, a bit sweaty, but still being held by Changkyun. Seated by her side with his black button down and some trousers, Changkyun has crossed one leg over the other and has let her own rest in between his thighs, near his knees. The contract is brought closer to his face, studying it with intent, while she tries to concentrate on her own. Instead, she looks at the director, then listens to the movies they mention, feeling as though her heart is about to burst with the excitement and awestruck of being given an opportunity.

Her own chance to shine—and not alone.

The producer, Byungho, stops in his tracks right in front of his seat, hands expanded over the black table when he points at the last part of the contract. “My lawyers can explain this last clause in further detail, but I personally asked for this one to be highlighted after Kwon gave me the pleasure of watching some of Changkyun’s performances from his days in university.”

Her best friend stops his ministrations, finally uncovering his face to the people at the table by lowering the contract down. His fingers untighten and had it not been for her, he would have let go of her hand when he leans forward and says a confused: “Pardon?”

“Kwon said you were an actor back in university, too. Never took it too seriously, but when I saw the talent you had—” Byungho stares at Changkyun dreamily, bills painted in his eyes to worship money. “I just knew you had the talent to be the main character of this movie.”

“Ah, Mr. Jo—”

One of the lawyers speaks then, a woman with a heavenly voice and a set of long lashes behind her glasses. “If I can further explain Mr. Jo’s intentions…he was not planning to originally have one of the scriptwriters as an actor, but Mr. Lee Kwon insisted. After watching the recordings, Mr. Jo concluded that it would be a revolution of the cinematography era to have one of the writers acting out the scene. Less complex, more understandable, raw and hardworking in a way. It’d be a story that magazines would love to talk about—give the press something to bite into and you can bet your movie will be a hit.”

At the presence of Changkyun’s silence, she speaks up for him. This opportunity shall not be dismissed, much less when Changkyun does have that talent for acting—one that he often only uses for one scene or another when preparing the theater students. “That idea sounds great. I think Changkyun could do justice to our troubled main character, as well as his features being able to fit into the physical portion of the character.”

“There is a catch, though.” The lawyer says, standing up and rounding the table, her arm resting under her crooked elbow. “It would be unbeneficial to this plan for us to just say…Changkyun and his friend wrote the script, because we’re looking to build an acting career here, but only for one.”

“That’s okay, I don’t want to be in the movie—”

“But the credibility of Changkyun as a mastermind or a hidden talent of both worlds, writing and acting, would be lost if we have you in the credits.” The lawyer finishes, leaving her astounded at what she is trying to hint at. Not being in the credits? “We offer you money for your work, of course, but you’re not going to be displayed in the credits, neither will you get any kind of exposure. We want Changkyun to have that light…since he’s the actor we want, of course.”

“That’s the only thing I ask for.” Mr. Jo says, his hand coming forward to pat Changkyun’s hand. “Think about it, son. We’d make you a superstar in a second, and we just need…that rawness. The public does not want scripted celebrities anymore, they want thinking beings. Woke individuals, one would say.”

Changkyun’s neck extends, looking towards the ceiling and his blank yet pensive stare is enough to break her heart. That dream that she had fought so hard to have is being given entirely to Changkyun, and while her movie would be on the big screen…she’d never get to see her name on it. In a way, she’d have to be that one woman that everyone would think is a liar when speaking about her experience with the famous actor and screenwriter Im Changkyun. “We’d have to see if she’s okay with it.”

“Kyun,” She whispers, only connecting their gazes when his head lolls to the side. “…Are you okay with this?”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” He starts, and the weight of those words reminds her of the little plays they would have at school…or how Changkyun had been the one to have the initial idea, one that she had added herself into just because she had always thought they’d be the perfect Gemini. Two sides. One coin. But it is not always like that, holding him there, she realizes that there is so much more to Changkyun than just being her half. “But I’m not doing it if you are not okay with it.”

All eyes are on her, and the lawyer dares to prick at her recently opened wound with a comment. “Come on, it’s a lot of money if you think about it—and people in the industry will know that you had something to do with Changkyun. I am sure you’ll get a second chance.”

“But Changkyun just has one chance.” Mr. Jo pushes, patting his hand against the table. “So, I want an answer. Yes or no?”

The tip of her tongue comes wet her lips, swallowing thickly when she closes her eyes and lets go of Changkyun’s hand. The star, one bigger than she could ever be, the one rising celebrity that she needs to feel proud of. Some friends just deserve that much. The slip is almost symbolic, as if for the first time since she was around twelve to thirteen years old, Changkyun doesn’t need her…and she has to stop needing him. “I think I’m willing to do that for him.” She answers, opening her eyes to see the big smile on Mr. Jo’s face. “I’ll settle for the payment and an invite to the recordings, of course. I’d love to see him play that character that we’ve worked so hard for.”

We have.

We.

Changkyun and her are no longer a ‘we’.

“Thank you.” Changkyun says, sending a smile her way before turning to the wolves, the ones that are taking him in and making him one of their own, but eating at the flesh of her biggest insecurities. “We’ve got a deal, then. Where do we sign?”

The shivering of her hands scares her, her heart racing and pumping so harshly that it almost feels like she may die at that time. Why is it that it bothers her so much when she’ll have a big amount of money and the happiness of her best friend? The question roams her head when she watches the ink splay on the piece of paper, letting go of her dream to give it entirely to Changkyun.

His first chance and her last.

###

“Changkyun!”

Silence follows the call of his name and just when she uses her key to open his apartment’s door, her shoes knock against an empty box. The sound startles her, bringing one hand to her chest to look at the rest of the boxes sprawled on the flooring. One month of not going to his apartment and he’s already changed everything?

“Kyun! What are all these boxes for?” She asks, moving further into the room when hearing a shout of her name, somewhat excited with a screech at the end. The thought of seeing Changkyun again after a month of preparations for the movie shoot brings a sense of tranquility to her chest, only breathing properly again when Changkyun skips a few steps when getting out of his room, not knocking a few boxes over in the process, but greeting her with a half-hearted hug instead.

“You finally decided to visit your old ass friend!” Changkyun announces, sounding a little too much like something Kwon would say—and she would know, because this past month she has found more companionship in Jiyoung and Kwon than she has done on Changkyun. Something about script-reading and acting classes must be taking too much time on his agenda. “Just in time to help me move out.”

Time freezes at that moment, but it really doesn’t. Instead, she paralyzes herself like a picture as she watches Changkyun write ‘clothes’ on a box before taping it securely with quick motions. This apartment has been Changkyun’s home since he was around twenty-two, when he decided that roommates were not his thing and he was in that time of his life where hooking up needed to be more private and mature. Nonetheless, the single-man home never lost its meaning, the pictures of his friends that must be saved in some box and the scent of him that is now changed for the smell of old and dusty furniture. “M—Moving out?” She asks, taking a seat on the plastic-bag covered couch and extending her hands when hearing the rustle. “Since when are you moving out?

“If you had visited me, you would have known.”

And there he goes with that same bullshit again, the smile on his face irking her because she had visited him, just that he was not there or he was occupied at the time, and whenever they texted—often, to be exact—, he had never mentioned moving out. “Stop with that, I did visit you. A bunch of times, but you were either asleep or out.”

Changkyun tilts his head to the side at that, quirking up the corner of his mouth in confusion. “I was?”

“You were,” She adds, placing her hand over his after standing up, stopping him from closing another box with duct-tape. “And you could’ve told me through text. Also, why are you moving? I thought you told me you wouldn’t be moving out any time soon even as I was looking for an apartment.” It still takes a toll on her to find the perfect home and leaving Jiyoung in this time in which she spends less time with her friend—and her partner in class that is no longer working at the school—is almost impossible. Heart-wrenching, if anything.

“This new place is huge, and closer to the recording studio. I managed to pay it with a bit of my payment, nothing crazy.” Changkyun concludes, continuing his ministrations with the boxes. “And I am sorry if I didn’t tell you, but the moving truck will be here anytime soon and I would really appreciate it if you helped me.”

She does as he says, sadly this is what she has come to, believing that Changkyun needs to grow and become more of the man he has always wanted to be, and if she has to be in the sidelines for it, she will—but not without complaining. “Changkyun, this is not about me, this is about you. You’re almost never around and when you are, we don’t hang out anymore.”

Carrying one of the boxes, his delicate muscles popping out with the action, Changkyun answers as he moves towards the door. “I’m just busy.”

“I get it but—”

“You’re not getting it. You’re using that tone on me.”

“What tone?”

Changkyun may not be angered, face stoic when he returns to his actions of finishing with packing, but her blood starts to boil when he continues speaking. “The tone you use when you’re being petty. I just have more responsibilities than hanging out at the moment.”

“Oh, hanging out with me.” She tells him, correcting him when he tries to move towards the door, and she realizes that her grip on the duct-tape he had given her becomes stronger. “I don’t see you having any issues to hang out with your little cast, because they’re famous and that’s all you fucking wanted—”

“What?!” Changkyun asks, his voice rising when he hears the sound of her voice, and he finally spares her a glance when he stops working on the boxes and pays attention to her. His steps are slow when he nears her, as if he is afraid he cannot tame the beast that now exists thanks to betrayal, envy, or abandonment. She doesn’t know which. “I have to hang out with my cast because I will spend the next few months recording with them, and I don’t want to be the weak link. This is not about me wanting anything, you’re still as much as my friend as the first day.”

“Then, why doesn’t it feel like it?”

“Because you’re clinging to material things, it’s like you’re missing someone when I am right here!” Changkyun announces, taking her by the shoulders to shake her out of her thoughts, and her hands loosen up at the realization of it all. Maybe, nostalgia had played with her—she had judged the new version of Changkyun when in reality he had just grown up. He is becoming a successful man, one of pride, with stars in his eyes and zeroes in his bank account, with new friends to enjoy and possibly love affairs better than some waitress at their favorite restaurant.

“I do miss you,” She can’t help the softness of her tone when her arms wrap around his waist and her head rests on top of his shoulder. “I’m just afraid that you’re going to stop talking to me or something. If you do that—”

“I won’t.” Changkyun tells her, holding her with delicacy, taking one of the pieces of duct-tape in between his fingers and sticking it to her hair, earning a well-deserved smack and laughter from her. “I can promise that much. I may be moving, but this apartment is not who I am. That job I had at the school? That’s not who I am. I’m your friend, and that you have to be sure of.”

With those promises she clings to Changkyun again, happy to have her friend even when it is a new version of him. Perhaps, this may be a push for her to finally continue with her life and stop depending on other people. When seeing the apartment rid of all the utilities, she realizes how many memories she had there—but maybe, she will make more of those in Changkyun’s new home. Pushed to the back are the days in which she would wake Changkyun up, or when they would watch movies while seated on that old couch.

Because Changkyun is the person beside her, not the memories that she clings onto.

###

“Party at my place tomorrow. 9pm. You’re invited.”

Reading that text, she knows Changkyun must have mass-sent it. Not surprising, three months into his little stardom life and Changkyun had more friends than she could ever count. More than when he was in university and the word had spread around about how much of a cool guy he was, but money and importance must have taken some part on it, as well as connections. Something more interesting, he must have found, in the apartment that is far too huge for her—yet to small to have her around, or in the groups of people that he is now clinging onto.

In a miniscule second, she really does think of not going. Changkyun, this one that exists right now, is just too busy for her to tag along to a party that will have too many people all gathered together thanks to him. But then, when looking up at the ceiling of her own room, now completely alone in a place that looks like a shoebox in comparison to Changkyun’s, her mind trails until her eyes are landing on the picture by her bedside table. Framed. Two best friends from when she was sixteen, wearing uniforms that were loose on their bodies, big smiles on their faces as they held each other with the beauty of naivety and youth.

That is the friend that she has tried to reach out for in the past few months and while she has not been able to voice it out, far too afraid of losing the little minutes that are given to them when talking on the phone, she has wanted to. Scream at him? Maybe, that is something that has passed her head a few times, when she suddenly sees Changkyun in pictures on the internet, articles read about him…and there is this sense of pompousness that comes with his silence that does not settle well on her stomach. Sealed are his lips, just like his feet at the floor, unable to move to where she is, but definitely willing to go around with his group of famous friends.

The bass vibrates through her body when she enters the apartment—being honest, it may be bigger than some people’s houses—. A nice set of stairs that are chic and gray, the railings made out of silver and glass, matching the spacious windows that she has always complained about (sue her, they may be perfect for interior designing, but for someone who has lived in poor neighborhoods, they just call out robbers). The white walls do not hold lights to indicate a party to be exact, but the atmosphere is enough to make it feel more expensive than a club, but not far away from its recklessness. People there are begging to have a good time, some at the terrace in the apartment, others in the center of the room and some at the kitchen doing body shots, from what she can guess from the cheering and the small glimpse she had of two people making out on top of Changkyun’s counter.

Kwon is by her side, thankfully. She would have probably run away in fear at the rich people around her, but his hand settles on her waist, laughing joyfully at the image in front of him. It may have been a while for him—after going to Paris, he settled on working on perfecting his craft as a designer and moving out of that huge mansion bought by his ex-boyfriend, he moved somewhere else. Tranquil, away from the party lifestyle he oh-so-bluntly misses.

Not drunk like the last time she saw him partying, Kwon has styled his hair back, a few pins placed in his hair to match the button down that he had picked to color-contrast with her dress. Yellow and red, made to stand out. “Whew, I’ve been to parties like these before.” Kwon says, moving her along the groups of people and sending some waves to a few of them.

“Are they bad?”

“Well, I wouldn’t really say they’re bad. The last time I was in one of those typical rich people’s parties, I ended up having a threesome at three at the morning. Commemorative, you know.” Kwon speaks with facility, talking about those memories that have her laughing sometimes. If he ever gets to the day of his oldest days, he will surely have stories to tell the younger generation. “They’re even worse than normal parties. You see, most people here have access to anything they want, so why not use it to their favor when partying?”

That may be more interesting to Changkyun than their usual movie nights and their talks about cinematography. Hell, even more important than planning some high school students’ prom as a theater teacher. When they reach the small bar, cramped in between a few groups of people, she juts out her bottom lip as Kwon orders. Whatever cocktail he chooses to have is heaven in a cup, a man of nice tastes. “…Oh hell, tell me why I am not surprised that you were in a threesome.”

“Because no one would be surprised to know I was in a threesome,” Kwon clinks his martini with her, the taste caressing the back of her tongue, letting it simmer before pushing it down. The drink may help her ease into this night. “But you know…just a heads up, parties like these get crazy.”

Worry settles over her, and she doesn’t know why. Changkyun is fully capable of taking care of himself—an adult, he is, for fuck’s sake, but something inside her heart just tells him to keep him away from such a world. As in she doesn’t trust anyone in that room, all strangers that appeared in the blink of an eye. “One question,” She takes a sip of her drink. “And don’t call me dumb for it.”

Kwon lets his weight kneel against the counter, licking the edge of the cocktail before scoffing. “Depends on what you’re about to ask, love.”

“Kwon!”

