#sorry its late and also I’m doing this very surface level research on my phone and I can never keep track of research on phones I have to d
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Me knowing full well that the value of the yen in the csm universe is probably meant to be exactly the same as in real life it’s just that denji is chronically in hustle mode and will do the strangest things for an absolutely pitiful amount of money like being a human chair for the grand total of about one (1) American cent but liking to think otherwise bc if what the latest chapter implies that devil contracts are based not on actuality but on perception there’s no way I can imagine asa genuinely believing she can buy an aquarium for about seven thousand (7000) American dollars unless she has no concept of money which I doubt bc she’s not exactly rich herself unless you don’t have to genuinely believe something in order to affect the contract you can just pretend but that doesn’t really make sense to me bc then like. What Is A Devil Contract Anyway
#this is probably incoherent but it’s 3 am and it makes sense TO ME. if you don’t understand what I’m talking about that’s a you problem#.txt#csm#also it said the purchasing power of the yen is ~ the same in 1997 as 2022 so like that includes inflation as well#… I think#like the US dollar lost about 50ish % of its value since 1997#but the yen only lost about 5% in the same amount of time#so inflation is not really a big variable in this#like 7000 vs 14000 ur still not buying an aquarium beloved#sorry 400ish. or whatever. idfk I’m tired#*4000 UGH#sorry its late and also I’m doing this very surface level research on my phone and I can never keep track of research on phones I have to d#*do it on the computer if I’m gonna like look into it for real I always get mixed up if I look too many things up on my phone#I’m just going with VERY general numbers here#disclaimer 10¥ isn’t actually 1 cent it’s more like 7-8 cents I was just writing whatever but now im like what if ppl think im stupid#Dw I also think im stupid#🤡
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switching my positions
summary: Fresh out of college, Min Yoongi makes a name for himself amongst his online fanbase as an artist who writes about the ins and outs of falling in love. But when he is signed to a record label, his producer insists that he reveal a public romantic relationship to weed off any potential scandals or dangerous assumptions about the source of his love songs. So who else should Yoongi turn to, but you: his manager—but more than that, his best friend and secret crush.
pairing: yoongi x fem!reader
genre: solo artist!yoongi, manager!y/n, fake dating au, friends to lovers au | fluff/angst
warnings: yoongi starts off as a musician on youtube but it’s not really highlighted for most of the story, kim seokjin is a Hot Music Executive who’ll take good care of his favorite boy, jungkook gets promoted from a cameraman to a bodyguard and i love to see it <3, nayeon + hoseok cameo as radio show hosts BECAUSE THIS STORY HAS SO MANY CHARACTERS I’M SORRY, IU shows up as a ~superstar~ because i love her so much, it’s a slow burn fic what can i say, mutual pining, actually an idiots to lovers plot tbh ????, recreational alcohol consumption, POV switches occasionally but i try to make it as obvious as possible as to what is going on, mentions of insecurity, there’s angst BUT IT’S A HAPPY ENDING !!!
word count: 40.1k
a/n: big big thank you to @gukyi for being my fic consultant for this story! she encouraged me and believed in this story more than I ever could (and contributed like 50% of the foundation that made this fic into what it is), and also reminded me that yes this is a fic so no it doesn’t require one hundred percent accuracy to the music industry despite every discord message i sent her falling somewhere along the lines of “how realistic is this scenario…” she was a very big support for this fic, and this story wouldn’t have existed without her!!
and regarding the word count… my hand slipped. I’ve clowned this fic a lot over the past month but I am really happy that this is done and so so excited for you all to read it. Pls enjoy!!!!!!! Xx
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CHAPTER 1: THE DISCOVERY
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You’re late.
Yoongi lets you know that much as you have to shove your way through a rather large crowd of people to reach him. When he turns away from his keyboard to glance down at you, your chest is heaving and your knees are bent in order for your hands to rest upon your thighs. There’s a plastic bag curled on your arm, the hard plastic of CD cases reflecting off the street lamps.
“Sorry, sorry!” You breathe out, giving yourself a few more seconds to catch your breath. Nothing more, nothing less, because there is a crowd of people around you, currently staring you down, counting down the seconds until the clock struck 8:00—but many people wondering just who were you to shove your way towards the front. “The printer wasn’t working, and do you realize how difficult it is to get your stupid picture into these cases?”
Yoongi scoffs, walking towards you and holding both his hands out. “Don’t call them stupid, you took the picture,” He hisses, taking the plastic bag from you and rummaging through the many CDs you had to make for him last minute. After ensuring that everything he had asked for is in this very bag, he softens up. “But thanks for getting these done for me.”
You finally are able to straighten up into a full standing position. “Not my fault you underestimated how many of your wonderful fans were going to show up.”
Yoongi reaches over and presses his index finger straight into your forehead for that comment. The force knocks you back a few steps, and Yoongi takes your few seconds of distractions to pull a phone out of his pocket. “Just go off to the side, dummy, my show starts soon.”
“Fine, fine,” You tease back, easy smile, but your hand goes up to take the phone from him. “Break a leg, Min Yoongi.”
Yoongi gives you a playful glare but he turns away from you to line up his CDs along the now-table next to his set. As soon as he starts placing CDs atop the surface, a small line of people step from the crowd—pointing to the CDs and holding out a stack of cash. Yoongi nods, takes the money, and hands over the CD. This happens a few more times before the line of people have died down. Yoongi looks over at the significantly less amount of cases at his table, and looks over at you, where he flashes a thumbs up.
As Yoongi steps up to his keyboard and microphone, the crowd around him starts to cheer. The claps echo through the gathering of people, enough to draw the attention of passersby who crane their heads to see who has attracted so many listeners.
Yoongi’s fingers curl around the microphone. “Hey guys, thank you all for coming out today.”
The crowd claps back in acknowledgement, a few of them giving their own shy nods and waves towards Yoongi—gestures that the boy responds with his own nods and gummy smiles.
His attention returns back to the next set of words he’ll speak into the microphone. “I got a couple covers and original songs for tonight, all requested by you guys—so let’s have some fun today.” His voice is deep, raspy and gentle, croaks slightly along the edges, but a perfect reflection of the soothing nature he brings to his audience.
And you are attune to every single second of it. Of course you are. You blend into the crowd but really your responsibilities for Yoongi lie far beyond just packaging CDs for him and dashing through hoards of people at the last fucking second to make your delivery. You further prove this further by logging into his phone and clicking into the first background music he’s produced for today’s show. Using the music as a guide, Yoongi starts to sing. His fingers dance across the keyboard to bring an extra sound to his performance—to give it that extra live element that his fans love.
You know that Yoongi has added these additional things over the months because he adores his fanbase and would likely do anything and everything he could to give them the best experience he could offer. After all, they’ve propelled him to this very spot—his own little corner of the bustling city streets amongst all the bars, shops, universities, street food stalls, and cafes.
As the music continues from one song to the next, and Yoongi shifts his focus from singing to rapping to the in betweens, you see his passion. You hear it in his voice, in the way his lines string together where it seems like the boy doesn’t require oxygen anymore. Months of these live shows, even longer years to get here—and the people around him only continue to watch him in awe. Just like he’s done since the beginning.
Min Yoongi started off his music career on Youtube, where he uploaded music covers with his own special beat thrown into the mix. Yoongi enjoyed music arrangement (still does), and used his videos as an opportunity to explore that hobby and share it with people who could also enjoy it. And enjoy it people did, as viewers started pouring in and his fanbase grew in the form of positive comments and increasing subscribers. From some videos, Yoongi had always teased the idea of original songs he had written in various notebooks that expressed the wide range of his emotions—overall all the trials and tribulations of growing up: the notion of love in all its forms. Normally, there was always a fear of an audience losing interest at the prospect of original songs, especially coming from someone who previously arranged already popular #1 hits.
But that never happened with Min Yoongi. His songwriting abilities became part of his brand—became his entire brand. Yoongi always wrote out love to be more than sappy pop songs or tragic heartbreak. He established himself as someone who seemed to speak from the mind of every single person he came into contact with. At least, that’s what his comment section claims.
In the beginning of his Youtube career, you found Yoongi’s online persona unusual and amusing to say the least, but it was always clouded with an air of sweetness and sensibility. After all, you had known him about a year before Youtube was even an option for him to pursue. The pair of you met in a general ed college class—big lecture halls and voices getting lost in the background as the professors’ voice boomed through speaker systems. Yoongi had asked to borrow a pencil, and the pair of you spent the rest of the class making side-handed comments about the lecture material. You sat next to each other for the rest of the semester and have been friends ever since.
So it’s not like Yoongi’s core characteristics have ever been anything other than caring, thoughtful, or loyal—he’s just never been outwardly expressive about those emotions. But Youtube changed everything: it’s made him a more vocal person, more open about his feelings as well as his need to share those feelings with the world.
The world responded positively—wrote in the comments that they would love to hear some of his original songs, that he had already provided just a small taste of his talent and left them an insatiable desire for more.
As soon as you and Yoongi graduated, his commitment to Youtube increased tenfold. With the previous obligations of assignments, papers, and research internships out of the way, it left more time for writing, for filming, for editing, for sharing. As his work levels increased, so did his subscribers. And so did the attention.
You’ll never forget the day his followers suggested live street performances in one of Yoongi’s neighboring cities—a city street more specifically that was famous for taking in street performances of all origins and talents, a place for him to show off his freestyling on a keyboard and finally meet his fans firsthand. The idea caught on so quickly and vividly that Yoongi was immediately attracted to the idea. He held his first performance just a few months ago, as a thank you present for reaching one million subscribers. If you had trouble materializing Yoongi’s musical success before, the first live performance and meet and greet Yoongi hosted did well to eradicate all those thoughts.
Hundreds of people showed up—standing alongside the shops, restaurants, food vendors, and cafes that already lined the streets, everyone intersecting to meet the artist who made them feel heard.
You still remember that day very vividly. Yoongi had been so nervous that day, had worked so hard to put together the perfect set for his fans. Obviously, though, he had nothing to worry about. Soon, one show turned into two, and just like the request for live performances and meet and greets, the question of monetary compensation became a topic of discussion amongst Yoongi’s fans. That’s where the question of albums came into play: a singular place for Yoongi to put his covers and original place—and charge money for it as well!
As per the request, eventually you and Yoongi decided that exclusive covers and original songs would be part of his album as a way to open up different modes of access rather than take away an individual’s general (free of charge) chance to view Yoongi’s content and just simply support without having to spend money. The introduction of his albums has been a very recent development, something added into Yoongi’s live performances after the tenth show and usually always sold out by the end of any aforementioned show. From what you’ve been able to see as of now, the albums have been a good addition.
In terms of Yoongi’s current career, you acknowledge that it has always been you and Yoongi—him staying up late for last minute song-writing sessions or recording or arranging a specific set of chords he had been holding off for weeks, or you arranging the time and date of his live shows and fulfilling requests to put songs on CDs and figure out how to market those in an era of streaming services. And if there’s anyone who knows that he has what it takes to get big—it’s you. After all, you would do anything for him. As you would have done from the moment you met him.
An hour later—after twenty songs and a swaying crowd around him singing along—the last song fades out and Yoongi pulls back from the microphone to catch his breath. Everyone else around him seems to hold onto their own, before Yoongi pulls himself back towards the mic to utter his last words for the night: “Thanks for coming out you guys. I really, really appreciate it.”
In the midst of the claps and cheers, Yoongi smiles towards the audience, turns around to address the circle of crowd that has formed around him.
As some of the crowd begins to disperse and some begin to linger for a potential meet and greet, Yoongi hastily remembers to return back to his mic for one last word to his audience. “And thank you guys so much for one million subs!”
You smile to yourself as members of the crowd acknowledge his thanks with thanks of their own. As you watch Yoongi start disassembling his equipment for the night, you simply stand where you’ve stood for the past hour, allowing the crowd to simmer past you towards their next destination for the time. You pocket Yoongi’s phone into your coat, waiting for a few minutes, before you slip around towards the front of the crowd. There, a boy stands in front of a tripod, and his fingers dance around to unclip his camera from the standee.
“You get the whole thing, Jungkook?” You ask with the tilt of your head.
Jungkook whirls towards you, bright eyes full of excitement as he holds the camera with both his hands now. He utters your name. “Oh shit, yeah I did. We’ll get to see how Yoongi’s mic set up works.” He taps to the cord that connects the mic on Yoongi’s clothes and on his piano into the camera.
You perk up at the sight of new technology. “Oooh, going fancy with us, I see JK. Very future.”
Jungkook’s grin widens, as it always does when talking about cameras and filmography. “Yes. Future…” He stretches out the word with the exact dips, curls, and croaks the way Squidward does in that one Spongebob episode, which makes you laugh. Jungkook clicks through the video of Yoongi’s set that he’s just recorded, before he clicks the screen off and lowers the camera. “It’ll probably be better if I wait until we get back to look through the footage. I’m sure Yoongi is anxious to get back too…” He looks up towards where Yoongi is supposed to be standing a few feet away, but the younger boy trails off. “Hey, look over there.” He jerks his chin towards Yoongi. “Some guy is talking to him. Do you know him?”
Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion—none of your college friends had texted saying they were going to come by and listen in on Yoongi’s set—you crane your own neck towards the direction Jungkook is gesturing to. Up ahead, Yoongi is indeed talking to some guy that you don’t recognize so of course it would peak your curiosity.
It’s a feeling that increases tenfold when Yoongi looks up, seems to find you from his search, and points across the space right at you. There’s even something in his eyes that beg you to walk over to him. This makes your frown deepen, because what the hell is this about?
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Min Yoongi doesn’t allow for too much vocal expression that doesn’t involve the assistance of a keyboard or a music arrangement, but he speaks into the microphone without thinking. “And thank you guys so much for one million subs!” His smile widens as the crowd responds with the claps and cheers of their own—all responding to him and communicating with him. This is it, this is what makes coming out to do these shows all worth it. Obviously there’s a thrill he gets from being in front of a camera and another thrill from uploading a video that people can access from all over the world. But to see the faces of the people who have left positive comments underneath those aforementioned videos… now that’s a completely different kind of feeling he didn’t think he would enjoy so much.
So Yoongi steps away from the mic to put away his equipment for the day. He only gets so far as to open the case for his microphone and mic holder before he’s hearing his name behind him. Turning around, he is faced with a few unfamiliar and a few familiar fans that are asking him for pictures and a short conversation. He indulges them, of course he does, and he signs a few albums while he’s at it.
It’s like you always teased him about: he really is a softie for his fans.
The fan interactions only last for a few minutes, before another voice comes in—it’s a deeper voice and radiates so much confidence and presence that it actually halts the next fan from trying to finish a conversation with Yoongi. All gazes turn towards the source of the voice: it’s a tall man with broad shoulders, pointy boots and a long coat that drapes down, hands stuffed into the pocket of that very coat. He looks like a model.
The man gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry for interrupting, but I need to request a chat with Mr. Min and am in a bit of a hurry. Do you mind if I cut in for a moment?”
The fan gives a weak smile. “N-No problem.”
Yoongi gives his own small smile. “Sorry about that. Oh, here.” He quickly makes a grab for the CD in her hesitant hands, signing his name across the sleek surface. “Thanks for coming by. Have a good rest of the night.”
Her smile brightens. “Thank you so much!” With a quick little bow, she runs off towards her friends.
This leaves Yoongi alone with the stranger. “What can I help you with?”
The stranger extends his arm. “Mr. Min, I’m Kim Seokjin. I’m a music executive. Nice to meet you.”
Music executive. These two words pique Yoongi’s interest. Just enough. “Wow, uh, nice to meet you sir.” Yoongi can’t help but lower his head slightly in a small bow as he returns Kim Seokjin’s handshake.
Seokjin waves him off. “Oh, no need to be so formal Mr. Min. I just thought that I should finally come by to introduce myself. I’ve been following your Youtube channel for awhile and think that you’re extremely talented, very capable to be a recording artist, in fact.”
Yoongi blinks in surprise, completely taken aback by the direction of this conversation. When he came out for his show today, having a conversation with a whole ass music executive hadn’t been on the list of things he was expecting. Of course, it was always a dream of his to be a recording artist. But he thought something like that would always just remain a dream. “T-Thank you.”
Seokjin continues. “Honestly, this is the third live performance of yours that I attended. Artists like you who radiate lots of passion and dedication both through the screen and on a stage are pretty rare. But your confidence and presence is quite admirable.”
At that, Yoongi can’t help but laugh a little. He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I wouldn’t call this a stage, Mr. Kim, it’s just a small street corner.”
Seokjin laughs. “Fair enough—but you treat this little street corner like a stage and I find that cool. It appears that that’s what a lot of your fans think as well.” He pauses. “Mr. Min,” He starts up again after a moment. “Have you ever considered becoming a recording artist? Signing with a music label, releasing music and being able to reach millions of people? Having concerts in venues all over the world?”
At the question, Yoongi utters a scoff of disbelief. “I have,” He acknowledges after a few minutes. “Having this youtube channel and these street performances is amazing…”
“Of course,” Seokjin replies with a nod.
“But sometimes I do wonder what it would be like to do more than that. So, to answer your question, I have thought about it before. Many times, in fact.”
Seokjin nods again. “What if I told you that I was interested in signing you, Mr. Min?”
Yoongi stares at that, stares and stares with unblinking eyes, one hundred percent of his attention on the man standing in front of him—waiting for the signs, waiting to see the laugh or the glint that gives away his prankster tendencies. But none of those things come. Seokjin just stares right back, challenging him to question him and agree to his claim.
But Yoongi is younger, more naive, so of course he falls for it. “Why would you want to sign me?”
Seokjin grins. “Mr. Min, I like to think I’m pretty good at spotting talented people who have a fully fledged career ahead of them—which is something my gut is telling me that you can do. And don’t worry, it’s not just the gut feeling I have. Like I mentioned, I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a few months and I’ve seen the numbers and the turn out. You clearly have what it takes to bring fans in, keep them, and create events that’ll drive their attention—and I want to help you make an opportunity out of that.”
Yoongi hears the words of the older man, he really does, but he still cannot help the feeling of his head spinning at all the positive things Kim Seokjin says to him. Not only that he believes Yoongi has what it takes to make it, but that Yoongi has the concrete numbers to back that up. He is offering Yoongi an opportunity—an opportunity that seemed much too big for his youtube channel to birth, an opportunity that he had always just written off as nothing more than a dream. Yet for Seokjin to say that it could be more than that? And for all of this to happen on a normal performance night?
Was Yoongi about to faint right now or what.
Seokjin takes in Yoongi’s stunned silence and smiles. “I understand that this could be a lot to take in. No worries. I have a card for you to take—so call me when you make up your mind, alright?” He rummages into the pocket of his coat before producing a business card. The name KSJ RECORDS is printed on the surface, shiny lettering in sleek font.
Yoongi takes it wordlessly.
“By the way, do you have a manager?” Seokjin asks. “You can have them reach out to me if that’ll make it easier.”
Yoongi stays quiet for a moment. He doesn’t have a manager; he never really saw the need for one if his schedule was as simple as it was. After all, it was more than enough for him to handle with you—!
His mind explodes, as if someone had just plugged it into an outlet. His gaze flickers to you, where he sees you now standing just a few feet away next to Jungkook. You’re already staring back at him, but your head tilts slightly as if you could read his internal struggle. Before Yoongi can even figure why he’s looking at you, his body seems to act on its own. His arm raises, finger pointing straight at you. “She’s over there.”
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, seeming to read something in his gaze that even Yoongi couldn’t figure out. Still, you walk over to them. “What’s going on?”
Seokjin acts first, turning towards you and giving you a nod in greeting. “Hi there, I’m Kim Seokjin. Yoongi says you’re his manager, is that correct?”
You blink, caught off guard by the question because you definitely were not Yoongi’s manager. He knows that you know this. You give Yoongi another look, and his eyes widen at you, poorly attempting to transmit a singular message: please.
You understand immediately, of course you do (you’re his best friend), as you turn back to look at Seokjin. “I am, it’s nice to meet you.”
The pair of you shake hands. “I was just telling Mr. Min over there that I was interested in signing him to my company. I’m a music executive for KSJ records, and think that he would make a great addition to the team.”
It takes you a second to process the news, but you do so quicker and much more graceful than Yoongi could ever hope to do. “Oh my gosh, are you serious?” You turn to look at him, bright-eyed. “Yoongi, that’s amazing!”
“He hasn’t made a decision yet,” Seokjin continues to explain. “I don’t blame him, it’s a lot to process. I just told him that he could have you call me once he made up his mind. Then, contracts could be drawn up.” He pauses for a moment, then seems to scramble on something when you don’t say anything immediately. “Of course, you would remain his manager. I’m sure that he’s gotten as far as he has with your help. I would want you part of Mr. Min’s team regardless.” Seokjin composes himself quickly afterwards. “Like I said, take some time to come to a decision and let me know. Let me give you my card as well.” He mirrors his previous movement at Yoongi towards you now until you have his business card between your fingers.
“W-Well,” You start, lowering the card and offering up your hand. “Thank you so much for coming by, Mr. Kim. We’ll be sure to send you a response soon.”
Seokjin takes your hand carefully, giving it a firm shake. “I look forward to hearing from you.” He turns to Yoongi. “And I hope we’ll be able to work together, Mr. Min.”
Yoongi blinks, but he snaps himself out long enough to return Seokjin’s handshake. “Y-Yes…” He replies, still feeling completely starstruck by what the fuck this encounter had just been. “T-Thank you for stopping by…” He trails off. He stays quiet as he watches Seokjin give one last departing word before he’s turning around and making his way down the street of the city.
When he regains some of his attention back, he turns to find that you’re already staring at him with an unreadable expression across your face. “Let’s head back,” You say at least, holding up the business card. “We have a lot to talk about.”
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“No way,” Jungkook utters, completely shocked as he practically throws himself onto the couch in the living room. His camera equipment has been set down near the door, too much exhaustion present in its owner for the trudge back into his room. “You got casted today? That’s incredible, hyung!”
“I-I didn’t even realize what was going on,” Yoongi grumbles back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I still wonder if that moment even happened or if I conjured it up in a strange fever dream.”
You raise your hand slightly. “I was there. Can confirm that it was real.” You dig the business card out of your pocket and stare down at it.
Jungkook hikes himself deeper into the couch as he turns on his phone to start scrolling. “I gotta know who this guy is. Kim Seokjin you said? Of KSJ records?”
“Yeah, KSJ records,” Yoongi replies, looking down at his own business card. “He seemed pretty legit.”
A whistle from Jungkook confirms that. “Yeah, he’s definitely real. And look at that!” Jungkook turns the phone over to expose the photographs of Seokjin. “Used to be a singer as well. I bet he knows a lot about the industry.”
Yoongi nods. “He did seem nice.”
“So, does that mean you’re planning to meet up with him? Get signed and all that jazz?”
“All that jazz?” Yoongi echoes, but he shakes his head before he could go off on that tangent. “But honestly? Yeah, I’m thinking about it. I really do love youtube and do want to continue that, but I just feel like there’s more for me to explore with the right connections.”
Jungkook grins. “Wow, I can’t believe my roommate is gonna be famous.” He says the last word with a bite of curl in his tone, flashing a teasing smile when Yoongi merely glares in embarrassment. Jungkook’s eyes flicker further back towards where you are standing in the apartment, calling your name to get your attention. “What do you think of the idea, Miss. Manager?”
You perk up at that. “Before I get into my answer—when did I suddenly become your manager? I don’t remember us ever having that conversation.” You’re situated in the kitchen, drumming one hand on the counter and using the other hand to stir some last night boxed mac and cheese.
Yoongi coughs at your observation, sinking himself further down into the couch. “I didn’t want Seokjin to think I was an idiot or something for not having a manager. But when I do officially make up my mind…” He angles his head to stare over at you. “You’ll do it for me, right? You’ll actually be my manager?”
You frown, hesitant. “You’re serious about asking me? I don’t know anything about being a manager though.”
Yoongi almost pouts at that, sitting up so he can whirl around completely on the couch to face you. “But you know me and my music career almost better than anyone! And you graduated with a business degree, what do you mean you don’t know anything about being a manager?”
You flush hotly at that. “It was just a general business degree, Yoongi, it seems like what you need to make it big is a legit artist manager! Someone who will actually know how to schedule your tour dates or keep up with your public image and know exactly how to market you to the general public. You really want me doing that for you?”
Yoongi gaps at that. “Okay, but who’s the one who literally schedules my street performances and helps me with editing my videos?”
“Jungkook does some of the editing too,” You grumble underneath your breath.
“Yah! Stop selling yourself short!” Yoongi interjects, pointing at you accusingly. He does, however, lower his finger long enough to turn and address his roommate. “Not that you don’t help out with any of the editing, Jungkook…”
Jungkook waves him off. “I know where my talents lie.”
Yoongi turns back to you. “Besides, Seokjin acknowledged that you and I basically come as a packaged deal. He saw that you were working just as hard to get me my gigs.”
You give him a one-shouldered shrug, the hesitation still laced in your tone. “I don’t know Yoongi. I just don’t want to fuck up and jeopardize your shot.”
Yoongi’s attention is one hundred percent focused on you now, so much so that he has made his way into the kitchen and has come so close that he can switch off the stove that held the macaroni and cheese. “Hey, listen, the only reason I’ve even been given a shot was thanks to you. You work just as hard as me to keep my channel up and running—and you already have another job on the side, so you don’t have to do anything for me. But you do.” He plants both his hands on your shoulders and twists you around. “Would you be my manager? Please? I seriously don’t trust anyone else enough to do this for me.”
You sigh, staring down Yoongi as tensely as he’s staring you down. He sees the flicker of continuing hesitation in your eyes, and responds with just tightening his grip on your shoulders—trying to convey as much pleading as he could to you. Honestly, if you rejected his request, he knows that he wouldn’t be able to do this without you.
So when you seem to realize that he won’t give up, you sigh and look down for a moment. “Damn that I can never say no to you, Min Yoongi.”
Hearing those words of confirmation, Yoongi’s gaze hyper focuses on you. Even when you look back over at him, you don’t look away and that merely confirms the unspoken question of your participation.
When he realizes that you aren’t going to outright reject him, and that you’re actually on board for him, Yoongi’s face lights up as he immediately envelops you into a hug. “Thank you! Thank you—wow, that means a lot to me.”
You suck in a breath at his words, tensing slightly at his words, but you eventually learn to relax long enough to pat him slowly on the back to return his hug. “Don’t thank me yet,” You grumble into his shoulder. “We haven’t even had a meeting. I may not be able to negotiate as well as you think I can.”
Yoongi shakes his head at that, tightening his hold on you. From his close proximity to you, he doesn’t notice the way your breath seems to shake and your heart seems to quicken. “It doesn’t matter,” He reassures, finally backing off. “I don’t care if you don’t know how to do all those fancy manager things. Like I said, you’re the only one I could trust to do this.”
You stare at Yoongi for a few more seconds before you sigh in defeat, knowing that you’ve just put all your thoughts and feelings on the table for him to react to. “Alright then,” You say, placing one of your hands across your chest and onto your shoulder—atop his hand still lingering. “I’ll make the call tomorrow then.”
Yoongi nods. “Thank you.”
There’s a brief silence that covers the pair of you, before a voice rings from the living room. “Do you mind bringing the mac and cheese over here?”
.
.
CHAPTER 2: THE REQUEST
.
One year later, and you learn that the crowds from Yoongi’s street performances are nothing in comparison to this. This—overwhelming and unmatched in all degrees, the screams and the cries and the shoves, all of it echoes around you just as it has for the past few months. Surprisingly, you’ve always been okay with being a little more firm if the situation called for such and today is absolutely no exception.
“Off,” You say gently, tapping an outstretched hand trying to get past you and grab at the person behind you.
The girl you’ve intercepted jerks her hand back as if you’ve burned her, her eyes wide and vaguely hurt as if you’ve singled her out specifically from this crowd. Rather, it’s more along the lines of keeping your client safe and trying to avoid the incident from last week. You block the memory out for the time being.
You feel a hot breath at your ear. “If you make my fans cry, I swear—!”
“Try to be less desirable then,” You bite back over your shoulder, holding up your hand when another fan tries to shove a sharpie past you. “Sorry, but we’re in a bit of a rush,” You say to the boy. “Come to the next concert—we’ll have a meet and greet then too.”
The boy deflates, but that expression only lasts for a second before he seems to brighten slightly at whatever has just occurred behind you. Stealing a glance, you realize it’s because Min Yoongi has just thrown him an apologetic wink.
The car appears in view a lot quicker than you had been anticipating, which is good as you muster all your energy to pull the handle that opens the car door. You step off to the side, further cutting off the fans who are trying to keep Yoongi from entering the vehicle. Soon enough, a taller and more dominating figure appears next to you as Yoongi manages to slide his way into the back seat. You and Jungkook exchange a nod—you had been in the front of Yoongi’s protection squad and he had been in the back, and the arrangement continues to work wonders. As long as Yoongi doesn’t lose a whole sleeve (like last time) then you would consider this departure a success.
Jungkook tilts his head towards the still opened car door, allowing you to enter the car yourself. As soon as you��re settled, Jungkook leans forward to join you. He slides his way into the seat all the way in the back of the car. Closing the door behind him, you signal Taehyung to take off with a nod into the rearview mirror.
The screams and calls of Yoongi’s name are loud, and pass through the metal structure of the car as if it is nothing. But you know that the boy doesn’t mind, and that he lives and breathes moments like these as he has for the past few months.
It’s crazy to think how much a year could change, after you and Yoongi decided to meet up with Seokjin to discuss how Yoongi was going to be signed under KSJ records. Seokjin had talked about the big plans he had in pushing Yoongi towards the spotlight—and goals like an album, a concert, and meet-and-greets around the country had been promised for Yoongi’s first year.
And of course, Yoongi was completely enchanted by the promises. Just one final ‘of course’ confirmation to have you as his manager, and Yoongi was signing on the dotted line. Truth be told, you didn’t know what KSJ records would have in store for Yoongi—how long that glimmer of passion would remain in the boy’s eyes.
A year later, and you acknowledge that you might have underestimated Kim Seokjin. As a former performer, he knew all the ins and outs of the music industry and his well established connections as well as his good ear for good music meant that Yoongi was allowing his music to get the treatment it deserved. Pair that with Yoongi’s growing popularity on Youtube, and it all equates to an EP that debuts with tens of thousands of copies sold within the first week. The EP itself hadn’t been much—just six songs that contained a mix of old songs and new songs, but all written by Yoongi. His previous (although small) experience with producing and arrangement allowed him constant access into the various studios at KSJ records, where he learned from all the other producers on how to make good music.
