#lee seungjun fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lxveille · 4 years

Text

seventh albatross

j-us x f!reader

word count: ~ 11500 warnings: profanity, physical intimacy (sex but not smut, you know??), alcohol consumption, “off screen” violence a/n: steampunk(??) au; a 100 ways request from ages ago with the prompt “ “I bought you a ticket.”

In your small town, there are only two certainties: things change, and you are irreparably in love with lee seungjoon.

The sky spells trouble with ominous gray and wisps of fog. While you should be stocking shelves, you find yourself instead frozen near the front of the store, your eyes fixated on the heavy clouds. There’s layers of them. Those closer to the ground a paler shade, and seem to float along faster than the blanket of dark steel above it. There would be no shipments coming or going now.

People liked to say your town’s shipments were essential. That they kept society as a whole running. Airships don’t run without fuel, after all. Neither does half the machinery in the city’s factories. Faraway as the town might be, society needed you. Except, of course, that society had already proven it didn’t. At least, it didn’t specifically need Seogholde. They could make due as long as there were other coal mines they could reach.

Society proper had only decided to care about Seogholde again when they found out just how it was that the town hadn’t collapsed without them. So the hangar had opened back up, officially. Shipments back and forth between the town and the rest of the world began again, officially. It was the kind of thing that would be in history books, if anyone ever bothered to write a history of Seogholde.

You ought to appreciate that you’ve seen both the opening and closing of the town’s chapter of isolation. Instead, you only worry that it will rain right as closing happens. You hadn’t brought an umbrella with you today. The wait for the tram and the walk to your home will be frightful without one if the darkness of the clouds is any indication.

A call of your name nearly makes you drop the glass bottle you are still holding from when the weather had distracted you.

From behind the counter, Old Karim’s face crinkles as he smiles warmly. He was Old Karim eternally in your mind, even if the younger Karim had gone years ago. “If you just place that one, I can take care of the rest,” he told you, “I can tell you don’t want to get caught in the storm.” Ever since you were young, people have always said he could tell what was wrong. It wasn’t until you began working with him that you realized it seemed to be true of more than just physical ailments.

It might not make you a very good apprentice to rush off before the apothecary closes, but your master’s offer is tempting. “It’s alright. I don’t want you to have to pace around the store.”

Karim’s smile only grew. “You won’t have to walk back and forth when you know where everything belongs by heart.” Embarrassment crept up the back of your neck at that. “Or I could ask Valeria to do it.” From the backroom, you swear you hear your fellow apprentice already calling from hearing her name mentioned. She’d resent you for at least a weekend if she had to take over the end of your work.

“Really, I’ll be fine. I think the rain will hold a while longer,” you claim, and hope that it doesn’t really show that you have no idea.

You happen to be lucky, though. The clouds continue to drift in an overbearing fleet overhead as you arrive at the tramstop, but the ground remains dry.

Across the wide, dust laden street, you spot a familiar form closing up a shop. Curtains are pulled shut over the store’s broad window, as if anyone in town would forget the magnificent display of antiques and clocks that lay on the other side of the glass. The shopkeeper, Lenna, visibly sighs when she turns around and sees you in return.

She says nothing until she’s crossed over the tramline and practically by your side. Then etiquette forced her to greet you with a quaint, “Good evening.”

“Good evening, Ms. Kask,” you return, fumbling for a politesse that you had never quite been taught. From the thin line of her lips, you can only assume that you still haven’t managed to get it right. “You’ve been working late, lately? I haven’t seen you here all week.”

Lenna does not turn her attention to you. “Some people have the misfortune of caring enough about their profession to put in long hours when a job calls for it, you see,” she insults carefully, such that it might be taken as simple repartee. “And yourself? Are you still carrying on with that… distinguished young man of yours?” Here, Lenna is less delicate. Her words may have been complimentary, but her tone made it clear that she implies just the opposite meaning.

“Seungjoon,” you feel compelled to remind Lenna of his name, as if she’d truly forgotten, “and I are doing fine.”

“Just as I feared,” she replied curtly, “More and more it seems our only hope is that he breaks your heart before he gets it in his head to propose.”

You scowl, the good mood given to you by Old Karim’s jovial laughter and Valeria’s promise to see you this weekend spoiling quickly. “I wasn’t aware you had any hopes for me, Lenna.” There is no surprise nor fondness in your words.

“I have hopes for everyone halfway decent in this forsaken town,” she announced, sparing you a glance. Halfway decent, you understood, really means anyone who could still trace their lineage back to one of the cities. Not the miners, their descendants, or the wanderers who had managed to make some kind of pilgrimage to reach Seogholde by anything other than aircraft. “If I didn’t I’d have no reason to stay.” That is, she’d been trapped here when the town was blacklisted nine years ago. And she hadn’t yet managed to make the funds needed in the past three to afford a ticket out. Bitter, cynical Lenna. There is nothing in the apothecary you know to fix that.

The steam is visible before the tram itself. From over the roofs of the street, it rises in steady plumes before camouflaging itself amidst the fog. The serpentining of the tram’s sole route a scarlike reminder of how unplanned the town had been. For generations, they say, straight roads would be intercepted by the sudden sprouting up of the frame of a house or store. By the time the tramline was built, the main road had become a curving vein that’s path was more like that of a river than a manmade plan.

It runs roughly from northwest to southeast. The Old Mine at one terminus and the first stretch of the Xu farm at the other. A year and a half ago, the Sorensens had campaigned to extend the track out to their own farm as well -- but they had too little good will in town for it to be effective. They had arrived only six months prior to that, with a land permit signed by the city’s chairman of property. While the town had decided, quietly and collectively, not to fight the ordinance, they got little more than that. Moreover, the Sorensens had gone about it all wrong. Very few things had happened in Seogholde by the city’s bureaucratic standards for nearly a decade. (Lenna Kask, of course, had been the first of the few who did sign their petition, and only because she was impressed to see a proposition on paper at all.)

The tram comes around the corner of the grocer’s with a heave of steam from its engine. Two metal boxes linked together, with dark green paint chipped in places. On each car there are two rounded rectangles punched out of metal sides that need to be fastened over with tarp in the winter to keep snow from falling in. On the boarding side, a doorway space divides the two open-air windows, wide enough for a couple to get on or off at the same time.

As it approaches your stop, a familiar face leans out of one of the windows, features brightening at the sight of you; and yours in return. Seungjoon waves at you, earns a scoff from Lenna, and ducks back into the tramcar in time to move towards the entryway to meet you there.

He offers you help in taking the step up onto the tram not because you need it, but because it’s a gentlemanly, acceptable excuse for him to hold your hand. One that not even the eldest, more reserved onlooker would feel the need to gossip about.

After his smile and the smudge of grease on his cheek, the next thing you notice is the welding goggles still around Seungjoon’s neck. As the tram ticks back into motion, you give a small tug at the goggle’s band to point it out. “Is Ms. Giroto going to be mad at you for taking these again?”