“What? I just know that I’m bound to call you dumb if you ask something stupid, that’s all!”

With a shaky sigh, she looks down at the drink on her hand. The only reason as to why she is there is to prove a point—that she can, also, join this life that Changkyun is now part of. The other reason reads on the fact that she hasn’t seen Changkyun in well over a few weeks, and even then, the greetings were short, the conversations even duller. “Why does Changkyun prefer all these strangers over me?”

Something that characterizes Kwon is that he is so unfathomably himself that she just knows every word that leaves his lips is the truth. For a moment, his innocent expression lets his smile drop little by little, inspecting her features before downing the rest of his drink, barely a hiss coming soon after. “Because he has a chance that he’s never had, but all these years he’s always had you.” Kwon answers, as if it was that simple to comprehend, interlocking his hands and keeping his elbows upright. “And it’s your choice to feel betrayed, but Changkyun is just trying something different out. You two have been glued by the waist ever since you were like…I’d say fourteen? I think he just needs some space.”

“He’s having a whole universe, sometimes he doesn’t even talk to me.” She plays around with the word ‘space’, rolling her eyes and taking another gulp of her drink. “Look at this! We got here and he’s nowhere in sight.”

“Or we just aren’t where he is,” Kwon replies, taking her hand in his and once again using his own body as shelter for her, the fabric of her tight yellow dress making it a bit comfortable for her to walk without it riding up. So much for Kwon giving her something to match him just to fit in. Expensive, it may look, but it sure as hell is uncomfortable and too shiny for her taste. “He must be somewhere around here. It doesn’t seem like people are fucking upstairs at this hour, it’s only ten.”

Sighing deeply, she tilts her head back. “I think I should just let him be, he probably—”

“Changkyun!”

Looking over Kwon’s shoulder, grasping the man’s forearms in the progress, she watches the man that he had just called. His hair is not pushed back, but definitely done a mess, a bottle of beer dangling from his right hand, his other fingertips letting go of the waist of a woman right beside him. A few buttons of his shirt were open, the glimpse of a choker around his neck shown when he moved—but it was made out of gold, and she doesn’t even want to question how much he spent on it. Not to be misunderstood, because the smile he sends to his two old friends shine brighter than the chandeliers on top of them, moving over to grasp Kwon’s shoulders in a tight hug.

“You’ve made it!” The happiness of his tone has her moving away from Kwon, looking at Changkyun with expectation in her eyes. With the alcohol dense in his breath, he pulls away from their mutual friend—now more of her friend than his—to beam at her. His fingers carefully rub at her cheek, pinching it in the process with a lift to his tone. “Oh, and you’re here, too. I think I’m seeing a ghost; I haven’t seen you in so long.”

But that may be partially his fault, if not entirely. “Likewise, Changkyun.” She replies, going over to wrap her arm around his waist to receive a hug, but two taps on her back reminds her of her distance in between the two, only pushed further when Changkyun looks over his shoulder to his new catch, sending a smile her way. “Mhm, I’m supposing Rapunzel is forgotten.”

Changkyun stops looking at his girl, from the longish legs in the high waisted and expensive blue pants, to the marvelous white top paired with a fur coat and short hair. Chic, styled straight and in a dark color, matching her cat-like stare. “Who?” He asks after humming, and Kwon shows equal interest.

“Rapunzel, the waitress.”

“Ah!” Changkyun parts his lips, laughing in response. “Over it. Now I have Hana.” The glint in his eyes reminds her of the time in which his mischief would take the best of him, but now that he is using it with people that she doesn’t fully like, neither does she think that they like the real Changkyun, she bites back.

“Hana? More like Cruella de Vil, I’m sure an animal died just to have that coat on her.” Trying to suppress his laughter, Kwon doubles over beside her and she takes this moment to take the last sip of her drink.

“You don’t like her?”

“You’ve done better.” She retorts, quirking a styled eyebrow at him.

With a whine, he responds. “Who?”

Me. She wants to say, but instead she shrugs her shoulders, the fabric of her dress hugging her arms tightly. “Not saying.” She answers, licking the inside of her cheek before pointing her chin at her. “Introduce her to me.”

With an ounce of hesitation, Changkyun spares a look in between the two, soon after going over to where Cruella de Vil was standing. Pushing her chest forward, the little bit of classiness that she possesses comes through when the sound of sweet laughter fills the air. Now from up close, she can realize the beauty of Hana and the image of her clicks in her mind well. The loved actress on the rise, star of romantic movies, that push of comedy coming to her easily. For someone who looks so pompous in real life, her movies are to die for.

“Isn’t this Changkyun’s best friend?” Hana asks with delight, leaning down to grasp her hand in a tight grip and the action alone has her pushing her lips together. Something about that smile screams jealousy, perhaps it is a spray Hana is trying to use against her to keep her away from him. “I have not stopped hearing about you. You’re in all of Kyun’s stories.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you know someone for years. You just have…more story.” The sound of her voice shouldn’t have been quite as pointy, but the bite on her tone surprised her.

Hana tilts her head to the side, her long earrings almost tangling with her perfectly styled hair. “I don’t know. Some memories can be made in a shorter time.”

“I suppose—”

“One night is enough.” Hana says it with an innocent tone, ending with a giggle that has her smiling tightly. She tries to suppress the frown on her features by interlocking her hands behind her back, joining in the laughter that Hana has created.

“I suppose,” She repeats, still smiling forcefully. “Ah, I’m a big fan of your work. Changkyun did not tell me that you two were seeing each other.”

“It’s fairly recent,” Changkyun explains, sparing a glance to Hana before resting his hand on her waist. Her eyes go from the mere touch to Changkyun’s eyes studying Hana’s expression, and her blood boils for a reason. Changkyun has had girlfriends after her, plenty, as well as various friends with benefits and a few dates, but something about Hana makes her fear about a future Changkyun may have, one that doesn’t include her. “But…we met thanks to an interview. We’ll see how this goes.”

“Well, I’m so happy for you two.” Her feet move back and forth, unable to stay in one place, and Kwon remains silent by her side, perhaps feeling the tension in the air. “…Not so happy about the animal you’re wearing on your shoulders, though. Someone died just in the name of fashion.”

Hana pushes the fabric up on her shoulders, scrunching up her small nose. “It’s just—You know, yes, it’s not a good choice of clothing but—”

“Doesn’t matter. Anything you wear looks perfect,” Defeated by not even being able to spend time with her best friend, taken away by some woman that he has only gotten to know recently, she takes Kwon by the arm and drags him along with her as she says her goodbyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hana, but I really just came here to get drunk and have a good time, so I’m going to do just that.”

“Wait—” Changkyun starts, but the sound is drowned the more she moves towards the terrace, away from the couple.

Or couple-to-be. Whatever.

The terrace is not as spacious, a table of ping pong right in the middle, a few people crowded together with smoke blown into the air and the smell of alcohol thick. Even as she is walking, she feels as though she has stepped on a puddle of beer—or she hopes that is beer—. Though, her heart is going a mile per minute, looking for the answers as to why her ears are heated and her head is enraged.

Misplaced anger, it may be, at herself for a reason. Changkyun, growing from himself, has done nothing but live his life and she has stayed on the side, watching like a hawk ready to take a prey. Never had she imagined that a villain would be made out of her heart, for her best friend had always been someone sacred to her—but that is what she feels. Hatred, misplacement, a sudden need to be more…to be exactly the kind of people that Changkyun wants to hang around with.

And the kind that Kwon tells her to keep away from.

Colored blue is the bottle of beer that she takes in between her fingers, finding that sense of tranquility within her with the taste of the drink, but her fingers are shaking, Kwon’s voice worrisome as he speaks.

“What was that?” Misunderstood she shall remain, and by the way Kwon widens his eyes and inspects her features, he has no clue about what may be going through her head. “Are you jealous of Changkyun having a fling?”

For a moment, she bites her tongue—because she likes to believe that people understand her, even when she doesn’t capture exactly what she feels. It’s something she hates about her—she asks to be comprehended, but she never makes what bothers her obvious. “I don’t even know,” She admits, staring at the seas of people around them, the cheering people by the ping pong table, some shirtless, others without pieces of their clothing on. “I don’t even know how to explain it.”

Kwon leans back against the railing, taking a beer of his own. “Try.”

When she is alone is when she misses him the most. Now that he has entered the terrace, lifting his pierced eyebrow when he smiles at someone that greets him, she realizes that her best friend is still in there, the only thing missing is that she is not with him. Not clinging to his side as usual, neither is she the first thing that pops inside his head early in the morning. Changkyun no longer needs her, and that may be such a selfish thing to miss. “I’m so fucking angry because—look at him, it is as if he doesn’t miss me!”

“Because he doesn’t,” Kwon says. “I’ve said it already…he has you, why would he miss you?”

“He doesn’t have me all the time—”

“He does,” Kwon answers, shrugging his shoulders and looking forward, towards the people that are now putting on their clothes and messily arranging new cups with alcohol in them. “It has always been something I’ve envied,” His pretentious tone indicates, the honey in it making such a harsh truth feel drunken. “Changkyun has that kind of friend that everyone wants in you. You’re always there for him, you’d drop everything just to see him happy.”

The image of her signing the contract that gave away the rights to her own script had her taking a shaky breath. “…Why does it feel like he would not do the same for me?”

“I like to believe he would.” Kwon finishes and for a moment, she watches Changkyun near them. If it had been him put in her position, one of forgetfulness and complete invisibility, would he have stood still?

In the heat of the moment, she walks towards the table of ping pong, greeting the two guys in front of her. One taller than the other, lanky and a good head over her height, the oversized flannel on his body stylish, too much gel on his hair to uncover tanned skin with some imperfections on his chin, a smile that could blind a light just in the way he sends it towards her.

“What’s this game about?”

“Stripping beer pong.” The shorter one says, earning a bit of a dusted blush from the other man, who chuckles with drunken nature. “You wanna play?”

In retrospect, it has been a while since she has played beer pong, and she is not even that good at it. The only thing she has on her apart from her yellow dress are some socks and a pair of boots, and this may be a loss for her, but one glance at Changkyun sends a rush of competitiveness in between her, as if she wants to prove that she can also be fun. “Yeah, I’m feeling some drinks. If I drink, I don’t have to strip, right?”

“Already thinking you’re going to lose?” The taller one indicates, extending his hand to arrange the bottles on his side of the table. The brown strands of hair are perfectly put, as well as the glisten behind his eyes when he looks up. “It’s simple. If you get the ball inside the cup on this side, I have to drink and strip off something. New rules, just to make it more fun.”

“Huh, so one on one?” She asks, only to have the man in question shaking his head.

“On pairs. It’d be better for you; you only have a dress on.” Something about him is fairly bashful, the tips of his ears reddened and it must be the drunkenness inside of him speaking. “The name’s Changmin. My friend is Hyun. Who you’re playing with?”

Looking over to Kwon, who is already talking to someone—typical of him, really—she finds herself in awe when she feels someone’s presence next to her, a deep voice that she recognizes very well speaking into the colorful air of a party. “Me.”

“Oh, no, no, no—” She starts speaking when looking at Changkyun, pointing her chin towards the door. “Hana is probably waiting for you, just keep being with her.”

“You’re going to end up naked if you play this alone.” Changkyun answers, crossing his arms over his chest while he gets closer to her. For a moment, it feels as though her old friend is back—but the one from university, that had wanted to make sure she was alright after every party they attended to.

“What’s the problem with that?” She retorts. “I’m an adult.”

“You’re my friend.”

“And?”

“I know how mortified you are going to be if you end up losing this.” Changkyun turns around, taking the ball in between the table before looking at Changmin’s eyes. “We start.” That authority in his tone must have indicated that he is mad about something, perhaps her attitude towards him or this unspoken tension in between them, but a swing of his hand he throws the ball directly at one of the cups, smiling a bit to himself.

“I can take perfect care of myself.” She says from her spot, her eyes wandering down when Changmin takes his shirt off, the tattoos on his waist and chest hidden thanks to his flannel. “You know, speaking of…maybe, I should make a move on one of your rich friends.” Not that Changmin is her style, or that she is inherently interested in hooking up with someone today, but if Changkyun can do it…then, so can she.

Changkyun scoffs from his side, speaking lowly when Hyun misses his shot, giving her the ball without much of a thought. “He’s not your type.”

“Hana was not your type.”

“What’s your problem with her?”

“I don’t know her,” And when she throws, she misses the cup, sparing a glance to Changmin who is already looking at her by the time she does so. However, there is more interest on looking at Changkyun when she punctuates her issues. “And I didn’t even know that she was in your life.”

“It’s nothing serious.” Changkyun speaks lowly, taking the ball and throwing it without a care and hence, missing. “When did it become a rule in our friendship to tell you everything and anything I do?”

“Since we started being friends, we’ve always told each other everything.”

“I’ve just been busy.”

The plop of a drink splashing on her has her looking at the culprit, Hyun smirking in delight when getting the point. “Okay, one of you two: drink and strip.” The night is cold, she realizes then, the skin of her thighs presenting little goosebumps at the mere touch of the air. Her fingers wrap around the drink, meaning to own up to it when the red cup is snatched away from her hands and downed in one go by Changkyun, who had already tossed his shirt somewhere on the floor, not caring about the expensiveness of it.

“What a gentleman!” Someone whoops from far away, but her eyes are simply squinted at him, once again repeating the rules of the game, not caring about the outcome but concentrating on the task at hand. A score, and Hyun is the next one to take something off—his pants, since he had already lost his shirt in some previous game.

“Hana is not that important,” Changkyun whispers. “We just fuck and that’s it.”

“Doesn’t seem like that to me.” She tells him, eyeing his face up and down before breathing deeply. “I don’t mind you dating anyone, but you don’t tell me anything anymore. I didn’t know you had met someone called Hana, that’s a wrong start already.”

“I said it’s not that important.”

“It’s important to me!” She says, putting her hands up in the air before looking at the pair in front of them. “But go ahead, I don’t blame you. You prefer people with money, after all, and I’m some stupid fucker with a dress that makes me look like mustard. It’s okay.”

Changkyun tries to continue to speak as the game develops, but the conversation goes dull as he takes pieces of clothing off, only left with his jeans, his jewelry scattered on the table by the time the game is over, all drinks downed on Hyun’s and Changmin’s side. With quickened steps, she returns to where Kwon is, head dizzy and the image of Hana appearing beside Changkyun suddenly becoming the only thing she can see. Her head lulls back, the fresh air touching the skin of her cheeks, the heat clinging to her body in an uncomfortable way.

What he doesn’t notice is that everything has changed, from the moment they met to now—and it was bound to happen, but it gives her whiplash with how fast it was. As the night develops, staying around for the orders of pizza that came soon after and some other drinks, as well as a group of friends that Kwon found in the middle of the dance floor, she waits for a miracle. For some reason, she expects Changkyun to go over to her side, place one hand over her thigh and speak about the most random of things, perhaps catch up on the latest films they have watched on their own, but that doesn’t happen.