The hands-on, personal touch Seokjin allowed Yoongi to deliver in his music had been a good call and a large contributor to the success of the EP. You recall fans praising the album and talking about how it matched Yoongi’s youtube aesthetic perfectly, but just with the higher quality element that top notch equipment could bring to music.
In a way, the current atmosphere of concerts and meet-and-greets is just a way to celebrate the success of Yoongi’s music career launching off into the stratosphere.
“Hey.” There’s a gentle tap against your head, and you jump before turning to face Yoongi in the seat next to you. “You good?”
You blink, bringing your finger up to brush the hair out of your face. “Yeah, just spaced out.”
“Cool. I thought you might have fallen asleep.”
“If anyone should have fallen asleep by now, it’s you,” You point out. “I think that today’s meet-and-greet was the largest one you’ve had so far.”
“Don’t worry,” Yoongi says. “I have every intention of following asleep as soon as I fall into bed. Plus, don’t let me hold a pen for the next week—I think my wrist almost fell off.”
You laugh, angling yourself so you can face him. “But you love it, don’t you?”
Yoongi’s gaze softens as he lets your question sink in. “Course I do. I never realized how cool it would be to have an audience sing my lyrics back to you. More than that, it was all lyrics I used to write in the apartment, or in between lectures back at college, or late into the night on my phone… back when the idea of all this was just a dream.” He pivots his body towards you, eyes bright as the passion for his current place in life seems to have gotten him hyped up again. “You know, during the meet and greet, this girl came up to me all confidently and told me that my album got her through a tough time. I think that’s when it really hit me that this was all happening.”
The corner of your lips quirk up into a smile. “Oh yeah, I actually do remember you writing those songs and you showing me the lyrics. You speak from the heart, and your fans understand that. Helps that you’re pretty cute too. Anyone with eyes could see that.” As soon as those words escape your lips, you almost want to chide yourself and immediately throw yourself out of the car. Why would you say something like that—why would you openly admit to Yoongi’s cuteness? Your face grows warm at the realization, leaving you to hope that Yoongi won’t notice your flustered state.
Yoongi doesn’t notice. He’s too busy gawking at your observation, too busy tearing his gaze away from you to stare firmly out of the car window.
Jungkook simply shifts his gaze between the two of you.
In the midst of the silence, you fish out your phone and start scrolling through your social media pages. Due to the third party cookie ads that follow you around, you immediately notice news of Yoongi’s concert of the day has started hitting various news sites—most articles praising Yoongi on his song selections and live adaptations of his music to suit the concert style more. Reading these articles leave you unable to stop the grin, because Yoongi deserves this so fucking much that you could have sworn your heart sings a little as you continue reading.
It’s a moment that lasts for only a couple of seconds, as recommended articles start coming up that do well in setting up the gray cloud. With the increased amount of attention that comes from being a newly top rated best selling album artist, so does the intrusion into personal life that follows—the dark side of the media, the side that just loves to stick its nose in places it does not belong. It’s something that you had been seeing since Yoongi’s youtube account hit five hundred thousand, but at the time these kinds of questions were more dark shadows or curious inquiries taken in the form of casual comments.
Now, those questions have become much more normalized, as a common curiosity seems to have taken form from all these drama articles: was Min Yoongi dating anyone? And even better: who is Min Yoongi writing all his love songs for?
As if love was limited to romantic relationships, and wasn’t a feeling one could recreate from other love songs or romantic comedies. Or just the feelings of growing up.
“We’re here!” Taehyung calls from the front seat, as you jump up from your train of thought. Refocusing on your surroundings, you realize that you’ve made it into the parking lot of the hotel.
You sigh, regathering your belongings that have moved around during the drive. “Thanks, Taehyung.”
“Hey.” Taehyung utters for you to come closer to him as soon as the pair of you step out of the car. He jerks toward Yoongi, who is exiting from his side of the car before quickly side-stepping to let Jungkook come out as well. “Was that flirting back there?”
You protest hotly at once, your hand raising up and wave side-to-side frantically in complete denial. “N-No, it wasn’t—!”
“Okay, good,” Taehyung interrupts, leaning back to stuff his hands into his pants pockets. “Because if that was the case I think we would have had to re-evaluate your definition of flirting—!”
“Will you stop?” You squeak.
“Is everything okay?” Yoongi asks, having rounded around the car to stare over at you and Taehyung.
You whirl around quickly, tightening up your expression once more to make sure that any remnants of your conversation with Taehyung would be undetected. “Yep!” You say immediately. “Everything is fine. Let’s get going, yeah?” You allow Jungkook to lead the four of you out of the parking lot and into the elevator that’ll take you to the main floor of the hotel room. Yoongi has to slip on a pair of glasses and a baseball cap, just on the off chance that a fan might be staying in the same room—it happened a few stops ago—before the four of you are making your way through the lobby. The four of you have reserved four separate rooms for your overnight stay in the city, rooms that you have already checked into earlier that day, so it feels nice to just make your way to the elevator and select the correct floor.
Taehyung decides to check in first for the night, waving you all off and congratulating Yoongi on another well done performance. Jungkook lingers around as you make your way to Yoongi’s room next.
“Thanks for walking me,” Yoongi says, sliding the key card into the slot and pulling out when he hears the beep of confirmation on his door.
Jungkook flashes him a thumbs up. “Good show today. Now get some rest.”
Yoongi nods, just about to close the door when you make a sudden noise from the back of your throat. “OH!” You call out suddenly, startling both boys as you reach your arm out suddenly to prevent Yoongi from closing the door. He had been so close too. “Sorry, I just realized. Seokjin sent me an email of some deadlines he wanted me to go over with you. Your sleep is gonna have to be put on hold.”
Yoongi grumbles something under his breath.
You turn to look at Jungkook. “We’ll be fine, Jungkook, go rest up—you deserve it.”
Jungkook nods, grinning at Yoongi. “See you guys around.”
“No fair…” Yoongi pouts as he watches Jungkook stroll down the hall to reach his hotel room. “Why do they get to rest and I don’t? I’m so tired…”
“Well, this is the price of fame,” You retort with the shrug of your shoulders. “You have your face the paparazzi want to see, and the name that sells the albums. Naturally, it means you just have to put in more work than everyone else.”
Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, still pouting but less so as he opens the door once more for the both of you to enter. “When you put it that way…”
You giggle behind him. “For the fans, Min Yoongi.”
You immediately task yourself with throwing yourself atop his bed, surprisingly put together despite the fact that you had checked everyone in earlier that day. You would have assumed he would have taken a nap. But the bed doesn’t look slept in at all.
Yoongi notices your observation immediately. “I was too nervous to fall asleep earlier today,” He provides, taking a seat on the couch on the other side of the room. “So what was it that Seokjin needed you to go over with me?”
“It’s short, I promise,” You reassure, pulling out the iPhone from your pocket. As soon as you unlock the device, you’re faced with the articles you had previously been looking up—the ones about Yoongi’s dating life. Without meaning to, you sigh heavily at the sight.
Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “What’s up?”
You jerk up. “Oh, no, nothing sorry. I just…” You hold the phone up for Yoongi to see. “These articles about you and your dating life—it’s getting worse.”
“Oh.” Yoongi’s fingers fiddle with each other. “Yeah, I’ve seen a few of those floating around too. Honestly, for someone who writes a lot of songs about love, these curiosities don’t really surprise me. I wish that they wouldn’t be so intrusive.”
“Unfortunately, people always think it’s their right to know who these love songs are for.” You spare him a quick glance, only to realize that he’s already staring at you. Hastily, you look back down. “If the songs are even for anyone, that is.”
Yoongi is quiet for a moment. “Right.”
“Anyways…” You exit your internet app, tapping through until Seokjin’s email comes up. “Seokjin just wants to know your progress on the new songs. He’s trying to gauge your progress so he can see whether or not to arrange studio time for you to start recording.”
The new songs—it’s a reference to Seokjin’s next plan for Yoongi’s career. With the launch of the EP and the current success that it has been harboring, it makes sense that the next step would be to launch a full-length album. Technically it could be called a repackage, since the album would most likely feature a few songs from the EP and cover the rest of the spots with new music.
But aforementioned new music takes time to write, not that Yoongi ever had a problem with writing music. That has always been second nature for him—and was something he could do anywhere so long as he had a functioning, conscious mind. It was all just a matter of whether or not he could create the required number of actual songs within the scheduled deadline. With those higher expectations, time definitely plays the biggest issue and it makes sense if Yoongi couldn’t write proper songs given the current circumstances.
Nonetheless, Yoongi nods at the question. “I actually have rough drafts of most of the songs, if that was okay with Seokjin. We could probably schedule some meetings to polish up the writing, since a lot of them are still in the beginning stage.”
You blink at his answer, surprised by his response. You had been expecting one, or maybe two songs to be written out but to have all eight songs written out? “W-Wow…” You utter. “You wrote so many songs so quickly.”
Yoongi shrugs, but he does look a little prideful at your words. You don’t notice his lingering gaze. “I have a lot to reflect on, what can I say.”
“I-I mean,” You stammer, not really hearing his response. “I could schedule the meeting with Seokjin, but if he knows that you have everything basically done, he’ll probably be okay with giving you a little more time to polish up your work yourself.”
Yoongi ponders this, but he shakes his head. “No, go ahead and schedule the meeting. It’s actually nice having extra hands in the music.”
You nod. “Alright then, I’ll go and do that. I think I should also just go over tomorrow’s schedule with you.” Quickly, you relay the time details of what tomorrow’s day will look like since you’re flying out for another show the next morning. You give him some details about the stage, how many people are going, and how many people he will be meeting afterwards. It’s a standard review conversation, one of the many that you’ve had with Yoongi over the year. “And… that should be it,” You wrap up as soon as you’ve reviewed the day. Looking over the schedule once more, you cannot help but sigh once more.
“What is it this time?” Yoongi asks from the side.
“Oh, no nothing!” You reassure with a promising smile. “Just another busy day.”
Yoongi gives you a grin, but you can see the exhaustion clinging to the corner of his eyes. “There’s only a few more stops left of the concert—what happened to you being positive rock?”
At that, you laugh nervously. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right.” You clench a fist in front of him and pump it up to showcase a display of energy. “Another day of excitement and one more day towards fulfilling your dreams!” You lower your fist and give him a slightly dryer look. “How was that?”
“I could have done without the look at the end, but it’ll do, I guess.” Yoongi stands up from his place on the couch and throws himself atop his bed. His head ends up near you, his back on the mattress, and his feet dangling off the side. “There’s only a few stops left of the tour, and for some people this is their first time seeing me live. And for other people, maybe they saw me back when I would perform on the streets, so in that case it’s their first time seeing me perform on a stage and everything!” He lifts one of his hands up into his field of view. “Either way, I just want to do the best I can for the people that take time out to come see me and support me. Because I owe them everything—I owe them more than what I can give them.”
You don’t say anything to that. What could you say, anyways? Instead, you reach over and run your fingers through his hair. After a second, you retract your hand. You shouldn’t let yourself linger for too long anyways. “It’s late,” You say, a tone of finality in your voice. “I should head to my room. I’ll make sure to let Seokjin know your update.” You slide off the bed into a standing position. “You should get some rest.” You turn to him. “You may not think you can pay back your fans, but you probably help them out every single day. The same way they help you out too.”
Yoongi tilts his head back to see you. Upside down, but still look at you nonetheless. He grins. “There’s that positive energy I was looking for. Thanks.”
You laugh, already making your way towards his hotel room door. “Thank me by giving me another kickass performance tomorrow. Makes my job a whole lot easier.”
.
The following weeks of concert tours pass by without a hitch. To Yoongi, any event now that doesn’t end up with a torn sleeve and nail scratches up and down his arm is a success. And you haven’t freaked out for the remaining dates as you had when security had been at its worst—so he’d consider that the icing on top of the cake. Although he’s glad to finally be be home and be anchored to his own bed and be in his own space for the first time in months, he knows that his first concert experience to celebrate his first EP had truly been a memorable undertaking.
And it had been more successful than anyone at KSJ records could have predicted. At least, that’s what Seokjin tells him when Yoongi arrives at the studio the following day to start going through the process of polishing up his song lyrics.
“It seems that you really enjoyed yourself throughout the tour,” Seokjin remarks as Yoongi steps into the former’s office. Seokjin is scrolling through some articles on his laptop. He closes it as Yoongi takes a seat and regards the younger boy with a look of curiosity and wonder. “How was it?”
Yoongi brightens. “So much fun. I didn’t realize how cool it would feel to have audience members sing song lyrics right back at me, but that was probably my favorite moment.”
“Ah, of course, first time for everything as they always say.” Seokjin folds his fingers atop one another. “And how was your team?” He says your name, given that you are Yoongi’s manager. “Along with Jungkook and Taehyung? I wish I could have given you more people, but we didn’t know how crazy moving you around was going to be.”
Yoongi nods. “I mean… it was fine. Jungkook was really good.” He can’t help but think that Jungkook should have been good—after all, Yoongi is the reason why Jungkook has been getting safe with job security recently. “And Taehyung too. I think having the small team was good because we ended up all getting really connected and had this whole system in place after a few stops.”
“I heard a fan tore your sleeve,” Seokjin points out, looking mildly concerned. “How did that go?”
“Oh, it was just a one time thing,” Yoongi tries to brush off with the wave of his hand. He thinks of you, because of course he does. He mentions you. “She would tap the fans who were getting too close. It was reassuring, honestly.”
“That’s good to hear,” Seokjin says. “And I’ve heard that you’ve been making a lot of headway with the upcoming album. So we’re definitely gonna set some time for us to go through the lyrics and structure what you’ve come up with already. But I did want to go over something with you first—the main reason I called you in, actually.”
Yoongi tilts his head. “Okay, what’s up?”
Seokjin re-opens his laptop, and clicks through a few links before he’s pivoting the laptop in a 180 degree motion so Yoongi can see the screen. At once, he’s faced with several articles, all centering around the topic that has been haunting him since the beginning of his concert journey. He gets a flashback to one of the nights you came into his hotel room to discuss scheduling, and how you had mentioned this particular topic showing up more and more.
Yoongi had known it was becoming a problem. He just didn’t think it was something that required urgent discussion.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, your growing popularity means that people are developing a growing interest in your relationship. Since you are labeled specifically as a song-writer who writes songs about growing up, struggles, and love, this only heightens people’s curiosity.”
Yoongi allows Seokjin to continue talking, as he moves forward in his chair to actually scroll through one of the articles Seokjin has pulled up. It’s entitled: UP AND COMING SINGER SONGWRITER MIN YOONGI IS DEFINITELY IN A RELATIONSHIP, BUT WITH WHO? As he scrolls down, there’s several people that are listed as potential girlfriends to Yoongi’s partnership—some people he does not know at all, some people he has only seen once.
You’re on the list too, and Yoongi’s eyes widen when he identifies your picture amongst the lot. He zeroes in on the description underneath the simple title: Yoongi’s manager? Although most manager and artist relationships are platonic, we can’t leave this one out! Fans have tracked down Min Yoongi’s current manager as an old assistant from Min Yoongi’s youtube days, so there’s definitely some history between them!
“This article has been blowing up. You may or may not know, but people making assumptions about your relationship status could be dangerous. Since you write songs about relationships, it leaves a lot of room for error and scandals, especially if news sites decide to publish something or someone else with bad intentions try to claim you wrote a song about them. Or something else of the sort.”
Yoongi nods slowly at that, not entirely understanding what direction Seokjin is going with his build up. It makes sense though. Leaving Yoongi out in the open like this could be dangerous for his career. “S-So, what ideas do you have to combat that?”
“I’ve been thinking about this in the recent weeks you’ve been on tour,” Seokjin says quietly, pressing his hands together. “I think that we should push your relationship status into the public—get you a girlfriend to maintain your ‘pure romantic heart’ reputation so it looks like you’re writing love songs solely for your girlfriend.”
It takes a second for the words to sink in. “Aaaaah,” Yoongi finally says, but his voice sounds far away all of a sudden, the further time seems to creep on. Sure, he’s seen this concept of surface relationships between in film and television—and the idea of it makes some sense. For someone whose best songs were related to moments of being in love, surely most people would suspect that the inspiration for those songs had to come from somewhere. If Yoongi came out to admit his lack of relationship experience, would people approve of that? Or would they think he was lying?
In that regard then, it makes sense that Seokjin would come up with the idea. But faking a relationship for the sake of faking a relationship has never been something Yoongi thought he would ever have to go through.
Mainly because first of all—who would play Yoongi’s girlfriend?
Now, Yoongi isn’t the worst actor in the world. But he can be stiff at times, and if Seokjin wants to push a relationship status into the public eye then Yoongi imagines that this girlfriend would be someone Yoongi felt the most natural around. Someone he wouldn’t mind pretending to be in a relationship with.
Would Yoongi even get a say in the matter? Or would Yoongi’s approval be the only requirement before Seokjin went off to find a girlfriend for Yoongi himself?
“D-Did you have someone in mind?” Yoongi finds himself asking instead.
Seokjin hums, tapping his chin with his finger. “Not at the moment. I just wanted to bring it up with you in case you had an idea for someone.” Mindlessly, he reaches to take back the laptop and flip it back towards him. This exposes him to the article Yoongi had been previously scrolling through—one where pictures of you are plastered over the current screen.
At the sight, Seokjin wavers slightly, staring down your pictures and furrowing his eyebrows. Yoongi looks over, noticing immediately that the laptop (and the pictures of you from that article) is no longer right in front of him but rather in front of Seokjin instead. When he glances over at Seokjin, he finds the older man lost in thought, running the side of his finger across his lip. Back and forth, clearly pondering something.
“Yes…” Seokjin says after a moment. “That could work, actually.” He looks across the desk at Yoongi. “Good idea, Yoongi. I think originally, I would have said no, but these pictures and this description actually makes a valid point.”
Yoongi blinks, not really connecting the dots right away. “Uh, sorry, Seokjin, but I’m not really following…”
Seokjin makes a noise, gesturing to his laptop screen that he has just gotten back from Yoongi. “You were suggesting Y/N as your fake girlfriend, weren’t you? I’m assuming that’s why you stopped on these pictures. My initial thought was that it probably wouldn’t work, but actually considering your history with each other it seems like this could be the most likely case scenario.”
It takes another second for the information to fully process. You. His fake girlfriend. Seokjin misunderstanding that unintentionally stopping on your pictures meant that Yoongi was trying to convey some sort of message.
You—playing the role of his fake girlfriend, the ‘supposed’ inspiration for all his music. It would be funny if it wasn’t so ironic.
It would be funny if you didn’t inspire all of his music—but you do. And Yoongi isn’t laughing.
He should say something. He knows that it would make sense, as Seokjin is claiming, but it would also potentially inch him towards a can of worms he has been so sure would never see the sunlight. More than that, having you as his fake girlfriend would bring him the closest he has ever been to feeling hopeful.
He really should say something.
But for some reason, the words don’t come out. He just lets Seokjin believe his ingenious plan. “Yes, yes!” Seokjin continues after the many moments of silence that lapse between the two of you. “This could work actually. You guys have known each other for years, and older fans of yours from the youtube days would definitely recognize Y/N. That way, the announcement of your relationship wouldn’t seem entirely out of line, especially if we say that you guys have been dating for years. It also makes sense that we could say you becoming Yoongi’s ‘manager’ was always part of a cover up—after all, that’s what they did in that movie That Thing You Do…”
The more Seokjin drones on and on about his plan, and how exactly he intends to work up to it, the more nervous Yoongi gets. Was Seokjin actually planning on doing this—enlist you as Yoongi’s fake girlfriend and drag you along to participate in this facade? Yoongi is mildly shocked. He should have known Seokjin would follow through on the question, but he had just assumed that today was just the idea phase and that plans to arrange this fake relationship would take weeks.
But if there’s anything Yoongi knows about Seokjin, it’s that the man knows how to get something done. Quickly, too. In Seokjin’s word, it’s a natural occurrence for a simple idea phase to morph into actual concrete plans within the time span of a day. Yoongi should have planned this out better—but then again, he didn’t think that him accidentally stopping on a picture of you from a fucking drama article would serve as the catalyst for Seokjin’s ideas.
Yoongi straightens up onto his feet. “Why don’t I talk to Y/N first about this?” He asks. “The idea may seem good on paper, but if she’s uncomfortable then it’s a no go.”
Seokjin studies Yoongi carefully, before the former relents. “Okay, fair enough. Let me know what happens.”
As soon as the pair of them exchange the last nods, Yoongi is dashing out of Seokjin’s office with one clear objective in mind: to talk to you.
Luckily, you aren’t too far away. You’re in your office, typing up something on your laptop and your eyes scanning through what he can only assume are emails. It’s eyes that widen when Yoongi practically storms into your space, shutting the door behind him.
You straighten up. “Yoongi, you alright? You look like you just ran a marathon.”
Yoongi doesn’t even realize that his chest is heaving until you point that out. He coughs. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t run a marathon though.”
Your eyebrows furrow, but the corner of your lips turn up in mild curiosity. “Okay. What’s up?”
Yoongi presses his lips together. Even with the many feet of space between the two of you—he can make out the glimmer in your eyes from the sunlight pouring through the window, he can see the shadow of your eyelashes and the line where your collarbone dips below your blouse. Fuck, he’s in deep. There’s no way he could ask you something so monumental to the downfall of his sanity. But he knows that it’s too late to just walk away. Partly because he’s already in your office and partly because the idea has already been planted into Seokjin’s head. And if Yoongi didn’t speak up, then Seokjin was going to.
So Yoongi opens his mouth. “I may or may not have gotten you into a situation,” He starts up.
You snort, of course not taking him seriously. “That might just be the summary of our relationship.”
“No, I don’t think you understand…” Yoongi pleads, stepping deeper into the office.
You frown at his behavior, closing your laptop this time to address him completely. “Okay, what’s up, really? You’re kind of scaring me…”
“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not… scary or anything…” He trails off.
You raise an eyebrow. “Let me be the judge of that.”
So Yoongi shoves his hands deep into his coat pocket, and slides next to your desk, leaning against the surface as he starts his story. He covers everything: from Seokjin bringing up the drama articles about his relationship status, how he had scrolled through and saw your name, how Seokjin had misinterpreted that as a sign, and worse of all, how Seokjin thought it would be a good idea for you to play as Yoongi’s fake girlfriend.
To say you’re appalled would be an understatement. You’re staring up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. “Are you serious?” You ask. “B-But I’m your manager!” You scoff at yourself. “No, more than that—I’m your friend, Yoongi. Seokjin must be on something. He has to be. What did you guys decide on? Please tell me that you said no.”
“W-Well, there was no agreement or disagreement,” Yoongi argues weakly. “I walked out before Seokjin could make up his mind.” He pauses for a moment, something sinking in. “Wait a minute,” He brings up, a slightly teasing smile across his face. “Do you really find the idea of dating me that gross?”
You make a noise in the back of your throat at his accusation, and you immediately begin to scramble. “I-I mean,” You start, the flush present in your throat as you start speaking very quickly at once. Both your hands go up in a defensive position. “It’s not that I don’t find you gross… because I don’t! You’re a very attractive person—it’s just that—we’re friends and—stop looking at me like that!” You stand up, slamming your palms onto the table when you realize that he’s just flashing you a shit-eating grin.
He has half the mind to be mildly disheartened that you are so against the idea of dating him. But then again, he’d probably say no to fake dating you if he was being forced into a situation like this. He’d definitely say no.
Okay, he’d probably say no.
“Well, I told Seokjin that if you were uncomfortable with the idea, then it’d be a no go and he seemed to respect the idea.”
Still standing, you sigh and press your face into the palm of your hand. Your fingers brush through your hair. “Okay, let’s step back for a moment.” You remove your hands from your face. “If I were to say yes, what exactly would that entail?”
Yoongi manages a weak one-shouldered shrug. “I’m not sure exactly. Seokjin would probably have a better idea of that. I imagine KSJ records would release a statement about our relationship, and we would be scheduled to go to variety shows or press interviews together. We’d probably have to go out to restaurants together too. Hold hands…” The thought of holding your hand dries up his throat a little, but he passes it off well by faking a cough. “That sort of stuff.”
You glare at him. “And what about your fans? You’re trying to preserve this ‘pure romantic heart’ image, but I’m sure there’s a lot of fans that like to believe the songs could be about them.”
He shrugs. “That—I’m not too sure about. I imagine Seokjin prefers the idea of my fans believing that my heart only belongs to one person rather than them believing that I’ll just write a love song for anyone.”
You nod. “That’s valid, I guess.”
Yoongi stares at you from the smaller space of distance between the two of you. “Again, you don’t have to say yes. Frankly, I think it’s a batshit crazy idea.”
“It’s not… completely out of line.” After a moment, you sigh. “I can actually understand why Seokjin would get the idea of trying to set you up like this. The news articles will probably get worse. And since your songs market themselves on being personal, people want to know who the songs are about. If Seokjin gave the public a face, then there’d be no room for assumptions and even less room for scandals to come about.” You give him a look. “Sadly, if you were to stay single, there’s only so much I could do as your manager to control that bad press.”
Yoongi raises both his eyebrows up. “Does that mean you’re saying yes—?”
“I’m not… saying anything yet.” You plop yourself back down into your seat. “I’m not saying yes. But I’m not saying no either.” You sink further into your seat. “Hopefully Seokjin will change his mind before I have to make up mine?”
That’s an unlikely case. But Yoongi doesn’t argue with you, and you don’t wait for him to. He simply nods one more time before leaving your office.
.
You would be lying if you said you never thought about dating Yoongi. Of course you have. You’re sure that you’ve had a crush on the boy within the first week of your introductions. This crush explains so many of your past actions—your support for his Youtube channel, your fulfillment as his manager, and now this pull towards agreeing to become his fake girlfriend. And you hate yourself for the every second you consider it a good idea.
Because it’s not a good idea. It’s a terrible idea. More than that, it’s an unfair idea. Agreeing to fake date someone you actually want to date seems like too cruel a hand to be dealt. Considering your more-often-than-not fragile state, setting yourself up with Yoongi in this way already seems doomed to fail. It would be unfair to Yoongi, because agreeing to this would deprive him of an actual relationship he could be happy in. But it would be more unfair to you, because losing control would mean losing your best friend.
So you don’t give Yoongi a positive confirmation. But you don’t give him a negative one either. See, you don’t have the heart to just outwardly reject him, because you know that he needs you to help him with this. You know that he understands the situation he’s been put in, and that getting a fake girlfriend seems to be the best case scenario. You know that it wouldn’t make sense with any other girl—it had to be you. Saying no straight to face is something that you don’t have the heart to do.
Rather than give a yes or no answer, you opt for the second best option: hold off and avoid indulging too deeply.
It’s a strategy that works for a grand total of one day.
The following day post Yoongi’s conversation, you show up to work with information that Yoongi is going to start recording songs for his new album. His first full-length album, at that—something he has been working hard for since the beginning. Every second of free time available to him during the tour, during off-days had been dedicated to writing the music necessary to fill the album. You know how hard he’s been working—you’ve watched throughout the duration of his tour, and spoke to him for many nights about the progression of this album.
You just didn’t think that the recording part would be coming around so soon.
This is a thought you reflect to Seokjin when you enter the recording studio. Yoongi is already behind the glass, and his voice is amplified in the studio, where they appear to be discussing the arrangement for how a song is going to go. This leaves you vaguely surprised—if Yoongi is in the booth already, it means that there must have been some ground covered on how the arrangement was supposed to go. Just how long has Yoongi been in the studio before you showed up?
“Ah, good morning,” Seokjin greets from the back of the studio, seated on the couch and his arms resting along the back. “Don’t get mad, but Yoongi worked through the night again.”
Your lips part into a gape as your eyes widen in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking,” You return.
Seokjin merely laughs in return. “I wish I was! When I left, he was going at it with Namjoon and when I came back this morning they were still going at it. But, you know, who am I to rain in on a breakthrough moment?”
You relent your control of the situation slightly (only slightly) at Seokjin’s rhetorical question. Namjoon is one of Seokjin’s top producers and arrangers—very gifted in songwriting and how to make a good song. From the year that you and Yoongi have been a part of KSJ records, Yoongi and Namjoon have gotten along great and their close relationship has been the reason for many late nights. The pair of them were always caught in the drift of making sleepless but record-selling hits.
Like Seokjin said, who are you to interrupt art in progress?
Although you have a sudden flurry of desires and objectives (mainly to reprimand Yoongi for being so careless with a slap or a hit where you could put him to sleep yourself), you bite it down long enough to shed your jacket and rest it on the armrest of the couch. “Fine, fine, I’ll let it go this time.”
Seokjin chuckles at that, removing his gaze from you and sliding it across the studio back into the booth where Yoongi is still in the midst of discussing something with Namjoon. Something about how the arrangement isn’t as smooth or on beat as they had originally intended. “You’re a good manager,” He says at last. “I can tell that you really do care about him and will definitely give him a peace of your mind once he’s done with today’s session. And what’s more…” He laughs. “He’ll actually let you walk all over him. You’d be surprised how often I see managers in it just for the money, where they don’t have their artist’s best interest in mind. You’re definitely not like that.”
You slide into the vacant seat next to Seokjin. “If I don’t keep an eye on him, I know that no one else will. It’s nothing against other people, but no one else in his life is as involved in his career as I am. But I’m his friend first, and his manager second.”
The pair of you are quiet for a moment, as you watch Namjoon fiddle with some of the switches on the music panel. They seem to come to an agreement on the newly modified beat, because it starts playing through the speakers in the booth. Yoongi presses his hands against the headphones he’s wearing, and starts to relay the lyrics into the microphone. It starts off slow—Yoongi has his phone in his hands to read the lyrics, to double check the flow and the tempo. After a few lines, he stops. “Ah—let’s reword this line. I do like the change we made to the music, so let’s change the lyrics to match.” His voice is amplified through the studio.
Namjoon presses a button on the music panel, allowing him to communicate with Yoongi. “Sure. Want to head in and make the changes?”
Yoongi ponders this for a moment, but shakes his head. “Give me a second. Maybe if I listen to the song again, I can feel what I vibe with.”
“Sounds good.” Namjoon releases his hold on the button, and turns around in his chair to face you and Seokjin. The sight of you makes his eyes widen, as Namjoon coughs back a choke. “O-Oh, Y/N, you’re here—!”
His words make you narrow your eyes as you point a finger at him. “YAH! Which one of you was it that contributed to your all-nighter?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Namjoon protests, raising both of his hands up in defense. “We were both in the groove!”