He laughs, his grin turning to one of some chagrin at his forgetfulness. “She’ll understand,” he said, though you both know his employer will chew his ear off if she discovers a single item from the workshop.

With a glance around, you soon find yourself with another question for him. “Where’s Yuto?”

“Mikhail had to keep him back a while longer, show him some details of an old model that needs fixing.”

“Mikhail?”

“Mr. Kavaliou,” he clarifies. You lean back slightly, until your shoulder brushes against another passenger, right yourself a fraction, and give Seungjoon an amused once-over.

“Look at you. You finish an apprenticeship and suddenly Mr. Kavaliou is just Mikhail?”

“Not to his face,” Seungjoon admits with a chuckle. “Besides, you’ve always called Old Karim by his given name.”

“Everyone calls Old Karim by his given name. That’s the difference.”

“How is the apothecary, anyway?” Seungjoon’s gaze went past you for a moment. Then one of his hands reached for the wall, and the other to your arm. In total, it steadied both of you as the tram took its harshest turn; passengers paying less attention stumbling around and apologizing to those they bumped against.

“It’s alright. I think, if I could actually memorize where everything’s kept, I wouldn’t be an apprentice anymore.”

The breaks squeak as the tram slows at the stop -- affectionately known as Clara’s, after the founder of the tavern sat right across from it, though it had changed hands time and time again over the generations. This is usually where Yuto would say his goodbyes to the two of you; hurrying away among the crowd not to get a drink, but to go down Baker’s lane to the narrow wooden house his forefathers had built upon arrival in Seogholde. Most of those who got off at Clara’s stop headed to the tavern. It’s owned by a Yoon now, but the sign out front, if anyone bothered to read it, still reads DuFaure.

With the car emptied out around you, Seungjoon let his arm come around your waist, and pulls you a little closer to him. He steps back, you along with him, away from the open panels until his back hits the metal end of the car. Then he kisses you. Unabashed and tender, with hands trailing up your back and over shoulders until they cup your face. The tram sways to the left, following the same curvature you’ve known all your life. It only makes your feet shuffle closer to him, your hands grasp tighter at his waist.

It isn’t until a rumble breaks through, originless and all around, that the two of you break apart.

You watch as Seungjoon’s eyes roam up and over, his head tilting as he takes the best look he can out the window. Your fingers curl against the cotton of his shirt, endearment keeping your gaze locked on his gentle features.

“The sky’s gonna break soon,” he says. Neck and chin still at an angle, his eyes flit back to yours, an impulsive smile creeping onto his lips.

There is a flash somewhere, unplaceable, like one you must have missed before. Wordless, both of you wait for the crack of thunder that follows. It rings impossibly loud, seeming like it should be enough to shake the whole tram. There’s never been a drum as loud as nature’s own.

“Did you bring an umbrella today?” you ask.

He shakes his head, and moves his hands away from your face. “Maybe it’ll hold.”

The universe contradicts, refuses any optimism. You hear it first, like bullet fire against the car’s roof, and then you see it. Rain falls in thick sheets on either side of you.

“Maybe it’ll wash the muck off your cheek,” Seungjoon revises his hope, looking at you with a simpering grin. You set an accusatory glare at him, and wipe the back of your hand against where you remember his fingers being. Sure enough, there’s an inky black smudge on your skin, a transfer from his wellworked hands.

You tsk, and ask, “Doesn’t Ms. Giroto have sinks for you mechanics?”

He looks on the verge of answering, but the tram is squeaking to its next stop, and both of you need to disembark. Seungjoon settles on a shrug, and grabs your hand to lead you both towards the cutaway doorway. As soon it comes to a halt, he looks out at the pouring rain and then to you as if it were a challenge. “Run?”

You nod, and shift your hand in his. “Run.”

He hops down first, and lets out a shriek as the rain hits his skin. But he pauses, your intertwined fingers a tether he has no intention of breaking, and you follow his small pull out into the downpour.

The cobblestones are slick enough, but it’s worse as soon as you’re off the main road. Well-trodden as the narrow streets that branch off the town’s center may be, they still turn to mud quickly, especially with a storm of this force. You and Seungjoon cling to each other as you run the familiar path, nearly slipping at intervals, and letting out yelps and yells each time one rescues the other. Onlookers and overhearers would call you both raucous, with the way senseless loud laughter mixes in with surprised shouts.

Bright flashes cut across the sky, accompanied by a timpani impressive enough to convince you this is a doomsday. Yet you’re laughing. Seungjoon falls a step behind you, nearly pulls you down with him. You manage to keep your footing, and use your free hand to stabilize him. Droplets pound against your skin, and cling at your eyelashes, threatening to blind you. He shouts a thank you. It’s hard to feel like you can say anything without shouting in this rain; it is loud, demanding, but in the end he is louder than he imagines. The two of you are off again, around the last bend before some reprieve.

The covered porch of Seungjoon’s home is narrow. There’s a hole in one of the planks that means the rain leaks right through in a small spot to the far right of the door. But it’s enough shelter for you to try to rub some of the moisture off your face and ring out part of your skirt before he opens the door.

The door opens into a short hall of sorts, formed by the outer wall and the side panel of the house’s sole set of stairs. To the right is the small kitchen, and the round table where most meals are had; to the left what amounts to a sitting room, poorly furnished but familiar enough to feel cozy to you now. Upstairs -- although decorum said you shouldn’t know -- were the two bedrooms.

“Changyoon?” Seungjoon calls. He gives you a signal to head left before turning the other way, heading up the creaking steps to check if his housemate is already back.

You run your hands through your soaked hair and wander into the sitting room. On the wall is a tin panel that frames four daguerreotypes. The two on top stoic portraits of Changyoon’s parents, and on bottom ones of the whole family. Changyoon is only recognizable in one of them. In the other, he is only a bundle in his mother’s arms. It is a reminder that this home had once been only theirs.

A shudder runs down your spine, either from the chill of being soaked or the memory of how things changed.

People always said Seogholde’s shipments were essential. Vital goods needed by all of society. Naturally, then, cargo crafts were known to be at risk for plundering. Only one passenger airship ever went between the town and the city. Nine years ago, when the news came that the Sixth Albatross had been taken by rogues and left a burning mass in the middle of the mountains, no one had believed it. You hadn’t really known either Changyoon or Seungjoon yet. But people began to mention them, in hushed tones, along with a short list of others. It was Valeria’s father, you recall, who had referred to them as the Albatross’ orphans.

And the rest of the world, it seemed, felt no sympathy for the town. The pillaging of the Sixth Albatross had been taken as a sign that Seogholde is simply too far away, with too many dangerous stretches of open skies. There are other mining towns. So for six years, the world carried on without your town, pretending it never existed at all.