The bass is strong when she dances with some strangers—in a moment, she is in Kwon’s arms, in the other she thinks she has danced with Changmin, sharing a cigarette in between the two like she would have done with her best friend, and then she has passed her alcohol limit, finding solace in an empty spot in Changkyun’s couch, away from people as she lays down and lets sleep take over her. Her dreams are a mess, far too forgetful by the time the sunrays appear through those damned windows, annoying her beyond comprehension when she realizes what happened last night.

She talked to Changkyun. Drank. Danced. Smoked. Knocked herself out.

The feeling of a silky fabric running over her thighs makes her open one eye, draping her arm over the other to look down at a familiar button down. Her bones crack when she extends, her eyes inspecting the room when she hears the sizzling of food, the smell of vegetables thick in the air. When her legs decide to move away from the couch, she watches Kwon’s sleeping body on the other couch, arms wrapped around himself…but he is wearing his shirt.

A few steps away makes her scrunch up her nose at the mess, though her head is too dizzy to care about the mess that Changkyun is probably going to have cleaned up for him. Her fingers let themselves knot around the fabric of the button down that had covered her legs when speaking and realization kicks her when she notices whose it was.

Changkyun’s.

The one he took off when playing stripping beer pong.

The sizzling comes from the kitchen and the image of Changkyun making sure she is well covered and making breakfast for her brings a smile up her face. That is the kind of thing her best friend would do. Walking over the rope of hope, she walks towards the kitchen, expecting to see Changkyun with simpler clothing and a pan in between his fingers, but fuck, that is what dreams are made for…not a reality.

Arms that wrap around a small waist, and a similar shirt dropped over Hana’s body, cladding her perfectly. Her hair is put up in a small ponytail, little kisses scattered around her neck and collarbones while she cooks. Changkyun seems to be delighted, fingers pulling her closer until he takes a good scent of her, speaking something against Hana’s skin…unheard, but yet so powerful.

She doesn’t know why this hurts her, because she has seen Changkyun be with other women. This should not be news, but something about the entire replacement of her in every way drops at her stomach harshly, to the point she clears her throat to call out for their attention.

Changkyun pulls away from Hana, smiling at her when he takes the shirt from her hands. “Good morning!” He cheers, clearly in a good mood, if the lipstick stains on his neck are something to go by and the messy hair are indicators of his late morning activities. “You passed out on my couch. Had a great night partying?”

As if they had not spoken at all, he acts. Perhaps, he doesn’t really care about the tension in between the two—he thinks that some nice actions are going to save him, and the worst part? They might have had she not seen this. “Yeah. Kind of.”

“I’ve made tea for the hangover.” Hana points out from her spot, her manicured hands signaling the teapot somewhere in the kitchen. “It’s my magic potion. Been there, done that, girl. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Before she could deny, Changkyun is already pouring a cup for her, but she stops him by placing her hands over his. “Put it in a plastic cup. I’ll be out the door in a minute.”

“Why?” Changkyun asks, his faint smile dropping when looking at her. “Listen, I know you must feel bad because you drank a lot last night and you were cranky but—”

“Kyun—” She closes her eyes, correcting herself. “Changkyun, I need to leave.”

“But why?”

“I need to get rid of this headache and go over some scripts I asked the students to write.” She’s coming up with whatever excuse appears in her head, taking Changkyun’s place and accepting the nice smelling tea when pouring it inside a plastic cup, one of those that had been used for alcohol last night.

“So, you’re not staying for breakfast?” Changkyun asks while he goes behind her, her fingers already hooking around Kwon’s hand to wake him up, speaking his name softly to help herself out.

Just when Kwon opens his eyes groggily, she answers. “We’re not staying for breakfast. I’m going to use Kwon’s car to drive him home and I’m going to get him to sleep comfortably. His back must be killing him.”

Kwon doesn’t say much, simply trails after her towards the door, but Changkyun speaks loud enough for the two of them to hear. “You’re lying to me.”

She stops on her tracks, clutching at the end of her dress when she stutters out a: “I—I’m not.”

“I know when you’re lying to me.”

Does he even know her at all?

“But I’m not.” She answers, looking over her shoulder before sending a wave at him. “Bye, K—Changkyun.”

###

You see, Changkyun is not the only person she misses in her life. Though a bit out there, definitely louder than a normal person, and as clingy as it can get, Jiyoung is one of her closest friends. With the lack of a male best friend that sits down with her and watches the matutine news or a dumb reality show, she is left to enjoy more time with another woman. Jiyoung, for example, had insisted on bleaching her hair even more, the color far lighter and her hair much drier, but the smile on her face is as welcoming as ever as she lays her head down on her shoulder and looks at the screen in front of them.

Jiyoung changes the channels too much, and even though she hasn’t seen Changkyun in well over a month again, through her texts she can feel as though he is still the same about his tastes in TV watching and shows. Something about inspecting everything and picking just the right thing is something that exudes his energy, but Jiyoung is quite the opposite. Settling on some stardom interview show just because she thinks the host is hot? That’s something Jiyoung does.

Her old place is as intact as ever, and she wishes she had the strength to erase the image of Changkyun from her brain. When in front of him, she can act as though she is tough, as if she doesn’t care that he doesn’t have time for her anymore, but give her a phone and those blinking three dots that indicate that he is texting her and she is head over heels, stopping everything she is doing to answer to him.

For a while, she has thought that this is normal—that she just holds onto Changkyun because that is what friends do, but this also reminds her of how different their friendship is now. She gives, he takes, and she never receives. He prefers cities with angels, diamonds with brightness, words of intelligence and people who speak too much about themselves. That was his dream, he always said it, their friendship would be better if only they could make their dreams come true, make money out of something they love.

So why is it that when he appears on the screen, being interviewed for his new movie about the release in a few months from now, she feels as though she is living a nightmare instead of a dream?

Changkyun promised they would be together through their dreams, but that wasn’t the case. His hair is placed in the way she likes it, standing out with clothing that mixes the eighties with something modern. Something about his face is a beauty of the sixties, a young thing ready to take over the world. His voice drops more than usual, there is an air of knowledge to him, and he seems less excited than she would have imagined him to be. He thinks that he belongs there, and strangely enough, he does.

Maybe, she had imagined that Changkyun would be different…and he was just like everyone else. With pain inside her heart, she brings her fingers up to press on the remote, turning off the TV with quickened motions. The black screen showcases her reflection, uneven breaths and shaking shoulders, a face that reads turmoil accompanied by someone by her side.

“He’s so lucky.” Jiyoung never sounds this serious, and for a moment she thinks she is speaking about the job that he has been given, the stardom that had accumulated even before his debut as an actor. A pretty face with a creative mind. “Not a lot of people get to have someone love them as much as you love him.”

She loves Changkyun, in the way a friend should love each other, willing to be there for the one that has always taken a part of her heart. This much she knows, making her frown when she looks over at Jiyoung. “Of course I love him, he’s my friend.”

“No,” Jiyoung chuckles, tucking a strand of her almost white hair behind her ear. “I like Changkyun. I’d love to have him as a lover, but…you love that guy.” Splashed in front of her are the ideas that Jiyoung has, but the attraction she once felt for Changkyun cannot be appearing again, much less can it be translated into something like romantic love. That has never existed for them. “You stay, and you’re patient for him. Your eyes get all shiny when he is around, and you can’t stand seeing him turn into someone else…but you still accept him. That’s love.”

She scoffs, covering her face with both hands as she imagines the first time that she saw Changkyun, and now she pictures the last time that they saw each other, barely there to start with. His name is up in the sky, written for people to read it as stars, but she is not shining with him. “That is lack of dignity, not love.”

“Maybe,” Jiyoung shrugs from her spot, playing with the volume buttons of the remote. “I think it started before this whole actor thing came around.”

“How so?” She asks, half interested in what Jiyoung is saying when she uncovers her face. For some reason, she tries to imagine the romantic point of it—if maybe she had not understood the signs her body had given her, had screamed at her to comprehend over the years, and Jiyoung had the key from a viewpoint of someone that had seen it in a friendly spot.

“You dated, but you finished it off because you didn’t want to lose each other, not because you only considered yourselves friends who wanted to be with each other physically.” Jiyoung, ever the clear one when staring at people, responds. “And you stayed with each other over the years. In a way, I gave up on him because of the connection the two of you had.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t stand a chance.” Jiyoung cackles at her own answer, rubbing her chin in the process. “Changkyun…he always seemed to come back to you. He’d date, go back to spending time with you. He’d fuck someone, go back to you. Even when he was in a serious relationship, he was always with you. I thought that he had caught feelings,”

This time, she looks up at the ceiling and she can’t help but smile at the reminder of their first kiss. Changkyun had done it absentmindedly, moving at the same time that she did and capturing each other on a kiss, soon after came the idea of being together because of loneliness. All she knew for that week was that no one had kissed her quite as softly as Changkyun did, as if he wanted to savor every piece of her, making flavors out of their union. “Why me? Why him? Why us? I doubt—”

“You have to look at it from my way,” Her friend says, running her fingers through her scalp to ease her mind. “You know people are in love when they say each other’s name while staring at the other. That doesn’t happen often, but there is a little breath that is taken whenever the person you love says your name and vice versa.” The caress of his eyes roaming her face when saying her name awakened memories inside her, bringing a flutter to her stomach. Could it be? “It’s cute. You’d look at him and lighten your voice when saying Kyun, and he’d look so in place…in peace when you said it. When I noticed that, I thought I stood no chance.”

She chuckles at Jiyoung’s antics, resting her head against hers as she laughs. “I don’t know…”

“Do you think I’m right?”

For a moment, she ponders on everything that has changed and everything she misses, but the thought of always staying for him keeps being repeated. The world has been painted blue for her, and she still held it on her shoulders—just so he can live inside of it and have a beautiful life. “I may…” She replies, closing her eyes tightly and feeling the back of her throat contracting, feelings bursting from a part of her that had been hidden. A single tear rolls down her cheek when she remembers, and God, nostalgia has always been her weakest point. “All I know is that I don’t want to lose him, and I want to have him all for myself. How it was. How it was in that one week we were together.”

Jiyoung’s fingertips run over the expanse of her cheeks, taking away the tears that had piled in there. “Can’t believe we’re bonding about a man that I wanted to sleep with, and that you love.”

That brings laughter out of her, pouring rain coming from her eyes when her phone rings momentarily, the idea of Changkyun being the one to text her having her hands moving with precision, pulling the device away from the coffee table to look at the screen. A picture taken on the night before she lost him, in that restaurant where they had talked about their types and their dreams, and the light in her eyes was different from the dulling tone she has now, seeing that it is a message from a fellow teacher.

She just wants her best friend back.

Even if it’s to love him in silence.

###

Chasing after a dream of wealth, success, fame had been what had united them. As long as it’s not what separates them, the dream still stands.

Last summer, that thought had passed her head. This summer, she can say while being in Changkyun’s arms that she had never felt quite as separated from him as that moment.

Even when the windows are big in Changkyun’s room as well, the birds chirping outside cannot take her mind away from the movie that is being displayed on the screen for them to see. Theirs. The one script that had come to life only one year after they finished it. His fluffy and brown blankets are brought up to her jaw, her head resting on his shoulder while his back is placed against the bedframe. She doesn’t spare a look at Changkyun, but he is silent, perhaps judging himself or enjoying certain lines he said—but she has finally come to the conclusion that Changkyun’s future was always meant to shine with the stairs.

He deserves this, she realizes. The big apartment, the too-cold air conditioner, the birds singing only for him and the people that go around him, the fanbase that is growing slowly but surely. All of those he had worked hard for, and all she had done was give him the opportunity to live such a beautiful life. Their character needed to be portrayed by him, all the aches and the beauties of it showcased in his expression. When she wrote it, she never realized Changkyun could convey such emotions, but now…there she is, always coming back to him and now, extremely proud.

Because she is alone with him, watching the credits that read him and not her, and she couldn’t be more tranquil with her decision. Another opportunity may come for her, but for now…Changkyun is the only light that she dares look from up close.

“I think it’s cringy to watch myself act,” Changkyun says, his voice deep after turning off the device and twisting to his side. Months ago, Jiyoung and herself had spoken about the possibilities of loving Changkyun, and with him by her side she can confirm that it may be a reality. All these months, their meetings had been brief and non-substantial, but when she has him like this…it feels like she can reach for him. His laughter is brief, his cheek resting against his fluffy pillow. “I’m surprised you didn’t cry.”

“I kept it in,” She tells him, playing with the loose strands of his hair before sighing deeply. “And don’t cringe. You’ve always been a great actor.”

“I overact.”

“You don’t.” She replies, the sound of the ice in her drink filling the air when one of them drips into water and makes the one at the top fall down on the glass. She had forgotten she was even drinking soda on the first place. “And if you dare say otherwise, I’m going to kick you out of this bed.”

“It’s almost impossible, it’s too big.” Changkyun answers, extending his arms to further prove his point before closing his eyes tightly. It is at this moment, in the softness of the situation, when the coconut scent of his body wash takes over her and has her wrapping her arms around him, caging him in a hug that has almost all of her weight laying down on him. This steals a breath from his lungs, his arms coming around to cage her body when he chuckles softly. “What is it?”

She separates just slightly when she presses a kiss to his shoulder, through the white t-shirt to speak to him. Once again, face to face, she feels like they are at the beginning of this journey, her bottom lip jutting out to stop a cry. “I’m so proud of you and I am so sorry I haven’t shown that lately,” She whispers, her heart weighty because, once again, she seems to have her friend back. “I was afraid I’d lose you…and I felt like I did, so whenever I would see you, I would get…angry.”

His hands trail over her hair, patting it down softly, making sure that every fine hair that stands out is pushed away and down. His brown eyes are chocolate ganache when he stares at her, dewy and dulcet, looking at her with all the sentiments in the world. To name them? She can’t. “I’m never going to leave you.” He whispers. “It may feel like it, but you’re my best friend…”

“I know,” She mumbles back, caressing his jaw with her fingertips, going over the memories of his days of worsened skin, wanting nothing more than to kiss the imperfections into his soul and claim them as loved. “It’s not like you could forget me.”

A nudge to her waist has her laughing after her sentence, Changkyun joining in with ease. “Try being around you for more than ten years. You’re hard to forget.”

“Am I?”

“…Yes.”

“What makes me so memorable?”

“What?”

“You agreed that I’m hard to forget,” She says, pushing her hair to her back before sighing. Insecurity drips from her, something that she has always hated about herself, but when she is over him, barely separated from his face, the air becomes perfect for secrecy. Lovely, even. “What makes me so hard to forget?”

“I will never think about anyone the way I think about you.” Changkyun replies, and it’s such a vague answer that she almost finds herself asking about said thoughts, but the angel wings on him appear the more she looks at his face after those words, a glisten to his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “You’ve loved me as a friend even before all of…this. You gave up your dream for me. No one would do that.”

“I did,” She whispers, leaning down the slightest, breaths mingling together when she nods. “Because I really do love you, Kyun.”