You lower your finger with a sigh. “You’re lucky that you’re in the middle of helping Yoongi achieve his dreams. Otherwise I’d kick both of your asses.”
Namjoon seems to realize that you’re not messing around, because he emits a nervous laugh. “I promise we’ll be a little more careful next time…”
“Oh, Namjoon, I rewrote some of the lines!” Yoongi calls from inside the booth.
Namjoon whirls around in his chair again to press the button. “Sounds good, let’s do it.”
As the music starts up again, Seokjin decides to speak up once more. “Yoongi told me that he talked to you about the little fake dating plan I had.”
The mention of it, as well as your previous internal insistence of not talking or thinking about that, makes you stiffen. “He might have mentioned something like that.”
When you turn to look at Seokjin, he has an unreadable look glinting in his eyes. “Since you were talking about achieving Yoongi’s dreams and all…” He trails off. “I wanted to apologize for bringing that idea onto you so quickly. I didn’t really consider how you’d feel about the arrangement. I just wanted to try and do what I thought was best for Yoongi.”
You sigh. “I know why you thought of the idea. And I totally agree with you—I think that if he wants to carry on, this is the least costly next step that should be taken. I just… I don’t know if I’m the best fit for it.”
Seokjin nods. “I respect your decision. After all, Yoongi told me that if you were uncomfortable with it, then it’d be an immediate no go.”
The corner of your lips turns up upon hearing Yoongi’s thought process. Even though you’ve already heard the words from the man himself—it’s nice to hear that assurance from his boss. Knowing that Yoongi puts your thoughts and feelings on the forefront of his mind is a nice feeling. A misleading feeling if you let yourself think too deeply into it. But a nice feeling, nonetheless.
You decide not to comment immediately on Seokjin’s apology; rather, you tune into what exactly Yoongi is singing about in the song. It’s got a softer beat to it—an opening song to the album, perhaps? It’s much more whimsy compared to his hard-hitting personal rants that touch on the frustration of miscommunication, of not saying something when he should have said something.
Instead, this is a song about distance—about missing someone due to distance and the longing of returning home because of the normality it brought. About how even closeness sometimes isn’t enough to fill the gap of desire in his heart. It takes on a beat you’ve never heard before, and a feeling of missing something that isn’t even tangible for you as a listener. Nevertheless, his words, his raspiness, and the hard lines hidden within the otherwise soft tone of the song work hard to poke at your edges and your weak spots. The parts of you that have always been willing to cave for Yoongi, the part of you that has never hesitated to do what needed to be done if it benefited Yoongi.
You were his manager, so you always want what’s best for him. But you’re also a friend who has been in love with him for years, so you will do whatever it takes to get him there.
You hope you don’t regret this.
��Actually,” You admit quietly, but it’s loud enough to perk Seokjin’s attention. “I’ll do it.”
Seokjin blinks, clearly trying to process your words right off the bat. “You’ll…” He trails off.
You look away. You have a feeling that if Seokjin looks at you for too long, he’ll see your emotions spill out across the entire fucking studio. “Do the fake dating idea.”
Seokjin fumbles a little. “H-Hold on a second—are you sure? Seriously, I’m not trying to pressure you or anything. Since you’re the one least adjusted to being in the spotlight, a lot of this pressure is going to fall onto you. I don’t want you to say yes and then regret it later on… so maybe you should think a little more about this…”
You steel yourself. It feels a little bit like holding your breath. Finally, you spare Seokjin a look. “I won’t regret it,” You say. “You and I both said that Yoongi needs me to keep going at this pace—I was going to get roped in eventually, so I think it’ll just be easier if I agree now rather than drag this thing around for a couple of months. Besides…” You try to relax a little in your seat, but it’s hard to tell if you’re being convincing or not. “It’s nothing too serious right? You just want us to go out together, hold hands occasionally, speak highly of each other… We already do half of those things but it’ll just be emphasized now. No big deal.”
Seokjin is wearing that unreadable look in his eyes again, like he knows something that you don’t even know yourself. “You’re right,” He settles with after a long pause. “It’s nothing too serious. You’ll probably have people also digging into your space though, but we’ll make all the necessary arrangements before any sort of announcement.”
“If that’s the case,” You reply. “Then I’m sure it’ll all be fine. Besides.” You try for a smile. “It’s all just fake anyways, right? As long as the ones who really matter know that, then I don’t really see the harm in it.”
Seokjin only continues to stare at you, before he relents. You know just as well as he does that your decision is one of an adult, and that if you really had a problem with something you would vote your opinion without hesitation. No matter if he can somehow read the thoughts in your head.
At last, he nods. “We might need you to sign another NDA but…” He extends an arm out towards you. “Welcome abroad, Min Yoongi’s girlfriend.”
You laugh a little, hollow but still present, as you reach over to take his head. “We’ll start having problems if that nickname becomes a regular thing.”
Seokjin laughs a little louder, a complete opposite of his more quiet and observant side displayed just a few seconds ago. “Don’t worry—just for formalities. HEY, Namjoon, let me talk to Yoongi for a second.” He practically throws himself off of the couch and towards the music panel where Namjoon and Yoongi are still mid-discussion about another aspect of music you do not understand. Namjoon relents, pushing himself and his chair off to the side as Seokjin comes up to press the button on the panel that allows for discussion between the booth and the studio. “Hey, Min Yoongi, there’s been some discussions behind the scenes. Say hello to your new girlfriend!”
There’s a brief silence in the studio, and Yoongi’s eyes immediately bug out of his head like this is the last thing he expected to hear on this very casual Wednesday morning. Knowing the agenda for the day, it probably has been. “What?” Yoongi says after a long moment, his voice amplified by the speakers in the studio.
Seokjin turns towards you, jerking his head at the booth, and you get up with a sigh. You approach the music panel where Seokjin and Namjoon are currently situated—and aren’t sure how to feel when you see the way Yoongi’s eyes widen at the sight of you through the window.
Still, you cannot help your own weak smile as you lean in towards the microphone. “Hi honey,” You say.
Yoongi continues to stare at you, before his lips part and his face takes on a very unusual shade of red. “HUH?”
.
.
CHAPTER 3: THE ANNOUNCEMENT
.
KSJ records releases a statement within the next following days, and it gains momentum like nothing you’ve ever seen before.
HELLO, WE ARE KSJ RECORDS.
Recently, we acknowledge that many fans have developed a curiosity about the relationship status of our newest artist Min Yoongi. The release of his latest EP and the undertaking of his concert has left many questions regarding who he writes his songs for—and many of the different assumptions made by people around the world could leave very dangerous and lasting impressions on people that our artist sees as platonic. We want to respond properly and say the truth.
Min Yoongi has been in a relationship with his current manager, Y/N, for the past three years. When Min Yoongi was first signed to KSJ Records, they were already in a relationship and Y/N was assigned the task as Yoongi’s manager given her experience working alongside him during his Youtube career. They have good feelings about each other, and have agreed to make this information public to avoid future misunderstandings. KSJ Records and Yoongi hope that you all will support their relationship as they continue to navigate through Yoongi’s growing career together.
You cannot help but laugh a little at the statement, which is flying so close to the truth that it might as well have been your reality. And in a way, it is. You’ve already prepared, molded your online presence just barely to meet these new expectations to the new facade you have to put up.
And it’s not like the announcement actually changes anything in your daily life. In the days leading up to the post, you had decided to delete your Twitter account (you weren’t making much use of that platform anyways—what, with all the thirst accounts for Yoongi that you were stumbling upon due to internet cookies and the algorithm), and archive a fair number of your Instagram photos on an account that was already set to private. For someone who didn’t live and breathe social media, it wasn’t too hard to rid of that element in your life.
One thing you hadn’t really accounted for, however, were the news stories that wrote about you in the hours following the press release. Several of them were base-level lists about your childhood and how your relationship with Yoongi could have festered—most of which were correct given that older fans of Yoongi knew what university he attended and how you were also a student there. But that information is generally public, and it’s not like you attend the university anymore.
Other than that, there are a few comments on your looks, a few assumptions on your personality. But surprising, there’s nothing too severe. At least, from the surface-level information you can collect from just doing a basic google search. Social media would probably be a more difficult battle, one that you would need nerves of steel and a hardened heart in order to navigate, but like mentioned: professionally managing your own personal social media isn’t exactly your forte.
Over the next week, you follow Seokjin’s advice to lay low and let the news of your relationship with Yoongi continue to spread through the ranks. You spend that time in your apartment, answering a few messages from friends and family but doing what you could to keep the information as limited as possible. You assume that too many people knowing, regardless of how close or trustworthy they were, sort of went against the NDA you had to sign. And you’re not sure how your friends would react if they found out you were only dating Yoongi for a cover-up. Especially since some of them actually are fully aware of your feelings for him.
Regardless, you carry on. Yoongi sends you some screenshots he takes of supportive messages from his fans wishing the both of you the best in your relationship, and he also sends you some memes about your relationship that make you laugh. His fans have a good sense of humor, what could you say.
However, a week is the most you allow yourself to hide away within the comfort (and boring nature) of your apartment before you’re already texting Seokjin with news that you were showing up to the studio.
Surprisingly, Seokjin doesn’t question this. He calls you. “I was just about to ask if you were going to come over anyways!” He says in a rather upbeat nature. “So it’s good to hear that we’re both on the same page.”
So you step out of your apartment, dressed up in your usual work uniform and feeling much more put-together than you had been for the week you were ordered to remain quiet and lowkey. There’s something exciting about stepping out after being unable to do so for an extended period of time—and it shows in the little bounce that occurs with every step that you take down the sidewalk. Since you usually take the subway to work, you decide to dawn a bucket hat with a face mask tucked over your nose and mouth to blend in just enough but not so much so that your strange fashion choices could draw attention.
It doesn’t, and you enjoy the rocking of the subway racing down the tracks as you peer out of the window quietly. KSJ Records is just a few stops away from your apartment, so you waste no time standing out and stepping out as soon as the doors of the subway open at the right stop. You bound up the stairs, through the familiar pathways you’ve always taken to get to work, and after a few blocks, you arrive at the building of KSJ Records.
As you shoulder open the door, you greet the secretary behind the table, who smiles back at you. “Oh, good morning!” She greets cheerfully. “Seokjin is waiting for you in his office. I believe Yoongi is already with him.”
You nod. “Sounds good, thank you so much!” You bound deeper in, navigating through the different hallways until you arrive at Seokjin’s office. True to the word from the front desk, Yoongi is already there. He looks surprisingly meek for someone who has been trending on Twitter for a few days, but you suppose that he’s still trying to adjust to the fact that Seokjin’s plan is already in motion. After all, he didn’t even get the final say before Seokjin started taking the situation into his own hands. The last he had heard of it was your apparent agreement before Seokjin drew up a company statement for him to approve.
A part of you feels guilty—but Yoongi had been the one to ask you first! Perhaps he’s still in that normal state of uncertainty. After all, you feel like that as well.
“Good morning guys,” You greet as soon as you register who exactly is in Seokjin’s office. You close the door behind you as both boys turn to acknowledge you.
Seokjin grins. “Hi, thanks for coming in.”
You wave him off. “You gave me the week off. I was starting to get a little restless.” You take a seat in the other vacant chair, in front of Seokjin and besides Yoongi. “What’s up, Yoongi?”
Yoongi is already looking at you when you turn to greet him, but as soon as you ask your question, the corner of his lips quirk up into a vaguely uneasy and nervous smile. “H-Hi honey.”
You freeze at that, immediately furrowing your eyebrows as you produce your own nervous smile. “Hi?” You return. “What the fuck are you on?”
Seokjin interrupts before Yoongi can get an answer in. “Stop, stop, you’re way too stiff, Yoongi!”
“Well, I’m trying!” Yoongi spits, before looking back at you with an utterance of your name. “Sorry, Seokjin wanted me to try treating you the same way I would treat a girlfriend. Apparently I didn’t do too hot.”
“Not apparently, you just didn’t do hot at all,” Seokjin retorts back, flashing you an apologetic smile. “We were trying out a few moves easier to see how well you guys can adjust from having your normal manager slash artist relationship to displaying a long term, healthy and happy romantic relationship. It’s one thing to say that you guys are dating, but you guys do need to have something of an act ready.”
You fold your fingers over each other, your mind on a dissociation for the briefest of seconds as the realization sinks its teeth just a little deeper. Holding hands and saying cute shit to each other had been easy to talk about in passing dialogue to Seokjin—but actually having to do it is a hurdle you hadn’t considered to the fullest.
“I mean…” You speak up after a moment. “What if we’re just one of those couples that aren’t handsey with each other? Or don’t need that lovey dovey look in each other’s eyes to prove that we’re in a relationship?”
Seokjin ponders this for a second. “True. But if we’re starting this, there needs to be a full level commitment on the act. If people start questioning the legitimacy of your relationship, that would be an even worse scandal than just letting people make assumptions about Yoongi’s relationship status in general! We definitely, at least, need to develop a basic level of your relationship, and then you guys can work around your own varying levels of comfort. This is something that we need to get rolling as soon as possible, because you.” He points at Yoongi. “Are booked in the next few days to do some radio interviews. And you.” He points at you. “Are going to go with him, as his girlfriend.”
Even though you had known the label was coming, you can’t stop from feeling hot all over at how you were now technically Yoongi’s girlfriend.
“So,” Seokjin continues. “How about I give you a base level of what I’m looking for. And we can do a few practice runs to make sure you guys are comfortable enough with these expectations?”
Yoongi nods, leaving you little option but to do the same. But the thought from the recording booth bubbles up again: you hope you won’t regret this.
.
A few days later and you don’t think you’ll regret the outcome of this situation. But you’ll definitely get a little sick on the way.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” You say in the car. You’re sitting in the back, next to Yoongi, staring straight ahead at the passenger seat before you. “And stay all in one piece,” You add as an afterthought.
Yoongi glances over at you, looking nervous enough to admit a pout. “At least you don’t have to say anything—I’m the one doing all the talking…”
You huff out a breath. This is true. You’re just here to play the supportive girlfriend, the agreeable partner who’ll publicly accompany Yoongi to a public event since a public announcement. Seokjin says that doing this with the lense of a romantic relationship makes you seem friendly, open, and supportive of the relationship. You’re not too sure how public perception is shaped, but you understand where Seokjin is coming from. Tagging along to an event as a girlfriend instead of a manager makes you and Yoongi seem free. Like you have nothing to hide.
Only in reality, it’s the complete opposite. With everything coming out to the surface, you have everything to hide.
It only takes a few more minutes of driving before you arrive at the radio station. The instructions for today’s assignment have been easy: get out of the car, and walk the many steps needed to reach the entrance of the station. The empty step ahead is surrounded by paparazzi and fans, all screaming and shouting—trying to get their fill of Yoongi.
You sigh. You could do this. You and Yoongi have been practicing for the past few days. Albeit, ‘practicing’ just mainly consisted of the pair of you walking down a hallway close together. It was more lackluster than anything else, and you don’t think it was entirely productive use of time. Seokjin seemed to think that the pair of you needed to work on a closer level of proximity. But you know the truth about your feelings, and know that the complications will come from just being too close to him.
Yoongi unbuckles his seatbelt and is already moving to tug at the handle that’ll open his side of the car door, immediately exposing him to the walkway along with the flashing cameras and loud screams. Before he can pull all the way, however, he stops short. You’re about to ask what the problem is, before he angles towards you and flashes you that grin he has when he’s thinking of ideas you wouldn’t approve of. “I have an idea,” He breathes out, quickly reaching over to grab your hand.
You stiffen at the contact, trying to ignore the flash of your heart speeding up in your chest. You and Yoongi hadn’t agreed on this—if you had, maybe you would have been a little more prepared for the situation! Oh god.
On instinct, you try to wiggle out of his grasp. “What are you doing?” You hiss.
Yoongi gives you a dry look, reaching over to grab your hand again. “Calm down,” He argues back, lacing your fingers together for extra measure, like that’s gonna be the thing to help you calm the fuck down. “This’ll help sell it, okay? Just trust me.”
Leaving little room for arguments, he squeezes your hand briefly before loosening it enough. He pulls the car door handle, pushing it outwards, and stepping out into the wild. People notice his appearance immediately, because the screams grow louder as Yoongi uses his unoccupied hand to wave and bow towards those who have come out to see him.
You trail behind rather helplessly; the hand connected to Yoongi pulling you out of the car. Yoongi stays near the door, staring down at you with a rather watchful gaze that only leaves you feeling hotter than before. Still, you don’t speak of it as Yoongi steps back just enough for you to step out of the car. “You okay?” He asks.
You nod, readjusting yourself with one hand before Yoongi starts to pull you alongside him to walk the distance towards the radio station entrance. Although you want to engage slightly with the crowd, your nerves keep you mainly at bay, forcing you to angle your head downwards just enough to avoid any serious eye contact. Yoongi keeps his gaze ahead, walking a rather brisk pace towards the radio studio—where security leads the way in opening the door for the pair of you. Whether he’s walking fast because he doesn’t want to keep up the charade of holding your hand for so long… or because he can feel how sweaty your palm is getting. You don’t know.
It’s only a few more steps before you and Yoongi are entering the building for the radio show, where Jungkook is lingering near the entrance. He’s on his phone, probably having just made a call with Seokjin about your arrival, before he spots the two of you entering. “Hey guys, how was it?”
Yoongi nods. “A little loud, but I think it went alright.”
Jungkook’s eyes flicker down to your intertwined hands. “Wow, you guys are committed,” He comments.
You seem to remember that your soul has returned to the body that is still currently holding hands with Min Yoongi. Alarmingly, you take your hand back. “Y-Yeah, Yoongi thought it would be a good show for the people outside! No biggie—just a simple hand holding technique, people do that all the time!” You realize that you’re rambling.
Yoongi, oblivious as always, raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”
“Y-Yeah,” You manage. “Why do you ask?”
Yoongi is about to answer, before an intern shyly approaches the three of you with an iPad in hand.
“Are you all under Mr. Min’s team?” She asks, fishing out some badges when you nod in confirmation. “Okay, so make sure to take these so everyone knows who you are. Mr. Min? I can lead you to the studio you’ll be interviewing in, if you’ll follow me—did you need me to grab a soda for you?” She begins listing a series of questions about his well-being, leaving you and Jungkook behind in the hallway with your newly acquired badges in hand.
Jungkook, observant as always, gives you a look. “What was that all about?”
“Huh? I-It was nothing…” You trail off looping the badge around your neck, meeting Jungkook’s eyes and realizing that he’s wearing a shit-eating grin. The same kind of grin that Taehyung gives you when you’re standing too close to Yoongi. Your eyes flare. “WHAT DO YOU KNOW?”
Jungkook laughs. “Calm down, calm down, Taehyung and I gossip a lot on the side—hey, what the fuck, don’t hit me—we’re in a public place!”
You relent your aggression, but only slightly. You lower your arms as well. “Just—don’t tell Yoongi.”
Jungkook levels with you a dry look. “Do you think I have a death wish? C’mon, let’s head over.”
With a hesitant sigh, you relent and let Jungkook lead you down the halls of this studio, until the pair of you find a door with Yoongi’s name written on the white board. There’s a darkened LIVE light panel above the frame, indicating that Yoongi’s radio interview hasn’t started yet. There’s some people lingering about, who nod and open the door for you when you present your TALENT badge at them. The inside of a radio booth is similar to the recording booths Yoongi has found a home in as of late. There’s people in this current room, headphones on and monitoring what’s happening before them while being surrounded with sound panels and laptop screens. On the other side of the glass is Yoongi, and the main hosts of the radio station, Jung Hoseok and Im Nayeon.
From your side, you can hear their conversation amplified through speakers in the studio. They’re all currently joking around about external matters—it makes sense too. Yoongi has been on this particular radio show a handful of times.
“Okay, okay, you guys,” Hoseok speaks after a few more minutes of playful banter. “Today, we have a very special guest with us today. He’s fresh off the tour of his first and most recent EP, we have Min Yoongi in the studio! Yay!” He claps. Nayeon follows suit.
Yoongi stops his clapping sooner to speak into the microphone in front of him. “Thanks for having me back.”
“Thank you for deciding to hang out with us for the afternoon,” Nayeon says. “Especially since you’re a big hot shot now.”
Yoongi laughs. “I wouldn’t say that… I just finished my first tour, Nayeon, no big deal.”
“‘No big deal’,” Nayeon quotes him. “As if your EP didn’t chart into a top 50 list or anything like that.”
The conversation trails like this for a little bit. Yoongi is scheduled to spend thirty minutes doing a segment, which is meant to be uploaded onto Youtube later, so it gives the three of them a lot of legroom to play around and play off of each other. The purpose of the interview is to discuss the tour, the progress of the album, and (if anyone dared venture there) the status of his relationship—!
“Well, moving on from the album—which I’m sure is going to be a huge success, by the way,” Nayeon continues on, bringing you back from the daydream that you’ve slipped into. “Seriously, it’s a very highly anticipated release.”
Yoongi manages a nervous smile. “I’ll make sure not to let anyone down.”
Nayeon nods. “I think it’s a good time to ask about a recent development that has occurred with you as of late.”
“And, that is the announcement of your relationship,” Nayeon carries on. She glances at Yoongi from across the table. “We’re allowed to ask you questions about it, right?”
Yoongi nods, choosing his words very carefully. “I’m all ears for your questions, Nayeon.”
Nayeon brightens at that. “I just think that a lot of people want to know: how are you guys doing since the announcement?”
He takes in a breath. To the general public, it’ll probably look as if he’s steeling himself to finally come clean about a relationship he’s been hiding for three years. But to you, you know it’s because he’s just trying to figure out what exactly to say.
“We’ve been doing well,” He says with a nod of assurance. “It was a little stressful at first, and it still is because of how recent the news is, but I am glad we decided to make this call. Y/N has been with me since the beginning and has supported me and has been the inspiration for a lot of my music—and I’m at a point in my life where I want my fans to know that rather than drag them along and just make them assume these parts of my life.”
“That’s so sweet,” Nayeon gushes. “So Y/N wasn’t always just your manager, even back in your Youtube days?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “Actually, she was my girlfriend before I decided to upload song covers.”
Nayeon swoons a little. “Can you tell us the story of how we met? You can be brief, of course.”
Yoongi laughs. “We shared a class together in college, and she was probably the funniest person I had ever met—of course, we were friends for about a year before we started dating. But Y/N was always very supportive about me pursuing music, even when it was just a hobby. When I did start my Youtube channel, she stayed up to help with editing and just letting me know how some lyrics I had written would sound. She was a business major in college, so it felt right to let her have the reins on scheduling my appearances—and now she’s my manager. Besides just being my girlfriend, we work together really well.”
You huff out a breath, something you hadn’t even realized that you were holding. You didn’t think Yoongi lying straight through his teeth could cause you so much anxiety. As if there are people around this radio station to fact check everything leaving Yoongi’s mouth.
Nayeon hesitates for a moment. “Alright, I want to ask one more question.”
Yoongi gestures for her to continue.
“You write a lot about being in love and all these little moments of stability and that feeling of contentment—but what is your experience with love? How did you know that you were in love?”
Your lips part in shock at the question, having not expected it. After all, Seokjin didn’t quiz Yoongi on this answer. And to talk about love in such a personal manner—would Yoongi even have an answer for everyone?
Your gaze is trained on Yoongi, watching them through the glass separating you from him. It seems as if the entire room is silenced in anticipation. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze hot on your back, clearly trying to gauge your response—but you try not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“It’s actually funny,” Yoongi speaks up after a moment. Your heart lurches, thinking that he’s going to divert from the question. But you should know him better. “I always thought love, when it came to romance, was supposed to be this big explosion of fireworks and what not—like in the movies. You see someone and there’s this feeling in your gut right away, you know, this whole concept of love at first sight. I used to think that was how I was going to fall in love. It was going to be dramatic, but everything I wanted right away, and I was going to be whisked off and everything would be sunshine and rainbows. I thought that I’d meet someone, and they’d be everything I wanted them to be right off the bat, and that I’d know right away they’d be the one.
But the truth is, through my relationship, I realized that it’s not like that. I didn’t know Y/N would be the one right away. It took a long time—because we liked each other, but that’s not the big explosion of fireworks I was promised. We liked each other, but it was never love at first sight. And truthfully, she wasn’t even everything I wanted right off the bat. I’ve realized that love is more about these adjustments you as people have to make to fit, and it happened so subtly with me that then I didn’t realize it was happening until I just woke up one day and knew.
I knew because one morning, I woke up in a fit—I had fallen asleep at my desk again trying to get through some of the music arrangement of this one video I was working on, or something like that. I was always working on music and editing—so I actually don’t remember. Anyways, I woke up and my head was resting on a pillow, and there was a blanket over my shoulder, which I didn’t remember fixing up the night before. I got out of the little makeshift studio I had in my apartment, and there was breakfast food from this cafe I really like around the corner at my table. It was a little cold, but Y/N had taped a little note on the bag with heating instructions and what not, just telling me to do my best—really nice and supportive things. I had assumed that she had gone back home, because she knew I was pulling another all-nighter for work. That’s what I thought, until I look into the living room and find her sleeping on my couch. More than that, her hands were still on her laptop, where she had been in the process of still editing one of my videos. She still had her headphones on and everything. We had been dating for a little less than a year at that point, so it wasn’t like this was a rare thing. It was a pretty normal thing for her to do—wrap me up in blankets and buy me breakfast food the following morning, even falling asleep on the couch was a weekly occurrence. But I just saw her sleeping on my couch and I felt this wave of warmth and contentment. Like I always knew that she’d be on my team. I think that was the moment I really knew what love was.”
It’s a long story, one that ends with a stunned silence—like no one had expected him to give out such a detailed answer and make it sound poetic at the same time. That’s the songwriter Min Yoongi for you, you supposed.
Quickly, both the studio and the booth give out a chorus of aw’s and ooh’s, gushing amongst one another over the charming nature of Yoongi’s story. But you are still trapped into submission, staring straight through the glass with millions of questions still going through your mind. The spike in your heart rate also points to the rush of adrenaline flowing through you. Because you know this story that he is telling. He’s not lying through his teeth. You remember this night. Or, one of the nights, at least. Like Yoongi had said, you giving out blankets and food like air was second nature in your friendship. So was you falling asleep on the couch.
Did those situations hold as much weight for him as they did for you? Or, was he just making up his feelings? After all, the key to lying was skirting as close to the truth as possible. That kind of situation may work for Yoongi, as the liar, but it wasn’t as comforting for you.
You watch the way Yoongi laughs at the gushing Nayeon does, the way he smiles brightly and continues to reinforce how important you are—and you recognize his facade better than anyone else. Of course he’s lying, and you reach their realization with a bit of downfall in your stomach. There’s no way he would be telling the truth, especially considering the situation the pair of you are now in where Yoongi’s career is dependent on his ability to tell a proper lie.
You allow yourself to sink a little deeper into the studio, near the back where the producers of the radio station can discuss amongst each other. This puts you with Jungkook, who has been watching the situation closely the entire time.
“Yoongi can be quite the actor,” Jungkook mumbles. He has this unreadable expression in his eyes, but you know that Jungkook knows that situation Yoongi is describing. It had been Jungkook’s apartment as well. He glances at you, but says nothing.
You continue to stare ahead. That pensive silence continues as Yoongi is released from the radio interview, and thanks Nayeon and Hoseok eagerly for their time and energy. Nayeon returns the gesture, waving to you through the glass when Yoongi points you out. You weakly return the action.
It isn’t until you get into the car, where the pair of you are safe from the wandering eyes and careful ears of the entire world, that one of you elects to speak up. “So, what did you think?” Yoongi asks.
By this point, you’ve recovered swiftly from your disappointment. You smile like it’s your only shield. “As your manager, I’m glad that you were able to make love so poetic—just on brand for you. As your fake girlfriend, I also really have to congratulate you for your storytelling. I even remember those nights too, so it was definitely a good memory to lie about.”
Yoongi flushes a little at your comment, looking pleased with himself for a moment. You smile at his expression, before turning to train your gaze out of the window. The gesture makes you miss the way the smile slips off his face, the way he glances over at you. A good memory to lie about—right.
.
Yoongi’s radio interview goes viral, and so does any hope you have in trying to forget the tale he had spun during it. Granted, you are happy that people bought his story. You just wish that it wouldn’t have muddled up all your thoughts and feelings along the way.
Naturally, Seokjin is excited about the good press and the fact that the pair of you completed your first assignment well enough. At least, that’s the display he’s presenting when you walk into his office two days after the radio interview. Yesterday was spent looking over social media to see the public’s reaction to Yoongi’s speech about love, and if you as his manager would need to do any damage control. Luckily, you do not. As his manager, it leaves you in good spirits.
But as someone who actually has a crush on Yoongi, it’s less so.
That dejection only furthers itself when you see how excited Seokjin looks, like he’s already plotting the next steps to his little project.
“Ah, Y/N!” Seokjin greets carefully. “Hi, hi, congratulations on your first successful outing with Yoongi! Per the reports I’ve been seeing over social media, you guys did a very good job.”
You sigh, placing four coffee orders onto the table and sliding into the seat in front of Seokjin’s desk. “I didn’t really do that much,” You admit with a half-hearted shrug. “Yoongi did all the talking. I just waved at Nayeon through the glass window.”
“Aaahh,” Seokjin hums, opening up his laptop and turning it around in order for you to see what is on his screen. “Seems like you did a little more than that.”
Your gaze flints down to the big, bold words across the screen: THE INSIDER REPORT ON MIN YOONGI’S RADIO INTERVIEW: Employees at the K-IM Radio Station detail their experience meeting Yoongi and his girlfriend following the announcement of their relationship.
That piques your interest, and you scoot forward in your chair slightly in order to reach out and see what Seokjin is talking about. It’s not a very lengthy article—there is a summary detailing Yoongi’s interview, of course referencing his grand speech about love—but that’s not what takes up the most space.
Your eyes continue to skim over, almost not even believing what you were reading. The intern that first greeted you and Yoongi is in here, talking about how the pair of you were holding hands “in such a loving way, and the way they looked at each other before I led him to the radio booth was so romantic!” (The intern’s words, not yours). There’s even some excerpts from the employees and producers inside the radio booth, the same room you had spent the interview in. Surprisingly, a lot of the accounts are not talking about what Yoongi said. It’s all about how you looked when Yoongi was telling his story.
“It was such a powerful speech, I couldn’t help but look over to Y/N to see her reaction, and she was staring back at Yoongi in such a way that I knew immediately that the genuine nature of their love was a two-way street.”
“... a definite softness in her gaze, like she was reliving that memory with him.”
And so on, and so on.