Three years ago, when the government sent its first passenger craft in years, everyone had been astonished. Sickened, even, at the name embossed on the side of the airship.

Seungjoon interrupts your reminiscing with an arm around your waist, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder from behind you. “He must still be at the hangar,” he tells you quietly. Wet strands of his hair tickle at your cheek. He looks at the daguerreotypes hanging on the wall and lets out a small sigh. A moment passes, where you wonder if he’s thinking back on the same tragedy as you. “Hey,” Seungjoon calls for your attention lowly.

You turn in his loose hold, and he straightens his back to look at you properly. He’s already hung up his leather coat; the wet sleeves of his shirt messily rolled up to his elbows, the material clinging to his chest. “You’re shivering,” he observes. “Do you want something dry to put on?”

The way his eyes roam over your face sets a warmth in the middle of your chest. His fondness is evident as ever. Enough to make you wonder how it is that you went years with him as little more than a name rather than as a person essential in your life. You reach up so your palms rest along his jaw, and bring him close enough to kiss. The arm around your waist tightens, and a hand finds its way to the nape of your neck. His hold stays the same only long enough for the kiss to deepen before his fingers clutch at your hips.

He pulls back, and leads you a few steps further into the sitting room. When you pull the welding goggles off of him, the water pooled inside them sprinkles the both of you, making both of you let out a mixture of a cry and a laugh. You drop the heavy accessory to the floorboards. In another mood, Seungjoon might have complained, or teased, that Mr. Kavaliou would chew him out more than Emma Giroto if they were damaged. With the air that’s set between the two of you, though, he can only pull you in again, his chuckle dying out just in time for him to press his lips to yours.

His fingers set to work on the buttons down the front of your dress. He stops when he reaches your waist, breaks off the kiss, and looks at you tenderly. “Do you want to?” he asks, searching out hesitancy on your features. You reply by reaching out and starting on the fastens of his shirt.

“Yes,” you manage in an exhale, and kiss him again.

He carries on until you can shrug off the outer layer. His lips move from yours to your neck, starting at the sensitive pulse point just beneath your jawline. You push the soaked cotton off his shoulders, and Seungjoon lets go of you to let his shirt fall to the floor. He sits on the one couch in the room, and holds out his hands to you. There’s still a slight dampness, a chill from the storm on both of you as your palms glide over his.

You settle onto his lap, and he gathers the light material of your underdress around your hips. His fingers clutch at the white fabric and at your sides as he kisses you once again. Your back arches a fraction as he mouths at your skin, traveling as low as the neckline of your shift will allow. He looks up and you to murmur, “you’re beautiful,” before he tugs the damp dress up over your head.

All the more exposed, you find yourself pressing closer to him as he resumes littering kisses along your skin. Your fingers trail over his bare chest. He releases a sigh, appreciative of your every touch, against a patch of your clavicle he’s left wet with saliva.

It isn’t the first time. Sometimes you wonder if somehow Lenna knows that you and him have done away with the decency of a respectable courtship; if that was why she harbored a cynical sentiment towards him. Or maybe, you think selfishly, she’s simply never felt warmth pool beneath another’s touch the way you do now with him.

“Seungjoon,” you say, your hands moving up to tangle in his damp hair. He hums and pulls back, his touch still roaming you. A lusty gloss in his eyes confirms that he wants the same as you. You reach between your two bodies and begin on the buttons of his pants. He relaxes against the back of the couch, his hands stroking at your thighs as you work at undressing him as well.

Once they’re undone, the two of you switch positions, him rising for a moment to push his trousers down providing you the opportunity to lay back against the thin cushion. When he returns to you, one of his hands runs up your bare side while the other laces with one of your own.

“I love you,” he whispers, his lips a fraction away from yours. It’s not the first time for that, either, but it still sends a flutter through you, from lips to toes.

“I love you,” you return without qualifier, hands upon his shoulders.

The wicker frame creaks beneath every rock of his hips against yours. It’s barely audible to you over the sound of his heavy breath beside your ear.

Your grasp at his face and redirect him to kiss you again. They’re sloppy now, open-mouthed and interrupted by quiet moans. Seungjoon presses his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. Your fingertips curl against his skin, gasping out praises that cause a panting grin to pull across his lips.

Seungjoon mumbles adulations back to you choppily. Sentences that begin without ever ending; broken middles running against each other. “You’re… I love… So good, so pretty… Shit... You...”

When he comes undone, his head is pressed against your neck, lips senseless against your skin. He stills entirely for a moment, listening to your heavy breathing, the slight whine that works into it. Then his hand moves, trailing over your stomach and then further; unsatisfied until he sees your eyes flutter shut with a relief that matches his own.

“Good?” he asks.

Without opening your eyes, you nod, lips still blissfully parted.

Seungjoon takes it as his cue to roll off of you, squeezing the two of you side by side on the wicker couch as best you can fit. For a moment, the two of you do nothing. The moment hovers, unbreakable, somewhere far away from towns and cities and airships. You become aware again, slowly, of the sound of the rain against the walls and the windows’ shutters. It’s as heavy as it began, with crashes of thunder still sprinkled amidst it.

The two of you manage to gather your clothing and head up to his room before Changyoon returns.

Your clothing, still damp, is hung up. Seungjoon finds an old chemise and a pair of trousers that fit well enough for you not to feel uncomfortable appearing in front of his housemate.

When you both come down the stairs, Changyoon is in the kitchen, and raises his eyebrows at your appearance.

“I didn’t know you were coming over today.”

“The rain caught us off guard,” you explain in a sigh, “Your house is closer than mine.”

Seungjoon settles behind you, both arms around your middle. “How’s the hangar?”

Changyoon groans. “We weren’t able to send out our last shipment today. The rain caught us off guard, too. Someone from the city will probably send a strongly worded message as if it’s our fault.”

“They’ll make do,” you reply quickly. A catchphrase of sorts in Seogholde, ever since society decided they cared about the town after all.

“They’ll make do by making our lives hell somehow, more like,” Changyoon retorts, leaning back against the small bit of counter space their kitchen had. You frown, and Seungjoon asks what he thinks that’ll be. He scoffs. “It’s not like before,” he says; you both know before is the six years that the town was on its own, “Everyone at the hangar gets paid by the city now.”

Seungjoon lets go of you, moves to your side instead. “They can’t just not pay.”

“Like they can’t just blacklist a whole town?” There isn’t much either of you can say to that. Six years had already proven his point.

“If it’s the same as before, you’ll get paid the way they did before too,” Seungjoon concludes, moving towards one of the cabinets to find food. Changyoon gives his friend a questioning look; one that flits between you and him, as if you’re the problem here. As if just because you hadn’t been close to them during that time meant you were naive to how Seogholde found a way to survive.