And there it is, the sweetness of it all, the promise of the lack of an ending. Changkyun doesn’t realize it, simply hums in response when he takes her by the back of her neck and in his tone, there are no signs that he claims to know the weight behind those words. “I love you, too.” A love that goes past souls and friendships, one that has him leaning forward until the ghost of a kiss rests on her lips. First, Changkyun lets their skins touch, his lips part just the slightest, a shaky breath given before he kisses her as if he wants to eat her whole. Suddenly, the sky is dancing, the sunrays becoming one with the warmth of her body when Changkyun pushes her further on top of his body, her thighs caging his body to the mattress, the happiness of being kissed by him again returning.

Insomnia takes up on her when his hands work their way down to her waist, gripping softly, subtly, laughing against her lips for the briefest seconds as his body moves to his will.

“…You’re kissing me.” Changkyun throws his head back with a soft gush of breath leaving his mouth. “Are we going back to that one week of dating?”

“We’ll see.” She chuckles, pecking his lips softly before he turns them around. Her hair splays on the pillows, a squeal leaving her lips when his teeth accidentally graze her bottom lip, his body now keeping her against the bed. Her hands twirl around his neck, keeping the dance of their lips when he breathes softly against her skin.

He whispers the beauty of life in his touches, and for a moment, she thinks she has him once again. What a disgrace it is that Im Changkyun is a story that never lets a twist last too long, keeping the side characters as that—and she has become secondary, a day with him could not change that, the feeling of his fingers slotting away from her, because a breath from him is only the touch of a promise that lasts a second.

One week. One second. One lifetime.

What is it with him?

###

Redeemable, whenever she starts something with Changkyun that goes a different way from their usual stream of time, it always seems to last too little.

The hotel in which they are staying in is the complete opposite of packed. Lining the brown and white, tall walls of the hotel are windows with white railings, though that is the least interesting point of its infrastructure. From her position inside the pool, she thinks the most beautiful part of this hotel that Changkyun had boosted about—and for a reason, it’s expensive and breathtaking both at the same time—is that it feels as though she is inside a beach. The water in the pool is not too cold, clear and rich, and when she swims right towards Changkyun, she gets to see the big palm trees, the attention to detail that comes with the faux sand, and of course, she gets to see her best friend, days after that day of watching his movie. Their movie.

His arms are extended on each side of him, chest covered in droplets of water, rising up to inhale, deflating to exhale. His relaxed expression glosses over, listening to the wind moving the trees, his eyes half-lidded as he is immersed in his own thoughts. Only when her fingertips caress his waist, Changkyun snaps out of whatever thought has been clouding his brain.

So like himself, she dares ask him: “What are you thinking about?” Her hair, clinging to her skin, is the least of her worries when she finds her place on his shoulder, pecking the skin with utmost care. Changkyun lets his arm wrap around her waist, the movement of the water calming them into their position.

“Nothing really.” Changkyun replies, lowering his gaze and igniting a flame inside her that makes her feel alive. An ashamed smile appears on her face, one that he returns as if he doesn’t regret the kiss they shared a few days ago, the feeling that now has appeared after a couple of years. “I’m just surprised. You agreed to come here with me.”

“As long as it’s the two of us, I don’t mind where we go.” She answers, turning around to swim away the slightest, the water clashing one against the other, but her eyebrows move the slightest when she feels a few droplets landing on her from above, too tiny to be noticed. “Come here, let’s race.”

“That’s not such a bad idea. Let’s go.” But what surprises her is that Changkyun starts swimming with rapidness, arms extending to move his weight with precision. With widened eyes and a flutter to her chest, she chuckles at his actions, screaming his name at the top of her lungs while moving right behind him.

The pull she has towards him is so strong, and Kwon may be right when he says that she will always be there for him. Changkyun has never lost her, because she had not left for a single second. This that they live is a song that repeats itself, the sweet existence of a lesson that they continuously learn. She will always go back to him to be stronger, to connect to those roots of her that show in the smile he gives her when he wins, back leaning against the tiles of the pool.

She will never forget his face, one that had grown out of his old features, rounded cheeks and thin lips parted as he doubles over, and she joins him. The world doesn’t care to bathe them in rain, goosebumps rising on her arms when she wraps them around his shoulders to plant the seed of a kiss on his lips. To grow from the place in which they are standing, watered by memories. Returning the kiss briefly, Changkyun looks up at the sky before laughing.

“I won!” He says with all the excitement in the world, but she cuts him off as she slips out of the pool, reaching for the towels they had placed on one of the seats nearby.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get out of here before you get sick.”

With the biggest towel wrapped around both of them, his arms caging her to his chest as he stands behind her, walking after her trail, she thinks that all the things that went wrong were only meant to unite them more. This is a song that she will never forget, the shivering of his body behind her as they leave a trail of water behind her, something that the maids at the expensive hotel will probably complain about as they move through the lobby, both the water from the pool and the rain mixing as they keep laughing the night away.

The lessons she has learned in life have always been tough, and in a way, she blames herself for always staying. In the same job. Almost in the same house with Jiyoung. Always clinging to the past, with ex-boyfriends…and with Changkyun, one of the few people that rarely disappointed her. Maybe, it is because Changkyun never quite forgot her that she stayed, or it was because she knew that she knew she’d never forget him if given the chance.

But with him by her side when they are nearing the elevator, she realizes that her life went wrong a hundred ways, but Changkyun is one of her best decisions. One that life put in her way and she always picked above everything else. Even above her dream.

The sound of his name being called makes him stop on his tracks, the towel almost slipping from her shoulders, retreating to look at the source of such noise. Seated by the lobby, on the immaculate-looking leather seats, are a group of people drinking from filled glasses of champagne, some with suits, others with dresses—all clearly more dolled up than the two youngest people there, Changkyun and herself.

“Long time no see!” Changkyun greets immediately, wrapping the towel entirely around his body, leaving her only with the small one she had around her waist, almost to shelter her from the prying eyes that had been sent her way when her best friend pulled away from her. Best friend that, if continuing down this path, may become her boyfriend once again.

A few handshakes, some bows, and Changkyun is back at being inspected by the socialites, some with smirks on their faces. For some reason, she feels as though Changkyun is a puppet to them—someone to bend to their will, but she may be just seeing them as villains out of conceptualizations she made inside her head. “I’m guessing the rain caught you and your friend when swimming.”

Changkyun’s chest shakes as he laughs, nodding at those words. “Kind of.”

The oldest looking man of the group takes a sip of his champagne before speaking. “I’m so glad to see you, we’re about to head towards a party right now…and given that your film is doing so great, I think we could introduce you to some people.”

Her body freezes when she hears those words—because a party that night doesn’t sound like a great idea. Changkyun had promised dinner, had spoken wonders about the music he had prepared for them to listen to, the tourism spots they are supposed to be visiting the next day, but Changkyun hums almost immediately. “I’d love to go.”

“I imagine your friend wants to go with you.” The same man concludes, and she wraps her arms around her chest when she is being stared at by the rich individuals in front of her. “I don’t think I’ve heard about you. Are you one of Changkyun’s longtime friends?”

“Yes, sir.” She answers, bowing uncomfortably before taking a breath in.

“It must be a delight to have known him while he was writing the masterpiece that is his movie.”

“Actually, we worked on it together—” The words escape her lips without much thought, but her heart skips a bit when Changkyun turns to look at her, eyes inspecting her expression silently.

“She means that she was there for me as I wrote it.” And there is an apology on his eyes—again, a plea to keep the secret that has given him the life he always wanted. Somewhere, Changkyun grew stronger…and that word is so damned, because he also did not change, just that his dream came true…and there is no more space for her in this world that has captured him.

“Yeah, Changkyun has always been a star in my eyes.” She tells, hoping that the weight of her words reaches him, nearing him with careful steps as she scans his face. Changkyun is not looking ahead but at her instead, and in the way her eyelids keep fluttering, she feels a force behind her ribcage that begs to be released in the form of a sob. So strong, she had been, coming back to him for an entire year, whenever he wanted, never asking for him…but maybe, it is time to leave that behind. “He was built for this world,” She whispers, loud enough for the people in front of them to listen. “And I am so happy he got this opportunity instead of anyone else.”

“Whoa,” One of the women there says. “That is really a friend.”

“Yeah.” She answers, extending her hand towards Changkyun whilst waving her fingertips. “Give me the keys, please. I’m going to grab my things before you go to the party.”

Finally downing the situation in which he is caught in, Changkyun lifts his hand in the air, as if asking for a second from the socialites before moving her to the side, standing right in front of the elevator, she presses the button to call for the elevator, her palm still opened to welcome the keys. “Wait, no. You can go to the party, too—”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why is it that you never integrate yourself into my life?”

Opening her lips in surprise, her hand comes up to cover the sarcastic cackle that leaves her lips, too short to even be coming from a place that does not speak about dread. “Me? Changkyun, I’ve spent an entire year following after your footsteps because you don’t look for me anymore. You don’t need me.” She speaks, not caring that the doors of the elevator open, shivering at the coldness of the lobby. “Do I even know you anymore? Because this is not the person that I had as a friend. I didn’t fall in love with all of…this.” Pointing at him as if he is an outcast, Changkyun shakes his head at her words.

“Hey, no, you’re mistaking it. You know how people will get if someone knows the truth—”

“I’m not asking for fame, Changkyun. I’m asking for my friend, I’m asking for you to settle for something. Do you want me as your girlfriend, your friend? Do you want people to see you around me?” Her voice is too fast, snatching the keys that had been dangling from his hands before sighing. “Changkyun…I’ve had people wreck me. A hundred times. It’s all I’ve known.” Her voice lowers, rubbing at her eyes when the tears start to appear, a shaky breath leaving her.

“Well, sorry for growing up. You gave up your dream for me, it’s not my fault that you don’t want me to live mine when you pushed me to do so.” Changkyun speaks, lowering his voice when his fingers wrap around her wrists to uncover her face.

“You know what? I should’ve expected it the moment you signed that contract that you’d break my heart.” She says, placing her fingers against the button of the elevator again, breaking her gaze from the man that she had given everything for—the one person that accompanied her through every moment of her life, only to abandon her. “And it’s okay, really. Do as you fucking please, but don’t drag me along with it—” Her name is called softly, but she walks inside the elevator, tapping the button uncontrollably as if that will make the doors close quicker. Something rips inside of her, her fingers clutching at her chest when a sob leaves her throat, soft, unheard of, but watched by him. “I’m not coming back to you anymore.”

With the doors closing, she expected him to stop her, but he didn’t. He let her go.

When she picked up her items, caging them in the confines of her bag with tears streaming down her face, she expected to hear raps of knuckles against the door, to have him begging for her to listen to him. He let her go, instead.

And when getting out of the elevator again, cladded in clothing, dry and with her bag in between her fingers, she expected to see Changkyun bothered, at the very least, but he was simply seated in between the socialites, drying himself up with his towel, only sparing her a glance when she appears in front of him, and once again, she feels as though it’s metaphorical. Only when she is in front of him, he remembers the weight of the heartbreak he had caused her.

The keys slip in between his fingertips and that man right there, seated in between the riches, with eyes that glisten as if money were in them, is not the man she knows. That’s not her friend. Not the man she loved. Not the man she stayed for. Yet, as she gets out of that hotel with the silence of him not following after her after so many opportunities to do so, she realizes that it was never his priority to go after her, but hers.

But she’s in love, and maybe she will always be. With this version of Changkyun and the previous one, with the one person that had kissed her soul as if it was supposed to be cherished…

Was that version even real?

#i.m scenarios #i.m #monsta x scenarios #monsta x #kpop scenarios #writing #the anti-love club #monsta x au #monsta x angst #monsta x fluff #i.m au #i.m angst #i.m fluff #last installment!!! which one was your favorite?

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donteattheappleshook · 4 years

Text

Some Cupid Kills With Arrows

***

A Captain Swan AU loosely based on Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing for the @captainswanmoviemarathon

Rated M

Read on Ao3 because tumblr eats my italics

Summary:

Emma and Killian hate each other. They have since the night they met. Or at least since the morning after. So Emma is dreading having to deal with them being Maid of Honour and Best Man at her brother's wedding. But, as their friends grow more and more annoyed at their constant bickering and a masquerade Stag and Doe turns everything on it's head, the entire bridal party come to a startling realisation: Emma and Killian might just be perfect for each other. With a little scheming and some well-timed chaos, maybe they can stop yelling at each other long enough to realise it too.

An enormous, huge, giant thank you to @ultraluckycatnd for her fantastic beta work and for helping me with this fic right up to the last second despite all my procrastinating. You are lovely and the best <3

Part One

Her head. Oh, god, her head. Why did her head hurt so much? Emma groaned, a pathetic whimper coming out as she tried to roll over on the couch. Her stomach gave an uneasy roll of its own at the movement, protesting against the liquor that was still swirling around inside.

Right. Liquor. Drinking. Drinking last night. Drinking with David. David. She was going to have to kill David. David, who insisted she show up early to this weekend extravaganza disguised as a wedding. The one who claimed that since he’d lost his best man when Mary Margaret stole his little sister to be her maid of honour that he was entitled to a brother-sister pre-bachelor party. It’s only fair, he’d insisted, flashing her those big puppy dog eyes and Emma had caved. She always caved when it came to her brother - or his fiance for that matter. She was weak when it came to those two. And now she had to murder one of them. Murder her only brother two days before his wedding for forcing what must have been an entire bottle of expensive scotch down her throat while they played poker and smoked cigars (and later sang along to the entire Mama Mia soundtrack - not that she’d ever admit that). Pity. She really liked David.

“Emma, Emma, bo-bemma, Banana-fana fo-femma, Fee-fi-mo-memma. Emma!” The loud singing announced her brother practically bouncing into the room and throwing himself on the couch near her feet. Emma groaned again and threw a pillow over her ears to try and block out the off-key hollering from the asshole next to her. She was liking him less and less with every passing second.

David laughed and ripped the pillow out of her grasp. “Rise and shine sister-mine!” he chanted. She was actually going to murder him. She reached out, a pathetic attempt to strike him but her hand just fell limply at her side.

“They will never find your body,” she told him. He laughed again and Emma cursed David and his super liver. She’d been his sister since she was ten; since Ruth found her on the street, burning a book of fairy tales to keep warm, and had taken her home for the night. That night had turned into forever and now, after eighteen years of living with the man, she’d never once seen him suffer a hangover.

“How are you so chipper?” she asked. Her voice sounded like she’d gargled sandpaper. David smiled, hauling her up by the shoulders until she was sitting like an almost-human.

He threw his arms out. “It’s a beautiful day?” he offered. “I’m one morning closer to marrying the woman of my dreams? Everyone who I love and who loves me is on their way to celebrate the happiest moment of my life?” Emma frowned at him. How dare he be so happy so early. David laughed at her misery again but patted her shoulder sympathetically before rising up and walking across the hall to the kitchen. Then, as if out of nowhere, a giant cup of coffee, a bottle of water, and two extra-strength Tylenol capsules appeared on the table in front of her. She wondered if she’d fallen asleep for a minute there.