Your face feels a little warmer when your eyes as you push the laptop away, glancing up to see Seokjin’s staring at you. “See? You did good. The small gestures you do can go a long way—especially when you don’t notice you’re doing them.”
You close the laptop, as if that can physically distance yourself from the assurances of those who had been around you. “Right…” You manage weakly.
“Well,” Seokjin hums, already moving onto the next point of the conversation. If he senses something fishy in your response, he doesn’t comment on it. “Anyways, Yoongi is in the studio right now with Namjoon, so I just want a little update report on your relationship with Yoongi. As in, how is it going between the two of you?”
You ponder this for a moment, thinking about how he took your hand in the car, how he recounted such a personal story to explain the details of his love, the look he gave you when you congratulated his storytelling abilities—like he knew something that you did not.
At the same time, it was such a minor appearance that you didn’t get much of a feel about the romantic aspect of this fake relationship. This is why you sigh. “I’m not too sure. We had such a minor acting role together that it’s hard to say. I will say that right now it feels pretty much the same.”
“Alright, fair enough,” Seokjin approves with a nod. “So you don’t have a problem if I want to plan some informal hang-outs for you and Yoongi? Just as a way to keep your guys in the public eye enough times that fans don’t start doubting your relationship.”
You smile weakly. “Of course. That’s what I signed the NDA for.”
Seokjin laughs, finally waving you off. “Okay, sure. I’ll look into where I think your relationship will make the biggest impact and will update you and Yoongi when I’ve made my decisions.” Finally, he looks over the multiple cups of coffee you had brought over on your cardboard tray, and fishes out the one with his name on it. “This one for me?”
You lean over, flickering your gaze from the cup to his face. “Well, at the very least, I know you can read now.”
His relaxed expression morphs into a playful scowl. “Get out of here brat.”
Your laughter echoes through his office as you take your cardboard tray of three coffee cups and reemerge back into the hallway of the record studio. You walk the familiar path until you reach the door to the recording room—pulling open the door and letting yourself in. Inside the booth, Yoongi is rapping away into his microphone, as his low voice fills the tiny space of this studio. You place the tray down onto one of the tables, picking up your own before sliding over to take a seat on the couch.
As you continue listening to Yoongi wistfully hum about a desire to cross an emotional distance, about how he tells the truth because “it’s you, it’s always been you”—you cannot help your mind wandering into what Seokjin has in store for you over the course of the next few months.
.
.
CHAPTER 4: TURNING POINT
.
Yoongi’s first full length album is set to release in two months.
At least, that’s what KSJ records claims after uploading a quarterly report of Yoongi’s schedule. At first, you don’t think it’s a big deal for Yoongi’s label to post a tentative update about his music progress, but his fans are extremely observant and catch on immediately. It’s good to draw up the hype, you suppose.
Anyways, at the rate that Yoongi is working on the songs for the album, you won’t be surprised if he manages to follow the schedule down to a T. The boy lives and breathes music, and last time you checked the album would consist partly of songs from his EP and new songs—meaning that it cuts down Yoongi’s usual workload into half. Not that he minds, at any rate.
“Okay, Min Yoongi,” Seokjin starts up, standing at the head of the meeting room which only consists of three people. Normally, with meetings with the head of KSJ records himself, there’s a lot more people around to discuss schedule, promotions, and the likes. The fact that it’s just you and Yoongi tells you exactly what you’re doing here. “It’s been a few weeks since your radio interview, and I know that you’re doing well in your progress of the album—but I think it’ll do you well to take a break.”
Yoongi huffs. “It’s nice that you’re reminding me about this, but I’ll rest when the album is released.”
Seokjin snorts. “When did I say rest? I just meant take a break from your album work. Plus you need to get some vitamin C, or whatever shit you get from the sun.”
“It’s vitamin D,” You interject gently.
“Pish posh,” Seokjin waves away your interruption. “Anyways, like I was saying, there is a way for us to kill two birds with one stone. So that you.” He points to Yoongi. “Can get out of the studio for a few hours and you.” He points to you. “Can play into a relationship that’ll help us kill two birds with one stone.”
You raise an eyebrow. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“Well,” Seokjin continues, leaning over his side of the table to get a few good at his laptop, where it appears that he has a few notes written down regarding the direction of this meeting. “In order to continue generating curiosity about Yoongi’s upcoming album and maintain the public’s constant queries about your relationship, I want you two to go on public outings. I have a few specific places I think would be good cornerstones to touch on, but I’m also willing to let the two of you figure out where you want to spend your time.” He glances up at the two of you. “That should be okay, right?”
You and Yoongi glance at each other. Come to think of it, the pair of you haven’t talked about nor reviewed the events at the radio station since it happened and the underlying questions you still have about his side of the story feels vaguely like a weight hanging over you both. But Yoongi smiles at you, and you think that you can continue to do what you’ve done for years: hide away your feelings.
“Yeah, that should be fine,” You speak up first, smiling back at Yoongi. You turn to Seokjin. “What did you have in mind?”
The question is how you find yourself in a car with Yoongi a few days later, your hands in your lap and your mind spinning with nerves. The radio interview had been one case, but a limited one at that—your role had been very minor and your interaction with Yoongi had only been seconds long. They had definitely been a lot smaller than this new role that Seokjin has assigned to you.
For today, Seokjin has directed the pair of you to the streets of Yoongi’s old stomping ground—the same shopping district with the same corner Yoongi spent all his nights performing in from a time period that seems so long enough. Not long enough, apparently, as Seokjin thinks it would be a nice nod to be ‘accidentally’ discovered walking along a place that holds so much memory.
“I just want you guys to walk around—be happy, but be close,” Seokjin had noted just a few hours prior to you and Yoongi’s departure. “Just look like the pair of you are on a date. Hold hands, smile at each other, all that jazz. Nothing too serious.”
Too bad it actually was kind of serious for you.
You and Yoongi make minor conversation, making some jokes here and there that do well in helping to ease your nerves. You don’t think Yoongi would take notice, but he can be strangely observant. Perhaps the way you keep bouncing one of your legs helps let him know that something is up.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
You stop bouncing your leg. “It kind of feels like I’m about to perform, or something—it’s that same kind of rush.”
Yoongi stares at you for a moment, before he looks out his side of the window. “Well, technically speaking, you are about to perform. You know, with this whole relationship being an act and all.”
“Very true,” You say, nodding your head. “Do we need a game plan?”
Yoongi shrugs. “I thought that we’d just wing it. We held hands back at the radio station so, uh, I’m assuming that you’re still comfortable with doing that?”
“O-Oh yeah, of course!”
“Then, we can do that. And walk around. Improvise while we do so—just see how the day goes.”
You nod. “Okay, true, true. That sounds good.” You can’t help but give him a sneaky smile. “Look at you, Min Yoongi, you’ve become quite the performer. Improvisation used to be something you were never too good at.”
Yoongi flushes a little, smiling back at you. “Give me a little credit. You gotta have backups for your backups, especially in situations when your sound gives up on you in the middle of one of your sets.”
You laugh, because this reminds you about one of Yoongi’s first live sets along the very street the pair of you will be approaching shortly. His speakers had just given up, forcing Yoongi to go entirely acapella. In a way, that mistake ended up garnering him more fans who grew to respect his craft and talent for music and singing. But as they say, hindsight is 20 20.
You and Yoongi continue to laugh about that memory for a few minutes before Taehyung arrives along the outskirts of the shopping district, pulling up along the curb. The car is on the other side of this bustling area, just a few feet away from the pedestrian walkway that is littering with people going to and fro.
Taehyung turns around in his seat to give the pair of you a look. “Now kids, I want you to call me whenever you’re ready to get picked up.” He’s grinning around the words though
You glare at him. “Sure thing dad,” You bite back, already opening the car door to take your leave. Your feet land onto the concrete of the sidewalk as you pull yourself into a standing position. Yoongi joins you shortly after, standing close to you. “Bye,” You say, slamming the door into Taehyung’s face before he can get in one last snarky reply.
Yoongi looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh for Taehyung’s benefit. But it’s an act he can only hold together for so long, because he does start to laugh as soon as Taehyung and the company car turn the corner and disappear out of sight.
After a second, Yoongi turns to you and gestures towards the pedestrian walkway just a few feet ahead. “Shall we?”
You nod, taking the hand that he extends out to you. Just an act, you tell yourself, you allow him to lace your fingers together. Nevermind the fact that the weight on your hand feels entirely too reassuring and comforting for the current context.
Ignoring that feeling, you squeeze his hand and let him lead you towards the walkway, where you cross the street with no problem. Since Yoongi nor Seokjin had announced Yoongi’s presence at this plaza for the day, you can only hope that too much attention won’t be drawn to you.
It’s a thought that you are able to entertain for a few minutes. Yoongi may not have the star quality status of mainstream celebrities (yet), but he’s still someone who has been on the radio, has done a country-wide tour, and has a youtube following of a couple million people (four now, the last time you checked—subscriber counts tend to zip by after a person hits a million). That small list of accomplishments is more than enough to drag in a few wandering eyes. Okay, maybe a little more than a few.
You think that you’ve kind of developed a seventh sense to knowing when Yoongi was being recognized. It’s shown in the double-glances some people start shooting at him, at quick whispers behind closed hands, and craning necks over shoulders.
You’re okay with people knowing about Yoongi’s current location, but the memory of his tours and even the crowd problem that came up during his street performances flashback in your mind. You don’t think you want to deal with that situation right now—secretly preferring if people just observed from a distance.
Without thinking twice, you tighten your hold on Yoongi’s hand long enough to lead him into one of the stores along the sidewalk—an accessories booth with fake glasses, rings, earrings, the likes.
Yoongi watches you, a touch of amusement in his eyes like he knows what you’re thinking. Still, he asks. “What are you doing?”
You rummage through the wide selection of glasses, fully aware that one or two people have spotted the pair of you and are lingering near the entrance to catch a glance at what you two are doing. From the looks of it, no one is going to stir up a commotion. You still want to make sure.
“You stand out,” You explain vaguely, finding a pair of circle glasses in black-rims from the pile before turning around and more or less smashing the glasses against his face. It’s difficult to try and put glasses on another person, you miss his ears a few times and almost get him in the eye, but Yoongi strangely enough lets you manhandle him.
In the midst of your last few attempts you step forward and scoot even closer to him to try and get the glasses more properly situated on his face. Due to the proximity, Yoongi’s hands fly up from his side to avoid being pressed uncomfortably against his chest, choosing to rest at your waist. At first, you don’t feel the weight of his hands, you’re too focused on making sure the fake glasses you’ve selected can fit in place.
As soon as you’ve properly aligned the glasses to his face, you lower your hands from his face. The action makes you suddenly hyper aware of the current position you’ve put yourself in. It’s not very often that you get handsy with Yoongi, it’s a side of you that comes out when the pair of you are in a hurry, but hardly during candid moments like this.
Immediately, Yoongi’s hands feel like warm flames tickling your skin, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of his position, of his closeness. Your eyes flicker up, seeing his face with those glasses you’ve just shoved onto him sitting nicely at the bridge of his nose, highlighting the intensity of his gaze. The stare he’s giving you only heightens the gravitational pull you feel towards him.
You don’t know how long the pair of you are just standing in the middle of the store, staring at each other, until you feel the weight of a third party approaching the pair of you.
You practically shove yourself away from Yoongi, trying to make it seem as if you’re just stepping back to get an overall look at his face (Yoongi featuring glasses). Yoongi lets you go.
The third party is an employee of the accessories booth, smiling widely. “Sorry to interrupt,” She says, looking over at Yoongi. “Sir, I just want to say that those glasses look great on you. And just to let you know we’re having a sale on that collection so it’s a buy one get the other one half off so maybe you two can match if you’re up to it…”
You tune her out after a second, realizing that you can’t really keep up with what she’s saying considering the current firestorm that’s going on inside your head. Why couldn’t you have just asked Yoongi to put the glasses on himself? You curse yourself for letting your guard down—sometimes you try to do things of your own accord, and today you were paying the price.
When you don’t speak after a few seconds, Yoongi smiles at the employee. “Got it, thanks a lot.” He waits until the employee returns back to rearranging some earrings on a nearby shelf before turning back to you. “How does it look?”
He does look good, but you play it down by tilting your head and settling with a shrug. “Well, you’ve looked better—but this’ll have to do.”
Yoongi laughs, before he does something that catches you off guard. He steps closer to you. “So you think there are times when I do look good?”
You try not to look too bewildered at his gesture. You can tell that he does feel a little nervous about the fact he’s testing the waters so boldly without any practice, but it’s all part of the act. Just as Seokjin said: be happy, be close.
So you place a hand on his chest, pushing him slightly with your own little teasing smile. “I said better—that doesn’t always mean you were ever good to begin with.”
Yoongi makes a noise of protest, and without warning just swings his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to his side. “You’re breaking my heart everyday!”
“You must like the abuse, you’re still with me,” You bite back playfully without thought. For a split second, it doesn’t feel like you’re in a store with people who vaguely recognize Yoongi’s appearance—for a split second, it feels like just you and him, and everything you’ve ever wanted.
Upon Yoongi’s lips hover over the shell of your ear. “Good job, I think the group of girls outside caught our picture.”
That dreamy fantasy where it was just you and Yoongi and nothing else mattered came crashing down, squaring you right back into reality. It’s not a disappointing feeling per say—just a vague extra hammering of your heartbeat, a vague guilt that you let your mind let its guard down like that. “Right,” You say. “Uh…” You try to think, which proves to be a difficult thing to do with Yoongi’s weight pressed up against you and everything. You clap your hands together. “Okay, let’s grab a hat and then we’ll be on our way.”
You make sure to be a little less handsy when it comes to hat selections, but you knew there was only so far you could escape given the current context of the situation. Yoongi seems to know that, because he stays close to you as you’re both shifting through hats, and even when he pays for his hat and glasses combination before exiting the booth. The pair of you pass through the two girls that were lingering outside of the booth, where Yoongi gives them the smallest wave and hello before carrying on with the rest of the trip.
With the hat and glasses combination, it definitely draws less attention to Yoongi’s classic fluffy black hair and gummy smile—especially if you’re using what was going on in the beginning of your trip as a baseline. This means that you and Yoongi can carry on with the rest of your outing with feeling the obvious heavy weight of gazes on your shoulder.
With intertwined hands the pair of you first stop by one of the local cafes and sit right alongside the window to enjoy some pasta and soda combinations. You roll up the noodles onto your fork and clink utensils with Yoongi before slipping the noodles in your mouth—tomato sauce with flavor slipped into every side piece of noodle. It’s amazing, and you cannot help but gush so as you smile brightly around your fork.
You’re too busy stirring your fork around yet another string of pasta that you fail to see the softening look of the boy across the table from you. It’s a look that disappears by the time your gaze glints back up to resume the conversation. The pasta is considered a snack above all else, so it doesn’t take long for the pair of you to finish up your meal. Leaving a tip behind on the table, Yoongi walks over to you just as you’re straightening up from your chair. Silently, he offers his hand to you.
Knowing the routine by now, you take his hand, silently lacing your fingers together and letting him lead the way out of the cafe and back onto the sidewalk. The later afternoon shows itself in the steady increase of people, which is good because it makes you feel as if you can blend into the crowd either. There are still the occasional phones out, trailing after you and Yoongi as you walk along the sidewalk, but nothing that ever makes you feel as if you need to call Taehyung.
“Actually, this isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” You grumble to Yoongi quietly, a comment that he laughs at.
“I’m not that famous,” Yoongi jokingly teases you. “And my fans are just being respectful—give them a little credit.” His voice dies down shortly after, however, but it only takes you a few seconds to realize why.
The pair of you, in the midst of your simple ‘walk along the sidewalk’ plan, have arrived at a very familiar street corner. The sunset means that arriving performers who work best once the sun leaves are just beginning to set up their stage—laying out equipment, testing out sound systems, saying hello to some passersby who recognize the artists getting ready. You can read the signs of these interactions very easily. After all, it’s what Yoongi used to do a year ago, at this very spot too.
In front of you, a new performer, a singer, is setting up her own equipment—guitar in hand as she practices her strumming. You inch closer to Yoongi, your arms molded against each other. “Hey, hey,” You whisper at Yoongi. The boy leans over to better hear you. “She reminds me of you.”
Yoongi laughs. “What do you mean? How?”
You glance over at the girl again, not noticing the way Yoongi is still staring at you, quietly awaiting your answer. “You guys have the same drive,” You eventually note. “And the same determination. It’s easy to see in her, just as it’s always been like that for you…” You trail off, looking over to realize that he’s still looking at you.
“You noticed those things, huh?” Yoongi asks quietly.
His gaze is too enticing to look away from, pulling you in through a situation not unlike what had happened at the accessories shop earlier that afternoon. “I-I mean, of course I do…” Yoongi’s gaze feels like hot magnets that are just pulling the next words out of you. “I always notice with you.”
The world seems to quiet down at that, everything slowing down as you feel yourself mentally curse yourself out for those words. Why would you say it like that?
A million thoughts go through your head at once. You weren’t really lying or trying to play a part. You were being honest. You do always notice with Yoongi. And since he clearly only sees you as a friend that could participate in whatever scheme he can get himself into, then he would obviously hear your statement and think of it as nothing more than a friendly complement. Right? RIGHT?
Except, Yoongi is still just standing next to you, staring at you, not making any sort of comment whatsoever. He has that unreadable expression in his gaze, a look he always gives you when you let the cracks slip in your facade, but it’s something he never talks about, never explains to you—just like right now.
The silence grows tense, so tense that it begins to feel like weights on your shoulders, like a coil wrapping itself around your heart, because why isn’t he saying anything?
Yoongi hums, low and throaty and that coil around your heart drops into your stomach. “Is that so?” He inquires softly, continuing to gaze at you.
His gaze drops down to your lips, and that coil is replaced with butterflies all around you. It starts are a flutter in your stomach, in your heart, and your mind starts to race because what the fuck is happening?
Around you, the growing number of people means that someone accidentally bumps into you, driving you forward right into Yoongi’s chest. The pair of you stumble, effectively dissipating that cloud of tension that had threatened to curl through you. You cough, taking a small step away from Yoongi so that while the pair of you were still holding hands, that was the only thing connecting the pair of you.
You and Yoongi don’t have another run in like that for the remainder of the date, as that late afternoon sunset fades away into nighttime and you and Yoongi spend that time trying to enjoy each other’s presence whilst also not engaging in too much physical contact. Your fingers remain loosely intertwined but it never tightens as if the small air of space between your hands can hide away the nerves and tension you feel yourself trying to contain.
Even when Taehyung comes to pick the two of you up, and you no longer are under the obligation to hold hands, that air of space still feels heavy between the two of you.
.
The overwhelming positive response of your first official public date sends Seokjin through the moon, as well as provides him with a drive to arrange and send you and Yoongi out on more dates. All of which, fortunately for you, don’t come nearly as close to the level of tension experienced from the first date. Partly because you know your limits, and go into each planned date with a level of expectation for yourself as well as rules that you’ve internally programmed yourself to follow every time you and Yoongi step out of the car.
At the museum date, you make sure to keep your distance, using your intertwined hands with Yoongi as the only signal of your relationship. The pair of you joke around about the art pieces, whispering between each other about how many fans have taken pictures of the pair of you lingering about the museum, as well as relay information to each other about various rooms that you are interested in. But in a way, it definitely feels more like a typical friendly hang-out rather than a date.
The same idea can be applied to the next date Seokjin sends you on—a casual date at one of the local botanical gardens, each garden filled with a different culture to serve as the theme for its layout and plant growth. Some gardens have little cafe booths and grassy fields to buy some snacks before sitting down to enjoy the sunlight, which is an idea that Yoongi suggests that the two of you do. He points to one of the ice cream shops along the outskirts of a garden, and claims a seat on one of the benches so the two of you can enjoy your treat. The current summertime weather emits a warmer heat and breeze that curls lightly through the air throughout the day, making for a perfectly comfortable season to wear a sundress. It’s also the kind of undetectable weather for ice cream to melt down the cone, onto unsuspecting fingers curled into the dry waffle texture. Yoongi makes that well aware by poking your cheek with his sticky finger, garnering several pictures of the encounter.
Seokjin has even tried to implement studio life into his constant narrative to keep up the facade of your relationship with Yoongi. While the pair of you go on these occasional dates, Yoongi also has a deadline to fulfill with his album release. On the days where dates are not planned out, he’ll be in the studio—rearranging songs to fit in with the music beats that have more or less been tapered down to perfection. As his manager, sometimes you find yourself staying past your allotted time slot of being at the studio, before sneaking into the recording booth way past midnight to see what Yoongi and Namjoon are up to.
Just as it follows: you straighten up, craning your neck backwards a little to allow for slight muscle extensions after sitting at a desk for an extra hour too long. With Yoongi’s album steadily approaching, there are interviews that need to be arranged, magazines and newspapers and radio shows alike all reaching out to you for the opportunity to cover Yoongi’s growth as an artist. Albums also equate to tours to help promote the album, and with the close call from Yoongi’s last experience with such, it means that you need to book more locations—or the same location across multiple dates.
Overall, the growing pile of work means that you and everyone else at KSJ Studios are just as anticipated for Yoongi’s album release as the general public. It seems as if his collective fanbase are hoping and waiting under the same parameters: was the album going to be as good as they were expecting?
You shoulder your purse, stepping out of your office and shutting it behind you. You navigate through the hallways, glancing sideways to peek out the long glassway of windows, all overlooking the city skyline, the multicolor lights flickering ahead in the distance. You quirk a lip.
Your usual brisk pace dies down when you pass the studio you know Yoongi and Namjoon are recording in. The soundproof walls inside mean that hardly any music ever seeps out from between the cracks, only heightening your curiosity. Your busy schedule recently has made it so you have hardly been able to hear what Yoongi and Namjoon have come up with.
You glance down at your watch. It was nearing midnight. Well, you think to yourself, a little peek wouldn’t hurt. You reach over to grip the door handle, pushing it down and pushing it open. Inside is the usual scene: Yoongi behind the glass, his fingers curled around the headphones as he speaks into the microphone. His voice filters through the main studio area, where Namjoon sits behind computers and music panels, capturing every single second of what is going on.
Further driven by curiosity, you find yourself pulling harder at the door to let yourself in. Namjoon turns at the sound, but softens a little when he sees that it’s you.
“Burning the midnight oil?” You tease, standing next to Namjoon at the table, watching Yoongi’s closed eyes as he loses himself in the song.
Namjoon grins back. “You’re not gonna tell us to stop, are you?”
“Hey.” You bring both arms up in a sign of surrender. “I’m off the clock on this one. Just wanted to see what you two were up to.”
Suddenly, Yoongi calls your name from behind the glass, as the noise is amplified through the studio. You jump slightly, having not expected to be noticed so soon. Yoongi waves. “It’s late!” He calls. “What are you still doing here?”
You lean forward to press the button that opens the two-way communication. “I’m not sure you heard, but there’s an artist in this studio that’s working on an upcoming album—it’s causing a lot of pain for the rest of us.”
Yoongi laughs at that. “Touche, touche.” He brightens up slightly. “Hey, we’re wrapping up on this song, so if you stick around I’ll drive you home.”
This is a natural offer for Yoongi to make, considering the extent to which you’ve spent long nights here. Brushing it off as nothing more than Yoongi just being a good pal, you nod and flash him a thumbs up. “Sounds good, sounds good. But take your time. Don’t let me get in the way.”
You turn around, allowing the music of Yoongi’s song to refilter back through the studio. You park yourself atop the couch at the back, settling into the soft cushions. Come to think of it, falling asleep definitely isn’t the worst thing in the world to do—especially on this couch. And you’re exhausted, what with scheduling events all day and having to burn through your social battery by making one too many phone calls with various people within the industry.
The last thing you remember is Yoongi’s soft humming that fades away into a quiet static.
You jerk awake after what feels like a few minutes—but judging from your new position on the couch (horizontal this time, instead of vertical) and the blanket that has been tucked under your chin, you realize quickly that this few minutes has actually been a few hours. It might be hard to believe that, because the world around you still seems very similar to what it had been when you fell asleep. The lack of windows in the studio make it very difficult to distinguish time—although Yoongi’s voice sounds much closer than it had when you first fell asleep.
You sit up.
Namjoon and Yoongi jolt at your sudden movement. “Woah! She’s awake now,” Yoongi teases.
Blinking for a few seconds, you turn your head to find Yoongi out of the recording booth and instead sitting at one of the tables in the actual studio setting. Surrounding Namjoon and Yoongi looks like an entire McDonalds family meal: chicken nuggets, $1 menu burgers, lots of french fries…
You let out a breath to help further situate you to your new surroundings. “Min Yoongi…” You start, voice hoarse. “You said you were just finishing up.”
“I was,” Yoongi explains, looking vaguely guilty. Only vaguely though. “But I had this sudden epiphany, like holy shit you really had to be here—it was crazy.”
“I was here,” You choke out.
Yoongi waves you off. “You know what I mean—here here. Anyways, yeah, we realized that we couldn’t leave, especially when I got Namjoon on the same page. He was just as excited as I was!”
Namjoon slaps his hand. “Don’t drag me into this!”
Yoongi ignores him. “Anyways, it’s like two in the morning and we got hungry. McDonalds is the food of champions, after all. You hungry? Here, have some water first.” He grabs a bottle of water from the table and unscrews the cap. Suddenly, he’s standing up and making his way towards the couch. He sits down next to you, offering the water to you. “Here. You must be thirsty.”
You are. Still heavy-lidded too, but you try your best to blink away the exhaustion as you blindly reach for the water and manage to grab it after Yoongi adjusts his own angled arm. He watches you as you tilt your head back to down some of the water, accidentally drinking a little more than your mouth can handle. Some of it slides down the corner of your lip, making you angle your head back properly and remove your lips from the bottle head.
Yoongi softens a little at your clumsy nature, tugging the sleeve of his long-sleeved forward in order to pat the corner of your mouth. “Aw, look at my tiny little baby, can’t even drink water properly,” He coos.
You flinch slightly away from him, trying for a glare that comes out more like a pout. Yoongi laughs softly at the sight. “There are no cameras around us, Min Yoongi,” You grumble out. “You don’t need to be so attentive.”
“Nevermind that, I’m just trying to be a friend. You want a french fry?” He reaches across the space separating the couch from the table, and grabs the box of salty french fries. His voice carries that usual positive disposition from previously, but the light in his eyes has died down a little. You don’t notice it, too busy looking at the french fries and realizing that you are actually a little hungry.
The remainder of Yoongi and Namjoon’s break is dedicated to finishing up the family meal, before Yoongi looks at the clock and claps his hands together. “Hey Namjoon, I think I should take my girl home before we get back to working. Is that okay?”
Namjoon’s eyes flicker between the two of you, but he relents. “Of course.” He utters your name. “Have a good night.”
“I should be saying that to you,” You return teasingly, more of your senses have returned since putting food into your stomach. “See you tomorrow, Namjoon.”
So Yoongi takes you home, driving through the darkened streets, making light conversation with you, completely ignoring the fact that he has just addressed you as his girl, before your phone starts to buzz in your lap. It’s a notification from Instagram, saying that Namjoon has tagged you in a picture. Raising an eyebrow, you tap the alert, which takes you to a picture from just a few minutes ago—you and Yoongi at the studio, Yoongi tapping gently at your face with his sweater paw. The caption burns into your mind: three am company, ft my favorite artist and his favorite girl.
His favorite girl.
His girl.
.
.
CHAPTER 5: HIS GIRL
.
Yoongi’s album is entitled Y2, and it releases in the autumn, when the leaves are colored orange and the breeze has called for cozy jackets and big sweaters. It’s the perfect attire to wear as the earphones get plugged in and slipped into ears—curled up by soft cashmere and Yoongi’s luring voice. He’s got about sixteen songs on the album, a sweet mixture of loose beats and soft vocal voices that seem to simultaneously battle the drawn out harsh tone of stories extended across various three minute arrangements. The stories cover the low point—passive aggressive fights, of late nights, of “holding your hand, being so close, yet feeling so lonely”. But the songs also touch on the high points—coming back together, of soft morning light, of “being with you, wiping the traces of exhaustion from the corner of your lips, so close yet so far away, and still knowing you’re all I [he] could ever want”.
At least, it is what one article touches upon in a Y2 review, where the journalist gives high remarks to Yoongi’s album. She calls it a refreshing interpretation of music, continuing in the era of singers actually singing about their feelings. More than that, an era of storytelling in music. Of anything, of life, of the highs and the lows—the sadness, the happiness, the softness.
Safe to say that Yoongi is very excited to read this review on his phone, along with the surplus of positive things people have to say—from highly regarded journalists who belong to highly regarded newspaper companies, from social media, from his friends and family. Most especially, from you. You: whose hand he holds underneath the table as the numbers of listens start pouring in from various streaming websites.
He’s been nervous about this. He’s put his blood, sweat, and tears into the creation of this album, every song has been nailed down to perfection. His name, and his heart, is back out into the world.
The night of the album release is the launch party.
“Dude, it’s supposed to be a chill night,” Jungkook calls from the hallway, and you can’t help but laugh at how exasperated the boy sounds. “Would you just calm down?” Jungkook emerges from the aforementioned hallway. Despite his mention of this ‘chill night’, he’s still wearing something vaguely casual chic. “You’re his manager. Manage his overthinking tendencies.”
You laugh, watching as Jungkook plops down into the empty spot next to you on the couch, immediately leaning back into the cushion. “You know as well as I do that I don’t have that much control over him.”
Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “You probably have more control than you think.”
Before you can ask more questions, think more deeply into what the fuck Jungkook means by that, his eyes land on the hallway entrance before straightening up in the cusion. Your eyes follow Jungkook’s movement, where Yoongi is now standing in the once vacant space of his apartment. But his stance isn’t what gets you to stare, what makes your breath feel like it has just caught in your chest. Although he’s following the ‘casual chic’ dress code that Seokjin has ordered, there’s something about a white t-shirt that hits differently when it’s paired with a coat and dark jeans that highlight his long legs.
Yoongi gestures down at what he’s wearing meekly. “What do you think?” Although it appears that he’s addressing both you and Jungkook, his gaze is almost entirely fixed on you.
Trying hard to ignore the racing of your heart, you straighten up and somehow manage to make your way over to him without snapping your ankle on your chunky platform boots. Doing your best to pay attention to his outfit over his face, you reach over to straighten out the silver necklace he’s got dangling at his chest. “You look good,” You settle calmly. “And Jungkook is right—it’s supposed to be a chill night. Seokjin just invited people from the label. And some of your friends as well. Relax a bit, will you?”