“Open mooring towers to the highest bidder?” you propose, if only to prove that you aren’t unaware. Changyoon looks at you with surprise for a moment before his features warm with a smile, a chuckle passing his lips.

“Why’s it so easy to forget you’re a local?” He muses, before asking if you’re staying for dinner. The way Changyoon uses the word local seems to you an antonym to Lenna Kask’s term of halfway decent. It must be the fact that you’re both that causes any distress.

You stay to eat with them, and indulge when Changyoon pulls a bottle of amber liquor from a cabinet after the meal.

The three of you relocate to the sitting room by the second round, you and Seungjoon side-by-side on the wicker couch and Changyoon in the rocking chair opposite. The conversation is warm and casual, sprinkled with full-bellied laughs.

“Valeria wants to have a get-together tomorrow,” you announce to them both, “since Haebin’s tending at the tavern tomorrow.” You pause to give Changyoon a pointed look, “Marwa might come.”

He takes a hefty sip from his cup. “Marwa? Why specify her?” You and Seungjoon both only laugh; his infatuation with the aforementioned girl obvious enough for the question to be amusing. “When do you apothecaries get so much time to rally together a group, anyway?” Changyoon huffs and changes the subject.

“When did Valeria get to ask Marwa to come, you mean?” you tease. Leaning into Seungjoon’s side, you take a small drink before answering in earnest. “Lots of people come and go during the week.” With a pause, you frown into your cup. “Marwa’s actually been coming around the apothecary more often, lately.” There’s no taunt for Changyoon in mentioning her this time.

“She’s alright?” Seungjoon checks.

You furrow your brow and then nod. “It’s her father who’s sick.” You beside you, sharing a worried look with Seungjoon, and then across with Changyoon.

Her father is one of the best respected men in your town. A respect found not from his name, but from action. He had guided Seogholde through both its transitions. Responsible both for helping the town find peace even after society abandoned it for lawless; and for navigating the circumstances when, unanticipated, law returned three years ago. No one knew what would come after him.

“Maybe I should go,” you remark suddenly, “It’s getting late.”

After you’ve changed back into your own clothing, Seungjoon insists upon walking you home.

It’s a winding, ten minute walk from his home to yours. Easily it becomes fifteen as the two of you make a game of dodging puddles. The air is cool and pleasant in the wake of the evening’s storm, and you think it would be nice to spend hours like this, walking along in the dark with Seungjoon.

Your home comes sooner than you’d like. It’s larger than it needs to be, looming with the grand expectations an ancestor had once when he first was given property by the government to go be a small mining town’s physician. It was the reason the road your home is on is called Doctor’s Way. Years of giving directions to this part of town by saying head over the doctor’s way had turned it into a place name, even after any doctor that lived here passed away. The paint is faded now, a few shutters hang slightly crooked. You forget how many generations ago it was that your family decided the deed to this house had been a banishment from the government rather than a present.

Seungjoon, in front of a reminder that in a city the two of you would have never crossed paths, settles for kissing the back of your hand.

“Good night, Seungjoon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He grins at you, his fingertips pressed to yours for a lingering moment before he repeats the same back to you.

Tomorrow comes, and you don’t tell Seungjoon that your mother had still been awake when you’d gone inside. How she’d started quietly, asking where you had been, but it quickly grew to a yell. Ms. Kask had dropped by on her way home, and shared who she’d seen you running off with at the tram stop. Your mother had shouted with a force you hadn’t known she had, and collapsed in tears, cursing that her family ever came to Seogholde. A cursed town, she said, that could turn ladies that should be aristocrats into demimondes.

Some remnant of that tension must still be in your demeanor when you come into the tavern. Seungjoon frowns after a moment of looking you over and ducks his head close to you to ask if everything is alright. You put on a smile and tell him that you’re fine.

“Yuto,” you say brightly, taking the younger mechanic’s presence as an excuse to change the subject. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Him more than others?” Valeria questions.

“You have to understand,” you begin, and sling an arm around Yuto’s shoulder playfully, “It’s always a relief to see your wisest friend somewhere.”

The crowd of friends around your end of the bar erupts into protests, slighted by your teasing wording. Yuto, with widened eyes and a chuckle threatening to burst out, looks at you to say all this yelling is your fault, and that you knew it would happen, too. With a shrug, you take your hand off his shoulder in order to pass him one of the glasses Haebin had just delivered.

Time slips away from you all. Except, perhaps, for Haebin, who still has to attend to other patrons in the tavern. She manages to circle back to your group when she can, joining in on the conversation and laughing along with you all. When the sky grows darker, and the air cools, a band begins to play in one end of the tavern.

“Isn’t that Zhenyu?” Valeria gasps after looking over the musicians, and turns to Changyoon, who would know his coworker better than the rest of you. He coughs on his drink once he follows her pointing, and sputters how he didn’t know his superior at the hangar had a musical bone in his body. “Well he plays well!” Valeria declares, and sets on a mission to get the group of you to dance while the tune was still lively.

She succeeds first with Yuto. Seungjoon nudges at your side. You glance between the mess of partners carrying out lively steps between the tavern’s table and him. “No way,” you decide, shaking your head. He attempts a pout, but a more mischievous expression is creeping just behind, and he’s already taking your hand. He gives a semblance of a bow before pulling you out of your seat.

“Seungjoon!” you yelp as you find yourself on your feet. And, in some attempt at salvation - or solidarity - you reach out for Changyoon’s arm as well. “If I’m doing this, so are you!” you tell him.

The truth, of course, is that neither of you put up all that much resistance.

You laugh throughout the song, if only to make up for how few of the steps you know. At one moment, you manage to catch Haebin leaning her elbows on the bar, watching the group of you with an amused grin.

With the last chord, you hear Valeria’s voice above the over cheers. Seungjoon pulls you close to him, eyes bright and grin wide. “Thanks,” he says, only just loud enough for you to hear above the crowd. There’s a spark in his gaze that makes you want to kiss him. But there are too many eyes here. You squeeze his hand as a poor substitute. Fingers linger when you let go, running from palm to his fingertips.

As if carried by a gust of wind, the lot of you end up back at the same spot of the counter. You get caught up in conversation with Haebin for a brief while - asking after the letters she’d been exchanging with a certain young man. She flushes and pours another drink into your cup.

“I bet you’d know what to write back,” she comments, after admitting to her own sense of inefficiency.

“What do you mean?” you laugh out the words. Haebin nods her head towards Seungjoon. He has a hand on Changyoon’s shoulder, and looks to be teasing him over something he’d just said. “It’s not as if we write love letters.”

“Well, whatever you do seems to have him entranced.”

You become aware of your posture, and lift your forearms off the bar, spine straightening. “I didn’t do anything.”

Haebin slides your cup back across the worn wooden bartop. “Then how do you explain it?” You aren’t sure if the warmth in your chest is from bashfulness at her question or from the sip of alcohol you’d just taken. Is it something that needs to be explained?