Emma reached for the coffee like it was a lifeline - which it really was if she was being honest. She drank deeply and felt the effects almost immediately. She downed the pills and water next. She couldn’t quite manage a smile since this was still technically his fault, but she offered David a thankful look for taking care of her. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t have to murder him. Just some light maiming.

“You might want to jump in the shower,” he told her as she shuffled into the kitchen, he himself already looking and smelling fresh as a daisy. “You look a little rough,” he said with a grimace. Emma scowled at him and threw a nearby banana at his head which he easily dodged. She caught a glimpse of her reflection though, in the metallic gleam of the toaster and, well, he wasn’t wrong. “Just thought you’d want to freshen up and wake up before everyone gets here,” he suggested.

That’s right. It was Thursday. Everyone was arriving today. Oh, God. Emma had not played this right. Getting hammered on the night before the festivities even began. Today everyone would be arriving and settling into their respective rooms in the estate (read: mansion) owned by Mary Margaret’s parents - seriously the place was enormous. Mary Margaret had told her once how many bedrooms it had but the number had been so ridiculous and so superfluous that Emma had struck it from her memory. Nobody with an only child needed a house with rooms in the double digits. And this wasn’t even their home. No, they considered this place their ‘summer cottage’ where they would entertain friends on the private lake. It was convenient for a wedding though, she had to say. The whole bridal party was staying there for the entire weekend.

Tonight was the Stag and Doe. Leave it to David and Mary Margaret to find a way to avoid having to be apart even for their bachelor and bachelorette parties. It wasn’t like they’d ever been apart since they were fourteen years old - why start now? It was themed. Of course it was themed. Mary Margaret loved themes and David loved Mary Margaret so he let her have whatever damn theme she wanted, and since her parents had put their foot down against their daughter getting married on Halloween, they were having a costume stag and doe . She groaned. There were so many people coming. She knew. She’d had to organize it.

Tomorrow was the spa day for Mary Margaret and her bridesmaids and she assumed the boys would be treating David to some sort of manly pre-wedding tradition. All the out of town family would be arriving for the rehearsal dinner on Saturday. And then finally, the wedding was on Sunday. This weekend was a marathon, she mused, not a sprint.

Dozens of decorators, caterers, florists, and lots of other jobs Emma had never heard of were already running around the grounds - yes, the place had grounds - setting things up for what would certainly be the most lavish and extravagant (knowing Mary Margaret’s parents) yet classy and intimate (knowing Mary Margaret) wedding the world had ever seen. And all of them were under the direct orders of Regina Mills, David and Mary Margaret’s wedding planner and probably the most terrifying woman Emma had ever met.

Emma needed to boot and rally. She was the maid of honour and the groom’s sister. This weekend was not about her. Her job was to make sure everything ran smoothly. That the two most important people in her life had the most amazing few days of their lives and nothing and no-one was going to stand in her way.

Except maybe her speech, Emma thought as she turned on the shower and stepped under it. The hot water felt good and helped wake her up a little. The speech. The speech that she’d had nearly a year to write and still only had a blank page to show for it. How was she supposed to write a speech about love when she didn’t believe in it herself?

Well, that wasn’t completely true. She believed that some love was possible. But only for certain people. People like David and Mary Margaret who had found ‘The One’ when they were in the eighth grade and had never looked back. But they were the exception, not the rule.

Love had only ever left Emma hurt and alone. Love had only ever left her behind. First her birth parents who abandoned her on the side of the road as an infant. Then the string of foster parents that had cast her aside when they decided she wasn’t what they wanted. Then Ruth who had died far too young and left her and David behind. Then Neal, her high school boyfriend who had been her first everything before he disappeared to another city without so much as a ‘see ya’ text. And now David and Mary Margaret were getting married and starting a family of their own - one she wouldn’t be as much of a part of, no matter how much her brother insisted things wouldn’t change.

No, love wasn’t in the cards for Emma. She told people she didn’t have time for it but really she just didn’t have the heart for it. A heart could only take so many blows before it learned to rebuild itself out of something stronger. The taunting lilt of ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride’ flitted through her head and she shook it away. She was fine like this. She was happy. She had a job she loved, a nice apartment, and good friends. She didn’t need love.

As she finished drying her hair and putting on enough makeup so that she didn’t look like an extra from The Walking Dead, Emma heard the commotion of people arriving. She could pick out Mary Margaret, Belle, Elsa and Ruby’s voices easily and she rushed out to greet her friends. They squealed when they saw her and her head only protested a little as they wrapped her up in a tangle of limbs that passed for a group hug.

Mary Margaret gave her a sympathetic look. “How was the pre-bachelor party?” she asked and Emma only grunted in response.

“You guys got here okay?” David asked, squeezing in to grab his bride-to-be and give her a kiss that would make you think she’d been away for months and not for a night.

“Save it for the honeymoon would you?” Ruby said in mock disgust and David looked at her with a wolfish smile.

“Don’t be jealous, Ruby! I’ve got one for you too!” David rushed to grab a protesting Ruby and planted a big, sloppy kiss on her cheek.

Emma smiled as she watched her friends laugh and joke and tease each other. She loved having them all here together. Soon the boys would get here too and for one, perfect weekend everything would be just the way it should be. All her friends in one place, celebrating together for the first time since her college graduation.

Well, almost perfect. All of them being here also meant he would be here. He and his snark and his ego and his womanizing ways. She supposed it was a small price to pay for the reunion. And she couldn’t deny that she really enjoyed the look on his face when she put him in his place.

“Oh! It’s Killian,” David said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check a message. Speak of the devil , she thought. “He says they should be here in five,” David informed them, tucking his phone away.

“Great,” Emma said sarcastically and David shot her a begrudging look. She saw Ruby and Belle roll their eyes as Elsa and Mary Margaret started putting things away.

“Be nice,” David warned her.

“I’m always nice!” she insisted, offended. “ He’s the one who can’t seem to manage to be a decent human being for more than five minutes.”

“Come on, Emma,” Mary Margaret insisted from the kitchen. “You’re just as guilty. I don’t know why you egg him on.” She shook her head and Emma balked.

“I do not! I just think that the man needs reminding every now and then that he’s not God’s gift to women.” It was David who rolled his eyes this time. “Seriously, David, how you can stand to have him be your best man -” she started.

“Nope,” he cut her off. “You don’t get to complain about that. You chose Mary Margaret over me when we both asked you, so I had to find someone else. Besides, Killian is my best friend.” She balked. David rolled his eyes. “My best male friend,” he corrected. “So, again, be nice .” He gave her a stern look.

“But he’s just so… so…”

“So what?” Ruby asked, looking like she was really enjoying this.

Elsa shot her a look. “Don’t encourage her, Ruby.”

Ruby grinned. “Oh come on, it’s fun! It’s like a free show watching those two go at each other.”

“We do not go at each other!” Emma insisted again. “I just find it hard to say nothing like all of you do when he goes around acting so… cocky.”

“Cocky?” Ruby prodded and Belle elbowed her.

“You know what I mean. Every time he comes here, it’s all, oh, I’ve done this and don’t worry, I know how to do that ... Look at me, I’m so handsome and -”

“Handsome?” Mary Margaret interjected with a raised eyebrow.

“Shut it!” she cast her friend a warning glare. “I mean he thinks he’s the hottest thing since the Hemsworths. And it doesn’t help that he always drags along some bimbo whose sole purpose in life seems to be to fluff his ego and his…” she made a vague hand gesture, “you know.”

“Woah, Emma, tell us how you really feel, why don’t you?” Ruby laughed.

“He’s really not actually -” David started but she cut him off.

“Look, it’s nothing against the women okay - I’m sure on some level they’re really nice or whatever, or have some great heart or talent, but honestly, any woman who is willing to be Killian Jones’ date must have the IQ and backbone of a slug.”

“He’s not bringing a date,” David told her before she could go on.

Emma reeled back from the news. Killian Jones without a date? Impossible. The man couldn’t stand to be caught dead without something shiny on his arm.

“What? Has he finally slept with every woman in America and abroad?”

David rolled his eyes. “He’s bringing his brother. Something about him being on shore leave and wanting to spend time with him.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groaned, putting her head in her hands.

“See?” Belle piped in softly, misunderstanding her distress. “I’ve always said you judged him too quickly-”

“ There’s two of them !?” she demanded, hoping someone would tell her it was a joke. There was a collective groan and a small laugh from her friends. “Is one Jones in this world not enough?” she asked the room.

Before anyone had a chance to answer, a smooth, accented voice called from down the hall. “Hello? Is someone getting married here?”

“Robin!” Mary Margaret cheered, perking right up as though there was anywhere left for her to perk. “We’re in the kitchen!” she called.

“How the bloody hell do we find the kitchen?” came another accented voice, this one rougher around the edges. “This place is a maze.” Will! Emma rushed out with Mary Margaret to help their friends navigate the enormous house.

They found them looking confused in the front hall and Emma practically threw herself in Will’s arms as Mary Margaret greeted her guests.

Will had been in the same foster home as her when they were little. He was only a few years older, but he’d made a point to look out for her when most of the older kids had been inclined to pick on the smaller ones. She’d run away when he’d been transferred to another home for fighting and, after Ruth adopted her, she thought she’d never see him again. But with some help she’d managed to track him down in high school and was happy to find out he’d been placed with a distant relative the state had managed to locate in the area - a second cousin, Robin.

Robin was in college and on his own at the time, but took Will under his wing and had brought him up more like a little brother than a son. When David, Mary Margaret, and Emma had all ended up at the same college as Will and Robin, the friendship had been inevitable. Will introduced them to Ruby, and Mary Margaret became quick friends with Belle and Elsa when they all joined and felt like the odd ones out in the same sorority. However, Will had also unfortunately introduced them all to his classmate and drinking buddy, Killian Jones - something Emma would never forgive him for.

“Hey! You’re going to ruin my shirt!” he told her, pretending he wasn’t hugging her back.

“Your shirt’s already wrinkled,” she told him.

“It’s disheveled,” he corrected her. “There’s a difference.”

“Come now, Swan, I know it can be difficult to find men at your age, but there’s no need to throw yourself at poor Will like that.”

And there it was. Ninety seconds. He’d lasted a whole ninety seconds before saying something rude and asshole-ish and just… ugh. She hated him.

She opened her mouth to retort but Robin beat her to it. He turned on Killian, finger extended in warning. “You! No. None of that. We talked about this.”

Killian snapped his mouth shut and held his hands up in innocence but she could see him biting back a smile. Ugh, he even looked smug when he was being chastised. She looked him over, arming herself for the battle that was soon to come, scanning for anything she could throw back in his face when she needed it, something to bring him back down to size.

He was handsome - she had to give him that. He was probably one of the best looking men she’d ever met and she remembered thinking so the first time they were introduced. But when he opened his mouth... god. The sheer level of douche that was contained in one man. It made her shudder at the thought and angry at her past self for judging a book by its cover. Why her friends put up with him, she’d never understand.

The others had joined them in the hall by now and pleasantries were being exchanged. But as she hugged Robin, and Killian exchanged how-have-you-beens with David and Belle, she could feel his eyes on her. That was another thing that drove her crazy about him. He always seemed to be paying too much attention to her - probably sizing her up the way she did him.

But sometimes… sometimes she’d caught him watching her with an expression that wasn’t mirthful or arrogant - a small smile curling the corner of his mouth as if against his will, his brow softened from it’s usual expressiveness. It made her unsteady, made her feel unbalanced because she didn’t know what to make of it. What to make of the fact that she kind of liked it. That scared the shit out of her.

“Allow me to introduce my brother,” Killian was suddenly saying and she realised she may have been the one staring this time. “Everyone, this is Liam. Liam this is… everyone,” he smiled. Emma raised her brow at them both. Another Jones. This could not end well. “It’s Liam’s first time in the States,” he informed them as Liam shook hands with everyone.

“Well,” Liam interjected, “first time off a ship anyway.”

“Welcome,” David said, patting him on the shoulder.

“We’re so happy to have you here,” Mary Margaret cheered, hugging him.

“Nice to meet you,” Elsa smiled, offering her hand. Liam looked from Mary Margaret to her and for a second his eyes went a little wide - Elsa could have that effect - before he took her hand and held it a fraction too long. Elsa’s smile shifted as she looked at him and Liam finally released her hand.

“Thank you,” Liam smiled, looking down at the floor and rubbing the back of his neck. “I do hope I’m not intruding,” he offered. “Only it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to see my brother and…” Holy shit. Was he blushing? Emma thought. How the hell was this guy related to Killian?

“Of course you’re not,” she found herself saying before she could stop herself. He must be adopted. That was the only explanation. “This family has always had a soft spot for picking up strays along the way,” she insisted. “Emma,” she told him her name.

“Ah, Emma,” he said, casting a look at Killian. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Emma cast her own look at the other brother, skeptical of what he could have possibly said about her. He maintained his look of innocence. Liam smiled and took her hand, shaking it. “A pleasure,” he said and she smiled back almost instinctively. Maybe her judgement had been off when she’d first met Killian but she liked to think she was a pretty good judge of character. And Liam, well Liam had an air about him. It was the opposite of Killian’s. Where Killian exuded cockiness and pretense, Liam was modest and sincere. Well what do you know, she thought, there is a Jones out there I could like.

Quickly, once all the greetings had been taken care of, Emma informed everyone of the schedule for the weekend. “What will the guys be doing tomorrow?” she asked, looking pointedly at the best man.

“We’re going camping,” Killian informed her. It almost pissed her off how perfect a choice that was. David loved camping. “Lots of good old fashioned male bonding,” Killian joked. “I’ve packed enough cigars and whiskey to take down a horse. Let’s see if we can get Dave hungover for the first time in his life shall we?” Emma braced himself for whatever he was going to say next. “Besides, it will give us a chance to give him some tips for the wedding night.” He winked at the groom.

“Well, that’s our cue, I think,” David said, rolling his eyes at his friend. “Let’s go find everyone a room and have a drink and maybe some pizza before people get here.”

As the gang headed into the kitchen, Killian went about hanging up his jacket and setting his keys down before picking up his bag, calling after them. “Don’t worry Dave! I can tell you what to do so you don’t bleed your first time!” Emma lingered behind. She couldn’t help herself.

“You know you talk a lot for a guy nobody listens to.”

And there it was, that cocky, amused smile he seemed to save only for her. Emma ignored the little flip her stomach did - convincing herself that it was just leftover hangover symptoms.

“ Swan ,” he said almost affectionately, but there was a mocking there too. “We didn’t have a chance to say hello! You look…” He paused, taking in what she was sure were dark circles and pale skin. “Alive... mostly. How absolutely wonderful for someone, I’m sure.”

She didn’t even let it phase her. If he was already relying on physical insults she’d already won. “I noticed you didn’t bring a date.” He eyed her skeptically. “Did you forget to pay your tab at Escorts ‘R Us this month?”