Finally, you force yourself to level your gaze with Yoongi’s, fully confident that he’s just staring at you and probably wondering why you aren’t making eye contact with him. But when you do manage to glance at Yoongi’s face, you realize quickly that he’s not even staring at you. Instead, he’s staring down, at the curve of your throat.
Without warning, your cardiac system seems to pump itself too hard, because your breath of surprise comes out through your nose, effectively bringing up and lowering your lungs so fast that anyone would be able to read your vital sounds now. This proves to be true, because Yoongi’s gaze darts up from your neck to your eyes so quickly, that you probably wouldn’t have noticed had you stuck around without looking at his eyes. Doing that, however, might have saved you from this now tricky situation. “Sorry,” Yoongi manages, eyes flickering between yours. “I, uh, didn’t hear what you said.”
You realize the gravity of your position—your fingers now curled around the lapels of Yoongi’s jacket and one of his hands curled around your waist. That gravitational pull from every single one of your dates with Yoongi comes back again, curling around your neck and seeming to push you closer, closer—!
Jungkook coughs loudly from behind you.
You and Yoongi tear your gazes away from each other, as you uncurl both of your fingers from around Yoongi’s coat. “I-uh,” You start. “Was just saying that you should relax a little. You don’t have to try and impress anyone tonight.”
Yoongi sneaks one last glance at you. “We’ll see,” He says, before stepping away from you and brushing past Jungkook to make his way towards the door. Jungkook turns to look at you, wide-eyed and mouthing the words ‘what the fuck was that?’
To which you shake your head, very sure that you don’t want to get into this tonight of all nights. This was supposed to be a celebration for Yoongi. Just as you’ve done for the past few months, you can continue to keep your emotions in check. Easy-peasy.
Except it’s not easy-peasy because you see Seokjin at the club that he’s reserved for Yoongi’s album release party, and you realize that this is not a chill event for you—you still have to keep up the facade of your relationship in front of everyone.
Yoongi seems to realize this at the same time you do, because he inches closer to you and laces your fingers together. From afar, Seokjin nods in an unspoken confirmation regarding your behavior.
The beginning of the party starts with the trickle in of the various guests Seokjin has invited—from the friends he has made in the business, to others signed under the KSJ records label, to you, Jungkook, and Yoongi’s personal friends from college. The onslaught of new people fills you with the usual sense of excitement after not having attended a party in what feels like years. Working as a manager for a budding new artist is a lot less about the parties and more about the hustle.
The first hour of the event is dedicated to the mingling of people—of free food and conversations around the bottomless cocktails that every guest rushes to the bar to take full advantage of. It’s nice to be able to catch up with the friends that you and Yoongi haven’t spoken to since graduation—which is the group you and Yoongi first approach, as Yoongi is slinging his arm around one Park Jimin. The latter whose eyes widen and lips curl up into a grin at the sight of the two of you. It’s nice to see an old friend again, it almost brings you back to a time where you and Yoongi were both in-tune and surface-level friends.
“Hey, congratulations on the new album release!” Jimin exclaims brightly after the three of you have acquired some drinks from the bartender. Jimin raises his drink first, to which you and Yoongi follow suit.
As the glasses clink into the air, Jimin adds in another thing that reminds you of the fact that you and Yoongi are not back in college. You are here, in the present, with a fake relationship on the line.
“And congratulations to your relationship announcement,” Jimin continues.
You cough on your drink at that, lowering the glass immediately, feeling guilty all of a sudden. “Jimin, I know what all those reports have been saying…”
“Don’t worry,” Jimin brushes off. “I read through some of them. You guys have been dating for three years, right? I’m honestly surprised I never saw it. In hindsight, it makes sense.” Jimin takes a longer sip, gesturing towards Yoongi with a noise of acknowledgement coming from his throat. “Hm—I guess because you guys are dating now, I can let the cat out of the bag—but, Yoongi liked you from the first moment he met you.”
Now it’s Yoongi’s turn to choke on his drink, his chest heaving as he coughs into his sleeve. “Jimin, ah, you don’t need to talk about that—!”
Jimin laughs, naturally assuming that Yoongi’s choke was done out of shyness and not something deeper than that. “What, you think just because this happened when we were at college, I wouldn’t have said something all these years later?”
You can’t help but smile at their exchange. Although Jimin’s comment about Yoongi’s crush definitely piques your interest. You turn to Yoongi. “You had a crush on me back then?”
Yoongi opens his mouth, but Jimin beats him to it. “Oh yeah, he wouldn’t shut up about you—said that you had this smile like starlight and were super easy to talk to.”
“You have a great memory for someone who almost flunked college algebra,” Yoongi bites out hotly.
Jimin, clearly oblivious to the situation, laughs out loud. “I agree. Normally I would have forgotten all about that. But.” With Jimin’s fingers still curled around the wine glass, he is only able to point an index finger out at Yoongi. “I’ll never forget that look in your eyes. Like you saw something you were never going to let go of.”
You know Jimin is the one talking, but you cannot help but look at Yoongi as you feel your world spinning slightly around you. You blame it on the alcohol—as small of a sip as you have taken so far. Jimin, unlike a lot of the other parties you’ve been spending your time with, is not in on the joke of your relationship with Yoongi being a PR cover story. So there has to be some merit to it. Right?
Right?
Before you can even think how to phrase the billions of questions flying through your mind, the soft beat of a hand against a microphone sounds through the bar, as the original music that has been pounding through the club gets lowered to show that someone is trying to command everyone’s attention.
It’s Kim Seokjin, situated at the stage, with the microphone in hand. “Hey everyone! Before we actually start unveiling the numbers that Y2 has hit so far, I just want to say a few words. First of all, thank you everyone so much for joining us tonight as we celebrate the anticipated release of Min Yoongi’s album.”
Lots of claps sound from the guests, several cheers, one of you and Jimin join in just for the sake of embarrassing Yoongi. If he’s flustered with the attention, he’s gotten a lot better at hiding it.
“Actually,” Seokjin continues. “Why don’t we have the man of the hour join us? After all, my words don’t mean shit up here—I wasn’t the one who just released new music. Yoongi, come on up!”
Lots more claps and cheers, and the music volume increases dramatically just to give Yoongi some sort of platform to enter on. It makes you laugh. Seokjin is clearly having fun with his role. So you watch, sticking by Jimin, as Yoongi emerges from the crowd to step onto the stage. Seokjin pulls the microphone away from the pair of them as he leans over to whisper something into Yoongi’s ear, where the latter nods a few times before accepting the microphone that is now being extended out to him.
Yoongi clears his throat, speaking over the lowering music. “Hi guys, thanks so much for coming out,” He starts, laughing a little when there is another round of cheers. “As I’m sure a lot of you know, this is my first full length album that’s being released out into the world and it’s basically everything I ever could have dreamed of. One lesson that I’ve learned is that making albums of both the cover songs I did and the original songs I would produce in my shitty college apartment is a completely different experience than getting professional equipment to do a lot of the work for me.”
You laugh at that, the memories floating through your mind.
Yoongi smiles a little at the feedback he gets. But he continues. “And of course a lot of that professional equipment was able to work in my favor because I had helped. Seokjin of course, deserves a thank you for letting me learn and experiment with new sounds, and for letting me take a risk by trying out beats and stories that a lot of people might have turned down. And Namjoon.” He seems to spot Namjoon from the crowd, because he delivers a nod. “For being more than my favorite producer, but also my mentor and my guide. We had a lot of lightbulb late nights together. And finally…” His eyes land on you, and you feel yourself self-consciously straighten up. “Y/N—my Y/N. For those of you who don’t know, my girlfriend is my manager and we recently made our relationship public. I thought the transition from private to public would have been the hardest thing of my life, but she made it so easy. Just as she’s always made it so easy to inspire my music, to be my best friend—and to love her.”
Love.
You suddenly feel like you’re seeing the world through a small lens, unable to believe the words you are hearing and the sights you are seeing. Yoongi is staring right back at you, with all this love and adoration in his eyes, lips quirking up as a result of the coos from the audience.
It’s a vague kind of spotlight anxiety from seeing so many people looking at you considering the circumstances. It’s a feeling that only heightens when Yoongi opens his mouth again to continue speaking. “Actually, honey, why don’t you come up here, so I can thank you properly.”
The whoops and cheers sound again, and Jimin has to nudge you in the ribs to get you to move. Your initial thoughts are one of panic, suspicion, and curiosity. One glance at Seokjin’s direction conveys the high influx of questions that are flowing through your mind—what exactly are those two boys planning?
Yoongi’s hand extends out to you, helping you up onto the stage, as you turn around to face the crowd of people Yoongi has just been addressing. Of course, you have less experience hiding your general shyness around crowds, so the most you can muster is a smile and a wave.
Yoongi laughs into the microphone. “Don’t worry baby, I didn’t call you up to embarrass you. I just wanted to show you that all of this…” He gestures to the whole club, the crowds of people who have taken time out of their schedule to show support, the sounds of his album now filtering through the speakers. “All of this was possible because you believed in me, you supported me, and agreed to help me work toward my dream. This is all as much yours as it is mine.”
Then, he surprises you by leaning forward to brush his lips across your cheek—a gesture that further incites a bigger reaction of positive cheers and hoots from the audience. You turn your head immediately towards him as soon as he pulls away, your eyes wide with surprise. After all, you and Yoongi have never discussed the rule on kissing before, have never brought up any sort of lip contact to any degree. His boldness is something that takes you completely off guard.
And judging from the uncertain look that dances behind his eyes, a flicker that only you can see and decipher, you can tell that he hadn’t been expecting that from himself either.
You’re about to pull away, maybe walk off the stage and take another drink to whatever the fuck that was all about, before Jimin’s familiar voice sounds off from within the crowd.
“You call that a kiss, Min Yoongi?” Jimin calls, close enough now that it’s easier to see him. “C’mon, kiss your girlfriend like you mean it!”
The rest of the crowd immediately catches onto what Jimin is doing, and they play into it immediately. Suddenly, shouts of “KISS HER, KISS HER!” sound throughout the guests.
The new direction that this has taken over the span of just a few seconds seconds you into another wild onslaught of differing emotions. Nevermind the fact that you’ve never agreed to actually kiss Min Yoongi. Obviously, the internal choice has been made for a handful of reasons, none of which you can explain to Yoongi or Seokjin without digging yourself further into this hole where you would truly have no way of escaping.
Which is why you clearly can’t say anything of protest right now. Everyone thinks the pair of you have been dating for years, and that kissing has become a natural action for you both to do. Of course they would play into Jimin’s game, thinking nothing harmful of it.
Your heart pounds loudly in your ears as you shift your gaze from the crowd of people before you to Yoongi, who looks equally as stunned by the request as you. He plays it off a little bit, however, smiling as he brings the microphone close to his mouth again. “I’m not sure you all would want to be subjected by some PDA, especially you over there, Park.”
Jimin makes a noise of disapproval. “It’ll just be this one time! I’m sure people don’t mind! Spread the love, Min.”
Other people from the guest list add on that they don’t mind in between their laughter and giggles, probably writing off you and Yoongi’s shy disposition as just that: a shy, private couple who is still getting used to the watchful eye of the general public. Nevermind the fact that you and Yoongi have just never kissed each other before.
Yoongi then turns to look at you, microphone down to his legs so that it can’t pick up the small whispers the pair of you start exchanging. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you up here…”
“No, no, it’s fine, I understand why you did it…” You trail off. “Kissing my cheek, on the other hand…”
Yoongi groans. “Yeah, that’s my bad. Seokjin said I could consider doing it but I wasn’t thinking when I leaned over. I completely forgot that Jimin is a menace to society. I’m gonna kick his ass after this.”
You want to continue this private, side-lined conversation, but it is overrun by the louder voices that keep repeating the same two lines over and over again: “KISS HER, KISS HER!” until the echoes of it start ringing in your ear drums.
Yoongi switches topics to the more pressing one at hand. “So, uh, I guess we should…”
You exhale quickly, nodding. “It seems so…”
Yoongi inches closer to you, his breath fanning your lips as your eyes instinctively close. “I’m sorry,” He whispers, the final thing he says to you before he kisses you.
Now, let’s backtrack a little. You’ve liked Yoongi for years, so to say that you’ve never thought of this moment would just be a lie to yourself. Of course you’ve thought about kissing Yoongi. Or, at the very least, you’ve caught yourself staring at his lips when he would go off on another spiral about his passions. That type of talking is very hot, so what?
But you never thought you would be able to experience it, to kiss the lips you’ve flickered your eyes to more times than you’re willing to admit. So as soon as you feel the weight of his mouth against your own, your brain goes haywire. Suddenly, all your senses are hyper focused on Yoongi—from his lips, to the warmth of his body wrapping itself around you, to his fingers curled around your wrist.
You hardly hear the cheers from the audience, too busy allowing your heart to melt into butterflies as he presses harder into you, moving his lips against yours. You part your lips as well, curling your wrist to gather the material of his shirt into your hands.
It feels like time has stretched out before Seokjin claps both of you on the back, forcing you to jolt away from Yoongi. He actually looks flustered this time—pink cheeks and reddened lips, his eyes are fixated on you, chest heaving. You feel like you’re in a similar state of shock, especially because kissing Yoongi makes something dawn on you. A realization of ice cold water.
This isn’t just a crush you’ve harbored on Yoongi for the past few years. This isn’t just some small schoolgirl crush living out a fantasy, or something you can easily brush off, or simple butterflies you can squash everytime he reaches out to hold your hand. This is love. You’re in love with your best friend. And you have absolutely no fucking clue what to do about it.
If the audience is taken aback by this long-term couple in front of them looking zero point two seconds away from devouring each other in a frenzied passion, no one settles long enough to comment or stare upon it for too long. Seokjin does well to grab the microphone from Yoongi and bring the attention back to the actual party on hand. He mentions another round of free alcohol, which are two words that can take anyone’s attention away.
“And Yoongi, uh, I actually need to borrow for you a moment,” Seokjin murmurs in a low voice. “So I hope I’m not taking away from…” He trails off, gesturing awkwardly between the two of you. “Whatever this is…”
“Oh no!” You interject quickly, taking a step away from Yoongi. “Not taking away at all.”
Yoongi gives you a concerned look. “Maybe we should, uh, talk about that…”
You shake your head. “No, it’s okay, seriously.” You shrug a shoulder. “Just part of the act, right?”
Yoongi’s concern melts away into something that might be hurt, but it’s gone just as quickly as it had come. “I’ll try not to be long then.”
You nod. “Yeah, no problem—no need to rush or anything… I’ll just be hanging out with Jimin…”
Yoongi gazes at you for a few seconds longer, before he lets himself get dragged off the stage by Seokjin. Rather than immediately go out to seek your old friend, you find your gaze following after the two of them, trying to see where exactly Yoongi is getting roped into.
You continue to trail after them in the club, until the two of them are pulled into a booth—the person opposite of them makes your lips part in utter shock.
.
“Yoongi, I want you to meet an old friend of mine,” Seokjin starts as he and Yoongi dive deeper into the thrones of people. Yoongi feels himself being directed towards a corner booth, currently occupied by two people. “She wanted me to introduce you.” Finally, the pair of them stop at the head of the table. “This is Lee Jieun.”
Right off the bat, Yoongi is vaguely insulted that Seokjin thought that someone like Lee Jieun needed an introduction—because who wouldn’t know who Lee Jieun?
Lee Jieun, like Yoongi, is a singer-songwriter with a sweetheart reputation, who weaves stories and experiences through her music. But unlike Yoongi, who got his start through Youtube and built himself from the ground up, Lee Jieun signed into a record label at the age of 15. As one could tell, she was that talented. Still is, as a matter of fact. Her albums are continuously winning awards, establishing herself in the charts, connecting with people all over the world. He would know—when Yoongi finally discovered Jieun in the midst of his Youtuber days, it was the catalyst that served as the biggest influence towards the release of his original songs. The fact that they’re both the same age only makes Yoongi even more in awe of her.
Yoongi being able to see Lee Jieun, in the flesh, is a powerful enough sight to leave him speechless.
Lee Jieun sits at the booth, looking all prettied up with her big eyes and red lips. Everything about her seems regal, from the smile she flashes Yoongi to the hand she extends out towards him.
It takes a second for Yoongi to register what he needs to do. Hastily, he steps forward and takes her hand in his. Despite her delicate nature, her handshake is firm as the pair of them move their joined hands up and down once. Honestly, considering their status difference, he feels like a handshake is too casual for them, but he doesn’t speak of it. He just basks in the moment, until he lets go of her hand.
Afterwards, he joins Seokjin in the booth, sliding into his seat.
Jieun smiles brightly at the two of them. “Thank you for going out of your way to come talk to me. I hope I wasn’t disrupting your night.”
Yoongi shakes his head immediately. “Oh, god no. Of course not. I’m just—I’m really honored to see you here. I-I had no idea that you were friends with Seokjin.”
Jieun laughs. “Oh yeah, we go way back—we were actually signed under the same label. Seokjin left to pursue management a few years ago, but we’ve always kept in touch.” She reaches over to take her glass of soda from the table. “He told me when he signed you, you know. He said that you were doing street performances a few cities down?”
Yoongi flushes at that. “Oh yeah—my origin story.”
“I mean, everyone starts from somewhere,” Jieun brushes off, laying down her cup again. “So I’ve honestly been looking out for your name since Seokjin signed you. I heard about your tour, but knew that I wanted to wait until your first full length album just to make sure your reputation was a little more fleshed out before bringing up my idea with Seokjin.”
Yoongi blinks, switching his gaze from Jieun to Seokjin. The latter nods, as if to let him know that Jieun would be the one providing information. So Yoongi turns back to Jieun.
Jieun continues. “Since it seems that we’ve both developed a songwriting, storytelling reputation amongst the music industry, I was hoping that you’d agree to do a collaboration with me. Just one single, both of our names attached to it. It’s been awhile since I worked with another artist, and I’m sure that doing this will only further put your name out there. It could also be a really good learning experience.”
Yoongi almost cannot believe his ears. Lee Jieun wanted to do a collaboration? With him and his inexperienced ass?
Yoongi coughs out in wonder. “Wow.”
Jieun smirks. “Not what you were expecting?”
“No, no, not at all!” Yoongi reassures, but then he backpedals a little. “I mean, it’s not that I was expecting you to ask for a collaboration—I just—!” He cuts himself off, exhaling heavily to calm his nerves. “It’s just, you were a very big reason I even wanted to sing my original songs back when I was street performing. So the fact that you’re asking me to do a song together is honestly so crazy to me.”
Jieun grins. “I’m honored—so are you agreeing to my request?”
Almost on instinct, Yoongi turns to Seokjin. It’s not that Yoongi doesn’t want to do the collab, it’ll probably be the single most greatest thing to happen in his career, but Seokjin was technically his boss and their contract had it so Seokjin usually had to final say in what he believed would be best for him.
And for the briefest flicker of a second, Yoongi’s mind switches to you. More than Seokjin’s approval, he finds himself seeking your praise the most. After all, you know how much he admires Lee Jieun. He wants to share this moment with you.
Instead of jumping up to go find you, he forces himself to stay rooted to his seat. “I-I think I would be the one who feels honored. T-That is, if Seokjin says it’s okay.”
Seokjin holds his arms out. “Of course it’s okay! The collaboration was also partly my idea. Anywho.” He turns back to Jieun. “We’ll have to run through Yoongi’s schedule with his manager just to see when he’s available. But after that, we can get started.”
At the mention of you, Yoongi’s manager, Jieun’s eyes brighten with her smile. “Oh yes, your girlfriend.” She sits a little straighter, trying to seek you out. “She’s here at the event right? I’d really love to meet her, if that’s okay?”
Yoongi nods immediately. “O-Of course!” He also sits up a little straighter, moving about in his seat to try and locate you. He finds you near the bar, seeming to have ditched your hang-out with Jimin, as you take an occasional sip of your drink. “She’s over there.”
With a nod, the three of them move out of the booth and towards the bar, where you’re still slouched over, scrolling through Instagram on your phone. You seem to notice their approaching presence, because you take a quick glance over to acknowledge them, before doing a double take when you realize who else is in Yoongi’s company.
“Oh my gosh!” You exclaim, immediately sliding out of your bar stool, your gaze fixated on Jieun.
Seokjin laughs at your starstruck reaction. “Y/N, this is Lee Jieun—but I’m guessing you already knew that?”
You seem to realize your behavior, because your shyness comes back. “I do. Um, hi! It’s really nice to meet you.” You reach over to offer your hand.
Jieun takes it, shaking for a second. “The pleasure is all mine.”
Your gaze immediately flints to Yoongi. “Yoongi, you didn’t tell me that you were acquainted with Lee Jieun herself!”
Yoongi waves you off. “Actually, Seokjin is the mutual party.”
Your lips part in shock, as you nod once, twice, in understanding. “Well, uh, in that case, I hope you’re having a good time tonight, Jieun.”
“It’s really a wonderful launch party,” Jieun praises. “But I do admit to having ulterior motives. I actually came by to ask Yoongi if he wanted to work on a collab song with me.”
Your lips part, and Yoongi feels a vague sense of pride swell up in his chest when you turn to look at him, eyes brighter than they have been all night. “Yoongi! That’s so amazing! I hope you agreed.”
“I did, actually,” Yoongi says with the nod of his head. If you notice that he’s puffing his chest out a little as your words go straight to his head, you don’t comment on it. “We’ll definitely have to go over my schedule with you, pick some dates where Jieun and I can have some writing sessions, and then the recording sessions, just to name the big picture stuff that’ll have to get done. But we should all be good to go.”
As Yoongi continues to list everything that’ll need to be done in order to create music together, your gaze shifts between Yoongi and Jieun occasionally, taking in their equal excitement and passion for the long project ahead. It isn’t until the end, when you and Yoongi leave the launch party, after having collected praise and much more from the many friends and connections that have been gained throughout the night, you enter the car wearing an unreadable expression—like you’re pondering something that threatens to break you.
.
To be frank, you aren’t surprised that Lee Jieun asks Yoongi to collaborate together. Sure, maybe she came a little earlier than you had expected, but you always knew it was a matter of time before the pair of them met. Their reputations are too similar, their personalities too good together; you’re sure that fate would have lined them up at some point.
It just feels like maybe the universe made them a little too perfect for each other—and it’s something that becomes glaringly obvious as a month of songwriting goes by without a hitch. Every few days, Jieun would turn up to KSJ Records, bright-eyed and always looking so, so pretty. Every few days, Jieun and Yoongi would sit next to each other, conversing about the story of their song, both bright-eyed with unbridled affection for what they were writing. And sure, Namjoon would be a part of these songwriting sessions. But that’s not the point.
The point is that as Yoongi gets bigger and success becomes a more natural occurrence in his life, the more people he’s going to meet with whom he shares a common interest and dedication for. People he would probably (most definitely) get along with a lot better than he could get along with you. Friendship is nice and all, but it can’t substitute for the powerful combination of passion, intimacy, and commitment that comes out of romantic companionship.
And you see it in his eyes: the excitement he gets when he’s surrounded with like-minded people. You’re Yoongi’s manager, sure, and one of his best friends, obviously, but there’s only so much you can contribute to conversations about the actual music. Truth be told, when it comes to editing, you just do whatever Yoongi tells you to. And don’t even get you started on the music arrangements—you can’t even lift a candle to what Yoongi himself can do. Or Namjoon. Or especially Lee Jieun.
And although you know that Yoongi means no ill-intention, it feels as if he takes every opportunity to remind you of that fact.
“I mean, she’s amazing.” He’s sighing dreamily over his bulgogi. The pair of you are at a corner booth in a Korean barbeque restaurant, on another fake date Seokjin has prearranged for you. It’s not the first date you’ve been on since Jieun entered the picture, and it’s definitely not the first time Yoongi is bringing her up. And although this isn’t even a real date, and although this isn’t a real relationship, there’s only so much you can take—both as a friend and as someone who is starting to feel the curl of jealousy in your stomach.
Still, you refuse to let the cat out of the bag. So you sigh, picking up your chopsticks and digging into your meat. The only thing you can manage is: “I bet she is.”
But Yoongi doesn’t stop there. “You should have seen her today, she was on fire. Songwriting abilities, obviously. We were stuck on this one part of the song, but then she just swooped in with this perfect one-liner that made my heart drop. Seriously, it was so cool. I don’t know how her mind works, but I want to keep hanging out with her to learn more.”
You almost drop your meat completely into your salt dish, but you recover quickly with a cough. The noise helps cover up the fact that your heart feels the white-hot burn of frustration and confusion. “W-Well, you guys do make a good team. You know, being on the same level talent-wise.”
Yoongi laughs at that, completely oblivious to your state of mind. “Talent-wise? I wouldn’t say I’m anywhere near the level Jieun is at…”
As he trails off, you dare yourself to flicker your gaze up to him, seeing the pink flush that dusts along his cheeks. Interpreting this as shyness for the internal praise and fondness he has for Jieun, you look away and pick up the plate of raw beef brisket to dump into the grill.
Yoongi notices what you’re doing, and immediately reaches over to take the plate from you. “Here, let me do it.”
A part of you wants to fight about it, but you know doing so will just lead you down the path of no man’s land. So you let go, offering the tongs to Yoongi as he takes it to scrap the meat into the grill between the two of you. He takes the silence as an opportunity to further gush about Jieun, and how he can’t wait to work on music arrangements with her, how he’s excited to record the song with her, so on and so forth.
How could you even contribute to a conversation like this? He’s talking to you about a girl in a way that reminds you of your college days—back when the pair of you were strictly friends and nothing more, and he would talk to you about girls he thought were cute. It feels a little bit like right now. Yoongi and Jieun do make a good team, they get along together, and have formed a closeness within such a short period of time that anyone passing by the studio would assume they’ve been friends for years. Or, even further, that they were dating. At the very least, Yoongi speaks highly enough of Jieun that one could assume that she was the one he liked, and not you.
It feels a little bit like being left behind—it’s a thought that only continues to fester.
.
It takes a few more weeks, but you eventually draft up Yoongi’s tour schedule. It’s a few sheets of paper that detail the duration of the tour, the cities, the locations, the dates of each location, the size of the venue, how ticket distribution will work, on, and on, and on—all information that Yoongi has insisted on knowing about ever since he was signed into KSJ Records. The man just likes to know what his fans have to go through in order to see him, and you respect that.
However, before you can officially create the tour post that’ll be up on the KSJ Records social media account, it needs to go through a final approval: from Yoongi himself. And because he likes to take notes with paper and pen, like the old-fashioned songwriter he is, he’s asked you to print everything out for him.
This is what leads you to stand near the printer in your office, waiting for the last page to print and slide into your awaiting hands. Once all the pages come out, you flip through them to make sure that every city on the tour is accounted for. You turn back to your desk, collecting some magazines that have been stacked on top of your table.
Along with getting the setlist for the tour, Yoongi had also asked you to get a hold of some magazines and articles that provided reviews from his first tour. Something about wanting to read any critiques people might have had for his show.
You gather the small stack as well before sliding it into your bag and stepping out into the hall. It’s surprisingly early for you to be leaving your office, the late afternoon, but there’s a part of you that just wants to give the document stack to Yoongi and dip out for the rest of the night. By now, the doubts of Yoongi’s affection for Jieun has dug itself deeper into your mind and letting yourself be around Yoongi for too long brings up too many questions that cannot be good for your mentality.
Questions like: If he could, would Yoongi prefer to date Jieun for real?
Was Jieun better than you?
And the best one of them all: Were you just holding Yoongi back from better relationships?
You continue to walk down the hallway of the building, your pace a little slower than normal because of the cloudy thoughts that threaten to overtake your mind. Finally, you stop outside of the studio you know Yoongi and Jieun are recording in. You take in a deep breath, forcing your usual cheery personality to shine through as you pull down on the handle and let yourself into the studio.
As soon as you step inside, you almost wish that you had just slid the documents under the door. The sight of that would probably have been easier to process than the one in front of your eyes right now.
Namjoon, as usual at the desk surrounded by music panels and laptops, playing the recently finished music through the recording booth situated on the other side of the glass. Behind this aforementioned sheet of glass are Jieun and Yoongi. With headphones on, they’re standing next to each other behind the microphone. Their shoulders practically touching, you don’t miss the way they both keep sneaking glances at each other, the corner of their lips turning up, looking like they’re having the best time together.
You try not to slam down the door behind you, but your grip on the knob is a little too harsh to call for a softer click. Fortunately (or unfortunately, given how much fun Yoongi and Jieun look like they’re having—wait, did Jieun just touch Yoongi’s arm), neither of them notice your arrival.
Namjoon, however, notices.
He turns around to look at you. “Hey, what’s up?”
You try for a smile, your hand brushing against the door. “Sorry, I slipped a little,” You lie cleanly. You hold up the documents in your other hand. “Yoongi wanted me to prepare a few things for him, stuff for the upcoming tour.”
Namjoon gestures for you to sit next to him, something that you follow. As soon as you sit down, Namjoon asks to see these aforementioned documents, which you pull out of your bag and hand over to him. It’s quiet between the two of you, the only sounds being the laughs and giggles between Yoongi and Jieun—as if one has them as just told a secret only understood between them. It’s a feeling that doesn’t settle well in your stomach.
“Wow, this is very efficient,” Namjoon observes, seeming completely oblivious to your internal seething.
You shrug, eyes still locked in on the inside of the recording booth. “Yoongi asked for the best, so I gave him the best. Hey, so—!” You change topics. “Is there a reason they’re in the booth together? Don’t a lot of collabs nowadays just exchange everything virtually?”
Namjoon hums. “I didn’t know the jealous girlfriend was a full time act of yours now.” He’s clearly just trying to have fun. After all, only Taehyung and Jungkook know about your crush on Yoongi. “But honestly? I’m not too sure. They just wanted to go in together—said that they could be more personal when working in a face-to-face setting. And they’re actually making a lot of changes as they keep going through the song and hearing how the music is turning out. They’re a good team.”
Namjoon’s usage of the very same phrase that has been haunting you for the past few weeks doesn’t sit well in your stomach.
Namjoon returns the documents to you. “Did you want to talk to him now? See if he’s cool with you just dropping it off?”
You nod. “If that’s okay?”
Namjoon smiles. “We’ll just wait until they take a breath.”
Waiting doesn’t turn out to take a long time, because Jieun stops the song to make another statement about what line should replace the one they just sung. And Yoongi looks at her like she’s just hung up all the stars in the galaxy.
“Namjoon, do you mind starting the song over? We got a new idea for this part,” Jieun calls from inside the booth.
Namjoon leans forward to press the button. “Actually, you guys have some company.”