There isn’t a chance to ask her.

A brusk “Oi --!” is shouted in your direction. Haebin looks quickly, assuming it to be an impatient customer. And, he may be, but for now his attention is on you and your gathering. Paul has one elbow against the counter, his eyes unfriendly. You had known him as a child. Time had made him a mystery to you. Something had shifted in him during those six years of Seogholde’s isolation, and had stayed that way.

“I notice Marwa isn’t with you lot,” he says, “I guess that means the rumors are true.”

Valeria scoffs at him. “What rumors?”

“That her old man is on his last breaths.” There’s no condolence or concern in Paul’s tone. The joy in your group seems to be sapped up in an instant. “And then this whole town will end up as it deserves,” he finishes ominously.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Seungjoon is the one to question this time.

Paul nearly snarls. “It’s not my job if you’re too dense to figure it out. You want to pretend shit won’t change around here, you ought to walk out into the plains like that friend of yours did.” Seungjoon and Changyoon both tense, visibly.

“Fuck off,” Valeria drawls, drawing his attention back to her.

“You think it’s not true? If you’re gonna be ignorant, you might as well walk off and get a head start of dying. What’s coming next isn’t going to have any sympathy for--”

“Enough!” Haebin interrupts. “You can move down the bar or you can leave,” she tells him steadily, pointing one figure towards the opposite side of the tavern. Paul stares back at her for a moment. She is unwavering, and he rolls his eyes and sends a look of warning towards you all before skulking off in the direction she’d pointed.

“Fuck him,” Valeria grumbles. “Last I spoke to Minghao, he doesn’t even work on the Xu land anymore. Did you make sure he’s even paying for his drinks?”

Haebin sighs. “I don’t know how he makes money, but he makes enough.”

“Probably dealing with rogues, then…” Yuto points out. You move closer to Seungjoon, the tension still obvious on his face, and place a hand over the back of one of his. He looks at you with a seriousness you aren’t used to.

“To be fair, can’t knock him for that,” Changyoon says. Seungjoon doesn’t appear to be listening. His focus on you as you try to convey your worry to him without words.

“What, you’re on his side now?” Valeria looks to Changyoon.

“Not at all!” he answers. At the same time, Seungjoon turns his hand over underneath yours so they sit palm to palm. “But no family still here can say they haven’t exchanged with bandits, pirates… Whatever you wanna call them. It’s the only reason there was still a Seogholde for the city to come back to after all that time.”

“Well, the Sorensens probably haven’t,” Yuto points out, “Though… I can’t imagine they’ll really stick around here much longer.”

“Exactly!” Changyoon enthuses, regardless of how well the points connected to his own. Seungjoon’s fingers curl through the spaces between your own, his thumb moves to rub back and forth against the top of yours.

“Maybe that’s what he’s referring to,” Haebin says. “If things become unstable here. It’d make sense for a family that just got here to flee.”

“Yeah, well, the Seventh Albatross is coming next week. I’d be happy to see them or Paul go,” Changyoon concludes.

“Nothing,” Seungjoon murmurs to you. You frown, and he changes to, “Later.” With that, you slip your hand away from his.

Levity manages to return to your group, at least over the course of another round. Yuto ends up saying his goodbyes before any of the rest of you are ready. Imploring him to stay doesn’t work, so you swear him into paying for the first round next time. The evening carries on.

When a brawl breaks out, it’s at the other side of the tavern from you all. While Haebin is shouting up the stairs for the owner, you all take her advice of clearing out. It’s too late for the tram to still be running. In the dark of the main road, you say goodbye to all but Changyoon and Seungjoon, and head out on the long walk home.

You’re nearly halfway there when you decide to ask, “What did Paul mean, when he mentioned heading off, your friend?”

The same tension returns to both of their shoulders. Just before you apologize, Changyoon speaks. “Wyatt.” That’s all you get for several steps. A hundred or so questions in your head, but you trail beside them silently.

“He didn’t like how things changed, after the city turned its back on us,” Changyoon continued after exchanging a few glances with his housemate, “He got fed up with working for criminals, he said. So he left.”

“On foot?” you can’t help from asking. The only airships that came and went during those six years had belonged to rogues of some sort or the other; if the issue was criminality, it was difficult to imagine him hitching a ride with one of them. “Alone?” Neither of them answer. “...You never got any letters from him, after a while?”

“No,” Seungjoon says flatly. You want to take his hand, apologize for mentioning it at all, but you know it can’t be undone.

“How bad is it?” Changyoon asks after a beat, “With Marwa’s father?”

“How should I know?” You return, voice quieter than before.

“You’re his apothecary.”

“Apprentice --”

“-- Close enough,” he insists, looking at you expectantly.

You swallow and look up towards the stars and the dark. “...Do you think Haebin’s right?” It’s easier to refer to it through her than Paul. “Everything will change here once he’s gone?”

“Everything’s changed with him here,” Seungjoon tries to reassure, but Changyoon doesn’t have a look of agreement.

“Things changed well with him, however he managed it,” he amends. “It’d make sense for people to feel opportunistic about him being gone.”

The three of you carry on as the road turns from cobblestones to dirt.

What isn’t clear is which side would take the most advantage of the town being thrown off kilter by the loss. Both the government and outlaws had an interest in the town.

“It doesn’t look good.” Seungjoon and Changyoon both look at you, verging on asking for clarification. “I don’t know how long he’ll have,” you add, both to make it clear what you mean and to stave off the most obvious followup.

A feeling hangs in the air between the trio of you. An uncertain mix of hesitancy and fear, like the kind that had crept up on everyone first nine years ago, and then returned three before now.

Their home comes up sooner than it should. Too quickly for the tension to ease away. While Changyoon steps onto their porch, Seungjoon stays on the road beside you. Leaning against the door, he asks if Seungjoon is coming inside.

“I’ll walk her up to to Doctor’s Way.” It sounds nearly like a question, and he sends you a look that says he’ll change his mind if you insist.

“Thanks,” you tell him, and wish Changyoon a good night.

Somewhere between his doorstep and yours, his hand reaches out to let it graze against the back of yours. You move closer to him in return; your fingers flex, longing simply to grab his. Lingering weight from the previous conversation holds you back. Seungjoon’s hand brushes against yours again, and this time his pinky locks with yours.

For a long stretch, the two of you carry on that way. Quiet and linked by your smallest fingers, searching for the right things to say in the wake of a realization as grave as the ones you’d all had this evening.

“I’m sorry.” Seungjoon is the first to break the worrisome silence. “You deserve better.”

You stop, dirt scuffing beneath your shoes at the abruptness. “Better than what?” you asked. There’s no reason for him to make apologies; nothing better than him that you could imagine.

“Better than this town,” he says.

“It’s home.” You shake your head.