He smiled. “I don’t see your date, Swan. Or is he already making a hasty escape out the bathroom window? Don’t take it too hard. Not everyone can have as many suitors as some.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ha,” she snorted. “Yeah I know all about your many suitors. Tell me something,” she started, inching closer and speaking low like it was a secret. He leaned in almost like a reflex. “Does your right hand know that you sometimes cheat on it with your left?”

He laughed outright at that. “Ah, love, it might shock you to discover that some of us are capable of finding willing partners for the world’s oldest dance. But I can understand how some might be led to believe one’s hand is one’s only option.”

She tilted her head. “Yeah, I’m gonna bet that partners like you are part of the reason so many dancers prefer their own hand. Might have something to do with why you only ever have a date for one night...”

It was his turn to inch forward. He stepped closer until there was barely any breathing room between them but Emma held her ground, tilting her chin up at him and meeting his gaze. “Oh, believe me. My prowess leaves nothing to be desired,” he promised. His voice had dropped, sounding gravelly and making his accent more pronounced. Emma steeled herself, ignoring the way the heat of him and the smell of his cologne warmed her skin. He always smelled so damn good, like leather and the sea. It was destabilizing and she nearly stumbled on her next words.

“And yet, you brought your brother as your date. Something tells me he doesn't put out.” He smiled at her and it was that smile she’d seen before - the unsettling one. The one that messed with this thing they had going - this mutual distaste. She needed to wipe it off his face. “Maybe I should find out,” she added with a suggestive brow and watched with pride and a small flicker of disappointment as the smile fell from his face.

“I’ll not have you defiling my brother, Swan!” He said it in jest, but he didn’t seem quite committed to his mock offence. She worried she may have pushed too far.

“Emma! Killian! Let’s go!” Belle shouted from the kitchen. “We’re ordering pizza and Ruby is getting hangry. Killian I swear she’ll put mushrooms on yours if you don’t come tell us what you want!”

They broke apart and it was only a second before Killian’s regular cock-sure bravado was back in place.

“Shall we?” he asked, indicating that she should lead the way down the hall.

Only four days. She told herself. She could handle four days.

-/-

“So tell me, Mary Margaret,” Killian asked later as they were all eating their pizza. Emma had nearly let slide his ‘ really Swan, anchovies?’ comment, but then suggested he try the one with garlic since it was unlikely he would find anyone desperate enough to kiss him tonight. He refused, insisting that experience had taught him to be optimistic. She’d muttered something about women with no standards before Robin had told them to knock it off and eat their bloody pizza. “What exactly does this party tonight entail? All Belle said was that I had to dress up? It’s lucky I still had my Halloween costume from last year.”

“You mean your halloween costume from every year ,” Emma snarked. Killian smirked.

“Why mess with perfection?” he asked. “Besides, Captain Hook is always a killer with the ladies.”

“No!” Mary Margaret covered her ears. “We’re not supposed to know what you’re dressing up as!”

“Way to ruin the surprise,” Emma said harshly and regretted it when she saw genuine surprise and regret cross his face. She ignored it, turning to the groomsmen who weren’t aware of the plans for the night. “We’re having a masquerade ball. Belle and Elsa spent weeks making everyone gorgeous masks to choose from and wear with their costumes. Nobody can know who anyone is, though. We’re doing this the right way. Nobody reveals their identities until midnight. That’s how long Mary Margaret and David have to find each other once we separate them at the beginning of the party.”

“I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me that these two haven’t told each other exactly what they’re dressing up as? I don’t buy it,” Robin shook his head.

“We took care of that,” Emma laughed. “Well, Belle did. Belle picked out their costumes and has kept them a secret. Thanks again,” she said, turning to the woman in question.

“My pleasure,” she said. “Actually, Elsa helped a lot. Her taste is impeccable.”

“Well, you couldn't have left Swan to do it. They’d both be wearing jeans and leather jackets.”

Emma shot him a look but Elsa was quicker. “How exactly is that different from your everyday look? Worried she might have picked out the wrong shade of black?” she challenged, eyeing up his black jeans, black boots, and black shirt. His black leather jacket still hung in the closet in the front hall. Liam hid his guffaw behind his hand and Elsa smirked proudly.

“Don’t worry,” Emma jumped in. “Killian doesn’t need a costume. He’s always dressed like a giant tool.” It wasn’t her best insult but hey, they couldn’t all be winners.

Killian smirked, stepping closer to her, invading her space a little, His voice was low and suggestive. “I’d be happy to show you my giant tool, Swan,” he offered and Emma pulled a face.

“ Oh my god, just bone already ,” she heard Ruby mutter under her breath.

“What?” they both snapped but Ruby pretended like she hadn’t heard them.

Liam laughed again and Elsa turned to him with wide, almost sorrowful eyes. “Oh, Liam,” she said and he turned to her. Emma wasn’t sure if she imagined the slight redness on his cheeks. It was very like his brother’s. “I’m so sorry. Killian didn’t tell us you were coming,” she glared at her friend. “Do you have a costume? I’m sure we could put something together if you -”

“Don’t trouble yourself, love,” he answered. “Killian forgot to mention a costume when he invited me.” He shot his brother a look. “But thankfully, my brother still had his costume from the time he played Westley in that Princess Bride stage play in college.”

Emma lit up just as Killian grimaced. “I’m sorry, the time he what ?” she asked, beaming. Oh, this was too good. She definitely needed to hear that story. Liam smirked, looking at his brother’s embarrassment and Emma once again marveled at how much she liked the older Jones brother.

“Hey! No more costume talk!” Ruby jumped in. “We can’t have David and Mary Margaret knowing who anyone is! It will spoil the game!”

“Sorry,” Liam said, looking a little abashed. “Mum’s the word,” He cast Emma a glance out of the corner of his eye, leaning in to stage-whisper. “He had the ponytail and everything,” he told her conspiratorially. It took everything she had not to burst out laughing, instead settling for tossing a shit-eating grin and a ‘ just wait ” look at Killian. Killian looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Liam, you might be becoming one of my favorite people.”

He grinned.

“We should start getting ready,” Belle chimed in. “People will be arriving soon.”

“Oh I can’t wait to see the costumes!” Mary Margaret squealed and then turned suddenly. “Emma!” Emma jumped. “Will you let me do your makeup? Please? You never let me and it’s my wedding!”

Emma sighed, giving in to her friend’s decades-long attempt at dolling her up. The last time she'd caved had been prom night. “Fine.”

“Oh thank you! You’re going to look gorgeous!” Mary Margaret squealed before quickly catching herself. “Not that you don’t always look gorgeous!”

Emma saw Killian open his mouth but didn’t give him the chance. “Can it, Ponytail.”

He pressed his mouth into a tight line but the corners turned up despite how obviously he was trying to fight it.

“Wait, first let me show you your costume,” Belle said to Mary Margaret. Emma didn’t know which one of them was more excited at the prospect.

“Okay! Emma, meet me in my room okay?” The bride-to-be waited for Emma to nod in agreement (defeat) before rushing off with Belle, Elsa and Ruby following quickly behind. Emma stood shaking her head as they ran away giggling. David corralled all the boys, rushing them off in the other direction to do… whatever guys did to get ready for a party. She watched them all disappearing down the hall, whooping and cheering. She thought she might have heard Will shout something about David finding his True Love and she shook her head.

“This is why I’m never going to fall in love,” she groaned to nobody in particular, shaking her head. “It makes people act like idiots.”

“At least we can agree on one thing,” she heard a voice answer. Her eyes snapped up to see Killian, still hovering in the doorway. He smiled slightly at her. “Not in the cards for me either, I think.” There was something vulnerable about the way he said it, like there was some secret that she was missing. Just for a second, she caught herself wondering what it was, feeling a slight tug in her chest at the defeated way he spoke. A connection? She smothered that feeling right away.

“Lucky for the women of the world,” Emma answered.

He only gave her another one of those small, half smiles before following the others down the hall.

“Emma! Get your ass up here!” Ruby shouted from one of the bedrooms. Emma left the kitchen, doing her best to ignore the way getting the last word with Killian hadn’t left her feeling as smug as it usually did.

-/-

“Ah, there’s my best man,” David said as Killian walked into the room. “Leaving me in my hour of need already?”

“Please, I was gone for less than a minute. Couldn’t you guys keep yourselves entertained for that long without me?” he asked mirthfully.

“What were you doing back there?” Will asked, sounding like he knew the answer already.

“Speaking with the lovely Emma, I’ll wager,” Robin answered with a smirk.

“What else is new?” David asked, rolling his eyes before Killian could defend himself.

“Why is this your hour of need, exactly?” Killian asked, choosing not to contradict them. He had, in fact, been talking to her, so he didn’t really have a leg to stand on.

“Because Robin has a better costume than me!”

It was Killian’s turn to roll his eyes. “His name is literally Robin. Who else could reasonably dress up as Robin Hood?”

“But that’s just it! She’ll never suspect it!” David insisted. The men all paused, exchanging looks. David held up the costume that had been laid out for him on the bed. “Belle dressed me as Prince Charming. I love her to death, but she’s just as much of a romantic as Mary Margaret. It’s too obvious, she’ll find me in a second.”

“He has a point, you know,” Robin agreed.

“Hey, Belle put a lot of work into picking your costumes,” Will reminded them. He cleared his throat when Robin shot him a wry look. “And the others. They all put in a lot of work…”

Killian grinned. “And wouldn’t it just be great to see their reactions when they realise we’ve switched it on them?” Even David smiled, excited at the harmless though somewhat juvenile prank. Will looked nervous though.

“Listen, I just don’t want to be the reason we ensue Elsa’s wrath,” he defended. Liam glanced at Will, and Killian noticed a slightly downtrodden look on his brother’s face. He frowned.

“It’s my Stag and Doe,” the groom insisted. “I say we do it.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. He slapped a hand on David’s shoulder. “Let’s see if true love really does conquer all, shall we?”

Robin considered this for a moment, arms crossed as he stroked his beard. “All right, but if we do this, we should really commit. Everybody confess what your costume is so we can pick the most un-David-like one.”

Will still didn’t look convinced. “What’s with him?” David asked.

Robin smirked. “He’s just worried that Belle will be mad at him. Or is it that you picked your costume with her in mind and don’t want to give it up?”

“Really, Will? You’re still hung up on her?” David joked. “Why don’t you just tell her already?” Liam perked up then, looking back at Will after having been staring at the floor for a moment.

“Oh, I was under the impression that Elsa was your girlfriend,” he said casually. Four pairs of suspicious eyes turned to him. “You just seemed so set on not upsetting her is all…” Killian didn’t buy it.

Will looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Bloody hell, Elsa? No. She just scares the hell out of me and she should scare you too,” he warned. “That is not a woman you want to cross.”

“Indeed,” Robin agreed, coming up behind his friend and wrapping an arm around him. “Will only has eyes for Belle.” Will elbowed him. “Elsa is, as of present, unattached.”

“Huh,” was all Liam said, suddenly far too uninterested in the conversation. It took Killian a moment, frowning at his brother, trying to read what he was hiding before it hit him.

“ Oh, no, ” he groaned and everyone’s eyes snapped up to him.

“What?” Liam demanded, playing innocent.

“No, no.”

“ What?”

“My own brother!” Killian cried. “Abandoned. Betrayed by my own kin!”

Liam rolled his eyes but his tone was way too defensive. “Shut up, Killian.”

Robin snorted but hid it quickly behind his hand as Killian shot him a death glare.

“Am I missing something?” David asked, looking between the brothers.

“What you’re missing, Dave, is that my brother, sworn bachelor, the last of the sworn bachelors, the last of the Jones’ to carry on the good name and reputation of man about town and sea, has fallen in love.” He cast his eyes to Liam again. “Traitor!”

“Oh, come on, Killian. Stop being dramatic. I’m not in love.”

“Not yet!” he cried. “But I’ve seen that look before - it’s in the eyes. I’ve seen it in my fallen comrades. First David, then Will. Robin was lost to me before I even met him, married at nineteen like some lovesick fool.”

“Careful now, that’s my wife you’re talking about,” Robin warned. Marian and Roland were joining the group the day of the wedding, thinking that subjecting a six year old to three days of wedding festivities seemed unreasonable.

“And now my own brother! Seduced! Stolen away by the Ice Queen. We stood together! Now I stand alone.”

“That’s a bit much don’t you think?” Graham said.

“You like Elsa?” David asked Liam and Killian rounded on him.

“ That’s what you got from what I just said?”

“I mostly tune you out if I’m honest,” David said casually before focusing on Liam again. “If you like Elsa you have the perfect costume. The Princess Bride is her favorite movie. She and Emma are obsessed with it - it’s a little annoying actually. If you wear that, you’ll definitely get her attention.”

“Oh, well…” was all Liam said, clearly flustered to Killian’s disgust. He did not like how pleased his brother looked at the idea.

“Killian,” David said then. “Let’s see your costume. Mary Margaret won’t come near me if she thinks I’m you. She’s seen your pirate costume a million times now.”

“I think the hair might give it away, Dave,” Killian laughed, gesturing to his own dark hair that contrasted so drastically with the groom’s fair head. “Besides,” he smirked. “You don’t have the cleavage for it.”

David rolled his eyes. “Oh, far be it from me to deny you the opportunity to wear a shirt unbuttoned to your waist.”

“What exactly is your obsession with this Captain Hook costume, Brother?” Liam piped up. “I’ve never seen it but it would seem it’s rather famous. Why the fixation on Peter Pan?”

“It’s because he’s the boy who never grew up,” Will offered, receiving a punch in the arm from the person in question. “At least that’s what Ruby dubbed him for all his womanizing.”

Killian rolled his eyes, familiar with the nickname. He never bothered to mention that he liked the character of Hook, not Pan. Not the devil child but the melancholic man who clung to the last bit of hope left in him.

“I’m hardly a boy,” Killian glared. “And I don’t womanize. Every woman I take out knows exactly my intentions. I’m not some child playing games.”

“Then you won’t mind giving up your costume,” Robin insisted.

“I told you it would be too obvious,” he reminded them again.

“So am I understanding correctly?” Will asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re just all throwing the girl’s rules out the window?” Will asked with a bit of annoyance in his tone. If Killian himself weren’t so annoyed at Will’s crush on Belle, he’d have found it funny.

“Yes,” David said simply. “Liam, you keep yours so that you have an ice breaker with Elsa and Killian, well, I guess you can keep yours for your vanity.” Killian rolled his eyes. “The rest of you,” he demanded. “Let me see what you have.”

David, Will and Robin spent far too long debating who should wear which of the three costumes, even going so far as to look through the clothes they had brought to see if they could make a new, fourth costume, before finally making a decision nearly an hour later. As they headed to their respective rooms to change, Killian noticed his brother lingering. He sighed again.

“So, Elsa then?”

“I mean, she seems nice,” Liam answered but Killian could see him trying to fight the little smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Nice? Elsa? I mean sure she can be friendly sometimes, but I’ve always found her to be a bit cold, distant.”

“Perhaps she just doesn’t like you, brother.”