You lean forward as well. “Hey guys.”
Jieun grins, waving at you through the window. Yoongi acknowledges you as well, but there’s something suddenly stiff about his movements. You notice that he’s also stepping away from Jieun, as if to hide what has been going on between him and Jieun. As if that makes you feel any fucking better.
“Hey, uh, Yoongi?” You continue. “I have the documents you asked me to prepare for you. I can just leave it here for you to go over if that’s cool. Maybe take a little bit of time today to go over everything.”
Yoongi thinks about this for a moment. “Actually… honey,” He adds the pet name as an afterthought. “Do you mind dropping it off at my apartment? We’re probably just gonna be focusing on the song until pretty late tonight.”
The acknowledgement Yoongi has that he and Jieun are in for another late night only grows the seeds of doubt in your mind, as you clench your teeth. You can’t let your insecurities get the best of you. Not now. “Sure,” You manage, trying for a small.
Yoongi grins. “Thanks baby. I’ll make it up to you this weekend, okay?”
At this point, it just feels like he’s teasing you and it’s something you find you aren’t really in the mood for. So you manage a curt reply, giving a positive response that you’ll drop by his apartment to deliver the documents regarding his upcoming tour, before you’re up and out of the studio before Jieun, Yoongi, or Namjoon can say one last thing. But you don’t care. The sooner you’re out of there, looking at the heart-eye festival between Jieun and Yoongi, the better you feel.
So you take the train to Yoongi’s apartment, a now much bigger space in a slightly nicer area of the city. At least, nicer than the college apartment he shared with Jungkook that was no stranger to bed bugs and constant maintenance issues. The newer apartment Yoongi has recently acquired is nicer, has more modern finishes, and is now a space he fills in all by himself.
As you unlock the door to his apartment, you immediately make your way down the small hallway entrance, where a mirror and his shoes occupy a small corner of the area. The hallway opens up into the living room, and you turn on the light and take in the vaguely familiar sight of his new furniture—home pieces that you helped arrange with him a few months ago. Come to think of it, that was probably the first and last time you had come by Yoongi’s apartment. Before certain life elements got involved.
Tonguing the inside of your cheek, you plop yourself down on the couch and place the document stack at the corner of the coffee table. It looks rather strange just stacked like that, no context provided, so your eyes shift over for a pen and a post-it note.
You find a stack of post-it notes, and find a pen sticking out from inside a notebook. Paying little attention to the notebook, you just make a grab for the pen and rip it out of the notebook with the aggression of a gorilla. The notebook flies open, the contents inside barring itself right at you.
Your immediate reaction is to close the notebook. After all, it just takes one glance at Yoongi’s scrambled handwriting to know that this is one of his writing journals. His most recent one, in fact, judging from how flat the pages after the one currently open appear—like it hasn’t been stained with a pen yet.
You want to close it—you really do. You and Yoongi have built a friendship on trust. That’s what kept you both together throughout the long years, and you know better than to risk everything just for the chance to scope through what is essentially a songwriter’s diary.
Your fingers inch towards the edge of the book, about to close it shut, before the title at the top header makes you freeze.
MY SECRET
Without meaning to, your eyes read over the lines. And you feel sick to your stomach.
The song is so raw, so personal, brimming with desire in every verse. It covers lingering stares, secret smiles. A barrier. How Yoongi “wants you more and more with each day, but I know I can��t have you, that I shouldn’t have you”. And you know Yoongi—you know him better than anyone. You know that for all the love songs he sings and the topics he sings about that he feigns ignorance for, he draws on personal experience to write his music. How else could he make everything so personable?
How could this song not be about Jieun?
The lingering stares, secret smiles: it clearly points to the events in the recording booth you saw earlier that day, and if he’s writing a song about it, it’s obvious that today hadn’t been the first time for those stares and smiles.
The barrier: obviously you. The relationship facade he’s forced to put up with you, when he’s clearly so much happier with someone else.
With those factors, it’s so clear that Yoongi would want Jieun, but would be unable to have her.
And you’re just the girl in the background with the starry eyes for a guy who would never even look at you the way you want him to.
That realization brings the hot tears to your eyes, as you slam the notebook shut and bring your hand to your mouth, biting your finger to muffle your sobs. What comes out is the build-up of months of insecurities, of having to keep the biggest secret of your life to yourself, and the additional jealousy brought in by a third party.
This despair and sadness isn’t good for you, and you know that only continuing to hide it away in light of Yoongi and Jieun’s partnership, in light of your feelings, and Yoongi’s exploding career—you should only be able to handle so much. You’re a human being, and you have your limits.
And you think this might be it.
.
.
CHAPTER 6: TRUTHS
.
“Y-Yeah, I think it’s food poisoning or something,” You speak quietly into the phone, playing with the edges of your blanket. “I’m really sorry, Seokjin, I’ll try to send out some emails to respond to news outlets today…”
“Hey, no, you’re totally fine,” Seokjin replies hastily. “I don’t blame you for that. Just try and get some rest today, and update me on how you feel tomorrow.” A pause. “What was it?”
“Uh, it must have been in the takeout I got last night.” That’s a lie. You cooked your own dinner last night, and are lying straight through your teeth regarding your condition, but you can’t find it in yourself to go to work today. Not since the discovery of Yoongi’s crush on Jieun made you want to dig yourself into a hole and never crawl out.
It’s not like you ever thought you had a chance with Yoongi—but you had just thought maybe something would be different after the hand holding, after his radio interview, after your kiss together.
But Jieun serves as that nice splash of reality that Yoongi wants someone better than you. Someone more like him—someone passionate about music, who gets along with him better, who can write music with and write music about.
At this point, it just feels like you’re a weight, dragging Yoongi down in the waves of his past.
On the other side of the phone, Seokjin sighs. “Damn, that’s always the worst. Those are the ones you suspect the least. Anyways, I’ll let you go. Get some rest. Maybe I’ll let Yoongi know so he can bring some soup.”
The mention of Yoongi makes you feel like you could actually get food poisoning. “You can let him know, but he’ll probably be too hung up on Jieun to give a shit.”
Seokjin, of course, knows nothing, so he laughs at what he thinks is your joke. “That’s true. They’re actually at it again today, which is surprising considering Jieun only comes by a few times a week. But no, she was here bright and early and so was Yoongi. Basically, they showed up to the studio at the same time. They called it fate, or some shit like that.”
“You don’t say,” You return dryly.
Namjoon’s confirmation that they make a good team, paired with Seokjin’s admittance that Yoongi is hung up on Jieun, puts you in a delicate mood for the rest of the day. You try to watch some TV shows, some movies, play some video games, but you are constantly distracted by thoughts of Yoongi and Jieun.
You’re all curled up on the couch, about to click into another movie, when there’s a knock on your door. Your heart leaps in your throat as you stand up. You hate the brief flicker of hope in your chest, the curiosity that perhaps Yoongi is the one knocking.
All those hopes are dashed when you see it is Jungkook on the other side of the door.
“Oh,” You remark, the smile dropping from your face. “It’s just you.”
Jungkook looks at you like you pissed in his cereal. “Uh, I don’t see other amazing friends over here bringing you store-bought chicken soup because they heard you got food poisoning last night.” He holds up the bag for extra emphasis.
You roll your eyes, grabbing the bag from him. “I don’t actually have food poisoning, I just didn’t want to go to work today.”
Jungkook furrows his eyebrows at your statement. There’s a lot you’ve given him that he can work with, lots of things he can ask about. Maybe ask why you would lie about your food poisoning, maybe ask why you didn’t want to go to work today, maybe ask why you still looked like shit.
But the first thing he says: “You owe me twenty dollars.”
You roll your eyes, beckoning him inside with the jerk of your head. “Sure.”
Jungkook laughs a little. “Wait, okay, I was actually kidding.” But he still steps into your apartment. “I’ll be serious now. Why lie about food poisoning? And since when do you not want to go to work? If anything, you love to go so you can stare at Yoongi’s ass through the recording booth—!” He cuts himself off when you give him a glare of such pure hatred that it actually shocks him. “Wait, are you mad at Yoongi?”
You tear your gaze away from him, placing the bag of groceries on your countertop. Sorting through what Jungkook has bought serves to be a good distraction.
Jungkook continues to look at you. He’s quiet, but he always has a lot to say, and since you’ve been his friend for so long that only heightens his need to talk. “I knew it!” He finally says. “I knew you were mad at him. Taehyung and I were placing bets down.”
You slam the can of chicken soup on the counter. “HEY. What did I say about gossiping?”
“Not in front of your face?”
Your hand flinches, as if to stop yourself from grabbing the can and throwing it at his stupid face. Jungkook doesn’t even move in fear, the bastard. “I’m just gonna pretend I don’t know about the bets. You want a can of chicken soup?”
Jungkook confirmation finds you at the stove, heating up two of the many cans Jungkook had bought for you. Included in his twenty-dollar purchase had been a few containers of tums, and some orange juice.
Jungkook lingers in the back. “You wanna tell me why you’re mad at Yoongi?”
You whirl around to face him. “How did you even know I was upset?”
Jungkook snorts, but quiets down when you glare at him. He coughs. “You’re pretty easy to read, you know. You’ve been acting weird ever since Jieun started coming by the studio.”
“Weird how?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re just a little quieter. And you haven’t been spending as much time in the studio as you used to. That was the biggest giveaway.”
You’re quiet for a moment. You rub at your cheek. “Does Yoongi know?”
Jungkook shakes his head. “Doubtful. But I think he knows something is up. I was on the phone with him last night.”
It’s your turn to snort. “Okay, that’s really fucking funny.” At Jungkook’s raised eyebrow, you explain. “I thought he’d be too busy comparing Jieun to sunlight, or something, to notice me.”
“Oh, so you’re jealous.”
You and Jungkook have a staring contest, before you sigh. “I accidentally saw Yoongi’s writing notebook yesterday. It had all these love confessions in it, and I’m pretty sure he was talking about Jieun.”
Jungkook’s eyes widen. “No way? Are you sure?”
You cough. “Well, I’m not a hundred percent. But it was all about this forbidden crush he couldn’t act on because of a barrier. Who else could be the barrier? He obviously thinks I’m holding him back from pursuing a relationship with Jieun.” You think about your words for a second, trying to decide if Jungkook is trustworthy enough to disclose this information to. “I think I’m gonna break it off with him. Maybe quit too, while I’m at it.”
Jungkook’s lips part. “But why?”
“What else am I supposed to do?” You cry. “I can’t keep up this fake dating with Yoongi anymore, it’s too complicated, and I’m actually in love with him so that opens up this whole other series of complications. And it’s not fair to Yoongi—he shouldn’t have to deal with feelings he obviously doesn’t return. The whole charade thing just isn’t doing me any good. And even if I break off the relationship, I would still have to see him all the time because of the whole manager situation. Quitting just seems like the best option for me.”
Jungkook is quiet for a second. “How do you even know he wrote that song about Jieun?” He finally asks, speaking carefully.
You shrug. “I don’t know. I just have this feeling. Who else has he been spending all this time with? Who else could that song possibly be about?”
Jungkook gives you a long, hard look, like he almost can’t believe your brain can be thinking those thoughts. But he relents. “I think you should talk to Yoongi before quitting. He’s one of your best friends. He deserves to know why, at least.” He looks over your shoulder. “The chicken soup is done.”
You whirl back around to turn off the stove. But also so Jungkook can’t see the tears glassing over your eyes.
.
It turns out, telling Yoongi you want to quit is a much more difficult task than you could have thought. For starters, Seokjin sets the pair of you up on more dates than before. Apparently, there are some rumors going around regarding Jieun’s more and more frequent turn-ups at KSJ Records, and people have started connecting the dots that her appearances are tied to either one of two reasons. Either Yoongi and Jieun are collaborating on music. Or they’re dating.
The second reason is a lot juicier, much more exciting, so naturally a lot of people have gravitated towards supporting that reason. To try and expel those thoughts, Seokjin sends you out on more dates with Yoongi. It’s all fine, but your thoughts about breaking off this relationship and quitting just makes you more quiet and closed off as you wallow deeper into your thoughts.
You suddenly don’t know how to contribute to the conversations Yoongi tries to bring up to you. The words seem to fail you every time, and you feel yourself constantly resorting to silence or one-worded answers. And it constantly always feels like Yoongi is standing too close to you. Every step towards you is a step away from him. When he tries to hold your hand on the sixth date in two weeks, you wiggle out of his grasp and pretend that you need to fix your jacket.
Your own journey to self-destruction means that you are completely oblivious to the hurt in Yoongi’s eyes with every step you take to distance yourself from him. But what could you even say to him?
How could you tell him you want to quit your job in public? That would obviously lead to a fight, and it would reflect badly on Yoongi’s public image. Just because you want to quit doesn’t mean you still care about him, because you do. And you still want him to succeed. With Seokjin’s constant scheduling of dates, it leaves little room for you to share in an actual private discussion. The only off times Yoongi has are the days Jieun comes by the studio, and you try to stay a mile away from that place now.
But it turns out, you don’t have a choice today, because Seokjin calls you into his office and tells you to drop off the samples of cover art that has just been dropped off at the studio. The cover art is something that Jieun and Yoongi have designed together for the album, to be displayed when the single is released.
With heavy feet, you make your way through the hallways and towards Yoongi’s studio space. Every fiber in your being hopes that Yoongi and Jieun will be in the recording booth, working on their song (or even better, just not in the studio at all), so that you don’t have to face them enjoying each other’s company right in front of your face. There’s no music coming through the door, so your heart soars that latter prospect.
As you open the door, however, you realize that there’s no way for you to be so lucky.
Inside, Yoongi and Jieun are eating lunch, takeout noodles split between the two of them, and they’re in the middle of laughing. The laughter, however, stops when you open the door, effectively interrupting their fucking date. Which is a thought that does nothing to make you feel better. The silence that echoes on only further makes you feel like shit.
You and Yoongi sharing a room privately nowadays is a rarity, since you’ve been doing a good job at avoiding him at all costs. His unanswered text messages and shortened calls echo through your mind at the sight of him. With the look he’s giving you, you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.
Jieun, however, remains completely oblivious to the situation as she gives you her normally bright cheery greeting. You stare at you, momentarily stunned. You would have thought Yoongi shared the troubles of your relationship with her, for some reason. You try to remain nice about it, though, giving Jieun a small smile as you return her greeting.
“I, uh,” You start, bringing the package up for both of them to see. “Your cover art came in today. Seokjin just asked if I could drop it off here.”
Jieun brightens at the sight. “Oh my gosh, it came! Do you mind if I…?” She trails off, hands reaching out to take the package from you. You give it to her. “Yoongi, isn’t that so exciting?”
“Yeah…” Yoongi trails off. A quick glance at him tells you that he’s staring at you. You look away. “Did you see it yet?” He asks you.
You shrug. “I, uh, haven’t. But, anyways, I have to get going.”
“Hey,” Jieun calls, freezing you slightly in your path. “Thanks for bringing this over. We really appreciate it.”
We?
The use of that specific noun, while supposedly harmless in the current context, makes your stomach flare with that white hot curl of jealousy. Your teeth clench, as you swallow down the spiteful words that almost manage to escape into the air around you. You smile, no teeth. “You’re welcome.” That’s the only thing you can manage before you’re turning around to open the door and practically bolt yourself out of the studio.
You only make it a few feet before the door to the studio opens and you hear footsteps trailing after you. He calls your name, and your heart drops. You are so not ready for any type of one-on-one conversation with Yoongi right now.
But your entire soul still gravitates toward him, so you stop and turn around to face him.
Yoongi is by himself this time, and looking like a mixture of confused and defeated as he approaches you. “Listen,” He starts. “I know that we haven’t had a lot of time to really talk…”
“It’s okay,” You brush off.
Yoongi says your name again. “You know, you don’t need to lie to me. You’re my best friend—I can tell when you’re hiding something from me.”
You sigh, shaking your head as every nerve in your body is telling you to walk away. “Yoongi, I’m not sure I can do this right now.”
“Do what?” He presses. “I know that I’ve been super busy, but if you want to talk you can just let me know. Tell me what’s bothering you, okay? Because I…” He trails off, sighing, and you feel that vague sense of guilt wash over you. “I can tell that you’re avoiding me and it’s really shitty. I can’t even focus that much on my song with Jieun.”
The mention of Jieun stiffens you up again. “Well, sorry for being an inconvenience,” You spit. “Why don’t you go back to your new fucking girlfriend if you’re gonna bring her up to my face again.” You couldn’t stop yourself this time—the words were too ready at your lips. Your chest is heaving from it too, but it is things that you know that you will regret saying.
Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow deeper together as your words.
You stare right back at him, the shadow of a thought passing over you. If you’re going to tell Yoongi your biggest secret, it might as well be right now. You don’t know the next time you will be this brave, this reactive, this bold.
Both of you open your mouths at the same time.
“Did you just call Jieun my girlfriend?”
“I’m quitting.”
You clamp your mouth shut. You hadn’t meant to speak at the same time as him. A small wave of regret passes through you, as you hope that Yoongi wouldn’t have heard your statement over his question. But of course he does.
Yoongi’s frowns at you. “Did you just say you were quitting?”
You take a step back, running a hand through your hair as your exhale comes out shaky. More shaky than you intended it to. Oh no. “Yeah,” You manage, already feeling your emotions bottling up. “I was gonna try and talk to Seokjin about quitting before I left.”
If Yoongi thinks you were joking before, he definitely doesn’t now because he takes a step towards you and catches your wrist before you can go that far. “B-But why?” His eyes have gotten a little wider, and he’s staring at you like his world is being pulled apart.
You try to tug your wrist away to no avail. Your mind tries to flash through several different excuses, but you realize that you need to tell him the truth. Yoongi deserves that much, at least.
As you try to collect your thoughts, Yoongi starts scrambling. “W-Was it something I did?” He asks quickly. “Because normally you’d always try to call me out and I’d fix myself immediately. A-Are you unhappy with your position? Because I can try to get Seokjin to give you less workload or something. I-I’m really sorry if it was something that I did to hurt you. I-I just really need you here so talk to me… please…”
You shake your head. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” You whisper. “I know your secret, Yoongi, and that’s why I can’t do this anymore.”
“W-What secret?” His eyes are still on you.
You take in another breath. “I went over to your apartment that night,” You start. “And I saw what you were writing in your journal. I know that you’re in love with Jieun, and that you only see me as a barrier to pursuing a relationship with her. And that sucks because normally, I’d encourage you to go after her. But we’re doing this whole dating thing, and I feel like I’m neck-deep because…” Your words come out a little more shaky. “Because I’m in love with you,” You whisper. “I’ve been in love with you for years. B-But I know now that I’ll never measure up to Jieun, or any of the other girls in this industry who deserve you more than I do. I thought that I could keep being professional for you and your career. But it’s too hard for me.”
“W-Wait,” Yoongi says, tightening his grip on you. “Can you just let me explain, please? It’s not like that, I promise you.”
You rip your wrist from his hand. “I read it!” You retort loudly. “Who else could be the person you want more than anything, but can’t have because of a physical barrier? When else have you used a real person to inspire your music? It’s too hard for me, Yoongi! I can’t keep doing this!”
Yoongi seems to be struggling with his next words. “So, what?” Yoongi asks, circling around his next question carefully. “You’re just going to leave? Is this… the end of our friendship?”
You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know! I haven’t thought this out that far. But I know that we shouldn’t be doing this fake dating charade anymore, because I know there’s no way these past few months have meant the same to you as it did to me. I also know that I can’t really be in the same room with you right now.”
Yoongi hopelessly gazes over at you, his own chest heaving as he himself struggles with what to say. “Please don’t do this,” He returns softly.
Your gaze lingers on Yoongi’s for just a while longer, trying to burn the image of him in your mind, before you shake your head. “I’m sorry.”
.
As it turns out, Seokjin is out of the office for the rest of the evening. Which is fine, right? Whatever. You can just call him tomorrow morning and schedule a meeting with him, tell him the urgency of it and will definitely be able to muster your strength for another conversation about your secret feelings for Yoongi.
You return to your apartment and immediately burst into tears as the weight of today’s confrontation sinks its teeth right into your neck. You just shared your feelings with Yoongi, you threatened your employment, and almost cut off your friendship with Yoongi as a result of that.
Your many years of friendship, of late nights, of laughter together. It seems silly to want to cut off an important friendship just like that—but it just seems unfair of you to carry on with a friendship where you’re always going to crave more. And if Yoongi is smart, he’ll know that as well, and he won’t come back.
Still, a part of you just hopes a little. Even though, of course, it’s a stupid thing to hope for. Yoongi has already established his taste, and it’s definitely for people leagues above you. The thought only makes you cry a little harder, so much so that you try to drink some water in order to calm down.
You’re in the beginning stages of patting down your face, of grabbing some spoons to put into the freezer, when there’s a series of frantic knocking at your door. You turn your head towards the source of the noise, trying to figure out who could be visiting at a time like this. It’s been a few hours since your confrontation with Yoongi at the studio, but you assume that he’s probably blowing smoke up Jieun’s ass. There’s no way that it could be him.
So you open the door, and freeze when you realize that it is Yoongi.
More than that, it’s Yoongi with his chest heaving. Almost like he has just run around the entire city to reach you.
The only thing you can manage right now is a wide-eyed stare.
Yoongi stares right back at you. Just a few hours ago, he had looked so helpless and lost for words. A first, actually. But this time, he’s staring at you with so much intensity that you cannot look away.
Yoongi finally seems to catch his breath. “You’re an idiot,” He states.
You’re so caught off guard by that statement that you forget you’re supposed to be upset with him. “I’m sorry?” You ask.
Yoongi huffs, practically barreling past you to step into your house. You try to tell him to stop, but he’s distracted by rummaging through his backpack for something. With a sigh, you decide to close the door. As soon as he’s standing in your kitchen, he finds an old, beaten up notebook that you vaguely remember from his college days. He points at you with his notebook. “You’re an idiot,” He repeats. “If you think that the lyrics on my coffee table are the first time I’ve written lyrics about a specific person.”
At your shocked expression, he immediately starts flipping through the notebook. You notice that certain pages are marked with sticky tabs.
Yoongi settles on a page and clears his throat. “Hidden within the walls of our lecture hall, your laughter curls through the cracks like liquid fire. You light up my day amongst borrowed pencils and shared jokes. I knew that you were going to change my life,” he reads. He looks up at you. “The first day I met you, when I asked you to borrow a pencil.” You remember those lyrics. It was from a song he had written called ‘starlight’—the opening song on his first EP.
He flips through a few more pages. “I never learned about love, but I watch her believe in my dreams, take the same steps to join my team, and I feel like I could figure it out.” He looks at you. “When you agreed to help me with my Youtube channel.”
He continues through his notebooks of lyrics, of stories, of secrets. Every single lyric he reads to you connects back to some memory he holds of the two of you. All the memories together in college: from the panic attack he had in the bathroom of the first party the pair of you attended, to exploring the nearby cities via subway until early mornings, to corner ramen shops.
Soon enough, he moves on to the lyrics he had written during his first tour. The distance he felt, and how that related to the emotional distance he felt with you—that desire he constantly felt for more, and how the manager and artist relationship the pair of you had couldn’t hold a candle to the friendship you once held. The distance was never a physical challenge, and that was something you could never connect the dots on.
Every stone of his hidden affection is turned over, every lyric he has marked read over and explained with such a passion. It’s like he has waited years to finally have his turn, to finally speak the way he’s always wanted to—directly, with no tricks of music and whimsical arrangements to make you doubt everything he could say.
He had written whole songs about the fake dating experience, of how he wasn’t sure he could only pretend to love you when it was the only thing he ever knew how to do.
Finally, he flips to his most recent song. The very song that you had stumbled upon the other day in his apartment. “I want you more and more with each day, but I know I can’t have you, that I shouldn’t have you,” He reads. He looks up at you. “The barrier was the blanket of our fake relationship. You were never stopping me from doing anything, because you were the only thing I have ever wanted. So…” He gestures to all the notebooks that he has laid out across your kitchen counter. “Do you now see how many song lyrics are actually about you? All about you. Because you’re all I’ve always known.”
Your gaze carefully studies each notebook, layered over each other, overflowing with dedication and passion. The privacy of someone who has surprisingly spent his entire singing career sharing nothing but his darkest secrets. Your arms are overlapped with each other, tightening against your form. “I-I had no idea.”
Yoongi shakes his head, but when he looks at you, his eyes are soft. “I figured that.” He’s leaning across the counter to keep his gaze leveled with you, but he pushes himself even closer to tap a finger on the spot between your eyes. “I thought I made it so obvious. You were never listening.”
“I-I never thought to,” You admit softly. But Yoongi has a point. Ever since he started writing and sharing his original songs, he has done nothing but sing them to you in any and all forms. From the private sessions the pair of you shared in his college apartment, to the performances he would deliver on the street, in the recording booth at all hours of the day, to the tours and the audiences that sing those love declarations right back at you. For years, Yoongi has done nothing but give, and give, and give. And you had no idea.
Your breath hitches, and Yoongi rounds the counter and gathers your face in his hands. “Shh,” He coos softly. “It’s not your fault.”
You sniff. “It is my fault! I’m such a stupid bitch. And I treated you and Jieun like shit because I thought you were in love with her. I thought I was holding you back from being able to date who you really wanted to be with.”
Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, technically, you were.” At your look, he hastily goes to explain himself. “The person I really wanted to date was you. But since we were, uh, fake dating, that prevented me from being able to date you for real…”
You groan at his teasing grin. “You idiot, that was so bad.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Yoongi is still grinning though, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. His eyes follow the movement, mentally outlining you into his mind. “I just wanted to see you smile.” His smile slips a little. “Since you had been ignoring me for so long.”
You pout. “I told you, I thought you were in love with Jieun. And honestly, that would make a lot of sense… she’s really pretty and talented and you guys could talk about music for hours, especially compared to me—!”
“Stop,” Yoongi cuts in, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m gonna stop you there before you say something I don’t like.” He angles his head to level his gaze with you. “Jieun is really cool, I’ll probably be the first one to admit that. But she’s not you. Hey, c’mon, look at me.” He forces you to look at him again. “You are also so, so pretty and smart and talented. You may not know a lot about music and songwriting, but you were always the one who pulled all-nighters with me to edit my videos, or learn music with me, or point out if something in my music didn’t sound right. Your passion to help is something I really love about you.”
You pursue your lips to hide your smile. “Love, huh?”
Yoongi doesn’t even hesitant. “Well, yeah, because I’m in love with you. I thought that was obvious.”
You exhale. “Yeah, well, it’s different hearing you say it outloud.”
Yoongi grins. “Well, hopefully you’ll get used to it. I have many years to make it up to you.” His smile dies down a little. “I’m sorry,” He finally settles with. “I should have been more straightforward and honest with you about my feelings. You must have been suffering for so long, having to keep it all in and everything.”
You shake your head. “I’m also sorry,” You whisper. “For jumping to conclusions so fast. And also not really listening to your lyrics. That was kind of stupid of me, considering I’m your manager and everything.”
Yoongi laughs. “It seems like you’re good now, seeing as you’ve just gotten an exclusive behind-the-scenes artist cut and commentary about his songs.” He pauses for a second. “So, I hope this means that you won’t quit being my manager. And that, maybe, we can promote our relationship from fake dates to real ones.”
You smile. “I’d like that.”
His smile turns softer. “And I was hoping that maybe I can kiss you again. For real, this time. No cameras, no Seokjin breathing down our necks.”
You giggle. “Just so you know, if the kiss at your album release party had been a real one and we were actually dating at the time, I probably would have wanted you to fuck me in the bathroom or something.”
Yoongi groans. “Don’t say that with that cute smile on your face. Makes me want to do things to you.”
“I don’t see you pulling away though.”
“Of course not.” Yoongi’s figure loams over you now, his lips brushing against yours. “I have three years to make up to you.”
With that, he kisses you, silencing whatever next words you were going to say. That is, if you even had any to begin with. Now that he’s kissing you, stealing the breath from your lungs, you’re not even too sure any thoughts have been floating around at all. Unlike the kiss at the album release party, which had been softer and dainty, held back to hide a secret, this kiss is rougher. Yoongi is already moving his lips against yours, already parting his lips to brush his tongue against your lower lips. His hands are already sliding across the counter, trying to cover you more and more.
His hand slips on the counter though, almost sending his sprawling on top of you. You catch him with your hand on his chest, as the sudden action makes both of you pull away from each other. The sight you both face is very much like the sight from the launch party: flushed cheeks and redden lips, a desire for more flickering behind eyes.
But this time, there is no expectation to carry on in a party like a long-term couple. That is what allows Yoongi to wrap his arms around you, pulling you to his chest this time. He kisses you again, slower, softer, but you deepen the kiss with the part of your own lips this time. There is an unspoken agreement between the two of you as he lifts you into his arms and blindly navigates through your apartment, into your bedroom, where you both fall atop the mattress.
“And just for the record,” You whisper, right when Yoongi pulls away to let both of you catch your breath. “I love you too.” You’ve already admitted your feelings earlier in the day, but it’s worth it to see Yoongi deliver that heart pounding gummy smile.
#btswritingcafe#ficswithluv#yoongi scenarios#yoongi scenario#yoongi fluff#yoongi x y/n#yoongi angst#yoongi x reader#bts scenarios#bts x reader#bts fluff#bts angst#bts imagines#traci writes
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[CN] Gavin’s Divination Date
🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 占卜之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒
[ Released on 16 September 2021 ]
MC: Gavin, I’ve been way too unlucky recently! I fell down while riding a bicycle, the water supply was cut halfway during a shower, and last week, three flights were delayed by more than two hours within the span of three days... Sob sob, life is so difficult...
It’s a Saturday, and Gavin has come over to my house to kill time as usual. The moment we meet, I can’t help but wail about how I painstakingly got through the week.
As though he’s comforting a small animal, his palm gently covers the top my head.
Gavin: You’ve already told me these things.
He pulls me over to sit on the sofa, then leans over to look at my knee. Knowing his intentions and feeling afraid that he’s genuinely worried, I hurriedly wave my hands.
MC: Actually, it wasn’t a serious fall, and my skin didn’t tear. There were a few red cuts, but they're gone now.
Even after confirming the veracity of what I said, Gavin doesn’t straighten up. His fingers rub my knee, conveying his belated consolation.
After a while, he rests an arm on the sofa while turning his head towards me.
Gavin: Want to drink milk tea or eat cake? Didn’t you say that with these two things, even the worst of moods can be turned into the clearest of skies?
With this reminder, a location instantly flashes past my mind.
MC: Let’s drink coffee!