The smile he gives you is weighted with a melancholia you can’t place. “You say that like I don’t remember how we met.” A complicated story of its own; how your mother had wanted to sneak you out of Seogholde, how lucky you consider yourself now that the plan was thwarted by the airship you’d been snuck onto needing repairs. “...Would you still go? If you could?”

Impulse has you shaking your head. You’re not afraid of this town, you’re tempted to say. This evening’s conversations drift up from not-so-far-back in your mind, though. And no, you aren’t scared of your hometown. Not of the locals. But there are eyes on it, outsiders, lying in wait.

The fare for the Seventh Albatross is more than most here can afford.

“Would you?” you turn the question back to him.

Seungjoon presses his lips together, disappearing into a thin line. “Mechanics can find work anywhere.” The surmising isn’t really an answer. But you hadn’t been much clearer, either.

Outside your door, he presses his lips to the back of your hand again.

You can’t accept it. After he lets go of your hand, you place both of yours upon his shoulders and kiss him directly. He nearly stumbles, taken aback by your affection here.

“Your mother --” he whispers when he breaks away from you.

“Let her see,” you say certainly, recklessly, and steady your eyes with his. His face scrunches with puzzlement at that simple declaration. Once you kiss him a second time, he seems to forget anything he could want to ask.

By next week, the troubling thoughts are all long gone. The warmth of summer settles in full over town, bringing with it a dreadful dryness that makes it seem as if it never rained here at all.

You board the tram with Seungjoon. Yuto joins the two of you at Clara’s Stop. Pleasant conversation, interrupted only a few times by yawns, carries on until you say goodbye to both of them at your own stop. Lenna’s absence on the tram isn’t noticed by any of you.

Things feel the same as always. Old Karim has you and Valeria both set out on your usual tasks. Sunlight drifts through the apothecary’s windows, and on schedule, you see the tram pass by on its way in the other direction.

The light shifts, the sun carries on overhead. It’s nearly noon when Himari pushes open the door to the apothecary. There are stains on the skirt of her dress that you don’t notice right away.

“I need an anodyne,” she commands when she reaches the counter.

“What for?”

Himari looks you over as if it’s the most absurd thing you could have asked. She isn’t someone you know well. Lenna Kask employs her as a clerk at her store, and she spends some measure of her free time with Paul. None of that explains what pain she would need relieved.

“You haven’t heard?” she scoffs. From your face, she shifts, and repeats with a different intonation, “You really haven’t heard.” Finally, condescendingly, “How oblivious can you be?”

“I can’t give you the best option unless I know what the problem is.” It’s the best you can do to maintain professionalism.

“Ms. Kask was shot,” Himari informs you, maintaining a tone that implies your deficiency for not already knowing.

“What? Lenna? When?”

“Last night. You really didn’t notice today? The front of the store is still a mess.”

“What does the store have to do with it?”

“That’s where she was.” Himari eyes you over contemptuously. “Poor Ms. Kask was lucky to make it to a physician in time.” Something in her demeanor unsettles you. A lack of sympathy that doesn’t match with her role. The look she gives you reminds you of the one Paul had at the tavern.

“And you’re getting the anodyne for her…” It’s intended as a question. It comes off more as a kind of reticence, and Himari glares at you for it.

“Of course.”

You tell Seungjoon and Yuto about it on the tram. The younger of the two mechanics frowns all the way through your story.

“I heard someone tried to rob the store. I didn’t know Lenna got hurt,” he remarks.

“Who told you it was robbed?” you ask.

“One of the Sorensen kids… They came by to see if their tractor was ready yet this afternoon. The younger one, he mentioned it…” Yuto recalls, and finishes with an uncertain glance towards Seungjoon.

“Himari didn’t mention anything was taken,” you murmur.

“I don’t like it,” Seungjoon states. It seems obvious enough, given the circumstance. But there’s a heaviness to his tone that suggests he means more. His eyes meet yours, and his voice lowers. “Like it’s starting already.”

“What?” Yuto questions, glancing between you and Seungjoon.

The opportunists, you think. But the tram feels too crowded to voice it.

Others murmur on around you three. It’s so easy to imagine no one on board cares what you might have to say. A good handful, surely, are only eager to get off to go home, or to the tavern. Your chatter is just that to them. Unless it isn’t. You and Seungjoon have been conscious of onlookers before, but only for the sake of your reputations. This is beyond whether you’re considered proper. A line too delicate to risk being crossed.

Yuto’s face only becomes more puzzled. You shake your head at the same time that Seungjoon tells him, “Another time.”

It doesn’t satiate Yuto’s curiosity, but he must sense there’s a reason for you both turning quiet. He changes the subject. It isn’t enough to stop the worried buzz that has begun in the back of your mind. Starting already echoes in your head.

How is it that you hadn’t noticed Lenna's absence from the tram this morning? She was not your favorite company of your typical morning routine, but she was a constant. An odd guilt stirs in your chest, an itch at the back of your neck.

You nearly forget to move towards the exit when the tram slows next.

“Stay with me tonight?” Seungjoon implores after you’ve both descended at your usual tramstop.

“What, all night?”

“You don’t have to.” He links his hand with yours once you’ve turned off the main road, and stone becomes dust beneath your feet. “But... I’d like to.”

Perhaps it has something to do with when you’d expressed not caring if your mother saw you kissing him. It was another thing altogether to spend a night at his home. There’s something else in his gaze when he glances over to you, though. Usually he wears some kind of smile when he proposes anything that would give an opportunity to be alone. Not so this time. An uncertainty hangs in his eyes, and all at once you miss their usual brightness; the warmth, the hint of mischief that creeps in at his more playful bouts.

You pull your lower lip between your teeth. Your steps waver, arm outstretching to keep your fingers intertwined with his.

“I can walk you home instead,” Seungjoon offers.

“No,” you are quick to reply. Your footfalls weave closer to his once more. “I’ll stay.”

“You’re sure?”

If you hadn’t been, the way his voice lilts up - like a comfort has already been found - would have done it.

The evening is laced with an undercurrent of uneasiness. Within their kitchen, the two of you tell Changyoon about what had happened to Lenna Kask. How it feels like the first indication that Seogholde has reached a turning point once more. He interrupts when Seungjoon mentions Yuto’s report of the store’s robbery.

“It was Sorensen who said that?” Changyoon waits for a nod before he runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

“What?” Seungjoon presses.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I mean, well, maybe it means nothing but, this morning... Ms. Sorensen, she came by today, at the hangar, and she bought a few tickets for the Albatross’ next voyage back to the city. I just thought it was funny, after that talk at the tavern.”

“She got word of Lenna’s attack fast, to get there this morning,” you mutter. Seungjoon and Changyoon both look at you.

“Do you suppose they always kept enough money saved up to leave, if they saw things turn worse here?” Changyoon wonders aloud.