“Nonsense,” he smiled. “All women like me.” But then looked at Liam again. “You really like her?”

“I don’t - she seems interesting. I’d like to get to know her better, yes.”

“Unbelievable. You’re in the country for ten minutes and you’ve fallen for the first blonde you’ve seen.” He shook his head, utterly, totally disappointed by his brother.

“I wouldn’t be the first Jones now would I?” Liam muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Unbelievable,” Killian sighed.

“You keep saying that,” Liam pointed out.

“Well it is! A few years ago we were all free, unattached. We could head to the bar, meet some nice girls, have some fun. But now, I swear David has to ask permission before he goes out with us. And Will won’t go anywhere unless we agree to invite Belle along so he can stare at her like a git and not say a word. When did all of the bachelors die off? When did all my friends drop off the face of the earth. I’ll tell you when. When they decided to fall in love!”

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little old for this, Killian?”

“How dare you?” Killian snapped. “I’m thirty-two. I’m hardly at the age of needing to settle down.”

“Then pray tell what age is appropriate to settle down?”

“I’ll let you know if I ever hit it,” Killian smirked. Liam rolled his eyes.

“So what, you’re going to keep man whoring around? Don’t you want to be with someone? Have something real? Fall in love?”

“Love is overrated. I plan to die a bachelor.”

“You mean alone,” Liam corrected him. “I don’t believe you for a second, brother,” he said, but he shook his head in a way that told Killian he didn’t plan on arguing any further. Let Liam disbelieve him. He didn’t need his brother’s approval. He’d tried love once and it had brought him nothing but wasted years and endless torment.

Killian had learned young that love only ended in pain and heartbreak. He’d seen it with his mother, who’d been unhappy her entire married life only to pass away young and leave behind a father who was so heartbroken of the loss of the woman he mistreated that he abandoned his two sons.

He’d sworn off love at six years old. He’d only faltered once since, despite his best efforts to resist it. And that time had only served to reinforce his belief that he was right. Love was a waste of time. He didn’t need it. And he didn’t want it. Let the Davids and the Robins and the Wills - and apparently the Liams - of the world have love. He would stick to one night. One night was clear. One night left no expectations, set no precedent. One night was safe.

“So then,” Liam started, snapping Killian from his admittedly rather gloomy train of thought. “What about Emma?” he trailed off.

Killian’s head snapped up as though he’d been struck. “What about Emma?” he asked wearily.

“She seems nice, is all. Funny, smart, rather beautiful too…”

Killian felt his heart jump into his throat. Emma? Liam and Emma? Was his brother really suggesting that he was interested in Emma romantically? Or even just physically? The idea of his brother and Emma together stirred a feeling inside of him that he didn’t like. The same feeling that had come over him when Emma had taunted him with the idea of her and Liam earlier. What was it - anger? Disgust? Jealousy ? No. He wasn’t jealous. Emma could sleep with whoever she wanted. So could his brother for that matter. So could he. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“I’ll admit that she’s rather pleasant to look at but believe me, the woman is a harpie. She’s got a wicked tongue on her. She’s cold and defensive and she has walls a mile high.”

“She seemed rather pleasant to me. Witty too.”

“Oh, aye, she’s got wit, that’s for sure.” He caught the corner of his mouth ticking up and forced it down. “She’s quick and rather amusing when she’s not yelling at me.”

“You don’t seem to mind her yelling at you.”

He laughed. “She’s quick to anger, that’s all,” Killian shrugged, trying to go for blase but knowing he was failing. “Makes her rather fun to argue with. She has a way of seeing people… she’s quite perspective really.” She was. She could and would call him on any and all of his bullshit. He was always surprised to realise how much he enjoyed that. But she had him pegged wrong. Always had. And he couldn’t forgive her that.

“So you don’t like her then?” Liam continued, frowning. “I suppose I can understand that. I heard you talking in the hall. She does seem like she can be rather…”

“Rather what?” Killian said quickly, shocked by how vehemently his body reacted to the idea of someone speaking poorly of his rival - someone besides him anyway.

Liam’s eyes went wide and then settled into a knowing expression Killian didn’t like. “Nothing,” he said, but the word held weight.

“She’s just… she’s had a hard life,” Killian found himself saying. Shut up, why are you defending her? he demanded of himself, but he couldn’t stop the words that came out. “She’s been through a lot - like we have. And she’s done some rather impressive things with her life despite it. She’s a detective you know?”

“Yes, I know. You’ve told me. You’ve told me a lot about her actually…”

“Right,” Killian caught himself. Clearing his throat. He didn’t like what his brother was implying. Killian didn’t want Emma. Of course he didn’t. They fought and they bantered and they teased but that was all their relationship was. It was all it ever had been - well, almost. There was that first night... But regardless, he didn’t want his brother to get tangled up with her either. For his brother’s sake only. Emma pushed everyone away. He wouldn’t want to risk his brother being hurt like... “Well, yes, she is cold and distant and incredibly frustrating and - I don’t know if you want to go there. Not worth the effort I think and -”

“ Killian.”

“What?” he snapped.

“I’m not interested in Emma,” he explained carefully and Killian was angry at the relief he felt. “But I think maybe…” Killian steeled his jaw, fists clenching and shoulders straightening as his brother eyed him with… pity? sympathy? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Something in his expression must have warned Liam off. “Nevermind,” he finished.

Killian let out a heavy breath, thankful that this conversation was over. “Shall we go get ready?” he asked. “I think people will be arriving soon. I’ve seen Mulan’s car pull up. And if she’s here, the party is bound to get underway quickly.”

“Aye,” Liam said, swinging his arm around Killian’s shoulders. “Let’s.”

-/-

“Emma!” she heard Elsa call for her from the room next door. She banged on the adjoining wall to let her friend know it was fine to come in. A second later Elsa was making her way into the room, awkwardly looking behind herself as she struggled with her costume.

“Could you give me a hand with these laces?” she asked, referring to the corset like back of her Swan Lake ballerina costume. It was pretty, graceful, and understated like her friend.

“Sure,” Emma said, gesturing for her to turn around so that she could help her with the intricate lacing. When she was done, Elsa brushed her hands down the front of her dress, making sure it looked right.

“Thanks.” She looked Emma up and down and frowned. “You’re not ready yet? The party’s already started. I’m running late because of these damn laces. What’s your excuse?” she asked, taking in Emma’s jeans and leather jacket.

“Oh, I’m ready,” she said, grabbing a hat and a pair of sunglasses and putting them on.

Elsa frowned. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”

Emma clipped her badge onto her hip. “An undercover cop.”

Elsa stared at her for a long moment before crossing her arms in front of her chest and frowning. “Are you fucking kidding me, Emma?”

“What?” she asked defensively. It was either this or a sheet with holes cut in it,” she said. “You know, to be a ghost,” she clarified when Elsa didn’t react.

Elsa let her head fall into her hand, rubbing at her forehead in frustration. “Jesus Christ, Emma. It’s a costume party. You are a cop. You can’t just go as yourself. This is a pathetic excuse for a costume and you know it.”

“You were actually a ballerina!” Emma insisted, gesturing at the dress she knew her friend had worn in a real performance in college. Elsa glared at her. She was annoyed at her friend, but probably more at the fact that she knew she was right. She’d really hoped they’d have let her get away with it. She was never one for dressing up.

“That’s different,” Elsa explained slowly, like she was talking to an idiot. “I wouldn’t go around wearing this on the street. You haven’t even changed out of what you were wearing when we got here.”

“So you think I should go with the ghost?” she asked, smirking a little. Elsa shook her head in exasperation.

“Emma, this party is for Mary Margaret. You know what she wants it to be. She wants magic and beautiful dresses and men dressed as princes and heroes. This is her fairytale wedding and you cannot wear jeans to a masquerade ball.”

Emma sighed. “Okay, but it’s a little late now. I don’t have another costume and nothing I brought is fancy enough to qualify as a gown.”

Elsa thought for a second, looking her over as she tapped her fingers against her crossed arms. “Hang on a second,” she said finally. “I might have something.” And with that, she disappeared out of the room, trailing crinoline and feathers behind her.

Emma pulled the hat and sunglasses off, groaning as she pulled her hair out of it’s messy ponytail. She should have seen this coming. She should have known her friends wouldn’t stand for her cop out of a costume - they fought her every Halloween and this was her best friend’s wedding. She just… she didn’t have it in her. The whole fairy tales and True Love and princes and princesses - it just all felt so… fake, unrealistic. She didn’t want to get dolled up and attract the attention of some guy who would make her promises and then break them as soon as the lights came on and the masks came off. She remembered the last time she’d let some guy she met at a party convince her she meant something - she’d learned that lesson quickly. Never fall for a pretty face - especially one with an accent and a penchant for seducing blondes.

“Here,” Elsa announced, returning to the room and shaking Emma out of her thoughts. She was holding a dress on a hanger, the skirt of it draped over her arm. It was beautiful. Ice blue and floor length with intricate beading. The neckline was modest but she could see the plunging back. It was Elsa embodied: elegant, sophisticated, and just a little ethereal.

“This is gorgeous,” Emma said, reaching out to tough some of the delicate stitching. “Where did you get it?”

“I wore it to Mary Margaret’s black-tie New Years Eve party last year, remember?” Emma shook her head. “Oh right, you weren’t there - you had that case. Anyway, I forgot it here in the morning and haven’t been back to pick it up since. I feel like it would do nicely for tonight.”

“You’re going to dress me up as a princess aren’t you,” Emma squeezed her eyes shut. Elsa beamed.

“You bet your ass I am!” she laughed. “If your brother’s going as Prince Charming, it’s only fair you get a royal makeover too. Come on. If I know Mary Margaret’s mom, I’m sure we can dig up a tiara or something in one of these rooms. Shall we?” Emma bit her lip. She knew she wasn’t going to win this one. “Hey, you’re doing this for Mary Margaret,” Elsa reminded her and then gestured pointedly to her own costume. “We all are.”

Emma sighed. “Okay. But you better have a damn good mask. If David sees me in this, he’ll never let me live it down.” Nor would Killian, she thought, cringing at the teasing that would surely ensue from him seeing her in something other than jeans. Elsa laughed and dragged Emma along in search of a crown.

-/-

“Liam!” Killian called, poking his head into his brother’s room and looking around for his absentee sibling. “Are you nearly done putting your face on? The party’s in full swing and you’re missing it!”

“There’s a slight problem,” Liam’s voice carried across the room from the bathroom as he walked out and Killian had to put his fist to his mouth to stop from laughing at the sight of his brother. It didn’t work. “Shut up,” Liam warned as Killian burst out in a fit of laughter. Liam stood in front of him, looking not at all impressed in the tightest shirt and pants Killian had ever seen. The sleeves ended several inches above his wrists and the pants several inches above his ankles. Liam threw the mask he was holding at his brother.

“I’m sorry,” Killian apologized, trying to contain himself. “I don’t think it fits,” he pointed out the obvious.

“Clearly it doesn’t fit, little brother ,” Liam said with a glare. Killian returned it.

“Younger brother,” he corrected.

“No, I believe in this case little brother is correct,” he smirked, gesturing to himself again. He turned around to head back to the bathroom and Killian, who had been glaring, burst out laughing again.

“Oh, I do hope Elsa’s an ass woman,” he said. “You’ll certainly win her over with pants that tight.”

“Alright, enough. Give me your costume.”

“My costume,” Killian demanded, stepping back and placing a protective hand out in front of him. “Why?”

“Because this is your fault. You’re the one who gave me your old costume without accounting for the fact that I am the much taller and broader shouldered of the Jones brothers.”

“Or the one who needs to cut back on sweets,” Killian shot back. “Besides,” he challenged, “how will this costume fit you if you’re so big and strong you can’t fit into that one?”

“Give me the jacket and the jewellery,” Liam said. “I’ll find a pair of black pants and a buttoned shirt and it will have to do.” He eyed his brother who was still clinging protectively to his costume. “And the hook,” he demanded.

“What will I wear then, if you’re going to take the very shirt off my back?”

“This,” Liam answered, gesturing to himself. “Should work. You’ve barely filled out since college,” he smirked.

“I’ve never had any complaints.” Liam gave him a leveling look and Killian rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he ceded, shedding the beloved jacket from his shoulders and tossing it to his brother. Liam caught it in one hand and headed to the bathroom to change, pausing at his suitcase to grab a pair of pants and a shirt.

“You know you’re blowing your chances at winning over Elsa though, don’t you? No dashing childhood crush to seduce her with.”

Liam cracked the bathroom door open and poked his head out, tossing the costume at him. “I’m not trying to seduce anyone,” he frowned. “Besides,” he smirked. “Even if I was, I wouldn’t need a bloody costume to do so. Not all of us need glamour and trickery to convince a woman to speak to us.”

“Oi!” Killian shouted, offended. “I don’t need any tricks to get a woman to speak to me!”

“Is that why you pick a fight with Emma everytime you see her?” Liam’s voice was muffled through the door.

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating,” Killian snapped. He was getting very tired of his brother speaking cryptically about he and Emma’s relationship. As though they were anything but friendly rivals. So what if he looked forward to seeing her at these get-togethers? So what if he was disappointed when she was kept away by work. He simply looked forward to having someone to spar with, someone who kept up with him and could challenge him. He loved a challenge, and if Emma Swan was anything, she was a challenge.

“Of course not,” Liam patronized as he emerged in Killian’s jacket. He held out his hand and Killian passed him the pirate necklaces and the clip on earring that completed the look. “Better get dressed, party’s started,” Liam told him then looked him over carefully. “Isn’t ‘The Princess Bride’ Emma’s favorite movie as well?”

Killian looked down at the costume he held in his hands, ignoring the fact that it was, in fact, her favorite and that she might, just maybe, forget their rivalry for a second if they had some common ground. It would be interesting to speak to her without their prickly game standing between them for a moment. The last time they’d done that had been… well, a very long time ago indeed. “What of it?” he asked his brother and hoped Liam wouldn’t push the subject.

“Nothing,” Liam said and when Killian met his eye he saw the same look he’d seen earlier. It unsettled him. But then his brother smirked and the moment was broken. “Just too bad you don’t still have the ponytail.”

Killian scowled, whipping the hook off his arm and shoving it a little too forcefully against his brother’s chest, turning to storm out of the room to the sound of Liam’s laughter following along behind him. “It was one semester!” he shouted but Liam only laughed harder.

-/-

Emma poured herself another drink from the bar, readjusting her mask which unfortunately, though beautiful, had the annoying habit of sliding down her nose. One corner was still damp from when it had dipped into her drink. She didn’t know how people did this back in the day. Wearing masks was fun, the mystery of it all and the anonymity was almost thrilling, but it was highly inconvenient. She set the drink down to tighten the silk string that kept it on for the tenth time that night.

The party was in full swing. The house was packed, every room full of people squished together dancing, laughing, drinking, and shouting at each other to be heard over the music. Emma looked around proudly. She had to say, she’d done a pretty good job for someone who hated fairy tales. She loved parties, though, so she chalked it up to that. Well, that and Elsa and Belle’s beautiful masks and Ruby’s awesome taste in music… and David had helped with the decorations. It had definitely been a group effort.