I reach for my phone on the coffee table. Tapping on my saved searches, I show Gavin a shop.
MC: This one - Witch Café. The name’s a little outdated, but it’s really popular recently. I’ve seen many people checking in on Moments.
MC: The manager of this shop knows divination, and the reviews mentioned that she’s really accurate...
MC: Also, if the results from the divination aren’t that great, she could help turn my fortune around.
MC: The shop sells lots of objects used for changing one’s fortune, such as crystal rings and bracelets.
MC: I think what I need most right now, aside from you... would be a change of fortune!
Gavin bursts into a laugh, then lifts his head to look at me.
Gavin: It’s my fault for not learning divination to change your fortune for the better. Otherwise, you’d only need me.
Gavin’s quick wit causes me to do a thumbs-up.
MC: Wow. Your logic... makes a little bit of sense.
He scrolls down my phone screen, taking a casual look at the café’s introduction.
Gavin: Mm, it looks really interesting and isn’t very far.
MC: It’s really nearby. It’s only a few kilometres away, and there definitely won’t be a traffic jam at his hour. But it’s the weekend, so I’m not sure if we’d need to queue.
Gavin takes my phone from my hand, then pushes me on the back gently.
Gavin: Get changed. I’ll give them a call to make a reservation.
I immediately get up, giving him a deliberately formal bow.
MC: Understood.
-
The internet-famous café is even more popular than I imagined. Although it isn’t time for afternoon tea yet, the shop is already fully packed.
Fortunately, we’re seated in a relatively quiet corner next to the window. However, we can still hear a few ladies from the neighbouring table fervently discussing the results of their divination.
I tug on Gavin’s sleeve from across the table.
MC: Gavin, you’ve never believed in such things, have you?
Gavin: Divination?
Gavin nods frankly, then suddenly chuckles.
Gavin: I initially wanted to say that I didn’t believe it. But I suddenly remembered that an Evolver who can predict the future is sitting right in front of me.
MC: ...that’s true?!
Realising this, I sink into a deep contemplation. Gavin reaches out to scratch the tip of my nose.
Gavin: I meant that as a joke. It’s impossible to meet a second Evolver with a precognition ability.
I glare at Gavin angrily. He shifts his gaze, looking at the manager who is currently talking to patrons.
Gavin: But she is an Evolver.
MC: Really?
I turn my head to look. The manager is wearing a black apron, and she’s bending down as she patiently explains the divination symbol to a patron, her smile warm and amiable.
She exudes an aura which makes whatever she says very believable.
Just as my anticipation is hooked, Gavin stifles it with his words.
Gavin: But it definitely isn’t related to precognition.
MC: I see...
When Gavin sees that my anticipation has dampened, he pushes a blueberry cake in front of me.
Gavin: Don’t feel disappointed yet. Divination has never needed to rely on Evol. You’ll know if it’s accurate after giving it a try.
He digs a small piece of cake with a spoon, then brings it over to me. Munching on it, my eyes widen as I look at him.
MC: Incredibly! Delicious!
The cake exceeded my expectations. Thinking that the coffee might be pretty good too, I quickly lift the cup of coffee from the table.
In the meantime, Gavin picks up the explanatory card the manager had just brought over, and starts reading from it.
Gavin: It says that once you’ve finished drinking the coffee, you have to press the bell to call for the manager. The manager will obtain the divination results after observing the shape of the coffee sediments.
Gavin: Before the divination, you could think of the contents of the divination first.
Gavin: If you have a ring or another token, you could prepare it beforehand. Place it at the bottom of the cup afterwards to increase the effectiveness.
After reading this, he rests his chin against his hand while chuckling softly.
Gavin: It’s almost the same as the tarot cards we tried the last time.
I take the explanatory card from him. Opening it up, I give it a sweeping glance.
MC: ...so it’s tasseography. I did research on it when we were playing with tarot cards the last time. Afterwards, I realised how complicated it is to interpret the divination results, so I gave up on learning it.
Finishing the rest of the coffee in one gulp, I press the copper bell at the corner of the table.
Upon hearing the bell, the manager looks up and shoots me a smile while washing a coffee cup. After wiping her hands, she walks over to us.
Manager: Are the both of you done with your coffee?
Seeing me nod in anticipation, she picks up the serving tray on the table, placing it next to the coffee cup.
Manager: May I know how I should address you?
MC: MC.
Manager: MC, lift the coffee cup and sway it gently while contemplating on your divination question. Once you’re done, place the cup upside down onto the tray.
I follow her instructions.
After a short while, she uncovers the cup, displaying the shape of the coffee sediments inside it.
Manager: Based on the results, you seem to have been going through a rough time lately, and your mood hasn’t been great. Is this correct?
MC: !!!
I immediately look at Gavin, thinking that this is far too accurate.
The manager seems to detect an affirmation from my expression. She sets down the coffee cup, then retrieves two wrapped chocolate cookies from her apron.
Manager: I made them this afternoon, and they’re for you. Based on the shape of the coffee sediments, although you might have experienced some rough moments recently, all the unhappy moments have already passed. Over the next few days, you’ll receive good news in succession, and you’ll be happier.
While saying this, she leans over, her slightly curled hair exuding a floral fragrance which refreshes the soul, causing me to be left in a mild daze.
Gavin suddenly speaks up.
Gavin: You’re using Evol.
The manager pauses in fright. For a moment, she’s at a loss, and has no choice but to bow slightly with her hands by her side.
Manager: I’m sorry, have I offended the both of you?
Seeing her frantic expression, I hurriedly shake my head.
MC: I-it’s fine... we don’t discriminate against Evolvers. And I’m sure you didn’t have malicious intentions.
The manager’s shoulders slump in resignation, admitting her “little magic” to us candidly.
Manager: ...I just wanted to send a flower into your memories.
MC: Send a flower?
Seeing that I didn’t understand what she meant, she explains patently.
Manager: Sorry, that’s a phrase I use in the shop.
Manager: Through tasseography, I can truly tell that you haven’t been in a good mood recently. But it’s very difficult to change your future fortune.
Manager: In order to lift the spirits of patrons who do divinations, I use my Evol to alter their memories slightly.
Manager: However, my Evol has its limits. The only thing I can do is add something small that’s worthwhile of happiness into their unhappy memories, such as a flower.
Manager: Are you willing to give it a try?
Considering how frank she is, I can’t find a reason to refuse. Furthermore, no incidents will occur with Gavin around.
MC: Mm...
The manager’s hand gently glides across me. Although I feel as though nothing happened, she signals that she’s done. Gavin stares at me curiously.
Gavin: Are there any changes to your memories?
I inexplicably recall the time when I fell off the bicycle, and images beginning from the moment I fell surface in my mind -
The path in front of me is tilted, and I can’t control my plummet towards my left side.
These images are exactly the same as what actually happened, but in the very last snippet -
In an unremarkable corner of the crosswalk, a blue wild flower sways along with the breeze.
MC: A flower? There’s really a flower!
For some reason, seeing this flower enveloped in sunlight causes my emotions to become much more composed, reducing the annoyance I felt about the fall.
The manager releases a joyful sigh, then continues her soft explanation on why she does such things.
Manager: People often have a deep impression of negative things, while happy moments are fleeting. Unhappy memories linger much longer in memories.
Manager: So I thought - if I could add an element of happiness into the unhappy memories of patrons, such as a flower, or a ray of sunlight...
Manager: Their unhappy memories may become a little brighter. On a subconscious level, their mood would naturally become better.
Manager: With a good mood to lift them up, they’d focus on the positive aspect of things the next time they face something else. That’s why they’d find that their fortunes have truly turned for the better.
After saying this, the manager looks at the both of us before apologising again softly.
Manager: Even though I use Evol on patrons, I don’t have malicious intentions. Could you be magnanimous and not report me?
I toss a glance at Gavin, hoping that the Captain would close an eye this time.
After pondering for a moment, Gavin nods calmly at the manager.
Gavin: I won’t report you, but don’t use Evol on patrons in the future.
He looks at me from the side, then reaches out to grab a tissue before wiping it gently against the corner of my lips. Lowering my head, I spot blueberry coloured cream on the white tissue.
Gavin: I believe that your coffee and snacks are enough to bring patrons happiness.
The manager grabs my hand in relief, thanking me repeatedly.
Manager: Thank you both for liking my coffee and cakes. I’ll give another present to the both of you.
-
By the time we leave the café, it’s still early. Gavin and I aren’t in a hurry to go back. Holding hands, we take a stroll beneath the shade of trees.
We can’t help but bring up what happened in the café earlier.
MC: It turns out that it’s so simple to change one’s mood. Adding an element of happiness into unhappy memories is enough.
Surrounded by the chirping of cicadas, even Gavin’s voice reveals a refreshing and carefree touch of summer.
Seeing his slightly sweat-damped fringe sticking to his temples, I retrieve a tissue from my bag and wipe it for him.
Gavin: I remember that you once mentioned that the secret to maintaining a happy life is to focus on the positive side of things.
While saying this, Gavin takes the tissue in my hand and stores it into his own pocket.
MC: Mm, that’s right! Actually, such forms of self comfort are pretty effective.
MC: Even though I fell while riding a bike, I told myself that it was fortunate that it wasn’t anything more than a fall.
MC: When the water supply was cut while I was showering, it only happened because I didn’t pay attention to the announcement by the property management...
MC: I’d just learn from this experience and check the announcement board more often.
MC: Also, the flights were delayed due to torrential rain. It was an objective reason, and nobody could have expected it.
MC: A lady from the airline company even gave me orange juice and a small gift.
Gavin chuckles leisurely, meeting my gaze from the corner of his eyes.
Gavin: Many things may not have happened according to how you wished over the short span of a week. Immersing yourself in the state of mind that everything wouldn’t go smoothly made you forget to look at the positive side of everything.
MC: Mm, but I can’t help it... Maintaining an optimistic outlook is really difficult. It’s inevitable to feel discouraged.
While saying this, I tighten my grip on his hand.
MC: But now, I know that if I face any unhappy moments in the future, I just have to search for a flower.
Gavin stops in his footsteps, lowering his eyes and giving me a smile.
Gavin: Have you thought of a new method to cheer yourself up?
I release a matter-of-fact “mm”. Pulling his collar, I give him a gentle peck on the chin.
MC: Whenever I face an unlucky incident, all I have to do is tell you immediately, and I’d immediately be comforted by you...
MC: That way, I’d no longer be unhappy.
Gavin is taken aback momentarily. Then, he smiles faintly while looking at me.
MC: Whether it’s a fall or a delayed flight... The moment I share these things with you, the moodiness in my heart vanishes like smoke. The reason why I specially complained to you today was just to play coy.
I draw closer to him, swinging our interlaced hands.
MC: In the café earlier, I didn’t take the crystal bracelet she offered to change my fortune for the better...
MC: I already have a bracelet which can bring me the greatest luck in the world.
I lower my head. Fragments of sunlight fall onto the ginkgo bracelet, refracting resplendent and exquisite faint light.
MC: This ginkgo leaf makes me happier than any other flower. No matter when, simply looking at it lifts my mood instantly.
Gavin doesn't release my hand. Instead, he pulls my hand to his back, bringing me into his arms gently.
The verdant trees and chirping of cicadas intertwine. The clean fragrance of shower gel from the side of his neck causes me to wrap my arms around him tightly.
Gavin: I knew that you were playing coy. Trivial matters have never influenced your mood. You’re always very good at comforting yourself and seeing the positive side of everything. But the bracelet alone isn’t enough. The next time you come looking for me, I’ll definitely do something that’d make you even happier.
After saying this, he can’t help but release a resigned chuckle.
Gavin: ...even though I haven’t thought of what I’d do.
I burst into a chuckle, then bury my head into his embrace completely.
Gavin: But there will definitely be things that I can do to add an element of happiness into your unhappy memories.
Dense green hues and shadows fall on his shoulders. Lifting my head, I see faint light riding the wind through crevices of large clouds in the faraway sky.
Leisurely and carefree ants pass by the slabstone road, winding around a fallen green leaf, and I can’t tell if they’re taking a stroll or scavenging for food.
Summer is flourishing, and this moment is incomparably tranquil.
My heart is filled to the brim with contentedness and happiness. Even my tone is relaxed and at ease.
MC: Gavin, you have to promise me one thing. If you’re unhappy about something in the future, you have to tell me about it immediately, okay? I can add many, many elements of happiness into your memories so that you wouldn’t even have half a second of unhappiness. I can guarantee that.
I lift my head to look at Gavin. With our close proximity, I can see his amber eyes reflecting large swathes of lush branches and leaves belonging exclusively to midsummer.
The gentleness flowing from these eyes aren’t stingy at all as they land on my face.
MC: We have to be the ever-fresh and blooming flowers in each of our memories, forever swaying in the wind.
Gavin releases a soft “okay”. He rests his chin on my shoulder, tightening his grip around my waist.
He murmurs at my ear.
Gavin: There’s no need for a guarantee. Your existence has always been the most brightly-coloured flower in my memories.
[ MOMENTS ]
Gavin’s Post: Different flavours of sodas seem to be really popular this summer.
MC: In order to clear the existing stock in the fridge, it’s time to have supper!
Gavin: Pick between mala crayfish and barbecue?
-
Gavin’s Post: Different flavours of sodas seem to be really popular this summer.
MC: Soda is always the best!
Gavin: Although that’s true, it’s best to drink fewer cold beverages.
-
Gavin’s Post: Different flavours of sodas seem to be really popular this summer.
MC: Pick between white peach and tangerine!
Gavin: I’ll pick the one you like less.
☕ Call: here
☕ Support the café (not the one mentioned in the date) by dropping by the tip jar!
#mlqc#mlqc cn#mlqc spoilers#mlqc gavin#AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THE FLUFF#the disjunct between his sprite and his outfit in the karma brings me physical pain BUT ALL IS FORGIVEN
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— the sun goes down; he takes the day, but I’m grown
pairing: sam wilson x f!reader x bucky barnes
summary: you meet him once at your favorite place and assume that you won’t meet him again, regardless of how good the conversation was, but alas, fate always seems to have other plans.
wc: 6.8k+ (no self-control and I actually planned this series out)
genre: slightly angsty, flirting, good banter, medium burn
Blue Shade: series — masterlist | 01
The room buzzes with the clanking of machines, snippets of conversation, and the quiet energy of caffeine tapping into the bloodstream, feet tapping against floors, legs bouncing uncontrollably. It would be lying if you claimed that you didn’t appreciate the white noise of it all. You could be standing in line, absentmindedly admiring the mahogany walls with original artwork in monotone shades and not worrying about seeming aloof or cold.
This whole establishment was a piece of artwork, something to be admired by anyone who endeavored to traverse the outrageous traffic and lack of parking in New York. It gave you a sense of home and comfort among the noise, the energy vibrating through the air calming any rising anxieties.
You ordered your usual and stood, your computer bag slung over your shoulder and a light jacket hanging around your frame. It only took a few seconds to get your drink ready as they slid it across the metal counter, your name written in jagged script. “Started working as soon as I saw you walk in.” Mark, one of the baristas, smiles at you and you flash him a thankful grin back. “Where would I be without you?”
He only smirks, returning to the espresso machine and preparing the next drink. Your first sip is heavenly, flavors traveling across your tongue at a lightning fast pace and blending into a richness and warmth that can only be attributed to the feeling of this place. Safe and comforting, inviting and welcoming.
You pick your usual seat, right up against the wall, resting against the wood that acts as a divider between the line and the seating area. The tables are all carved from trees with a cherry veneer whipped across before a sealing, clear coat. You run your fingers against the surface, searching for any lingering crumbs, but also to take in the feel, the smooth gloss against your hands, the sturdiness against your fingertips.
Somehow you wish you could take the emotions that rise as you come into this place with you as you go home, but you can’t. The only thing you can do is savor it all as you do the same thing every time you come in.
You zip open your computer bag and pluck your laptop from its case, setting it on the table and waiting for it to boot to life. It whirls and displays a start up screen as you take another couple of sips of your drink, trying to make the cup last for the next hour or so you’ll spend here, glancing out the window at passing traffic.
It’s a pain to find parking—you had to park a good way down the block just to make it here—but it’s all worth it. Just for this. Just for the feeling of sitting here and admiring the light outside as it splashes against the buildings, swathing them in wonderfully rich whites and browns and blues. The sunlight reflects against cars and shining sequins, its rays spreading every which way with its brilliance.
It’s wonderful.
Then your computer finally finishes its load up sequence as you dig around for your earbuds, fishing them out to plug into your phone, opening up a calming playlist as you click the web browser on your computer.
Today’s topic will be about how light plays an integral role in the consumer’s experience between the home and their enjoyment they get from it. You’re not a realtor per-say, but you have a deep respect for architecture and how it connects with people.
Just like this coffee shop is comforting to you, you wonder what are the elements that make buildings enjoyable for other people. Is it the light? Is it the noise level? Is it the people and culture that a building attracts? The location?
So in order to explain these questions, you’ve kept lists of them, stored on the hard drive of your phone in a note keeping app. Then, you come here, the place outside of your home that you enjoy coming to and focus an hour of your time on researching these things, discovering answers to problems and questions that need solutions.
It’s relaxing, lets you get away from some of the problems that you might be having in daily life, like work or in your relationship. It gives you time to delve into something that doesn’t relate to you personally, gives you another subject to focus on while you strive to find those answers about personal issues that you can’t quite come up with yet.
Your music is calming, the various voices speaking around you fading away as you open ebook after ebook, article after article, searching for responses and research that points to a connection between light allowed in the house and customer satisfaction. Surveys come up, testimonials offered, research specialists all weigh in on the topic and you ravage through it all.
The explanation of the connection between sunlight and serotonin can’t be denied and even without the research, you’d be able to tell people that, yes, you’re much happier when out in daylight and fresh air. You feel better. The science is there to back it up, but what happens when architecture is applied?
What about the location of the home? The size of their windows? Where on earth they live?
What if they explored this furt-
“Hello.” The voice sounds foggy and far away and you draw an earbud out of your ear, gazing out of your article to find someone actually standing in front of you. “Sorry to distract you, but is this seat taken?” He gestures at the seat in front of you.
You spare a glance around the restaurant for half a second and observe the empty tables lingering all around you, wondering why he would want to sit right in front of you when there’s all that space lingering around.
You nod, slowly, with apprehension, and scoot back to allow for more shared leg room. “Thanks.” He sits down as you write a few more notes onto a notebook you slipped out of your bag a few minutes ago, trying to keep your place and appear busy to him.
If he were to try to strike up a conversation, at least you’d remember where you were and what you still needed to look up, but if he saw you writing furiously with that pen like your life depended on it, maybe he would leave you to your work.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.
“Do you always sit here?” He sips on his drink encased in a white mug, sunglasses still resting over his eyes. His voice is kind, but holds weight to it, like he’s trying to pull you out of what you’re working on. You’re not rude, so you appease him.
“Yeah, it’s kind of my spot.” You smile and close your laptop, taking away the temptation to keep searching and just ignore him. You sip your drink in your paper cup and lean back, placing your pen back on the notebook, about ready to put your stuff away.
“Interesting.” He sits forward, pushing the sunglasses out of his eyes, the deep chocolate of them apparent to you now, not that you were looking that hard in the first place. You tell yourself that you definitely weren’t looking that hard. Or that you noticed the slight abrasions on his leather jacket. “You’re not the first to claim this table.”
“Oh?” Your eyebrows shoot up and you take a sip to hide your shock. “This is your spot too?”
“Clever girl.” He leans back and observes you and you laugh at his nonchalant approach to the situation. “Though, I do accept company every now again. Good to allow the table some exposure.”
“How gracious of you.” You muttered over the lid of the coffee cup while the stranger just smiles at you, appreciating your joke and humor in the situation. “I bet Rachel loves being introduced to new people.”
“How do you know her name?” He fakes surprise, setting down his mug. You nearly burst out laughing at his expression, all twisted with his mouth and eyes wide open. “That was supposed to be our little secret.”
“Well I happen to know Rachel pretty well, thank you very much.”
“I can see.” He narrows his eyes and leans back, looking down at the table as he shakes his head. “No loyalty.” He sips his drink, foam sticking to his lip. “Where’s the trust?”
You giggle and hand him one of your napkins, pointing to your upper lip. He gives his thanks as he wipes away the evidence.
You check your watch and jump at the time it reads. You were supposed to leave five minutes ago, planning to meet up with Bucky just down the block. Hastily, you grab your notebook, pen, and earbuds and stuff them into the right pockets.
“Blowing this joint, huh?” He acts cool but you see the curiosity lingering behind his eyes and you stop for a second.
“Um...yeah. I’m late to meet someone.”
“Do you need help with anything?”
You slide your laptop back into the bag. “No, but thank you. I appreciate it.” You grab your jacket from the booth beside you and slide it over your shoulders, the material scratching against your skin. “Take care of Rachel for me.”
You slide your bag over your shoulders and begin to walk out when he stops you. “Hey, Coffee Girl.”
You turn and smile at him. “Yes, table parent?”
“When do you think we can discuss more options about custody over the table?” His smile is warm and there’s something else underneath. Something you don’t recognize, something that sounds like intrigue. You haven’t seen someone look at you with that in, well, a while. It nearly scares you right out of your skin.
“I’m..” Your voice begins to falter and you hang onto your coffee cup just a little tighter. Not out of a general fear of him, he seems really sweet and kind, but for yourself. No one, no one, ever looks at you like that. “I’ll probably be here, next week.” You manage to get out. “Same time.”
“Hmm.” He watches your demeanor change and his smile becomes less beaming, more soft and subtle. “May I ask for a number.” Your face erupts with astonishment, eyebrows shooting up. “Just to confirm, of course.” He adds, trying to placate your sharp change in expression.
“Um…” You look around to see people watching you and notice how awkward the situation is becoming. Closing your eyes for a brief second, you open them to see his smile now gone and replaced with confusion. “I’ll meet you here again and then I’ll swap digits.”
“Okay.” He nods, seeming still confused. “Have a good one.”
You want to punch yourself in the gut.
“Yeah. You too.” You turn away and nearly run out of the coffee place, the bell ringing like a gong of judgement as you swing the door open just a bit too hard.
There was going to be nothing wrong with giving that man your number, nothing at all. There was just...just this feeling of overwhelming disbelief and a deep piercing sorrow at the fact that he wanted your number at all.
You didn’t see the conversation swerving in that direction. You liked him, thought he was great to talk to and seem genuinely interested and intrigued by what you were saying, but the thought of him having a deeper interest terrified you.
Because he didn’t know what he was getting himself into.
He didn’t know what a bore you were, let alone how uninteresting you could be.
He wouldn’t be happy with someone like that. How could he be? He was the sun and you would only swallow him in shadow, drowning out his humor and smile and inescapable light.
He would die with you by his side.
He doesn’t want you, not really, because he doesn’t know you. Because he would be horrified by you.
….
“Hey, doll!” His eyes light up as he sees you, crinkling in the corners as he opens his arms wide to trap you within his embrace.
You loved when the bright blue of his eyes did that. Their shape turns into splits and his happiness seems to vibrate from his gaze into you, warming you up, making you feel alive. His arms are sturdy and warm, safe and bracing. You don’t feel like you could ever fall with him by your side.
But he smelt foreign to you, like jasmine and lavender. He always smelled like fresh pine and the forest. It was the thing you always loved about him.
He was corrupted, but he was still beautiful. Still the Bucky you knew.
“How are you?” He kept his hands resting on your arms, drinking you in, smiling down at your grinning figure.
“Good. Are you ready to go?” He nods, slipping his hand in yours. “Where’d you go today?” You stare at your linked hands and grin, not noticing the way his mouth turns into a fine line before a small, pretend smile takes its place.
“Oh, just to the gallery down the street.” Your eyes snap to his and for just a split second, hurt crosses your features before you smooth it over. It all comes back to the gallery. Every single thing.
But if you ignore it, maybe he’ll still be happy with you, happy with the way things are. If you try to fuss about it, he’ll run away or get angry, and you don’t want that. You don’t want to see him upset. He’s not very reasonable when upset.
He seems to see how your face changes and silence takes hold as you walk down the street filled with warmth and sunlight. Although you feel his heat bleed into your hand, you feel as if you’re next to an iceberg, a stranger, someone you want to put distance between, not someone you feel you love.
Bucky shifts, reaching for something to soothe your hurt. “Come on, doll. Don’t be like that.” He laughs, and you try hard to believe him, to fill the air with your warm giggles, but you can’t. You're physically unable to. “She’s just a friend.”
Liar.
She’s not just a friend, no matter how much he tries to convince you. You don’t have any evidence to support your theory, not any true evidence that he can’t refute, but you know a bold faced lie when you hear one.
That’s why you try to be good, be interesting, because maybe being interesting will bring him back to you, back to your side.
He’s here now, but he’s never really here. He’s not as devoted to you as you are to him, but that’s your fault. You’re just not good enough for him, but you could be better. You can be better. You just have to show him.
You just have to hold on. Just give him a chance. Show him how exciting you can be.
Taking in a healthy breath of air, you sigh. “Right.” You shake your head as if you’re trying to clear these treacherous thoughts from your mind. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” You smile at him, as much attempting to convince him as you are trying to make it all right in your head. This is the correct way to handle things. This is how you pull him back. Just forgive and move on.
He relaxes at your acceptance, deflating at your calmed hostility. “You know you’re the only one for me.”
“I know, Bucky.” You rub his arm and his happiness is not as apparent as his serenity over solving the previous conflict. He presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to your head, leaving an impression there that makes your skin crawl, but these feelings will dissipate as time goes on.
Time will heal everything.
“You still remember that party tonight?” He drawls, as if proud that he’s secured an invitation. The party is for his friend at the art gallery, a celebration of her achievements. It’s supposed to be a small gathering, but with how many people were there at her opening, you would be shocked if the numbers were really that low.
You nod, leaning away from how Bucky’s face hovers so close to you. “Yep. I remember. I’ll be there.”
“Good.” He pulls you closer and you would be lying if you didn’t feel your stomach warm, butterflies recklessly taking flight without fear of slamming into the lining around your gut.
Your chuckle isn’t quite a lie and Bucky catches on to your honesty, seeming to grow taller and believing himself completely absolved from all original misdeeds.
Then you hit him with your next topic. “A man tried to get my number today. At the coffee shop.”
He stops walking completely, his arm falling from around your shoulders. “He did what?” His voice is tightly coiled, ready to spring at any moment.
You keep walking, not waiting to see what his face would look like. You know his brows are well furrowed and eyes are dark, devoid of any lighthearted fun. They’re not the blue of a gentle stream but a churning and violent ocean.
“Oh, come on, Bucky. I said tried. I didn’t give it to him.” You roll your eyes in front of him, turning to hold an arm, beckoning him forward and into your arms. He doesn’t move. You stop and cross your arms over your chest.
“Don’t tell me that you did this to make me jealous.” His words carry bite, but they fall harmlessly from your frame made of metal and steel. Impenetrable. After what you’ve seen and know, nothing he could say or do to you could truly harm you.
“That’s rich, considering he asked me.”
He sees that his tone has no affect on you and stalks closer, ignoring your arm that now begins to fall back into its place by your side. “But you won’t go back there, right?” He grins, malice and hope curling together, like he wants to lure you into a complete false sense of security, urging you to agree. “You know how I don’t want anyone else stealing you away from me.”
He drips with imitation honey and you’re too smart to believe the gold of it is real. “Bucky, you know that’s my spot.”
“And I’m telling you, (name), that you can’t go back there.” His teeth make each syllable sharper and harsher, but it doesn’t scare you.
But maybe if you back off, get him to stop fighting, he’ll just let this one go. You only told him just to make him aware, not to cause a real argument. This isn’t worth turning into a complete debacle. You’re not going to allow his anger to grow any larger.
“You can’t stop me from going there, but I won’t go back at the same time or on the same days. I probably won’t even bump into him again. It was the first time I’ve ever seen him there anyway.” You turn, holding out a hand to him that he takes and squeezes so hard your hand aches when he relaxes his grip.
“But,” He drills holes in the side of your head. “If you see him again, tell me.”
“Sure thing, oh great shining knight.” You nod fervently, like you’re completely devout to him. And in a way you are. There’s something about him that keeps you just hanging on, refusing to let him go completely.
He laughs with acid behind it. “You know I’m just trying to keep you safe.” He looks wounded as you spare a glance at him. “He might try to take advantage of you.”
“Well good thing you’re here then.” Your face adapts to pure happiness, his concern for you starting to trump all of these horrible things you’re beginning to feel. It always makes you feel important and wanted when his protectiveness jumps out, his vulnerability unlocking something in you.
He grins just as strongly back at you, gently running circles over your hand. “What did he look like?”
“Bucky!”
“What?” He holds up his other hand, looking like he can’t understand what he’s done wrong. “I need to be ready in case you call.”
“Well I’m not the damn police. I wasn’t really looking that hard.”
“Oh cut that out. I know you got a good look at him.”
You sigh, thinking of a way to get out of having to actually answer his questions without him becoming angry again. You can’t, so you give him crumbs. “He had brown eyes, darker skin. Sunglasses.”
“Doll, I know you can do better than that.” He smirks but it’s strained.
He doesn’t believe you.
“Not really.” And that’s kind of the truth. You weren’t really paying attention to his attire, besides the rip in his jacket. “I wasn’t really paying that much attention to him. Research remember?”
“Hm.” He consents. “I’ll give you that.”
You breath out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
“But just remember to call me, alright?”
“Sure.”
“Doll.” He stops, turning to gaze deep into your eyes.
“Okay.” You hold up your hands and cross your fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
He searches your gaze for just the inkling of a false statement and doesn’t find it. “Alright. I trust you, doll. Don’t make me regret it.”
You nod, your stomach feeling just a little sicker as your hands rejoin and the sun begins to set, the buildings turning a deep shade of crimson.
…
The party is more like a college frat palooza than a respectable meeting for supporters of a budding artist. Red solo cups line the room and the kitchen is stocked with all sorts of wine, tequila, whiskey, and bourbon.
Drinks for respectable people, of course.
Bucky already has a buzz going from taking two shots of whiskey before you even came to pick him up. You insisted on driving so he could enjoy the full effects of the alcohol before you even made it to the party. Somehow that BS worked and he was getting a little loopy and handsy before you made the door.
His hand now rested at a respectable place on your hip, but you had to keep his hand from drooping lower and lower. Now, his arms spread wide as he saw his red-haired friend, wrapping her into a hug and placing a bottle of rose into her hands. He spun out his congratulations in a slur of wonderfully crafted and charming phrases to which she blushed deeply at, at least until she saw you.