It’s a question that goes unanswered.

Or perhaps the two of them come up with an answer of their own, after you head up the steps alone.

Seungjoon joins you in his room not long after. At the sight of you sitting at the end of his bed in only your gauzy shift, he closes his door quickly before leaning his back against it. “What if Changyoon had been the first one to come up?”

You nearly laugh. “Does he make a habit of coming into your room?”

“He might if he knew what I know,” he jokes, the side of his mouth curving up.

“Oh?” Standing from his bed, you drift over to where he stands. “And what is it that you know?” As you reach his space, your hands come to rest upon his shoulders. In a mirror of you, Seungjoon places his arms around your middle.

The fingers of one hand curve around the rough material of his suspenders and skim down the length on one side of his chest. His lips come into a pinched line as he feigns contemplation, humming dramatically.

“That you’re trouble,” he concludes.

You gasp with mock outrage. His suspender nearly snaps as you let go of it suddenly. “What trouble?” you exclaim. There’s a glint in your eyes and a grin that gives away how far from offended you are. Before you can step away from him to further a charade, he tightens his hold and pulls you flush against him, making you let out a startled yelp.

“You, trouble!” he repeats. “Absolutely!” Together, you both stumble slightly, meaningless laughter erupting. Your steps sway across the floorboards, creaks barely heard by either of you.

In a tumble and a huff of air, the two of you collapse onto Seungjoon’s bed. Breathlessly, with one cheek pressed to his sheet, he adds, “Isn’t this trouble?”

Beside him, you suppress another giggle with little success. You turn onto your side and look at Seungjoon. The way his legs hang off the edge of the mattress from the knee down. A heavy rise and fall of his chest as he catches his breath from your shared silliness, his shirt wrinkled and bunched beneath suspenders as further proof. And the broad curve of his smile set below dark, adoring eyes.

“If it is,” you begin, and pull at the light fabric of your underdress to keep from getting caught on it as you shift to straddle him, placing a hand on either side of his head, “It’s not nearly enough.”

Hovering over him, Seungjoon looks up at you with a grin. He touches one of your arms. Delicately, he lets it run up your skin until his hand comes to rest at the back of your neck. His fingertips curl slowly, blunt nails tickling ever so slightly at your skin. Any play at dispute is over now. The space between you is replaced with quiet intimacy. A comfort and certainty that makes everything around him become a blur. There is nothing but Seungjoon and the bed beneath him.

You dip your head down to connect your lips to his. The kiss begins barely there, a graze of your mouth against his own. He lifts his head off the mattress a fraction when you pull back after so little. Before he can complain, or utter a compliment, you close the small space and continue to kiss him. It lingers this time before deepening. You shift down, supporting yourself on your elbows instead of hands. A hand is in your hair, nearly massaging as it moves to a rhythm shared in secret between your bodies. It’s unclear how it is that heart, and lips, and lungs, and touch can all feel to fall in sync. Yet they do. Perhaps as some sign that this is where you should be.

With a tilt of your head, you begin to kiss down the skin of his neck, appreciating the way his breath shifts into low rasps of enjoyment. His fingers still upon you, allowing himself a moment of simple pleasure.

“Ah, it’s you,” he starts murmuring, “you know, right?”

You give a questioning hum. The vibration enough to tickle at his skin, given the small, gasping chuckle. He brings a hand to your face and encourages you to look at him with a thumb gentle upon your jaw.

“You’re it for me.” A seriousness cuts through the usual desire his voice would have in a moment like this. That, more than his words, is what catches you off guard. “Really,” he adds, smiling up at you, “I’m so glad I know you.”

A corner of your heart suspects there’s a reason for him to say this now. That it might be one veiled in worries he’s less forthcoming with. Carefully, you brush a few strands of dark hair on his forehead. “I love you, too,” you say. His eyes close with a grin, and he lifts his lips to yours.

His kiss urges you to forget any concerns. Sure enough, you both allow your hands to roam, undressing and letting conversation fall away to murmurs of ardor.

Those words make it all the more puzzling when you wake the next morning.

Your place on his bed is just unfortunate enough for a slat of sunlight to come through the shutter and hit your face. At your family home, the only windows in your room face west. Being woken by warmth and light is new, and enough to make you groan. You shift out of the beam of sun, but soon a realization wakes you further than the light can.

You’re alone in Seungjoon’s room.

Sitting up, you run a hand over your hair and down the front of your shift. A scan of the room gives you little help. All the clothing left scattered on the floor last night has been picked up. Your own slung over the back of the wooden chair beside the window.

There’s noise from downstairs, but no conversation. Going down yourself, you pause on the last step, still fastening the last button on the front of your dress. From where you stand, you can see Changyoon standing at the counter.

“Good morning,” you greet lightly. It startles Changyoon still, nearly causing him to drop his breakfast.

“Hi,” he says after composing himself. “Sleep well, I hope?”

Coming into the kitchen, you answer him with a small nod. “Where’s Seungjoon?”

Changyoon tells you that he had to leave early this morning. Something urgent, he guesses. There had been no mention yesterday of Ms. Giroto needing him any earlier than usual. It isn’t unheard of, either way. With a glance out the window, you sigh.

“Well, I should head to the apothecary, I guess.”

It’s strange to be here without Seungjoon. You suspected Changyoon felt the same. Though he’d be too polite to mention it. Or, at least, too polite to mention it unless he could joke about it in front of Seungjoon.

He surprises you, though, and calls your name once just as you’re turning to gather your things.

“You matter a lot to Seungjoon,” he says when you turn back to him curiously. Your lips part. There’s an overwhelming sense inside you that you ought to reply, but his sudden declaration on Seungjoon’s behalf has you stunned silent. Changyoon manages a smile. “Don’t hurt him, alright?”

You nearly laugh. “Of course. You know I wouldn’t, don’t you?”

He looks you over with a half-smile and shakes his head. “Ah, I just -- nevermind.” Changyoon waves a hand in the air. It’s exactly the response to make you stay. Your footing changes, turning to his directly fully.

“No, it’s okay. What is it?”

Changyoon lets out a sigh and leans back against the counter. His shoulders slump, and then shrug. “I don’t think you’d want to hurt him,” he attempts to explain; his focus on some spot on the floorboards rather than you, his hand moving in supplementation, “But it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t. Just, you know, just because it’s easy to do, when someone cares about you.”

Your arms fold. A defensive posture coming to you despite his efforts not to make it sound like a sign of distrust.

“I mean, even something unintended, putting yourself in harm’s way,” he elaborates, “...Would, in a way.”

“I’m an apothecary’s apprentice, not a miner,” you remind him. “I don’t think you have to worry about me and harm’s way.” There’s a reticence in Changyoon’s gaze that keeps you from smiling. “But I appreciate you saying so,” you add after a moment, tone lowering. “Speaking of, I really should go. Thank you, though, Changyoon.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later?”