Emma scanned the crowds, trying to spot any of her friends and realized that she couldn’t. She almost laughed. The masquerade thing really did work. She knew what Elsa and Liam - and likely Killian - were dressed as, but she hadn’t seen anyone else from the bridal party’s costumes and there were so many friends and family here to celebrate that she wasn’t even sure she knew all the guests, let alone that she’d be able to identify them with half their faces covered.

She made her way across the kitchen which was being used as a bar and into what could only be described as a great hall where people were dancing, hoping to spot Elsa among the throngs of people. She perked up when she caught sight of white feathers and excellent posture. Squeezing between Cinderella and Gaston who looked about two seconds away from making out - weird - she crossed the room toward her friend, only to stop dead when she caught sight of a silver hook and a generous display of chest hair.

Ugh. Killian. Elsa was talking to Killian. His face was half covered in a silky black mask but she’d seen that stupid pirate costume enough times to know it had to be him. She rolled her eyes as he leaned down to say something in Elsa’s ear and her friend threw her head back laughing, her hand coming up to rest on his bare chest as she leaned in closer.

Gross . Emma thought Elsa had better taste than that. She wondered what Killian could possibly be saying to make her friend blush and giggle like some infatuated school girl. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and the uneasiness in her stomach when Elsa ran her hand up from his chest to his shoulder under the guise of trying to hear better over the music. His hand went to the small of her back and the smile on Killian’s face felt like a punch to the gut. She’d seen that smile, relaxed, excited, soft. She’d only ever seen it so rarely before and only ever…

She turned away, done with watching the disturbing display in front of her. If Killian and Elsa wanted to flirt and whisper little secrets to each other and exchange meaningful little touches, she wasn’t going to stick around to see it. Really, she thought Elsa had better taste. She thought Elsa was a better friend than to… what? What exactly was Elsa guilty of? Cozying up to her hot friend? Getting close to Emma’s… rival didn’t feel like the right word.

She just wasn’t prepared for it, that was all. There had always been some sort of unspoken thing between the women of the group - Killian was no man’s land - or, rather, no woman's land. Despite his constant flirtatiousness and innuendos, nobody ever took it seriously, nobody ever really considered dating him or going to bed with him, at least not since that night. But there was never really a reason, no agreement made. Elsa could do what she liked. Emma didn’t care. Why would she care? Killian, while awful, was undeniably attractive and if Elsa wanted to - well, Emma didn’t care.

“I see my brother’s not wasting any time,” she heard behind her, the voice somewhat dulled by the thrumming of the music. Emma turned, smiling when she was met with bright blue eyes, just noticeable through a black leather mask, and a cheeky smirk. She looked over the costume he wore so well, a little flustered despite herself at seeing someone dressed as her childhood (and adulthood) crush.

“Liam,” she greeted, holding up her glass in a toast. “How are you enjoying the party?” The smile slipped from his face for a moment before he bit his lip against another.

“Well, I must say it’s just gotten infinitely better,” he answered.

“Ah, so I see Killian isn’t the only smooth talker in the Jones family,” she teased.

“Alas, it’s a family trait. Inherited from our father unfortunately,” he answered, his smile faltering for only a second. “What do you suppose he’s saying?” he asked, gesturing at his brother and Elsa.

Emma scoffed. “If I know him, he’s probably showering her with insincere compliments and using that inherited silver tongue to convince a perfectly intelligent woman that she wants to do something incredibly stupid.”

“And what’s that?”

“Sleep with Killian Jones.”

“I feel as though I should defend him.”

“No need,” Emma assured him. “Everyone knows who Killian is.”

He frowned. “And who is he?”

“Take your pick: playboy, womanizer, egomaniac. I swear David and the guys must just keep him around for entertainment. There is not a sincere bone in that man’s body. Well,” she laughed, turning from the scene in front of them back to the better-Jones. “Maybe one.”

“I see.” His jaw was tight and Emma worried she’d gone too far. She’d forgotten for a moment that this was his brother. She thought about how she’d feel if someone talked about David like this. But then again, David would never deserve it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, regardless. “I shouldn’t insult your family.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure you have your reasons. I summarize then that you’re not a fan of him.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Surely he can be a bit of a scoundrel at times but I wonder… What exactly is the nature of your feud with my brother? Killian never told me anything apart from the fact that you seem to despise one another.”

Emma hesitated. She’d never told anyone this story before. Sure, her friends had asked in the past, wondering why she hated him so much, especially given their first meeting. But she’d always skirted the question, not wanting to explain herself, not wanting to admit how stupid she’d been, how blind and how reckless. It was humiliating really. But Liam was sweet, and seemed genuinely interested. And she’d just spent the last few minutes insulting his only brother (as far as she knew) and she felt she at least owed him an explanation for it.

“Did Killian ever tell you about the night we met?”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t believe so,” he said, bringing a finger up to scratch a spot behind his ear in a way that was so reminiscent of his brother it threw her for a moment. Between their eyes and their mannerisms and their smiles, for all their differences, the Jones brothers certainly had a lot in common. There was no mistaking their kinship.

“We met at Will’s birthday party about five years ago. He and Killian had a class together so Will brought him along with our usual group. You might not believe it, I don’t think anyone would really, but I didn’t hate your brother the first time I met him.”

“Oh no?” he asked, waiting for her to continue.

“No, we - we actually hit it off really well. He was funny and easy to talk to and actually kind of…” Emma trailed off, finger running over the rim of her glass as she remembered his easy smiles and the way his shoulders shook when he laughed. She remembered the way he spoke, loudly and animatedly with the group but also softly and what she’d thought was sincerely when it was just the two of them. “Sweet,” she finished lamely. “He was sweet.”

She cleared her throat. “I liked him. I was stupid and young and he was charming and well, you know how he is, he’s your brother.” She couldn’t look at him now when she told him the story. It was too embarrassing. She felt as vulnerable now as she had that night and while she’d let herself then, it had been a hard lesson on why she should avoid letting herself feel that way again.

“I do,” he said.

“Anyway, we ended up spending most of the night together in a back booth in the bar. Everyone was dancing and drinking and we just sat there talking.” They’d talked for hours. They’d talked about nothing, silly things, movies, books, what they’d wanted to be when they grew up. But also about real things, things Emma had never talked about with anyone apart from David, not even her closest friends; about her childhood before Ruth, about Neal, about what she wanted out of life but was afraid of going for, afraid of failing. She hadn’t even meant to tell him most of it, but he’d listened in that rare way so few people do, the way they do when they actually care about what you have to say and aren’t just waiting for their chance to talk. She felt stupid now for all the things she’d told him.

“We didn’t even realise the others had left until the lights came on and we were being kicked out because the bar was closing,” she continued. “He, um,” she cleared her throat. “He asked me back to his place but I said no.” She rubbed at her neck, feeling awkward now sharing this with Killian’s brother as she recalled the details of the night and the next morning. She’d said ‘no’ because she liked him, ‘no’ because she didn’t want to go and ruin something good by turning it into a one night stand.

Suddenly, his hand was on her arm, fingers brushing over the bare skin there and her breath caught at how warm he felt against her. It was comforting, familiar though, and almost unsettling in that familiarity. She remembered another set of fingers running up her arm outside her apartment building years ago.

“You don’t have to tell me -” he started.

“No it’s okay,” she cut him off. “He was surprisingly okay with it,” she said. Well, not so surprising considering what he got up to later. Liam didn’t need to know about the kiss - or the other one for that matter. She bit her lip, remembering. “It was late so he offered to walk me back to my apartment. I lived in kind of a shady area back then,” she explained. “He did and we went our separate ways,” after a while , she thought, “and we made plans to meet up the next morning.”

“So, what happened?” he asked, his fingers still idly tracing patterns on her arm up to her shoulder.

“What happened,” Emma started, clearing her throat again as the anger set in. Anger was good. Anger helped with the humiliation, with the hurt. “What happened is I went to his place the next morning and some girl in a towel answered the door.” She saw his eyes widen. She couldn’t see his eyebrows but she knew they were likely shooting up to his hairline.

“What?” he asked, mouth gaping open.

“Yeah. Some blonde, obviously a blonde. He’s got a type, you know. She told me Killian was in the shower and it wasn’t hard to figure out that after I turned him down, he went out and found someone else to get his rocks off with. So yeah, that’s when I realised exactly what kind of guy he is.” He’d probably only walked her home as a favor to Will.

“I’m sorry, love, that must have been awful,” he said. Emma shrugged.

“It is what it is. Honestly I’m just annoyed at myself for not seeing it sooner. I’ve met enough guys who are only after one thing and I don’t know why I convinced myself he wasn’t.” She gave him a small, insincere smile.“Must have been the rum,” she shrugged. There hadn’t been any rum though. Neither of them had had a thing to drink since they’d sat down in that back booth, hadn’t felt the need for it. It had been so easy.

“Perhaps,” he started, and Emma turned to look at him. She’d been fixated on her glass for the last few minutes. She couldn’t really make out his expression in the dim lights, his voice soft enough to be nearly drowned out by the music. “Perhaps you should ask my brother about that night,” he suggested. Emma’s eyes snapped to his in surprise and what almost felt like betrayal.

“Why would I do that?” she demanded, feeling defensive. She pulled back a step, wanting to put a little distance between them after this unexpected turn - what was it with her and baring her soul to the Jones brothers? Was she that much of a sucker for blue eyes and an accent? - but he followed her, moving with her and leaning in close to speak so he wouldn’t have to shout over the music.

“Because, Swan, there are two sides to every story and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that it’s always better to give someone the benefit of the doubt.”

Emma blinked at him, slightly distracted by him being so close to her. The room was crowded and she felt the stickiness clinging to the back of her neck from the heat of so many people packed into one place. A lot of that heat seemed to be coming from him. His hand was still on her arm, having drifted down to her wrist, his thumb tracing over the back of her hand as he spoke, his mouth next to her ear and his breath warm against it. The smell of him was heady around her, like leather and sea air and - wait, had he just called her Swan?

She looked up then, narrowing her eyes as she tried to make out his face under his mask. Something about him… something was familiar, more familiar than brotherly resemblance. His jaw ticked, the muscle clenching in a way that was so… she'd seen it before, it - Oh. Oh, no way . She looked him up and down, taking in the lean frame, the dark, flippy hair that stuck out of his mask rather than the curls she expected, the sharpness of his jawline where Liam’s was softer, the shape of his mouth… Killian. Oh, he was a dead man.

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” he said.

She turned her head up to meet his eyes, set her chin like she always did when she was ready for a fight. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” she started, ready to call him out on his little ruse and rip him a new one for tricking her.

“You’re right,” he said and some of her fight was lost to her surprise at the way his voice softened. Who the hell was this Killian in front of her now? Where was the fight, the ego? His hand was still stroking hers, his eyes were sincere and unpretentious and even a little self-deprecating. “So, just who are you, Swan?”

She pulled back, drawing her hand from his and crossing her arms over her chest, trying to wither him with her stare. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Wouldn’t he indeed. She was sure he’d love to find out all about her so that he could use it as fuel for their arguments, like some game. The nerve of -

He ducked his head, catching her eyes and stepping even closer to her. Her breath caught at the openness and the sincerity she saw there. “Perhaps I would,” he said and Emma felt her heart pounding against her ribcage. He hadn’t looked at her like that since that night. Since the night she felt for the first time in years that she’d found someone who understood her, someone she connected with, another lost soul, someone she could actually care about, maybe even - She wanted to believe him. She wanted it to be real. It sounded real. It felt real. And he was so close and the way he looked at her..

Emma didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember putting her drink down, but suddenly her hands were gripping the sides of his face and pulling his lips to hers as she rose up on her toes to meet him. He froze against her for a moment, in shock probably she realised, and she grasped the reality of exactly what she’d just done and how stupid it was. But before she could step back, his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, his body flush with hers as his other hand traveled up to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck.

She should stop this. This was Killian for god’s sake. Killian, who she hated. Killian, who she swore she’d never let get under her skin again. Killian, who was currently backing them against the wall behind her. She gasped as her back collided with the hard surface and he used the opportunity to slant his mouth over hers, letting his tongue slide into her mouth, making her let out a sound she should have been embarrassed about as heat rushed into her belly. He growled as his hand found her hip, tugging roughly and pressing them even closer together.

She knew she should stop it. This was Killian. Killian, who knew how to push every single one of her buttons, who’d pushed her and challenged her from that first night. Killian, who she looked forward to seeing at every get together if only so they could spend ten minutes insulting each other and she could see his mouth twist into that playful smirk. Killian of the Swans and loves . Of the soft smiles that crinkled his eyes. What if she’d been wrong? What if she’d misjudged him? All these years.

Emma slowed, her hands which had at some point ended up in his hair released their grip and she let one settle around his shoulders, the other sliding down over his chest to rest in the v of his shirt. She could feel his heart racing under her palm, matching her own’s frantic beating. Killian froze again, and then something changed. His hand released it’s nearly painful grip on her hip and slid up her back to rest between her shoulder blades. The hand that was fisted in her hair came around to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek as his lips slowed over hers, his movements no longer desperate and needy but gentle and exploratory.

She let him kiss her, let him open her mouth wider under his own, let him pull at her lips and slide his tongue against hers with a give and take that felt so familiar it sent her heart racing again as a warmth built in her chest and in her stomach and bloomed out through her limbs. She felt his shoulders relax under her own as he melted against her, pressing her against the wall like he wanted to feel every inch of her skin against his through their clothes, feel her heart beating against his and drown her in the warmth that was radiating off of him. She was burning up from the inside out.

He pulled back after a long moment, pressing his forehead to hers, eyes still closed and lips still close enough to touch if she just tilted her head every so slightly. The hand that had been at her cheek slid along her jaw, thumb brushing over her bottom lip as his breath puffed hot against her face. His fingers trailed slowly and featherlight along her spine.

“Emma,” he breathed as her hand came to his cheek, tracing the stubble under her fingers. She was only just pulling him back in when the music stopped.

The lights coming on were like a bucket of ice water being thrown over her. Somewhere, someone was announcing that it was midnight, that it was time for everyone to remove their masks and reveal who they really were.

She saw it in his eyes, the regret as he reached for his mask and it hit her like a blow to the chest. She caught his hand, stopping him from ruining the only excuse she had. If he didn’t, then she could claim she didn’t know it was him. She could convince herself it was all just a mistake. “Swan,” he spoke again, searching her eyes for something she couldn’t give him. This wasn’t who they were.

“Tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you,” she warned. She watched as his lips pressed together and his head fell before he nodded.

“Fair enough,” he said, dropping his hands and stepping back just enough that she could squeeze by.

She did. And then she ran.

***

tagging @kmomof4 and @xsajx because you asked :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in part two!

#captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #cs au #captain swan au #much ado about nothing #captain swan movie marathon #csmm #shakespeare au

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