“I guess so.” You pause a moment more before you go. “You know, you matter to Seungjoon, too,” you remind Changyoon.

“I’ll stay out of trouble then.” His voice teeters on playful. It isn’t much relief, but it allows enough for you to be able to take your leave without too much worry nesting in your head.

You arrive at the apothecary at the same time that Marwa is leaving. When you ask Valeria, she sighs and shakes her head. It was the same pickup as she’d been doing for a while now. No word of recovery, and Marwa hadn’t been forthcoming about how much worse her father may be doing either. Karim, overhearing the two of you, calls for you to join him in the workroom.

“Isn’t that the same dress you wore yesterday?” Valeria asks as you come around to her side of the counter to head back and join Karim.

You look down at yourself. Heat tickles at your cheeks and ears, but you hope Valeria won’t take note of it. “Is it?” you feign surprise. The embarrassment of your smile is genuine, at least.

The backroom is small and thick with the warm scent of herbs as you work. Karim’s thick reference book is open beside you on the table. A medicinal perfume lingers in the air. When you first began your apprenticeship, you hadn’t believed Karim when he said you would get used to it; that it would someday bring a sense of comfort.

He doesn’t look up from his bookkeeping when Valeria can be heard greeting Seungjoon with surprise in the afternoon. The mention of his name, followed by the sound of his voice, has you retraining yourself to stay seated.

“Isn’t he here for you?” Old Karim asks just before Valeria calls back for you. You try to recall if you’ve ever mentioned Seungjoon to him before. But it isn’t a thought you linger on long. A smile and a nod from the apothecary is all the encouragement you need to step away from what you’re doing.

Valeria gestures, and says Seungjoon is here as you come out from the backroom.

There’s a seriousness hanging to Seungjoon’s presence that keeps you from smiling when you see him. His hair is slightly disheveled, as though from running. The look of him alone sets concern ablaze inside you.

“Why aren’t you at Giroto’s?” you ask him, coming around the counter to him.

“Can I talk to you?” His gaze goes past you to Valeria. “Alone?”

“Seungjoon, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he tries, and takes hold of your hand as soon as you’re within reach. “I just want to talk with you.” It’s an obvious falsehood. Agitation clings to his every word, as clear as rain after coming in from a storm. The trouble is only that you don’t know what invisible storm he’s coming from.

You look at Valeria from over your shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” you promise her. Turning your attention back to Seungjoon, you give him a nod and start for the door.

Outside, the sun has reached the right spot to make the stores on the apothecary’s side of the street cast shadows on the cobblestones. In the distance, an exhale of steam can be heard from the tram as it carries on its route. Down the way, at the stop where Seungjoon must have just gotten off at, there’s a few figures beginning to walk their own way; conversations light and indistinct from where you stand. Lenna Kask’s store sits silent and dark; the window’s curtain drawn and a sign apologizing for closure hanging at the door.

Seungjoon leads you just out of sight of the store’s window. “Listen,” he begins quietly, gravely, “I bought you a ticket.”

“A what?” Influenced by his own tone, you barely breathe out the question.

“The Seventh Albatross. Tonight.”

You nearly recoil, crossing your arms. “For the city? Why?” Already sensing your opposition, he places his hands just beneath your elbows and moves a step closer.

“Please. I know it might sound crazy, but Changyoon, last night -- he said there was a change in the schedule for the cargo airships. They’re keeping the hangar and mooring towers empty after the Albatross leaves. Something’s happening.” He says it all so quickly that you wonder how it was he kept this information to himself at all before. Your hold on yourself slips, arms staying half upright from his hold.

“What’s something?” you stammer, despite his franticness already telling you he doesn’t know. “How come neither of you told me this, last night?”

Seungjoon shakes his head. “I don’t know. I was going to. But then, you…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. His gaze softens, a bittersweet smile ghosting across his lips. “I’m sorry,” he says, expression turning serious once again, “I should have.”

“How did you even afford two tickets?” You move on quickly to the next question. He makes no move to speak. “Seungjoon?” His eyes fall from yours. Dread thumps into your heart suddenly, and sinks to the pit of your stomach, heavy as a stone. “Seungjoon, tell me you’re going too.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope and the ticket to hold them out to you.

“No.” Your voice has a renewed force. “If the city’s the one making room in the hangar… No. Why would you want me to go there alone?” Your throat dries out on you as you speak.

He shakes his head, moves the envelope to the top in his hands and presses them closer to you. “You won’t be alone. I swear. There… Hyojin, you remember? He left with Karim - young Karim, when the Albatross started again.” His fingers look to tremble as he pulls the paper out from the envelope. “I wrote you directions, here, and a letter for him. See?” Seungjoon looks into your eyes again, and it knocks you breathless to see them glossy already. “He’ll help you. I know it.”

Still, you shake your head quicker. Your hands move to his wrists to try to push the papers back to him. “I won’t go without you.”

“Please,” he repeats. The papers still between his fingers, his hands came up to you cheeks; the wrinkled envelope, reused and perhaps the only one Seungjoon could find, is rough against your skin. “I swear I won’t be far behind.”

“How? You already said --”

“Come on.” He smiles desperately and presses his forehead against yours. “You really think I won’t find a way back to you?”

That whisper makes you close your eyes. Your mind already knows it must be a baseless, optimistic promise he wants to make just to make you go. Your heart is far more convinced; so certain of your love that you can’t fathom the universe would really part you from him.

You don’t know what Seogholde looks like from above. Only that maps show the mountains and the valley that sit between it and the closest city. Lines and colors that mean nothing but a distance you’ve almost always considered insurmountable. To change that is a lot to ask. A shiver runs through you, despite the afternoon sun and the body heat radiating off Seungjoon’s fretful form. You know, in a quaking moment, what your answer is -- if only to spare him some fraction of fear.

Seungjoon presses his lips against your forehead and your temple, murmuring small pleas and promises as you stand there. Your throat feels small and dry; your eyes sting with the threat of tears. “I’ll see you there… You just have to go first. Okay?” His voice ghosts over your skin. “Promise me you’ll go. Please?”

When you nod, the two of you are so close that he doesn’t notice it. He carries on coaxing until you summon the will to say it out loud: “I promise. I’ll go.”

He moves a half-step back so he can look you in the eye properly. From his expression, you fear there’s a hundred more things he wants to say to you. He thanks you, and holds the papers out for you.

Passage to the city in hand with his letter to Hyojin, you blink to try to keep crying at bay. “Will you be there?”

He nods before kissing you.

It feels like the last time.

Some part of you wishes for rain, as heavy as the last storm that had raged through this town had been. But the skies are clear, the air dry, and the Albatross will sail tonight.

#onf scenarios #onf imagines #lee seungjoon x reader #onf fanfic #j-us imagines #lee seungjun scenarios

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