“Willow, this is (name).” He gestured back towards you and you stepped forward, shaking her hand with a polite smile on your face. Even her name was beautiful. Figures he would choose her.
Her smile was nice enough, but her eyes still dragged back to him, lingering on his beautiful face and warm eyes. Of course, any one would be drawn to him, you would be a fool if you ignored that, but there was just something a little too warm and knowing behind her stare. Like she was blushing at meeting her long-lost childhood love again.
It made you slightly sick but you ignored it and tried to send her your best in the only way you knew how. Words that weren’t quite a lie but still sounded nice. For the most part. “Congrats on your art display. Your work is very colorful and has a really cool avant-garde aspect to it. You really could be on to something, Willow.” You winked at the end and she laughed, seeming to take your compliment well.
“Thank you. I know it’s not super conventional, but I hope it opens a new interpretation into art.”
“I’m sure it will.” Yeah, if you’re a lunatic or a complete believer in work that makes absolutely no sense.
She grins and the room erupts in starlight. Her smile is like starting at jewels under direct light, beautiful and dazzling. No wonder everyone seems to gravitate to her. You start to fold inward while Bucky dismisses you, telling you to “make yourself comfortable” and “introduce yourself to people.”
You nod and immediately make a B-line to the corner, standing away from all of the people in overly priced clothing and drinking strongly proofed wine. It’s not that you didn’t enjoy a good bottle of wine or even something stronger from time to time, but if you had ever learned anything from being in college, it’s that if you’re unsure of drinking something while you’re there, don’t drink it.
You briefly wonder if there’s a regular can of pop to be seen in this place.
Then you look at your surroundings, admiring the wood of the walls, the accent tapestries adorning them and then start to think that this girl might have good taste. The current tapestry you observe has burgundy and gold blended together in a beautiful amalgamation and you play with the strands between your fingers. It’s soft and strong, wonderfully crafted.
The wood behind it is hard and sturdy, easy to run your fingers along and feel the stronger edges behind every cut. It’s beautiful. A good selection.
But there’s almost no windows. No light. No opportunity for incorporating the day with the dark atmosphere her home carries.
“(Name)! Come over here.” You sigh, peeved by your disturbance from being silent in your corner. You follow his voice till you’re beside him, letting him put an arm around your shoulders. “I want you to meet, Chris Tallow. He designed this place.”
Chris was probably one of the most famous architects in the whole state. Standing in front of him made your knees wobble. “Hello, nice to meet you.” You timidly were able to get out and he smiled warmly at you, reaching out to shake your hand.
“James tells me that you’re quite the architectural connoisseur.” He grins and you nod, enthusiastically.
“I love your work! It’s ingenious and visionary. It’s amazing how you’re able to work with multiple mediums and incorporate them seamlessly.” The words pour out of your mouth before you’re able to stop them, now embarrassed at your unrestrained confession.
“Girl knows her stuff.” He seems impressed and appraises you accordingly.
“She’s quite the fan-girl.” Bucky laughs, pulling you a little closer. “She’s obsessed with buildings, sometimes in neglect of other things.”
You almost glare at him, but then you remember where you are and who you’re in front of, so you let out a reserved snicker and unwrap yourself from around him, Bucky a little uneasy on his feet. “Nice to meet you. Bucky you want anything to drink?” You look at him expectantly, but he just leans in and presses a kiss on your cheek, waving his cup.
You dismiss yourself again, frustrated with how he brushed your passion off like that.
You travel back to the kitchen, right about to pop the lid open again when you see the man from the cafe, staring you down. You duck under the table and try to catch your breath after the lightning bolt that went firing through your veins. What in the world is he doing at the flighty girl’s party? How does he even know her?
“Nothing you’re gonna want is in there.” He states plainly, but not in a rude way, just in a I-don’t-think-you’re-the-beer-type kind of way.
He would be right. “Oh,” You stand up, wiping the condensation on the fabric of your jeans, “Right.”
He watches you with such an unabashed directness that you can hardly breathe. He’s dressed in a tan leather jacket that sets off his deep red sweater and dark jeans nicely, pulling against his strong physique. He’s still as bright as you remember him to be and you’re lost as to what to say to him to continue the conversation.
The mystery man seems just as distracted until he sets down his coke to reach into the fridge to pull out another one for you, handing it to you politely, fingers sparking as you hands graze. “Here.”
“Thanks.” You mutter as you crack the can open and take a long sip, needing a distraction from the man in front of you and your growing unsteadiness around him. At least you have something in your hands that you can cling onto. “I didn’t think that opening a cold one with the boys would be the smartest thing I could do.”
He chuckles, warmth pouring out of him. “Me neither.” He leans against the counter as you drink, surveying the party and drawing his eyes away from you for a moment. It’s a relief as you still don’t think you’re going to be able to think straight. “Not one for parties?”
“What gave it away?” You speak, your voice warbling after your drink and you try to steady it, cringing heavily at its harsh quality.
If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. “In the corner. Where I usually take up my post.”
“Oh, don’t tell me the sunglasses aren’t a hit?” You lean next to him and his eyes graze yours with a twinkle. You smile back as his teeth shine against the hazy lighting the string of lights behind you provide.
“Well,” He leans a little closer, bumping his shoulder with yours. “I’ll give you a hint. It might not be the sun glasses.”
You gasp.
“I know. I know.” He chuckles taking another sip, still grinning at your reaction. You feel a warmth start to spread and fight down the urge to lean closer, to prompt him with far more personal questions. “It’s hard to believe that all this could be such a mood-killer.”
“You know, full disclosure, I do find that a bit startling.” You watch as he looks to you with perplexity and something deeper. You ignore the warmth again as you explain yourself. “I mean, come on, you’re hilarious.”
“Okay, Coffee Girl, what’s your excuse?” It’s your turn to be bamboozled. “You’re funny and intelligent and witty. Why aren’t you out there killing the game? These people would be on the floor if they heard you.”
You look down at your drink, taking effort to pull your eyes away from his deep orbs, keeping you from falling in. You take a deep gulp before you think about answering. He sobers up at your actions and watches gently, waiting for response.
He’s not so demanding as Bucky, watching you with soft interest not with blatant scrutiny. You actually feel like you can talk with him and not be judged by your responses. You decide to take the leap. “I have a deflector for that.” You tip your coke towards your “plus one” that’s so absorbed in what strawberry is saying that he doesn’t even notice you talking with the man whose name you still don’t know.
“Ah.” He sighs, swirling his drink around, his energy collapsing. “Your boyfriend.”
You turn to him and watch him pointedly avoiding your eye, searching around the room without settling on an object.
His words sting for whatever reason and you feel that you need to correct him, stop him from getting the wrong impression. That you need to make him understand. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?” He scoffs, taking another swig.
“I mean that we’re not together, together. Yes, I came with him. Yes, I’ll probably leave at some point with him to stop him from passing out on the street dead drunk, but we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend or anything like that.” You don’t look at his face as he turns to you, knowing he’s trying to find any evidence of deceit.
“Was that who you were meeting after leaving the shop?” He’s open, asking for honesty.
“Yes.” You look at him then, taken aback at the unabashed staring he’s doing, not even looking away as he observes you with such a gentle intensity, like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen. He’s wrong, but the way he’s looking would convince you otherwise.
“Okay.” He drinks again, placing the empty cup down on the table. “So, this boyfriend of yours doesn’t let you speak to any guy in any sort of flirting fashion?”
“More or less.” You wash more cold liquid down your throat as he looks away and scoffs. “What?” You prompt, genuinely interested.
“He’s one of those types.”
You purse your lips but say nothing.
“As he should be. You’re so unaware of yourself.”
You almost choke, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he grabs another coke from the fridge and pops it open. You look around the party and find Bucky and Willow conveniently absent. What a host. Doesn’t even make sure she sticks around to receive guests.
A pang settles against your chest as he comes to lean beside you on the counter, a little closer than normal. He must read your expression as he looks around for them as well and his face settles into disdain when he can’t spot them either, looking back at you. “You know, you never told me your name.”
You chuckle and take another drink, finishing it and placing it next to his original empty one. “You first.”
“Okay,” He turns and offers you his hand. “Sam. Friends call me Falcon.”
“Quite the nickname you have there, Sam.” You take his hand and shake it, feeling the buzz shoot through your arm at the contact and try to ignore how your skin heats up.
He doesn’t respond for a minute, just looking at you. “Your turn,” He manages after a while, a miniature smirk taking his face, much different from his usual open grins.
“(Name),” You breathe back, trying to act confident. “But people call me Coffee Girl, sometimes.”
“Oh?” He grins fully this time, unconsciously holding your hand still. “Your good friends?”
“Maybe.” You coyly offer and his eyes light up with challenge.
He laughs to himself as he finally lets your hand go, searching through the crowd again. “I saw you admiring that woven work on the wall over there.” He nods his head in the direction of the tapestry.
“Yeah.” You sigh. “It’s got great hand work. One of the finest I’ve seen.”
“Are you a collector?”
“Not really. Just a fan, I guess.” Your tone drops at the end. Sam looks at your dismal expression, eyes wondering. He searches a second more and then drops the topic. You stand close to each other, the heat wafting from your thin shirt meeting the warmth coming from the collar of his jacket and you take it all in.
The noise of the party seeming far away from the space that you and Sam have created. It’s peaceful and comforting. It feels like the coffee shop.
Guilt rises at the way you left, at the plans to avoid him completely. Because of Bucky. Because of a man that is overly jealous over the slightest things.
You clear your throat. “Um, Sam. I want to apologize to you.”
“Why, (name)?” Warmth crackles down your midsection at the use of your name and wonder if your usage affected him similarly.
“When I left at the cafe, I wasn’t the kindest and know I made you feel terrible for approaching me.” You watch as he grins and lose your nerve and silence yourself.
“If I felt terrible, do you think I would have come over? Even when you hid from me?” You cringe and he laughs harder.
“I’m sorry.” You peak out of the corner of your eye and watch him laugh even harder. Your laughs mix for a couple of a seconds, a beautiful symphony, comfortable and happy. “I just…” You hold onto the counter, propping yourself up a little. “I’m just not used to that kind of attention.”
“Your boyfriend doesn’t look at you with pure adoration in his eyes?” He takes a sip and then frowns when you stay silent. “(Name)?” You can’t look at him as you play with your fingers. “Oh.”
“Yeah...” You weave your left fingers around your right pinky, trying to calm your heart down after your confession and the feeling of intense shame about ready to spill over.
“I’m sorry, if I made you feel uncomfortable.” He carries his words with a look of sincerity and you feel awful for making him feel as though he needs to apologize.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just out of practice, that’s all.” You look down. “I’m not good with that sort of thing, you know?” You glance over to see his eyes are already on you, electricity threatening to shoot between you.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean.” But he doesn’t look away, just moves a little closer. “If you’re comfortable with it, would you reconsider that number thing? I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything, I’m just showing my interest.”
You can tell.
And something in you tells you that he’s definitely trustworthy, someone worth giving your number to. He just has this draw and for a moment, you forget about Bucky completely as you watch Sam. You nod, slipping out your phone and placing it in his palm, turning the back of his hand over.
His skin burns.
He smiles softly and enters his number in your contacts. He then slips his phone out of his pocket, furiously typing on it. Your phone lights up in your hand a second later, a text flashing across the screen: This is Falcon, paging Coffee Girl.
You laugh at the nickname. His name reads Falcon in your contacts, his real name hidden to your message app as it rests in the nickname section, which is turned off on your display.
You text him back.
Coffee Girl on stand-by.
He laughs at your response and you loosely smile as you're distracted by his light, by the beauty in his smile. He doesn’t notice and you duck your head to keep it that way.
Your stomach drops as you look up to see Bucky paving a stumbling path through the party to you, eyes ablaze and slightly unfocused. Sam stands to his full height, putting some distance between the two of you. “(Name). Where have you been, doll.” Alcohol slides over your cheek as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, glaring past you and into Sam.
“Here.” You draw his attention back to you as you take in his swollen lips and disheveled hair. Your shadows start to creep back into your skin, originally chased away by Sam, his light burning them away. Bucky’s eyes, despite how intense they look, are unfocused. He’s not in his right mind.
He pulls you closer as he looks down at you. “Who’s this?” He smiles at you but frowns as he spares a glance back at Sam.
“A friend.”
He looks Sam up and down a couple of times before he looks back to you, a goofy smile coating his face. “Okay.”
You turn around and at Sam’s face distorted in anger, all traces of his original kindness obliterated. It startles you, but when he glances over at you, his face softens. “I’m going to take him home.”
“Nice seeing you.” He bids you goodbye with such subtle hints at his awareness of the situation. You get the feeling that he’s not mad at you or the situation, just at Bucky. You silently thank him for his understanding.
He imperceptibly nods his head at you and you turn back to Bucky, slipping his arm over your shoulder.
You feel a buzzing in your pocket but ignore it as you drag a half-functional Bucky out of the house and into your car.
…
After hours of dragging him around his apartment and laying him down for bed, you leave him with one glass of water and a few pills for the massive headache he’s going to have tomorrow.
He mumbles for you to stay, but you push his arms off of you as if they’re disgusting chains, attempting to keep you sedated in one place.
When you break free from his place and safely make it back to yours, you collapse on your bed, crawling under the covers, not caring that makeup still lingers on your face. The fact of your phone buzzing dawns on you and you pull your phone out of your pocket, clicking the screen to life to see Falcon appearing on your screen.
See you around, Coffee Girl.
Your heart warms and you send a quick text back before turning out the light, plugging your phone in, and placing it on silent as you drift off.
Goodnight, Falcon.
#blue shade#sam wilson#sam wilson fanfic#sam x reader#sam wilson fanfiction#sam wilson x reader#sam wilson x you#sam wilson x y/n#bucky x reader#bucky fic#bucky fanfic#sam angst#sam wilson is a gift#sam wilson is a sweetheart#sam is very interested in you#series: blue shade#sam:blue shade#sam: blue shade#bucky: blue shade#blue shade: series#medium burn#sam wilson medium burn#we're simmering here#not boiling#not starting to get warm#simmering
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Male octomer x reader (nsfw) - Mermay story #3
Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.
This has been up on my patreon now for a little while, and folks seemed to like him a lot over there, and the preview I posted got some excitement too, so I hope you’re ready for Caspian!
___
As first days went, this one wasn’t necessarily a complete disaster.
However, walking into the specially-designed meeting room at the aquatic and oceanography research station in Starfall Springs with a very suspicious looking (and entirely innocent) wet crotch, you did feel your cheeks heat up. The room itself reminded you strongly of a beach hut or the like, with scrubbed and white-washed wooden floors, and white-painted, ship-lap walls, and a wide window at one end, overlooking one of the sandy beaches of the wider curve of coastline that was Starfall Bay itself.
The research station was built right at the end of a rocky cob; a curving, protective wall which jutted out into the sea. A section of the floor of this room at the furthest end of the station had been cut away to allow a kind of trap door to be opened into the water itself, allowing for merfolk of all kinds to be present at meetings and consultations, without running the risk of drying out on land.
The merman who was currently resting with his huge, bulky, tanned arms on the lip of the opening took one look at your soaked jeans and hitched a lopsided, cheeky smirk. Your feet faltered at the sight of him; not only was he incredibly handsome, but he was also massive. He had dark hair that was cropped very close to his skull in a side-shave that revealed tapering ears which were attractively tinged with an inky purple tone at the tips, while the rest of his hair was longer on the top. Sections of it flopped into his warm, cocoa brown eyes, and your heart definitely lurched in its regular rhythms.
Below him, visible through the rippling water, you could see glimpses his lower body. He was not like the other merfolk you’d met so far since starting work at the station. Eight muscular tentacles billowed gently in the washing currents, the skin a rich, mulberry purple with paler, lilac undersides. You tried not to stare or flush any hotter.
The only other person in the room besides the two of you was Garreth. When the leader of the Starfall Bay Conservation Society saw the slightly soggy state of you, the werewolf tipped his head back and laughed. “I see Naomi forgot to warn you about the tap in the kitchen…” he chortled.
The octomer in the water chuckled softly to himself, a low, amused rumbling, and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head.
“Yeah,” you sighed. “Not my finest moment. Is everyone here?”
Garreth shook his head. “We’re still waiting on Elliott. He was supposed to have brought me the report on the plastic survey for this quarter, but he didn’t show up yesterday.”
The octomer snorted. “Probably forgot… or got distracted by pearl diving or something…” he said dismissively.
“Let’s hope he brings it with him today,” Garreth said. “Now,” he added, turning to you, “Let me introduce you properly to Caspian. He’s the newest of our three representatives and mediators between the merfolk and the land-folk. He’s also working on a joint project at the research laboratory which is measuring ocean temperatures and the effects on the coral reefs just offshore.”
“Awesome,” you said, stepping over hand holding out your hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Caspian’s upper body was tanned a deep, nutmeg brown, and as you bent down, you saw a smattering of darker freckles across his cheekbones and down the length of his straight nose. His eyes were dark and kind, and they sparkled when he smiled. He really was huge though, you realised as you got close; had he been a human, he might have been pushing seven feet tall, with the broad shoulders and muscles to match.
His hand engulfed yours as he shook it, and his palms were rough and hard as a life-long sailor’s might be. “Looking forward to working with you on this project,” he said. “If our fourth member ever turns up…” He cocked his head slightly and you watched his tentacles tuck in so that he didn’t occupy quite so much space in the hatchway. “Ah… speak of the devil-fish…”
The final arrival shot into view with a stream of bubbles, a splash of water, and a burst of bright orange colour. He stuck his head above the surface, grabbed onto the side, slipped off, waved his long, floaty tail to bring him back to the edge and tried again. “Sorry I’m late!” he gasped. “I didn’t realise the time…”
Garreth laughed. “It’s alright, Elliott. We were kind of expecting you to be late.”
Elliott’s pale cheeks flushed almost as scarlet as his fiery tail, and he looked away. “I did bring the report this time though,” he said, shyly bringing out a clipboard with the report filled in with special pencil on waterproof paper.
The mer looked to be barely into his twenties, with long, flame-orange hair that was currently tied back with a length of seaweed at the nape of his slender neck. Sections of it had come loose, however, and they had plastered themselves to his alabaster face, half covering bright green eyes. Beside Caspian, he looked like an ornamental koi or betta fish, more suited to the safety of a secluded pond than the rough moods of the open sea.
Caspian, however, looked like he could weather anything the sea threw at him.
Your first assignment on the new project - monitoring the health of the reef, including pollution levels in the water - took you out into the field with him as your partner. You, of course, took the small RIB that the organisation owned, and Caspian had promised to meet you out there. True enough, as you slowed the small boat, he popped his head up above the water and grinned at you.
“You made it!” he called, waving.
“There was doubt?” you chuckled, cutting the engine and dropping the boat’s small anchor.
He only laughed. “You want me to check the anchor’s set ok?”
With a smile, you said, “Sure, if you wouldn’t mind.”
When he’d re-emerged, you passed him the various bits of equipment for data and sample collection and he dove down repeatedly, breaking the surface with minimal splash each time before handing you back whatever it was he’d collected for the project.
After the last sample had been stowed safely, he clicked his tongue at you and you looked round, puzzled. “Did I forget something?”
Caspian flashed you a broad grin. “Not exactly. Here…” and he handed you a shell.
At first, it looked like an ordinary scallop shell; pretty enough, but nothing special. Frowning with mingled confusion and curiosity, you turned it over and saw that the shell had a strange, dark colouring to it. The natural discolouration, however, resembled a little smiley face, with two eyes and a little curving, slightly wonky mouth that very much reminded you of someone… You held it up next to his face, laughing, and snapped a picture on your phone. “Looks just like you!” you said. “I didn’t know scallops painted portraits…”
Indignantly, Caspian cupped his hand and slapped it into the water, sending a large wave spraying straight at you. With a shriek, you lurched away from it, caught your calves on the side of the RIB, and fell backwards into the water.
Panic flared instantly and you flailed and sucked in a mouthful of water before you could stop yourself. In a rush of dark tentacles, Caspian grabbed you and practically threw you back into the RIB. Coughing violently, you rolled over onto your hands and knees, and he cursed.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t… Are you alright?”
You couldn't answer immediately, and when he got no response, he started to haul himself up onto the boat to get to you. The flimsy thing rocked alarmingly and then began to tip under his enormous weight, and you flapped your arm at him to try and get him to back off. It wasn’t going to sink, but he could still roll it enough that the contents - including you - might very well all roll out. You hadn’t the breath spare to tell him you just needed a moment.
He seemed to get the message and flopped disconsolately back into the water, still clinging to the side of the boat and staring at you with wide eyes.
With a tentative croak, you said, “I was not ready for that…!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think that… Well… I guess that’s it: I just didn’t think.”
You turned to look at him, your eyes stinging from the salt water, and still streaming from coughing so hard, and you saw the worry in his big brown eyes. You pushed yourself upright, sitting back onto your knees to catch your breath, and ran your hand through your dripping hair. “Good thing I dropped my phone into the boat when I fell,” you said wryly. “If I’d have lost that, you’d really be in trouble.”
His lopsided smile flickered back into life across his face as the worry receded, and you shook your head. “Are you alright?” he asked.
You nodded. “If you were a landfolk guy, I’d at least make you buy me a drink for that,” you grumbled. “Jeez, now everyone’s going to think I’m completely incompetent. Can’t work a simple tap on my first day; can’t stay in a simple boat on my second… ugh.”
“You can tell them I did it,” he said.
“Yeah?” you snorted, raising your eyebrows. “And who do you think they’ll believe? The handsome genius researcher, or the clumsy new kid?”
Caspian blinked at that. “What?”
“Yeah. Just what I thought. Look, I’m going to get these samples back to the station before they all get cross-contaminated or something, and get me into some warm, dry clothes. It might be summer, but the wind is freezing out here. I’ll… see you back at the station when the results are back, I guess.”
“Wait,” he called as you started towards the outboard. “Wait… are you angry with me?”
You’d started to shiver with the windchill on your soaked body. “No,” you sighed. “No, I’m not angry. I’m just… cold. And embarrassed, I guess. I’m not a very good swimmer and I panicked. Look, forget it, ok? I’ll see you soon.”
And with that, you just left him and turned the RIB back to the station.
Garreth was standing on the jetty, watching you come in, and when he saw the state of you, his eyes widened. “What the hell happened?”
“Caspian.”
The head of the team scowled. “What? Are you ok?”
“Fine,” you snapped. “Just cold.” You tossed him the line and he secured the RIB for you.
“I’ll sort all this,” he said, gesturing at the samples. “You go inside and get dried out.”
With a watery smile of thanks, you brushed past him and headed inside.
But of course, you had no spare clothes with you because you’d left the bag - which you’d deliberately put out that very morning for just such an emergency - in the hallway of your apartment. “Fuck!” you cursed as you realised where it was. “Fucking perfect.”
It was only then that you noticed that you were not alone. A very sheepish and unusual-looking creature was standing at the research station’s main entrance, staring straight at you. “Hello?” he said in a quavering tenor.
He was one of the strangest mer you’d yet encountered, with a large, orange shell behind him, and crab legs sticking out the bottom of it, while a humanoid torso rose out of the opening so that he looked a little like the mer equivalent of a drider or arachnid.
You turned to him and said, “Can I help you?”
“I… I’m here to talk to Garreth about some activities for the children’s summer camp… but if this is a bad time?”
“It’s a bad time for me, but not for him. He’s just tying up the RIB out back. He’ll be here in a moment, I’m sure.”
A second or two later, Garreth’s heavy boots on the wood announced his return. “Leo!” he grinned when he saw the hermit-crab mer standing there awkwardly, blushing and trying not to stare at your chest where your t-shirt was now plastered to your skin. Garreth turned to you and said, “Did you have some spare clothes?”
Miserably, you shook your head.
“Hang on. I’ve got a t-shirt you can borrow at least. You can hang anything else over the chains on the jetty. With this breeze and sun, they’ll be dry in no time. Just… tie them down well, ok? No need to lose them and have you going skinny dipping…”
You all snorted a laugh at that, and in no time you’d put on one of Garreth’s huge t-shirts and had hung your shorts over the little safety chain along the jetty. It felt a bit indecent to be sitting there in the sun wearing only your underwear and a colleague’s t-shirt, but there was no one there to gawp.
At least, you had thought you were alone until you glimpsed the smooth, billowing movements of a now-familiar octomer swimming through the waters of the harbour towards the station.
You’d been trailing your toes in the water, leaning back on your hands, but as he changed course and swam directly over to you, you sat forwards, hunching a bit and tugging the t-shirt down as far as you could. It still only grazed the top of your thighs. You felt the heat flushing from your face all the way down to your collarbones, even before he surfaced.
Caspian, for all his rugged size and good looks, appeared even more flustered and awkward than you as he stared at you. He couldn’t take his eyes off your bare legs for a very long time, and when he did, he swallowed thickly and took a couple of goes at speaking before anything actually came out. “So… uh… I… I hoped you’d still be here,” he finally said.
You just raised your eyebrows. He really didn’t deserve to be given such a hard time over this, but you were embarrassed.
The octomer smiled sweetly and said, “I… I had hoped our first job would go better… You see… I’ve never worked with a human before.”
“I thought you were doing a joint project with the research lab in town?” you asked, surprised.
He nodded. “I am. The team is composed of non-humans.”
“Oh.”
“You said… You said if I were landfolk you’d make me buy you a drink…”
“Huh, I did, didn’t I?” you smiled.
Caspian’s chocolate coloured eyes drifted downwards again and you watched the thick tentacles writhe below the water.
“Look, it’s fine,” you chirped before he could speak. “I fell overboard, I got wet, no harm done. Let’s put it behind us. But next time I’m definitely not standing up at all in that thing.”
He hitched a lopsided grin, conjuring a dimple in one tanned cheek. “Listen, if we’re starting over, I want to ask you a question. Do you know about the Moonlight Festival?”
You frowned and shook your head. “No.”
Caspian swallowed and licked his lips nervously. “Ok, well… it’s… it’s a long-held festival in the bay. On certain summer nights, the sea glows. Way back when, we used to think it was magic, but now we know it’s actually just bioluminescence caused by a species of dinoflagellate called Noctiluca scintillans…” he broke off at the slight smirk of amusement growing on your face. “Fuck. Way to take the ‘magic’ out of it. Look, it’s a big festival, and the sea glows, and the landfolk like it, and the merfolk come and piss around in the water, and it’s pretty. I thought maybe you’d like to come. With me. But…”
“Caspian,” you said, laughing softly. “You’re not at all what I expected, you know that?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, a touch defensively.
You took a deep, slow breath and shrugged. “I went to college with a lot of guys who looked like you.”
“There were octomer at your college?” he blurted.
“No!” you laughed, tipping your head back and cackling at the thought of a bunch of eight-limbed octomer flip-flopping down the corridor of a very human-orientated, landlocked college. “Oh man, I wish there had been. No, I just meant there were lots of big, handsome, sporty-looking guys who relied a lot on their looks and ‘charisma’ to get what they wanted. I honestly thought you were one of them… Clearly, I was very wrong.”
His face was a mask of confusion. On the one hand, he looked pleased, and on the other, somewhat deflated. “So I’m just a huge nerd?”
“You want to know something?”
“Go on then.”
“I’d rather go to a festival about bioluminescent plankton with a nerd than with one of those guys…”
Caspian bowed his head and rumbled a laugh. “Alight then. And I promise to behave this time…”
You stood, self-consciously holding the hem of the over-sized shirt close to your thighs, and looked down at him. His jaw was ever so slightly slack, and his eyes shone. You bit your lip, unwilling to entertain the idea that the huge octomer could be attracted to you, despite the evidence to the contrary. Deciding to be a little braver, you let go of the fabric of the shirt and let it blow about a little in the breeze.
Caspian’s throat bobbed and he ducked a little lower in the water. “I’ll… yeah I’ll see you then,” he mumbled, and then he vanished.
With a boost of confidence like that, you felt a little bolder about your choice of outfit for the festival. When the evening came round, it found you wandering down through Starfall Springs towards the beach wearing loose summer clothing and simple sandals. Little lanterns had been lit all along the beach, and you were astonished to see the sheer number of merfolk in the water. You’d not known there were so many who were willing to interact with the landfolk.
Like a pod of beached dolphins, some had even hauled themselves up onto the sand and were laughing and chatting with the landfolk, while others played about in the water. You could see a faint blue glow as they breached and splashed, but the sun was still up, and the full effect of the bioluminescence was not really visible yet.
You hadn’t been in Starfall Springs all that long, so you didn’t really know very many people. In fact, you didn’t know anyone outside of work at the research station yet, and that job was only a part time one that you’d secured until you could find another that was full time. Following your instincts, you headed away from the crowds and towards the research station at the far end of the bay.
You’d not arranged a place to meet Caspian for the festival, and since your fateful first trip, your schedules had not actually aligned. You figured that without having organised anything, the station was the logical place to go. Plus it stopped you looking like a lemon, standing on the beach on your own.
All was dark and quiet inside the station, and you didn’t even bother going inside. Instead, you made your way round the outside, following the boardwalk until it became the jetty, and sat down to watch the sunset with the curving wall of the cob behind you.
Time passed, accompanied by the rush and hiss of the sea, and of the laughter and music of the festival in the bay beyond the station. There was a lonely kind of peace to it, and you took your sandals off and trailed your toes in the water again. A silvery blue shimmer rippled through the water as you moved, and you smiled at the sight of it. You’d seen videos of the phenomenon before, but had never experienced it in person.
A shadow moved in the water and you instinctively recoiled, drawing your feet up. Sliding his head out of the water, Caspian looked up at you, his handsome face highlighted with blue and white lights as the bioluminescence ran off him. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
You lowered your legs back in and laughed. “It’s fine. I was a bit lost in thought anyway. You found me then…”
He smiled and swam closer, the water flashing in mesmeric pulses around his body. “I figured you’d come here,” was all he said in answer. He raised his hand and the plankton flashed across his fingers. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“Mmhmm,” you nodded, swinging your feet back and forth and watching the lights dance.
Caspian watched your movements as though captivated.
“Can I ask you something?” you said after few moments.
“Sure.”
“When you said you’d never worked with a human before, does that also mean you’ve not really been around many humans at all?”
He flushed and looked away. “Is it that obvious?”
“You’re staring at my feet as though they’re something… alien.”
“I can’t imagine what they’re like, that’s all. What it’s like to have only two limbs… to walk… to… yeah. I’m sorry.” He broke off, scratching the back of his head.
“You can touch if you want,” you said, perhaps a little coyly.
He turned in the water and looked up at you with eyes wide and alive. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. Just don’t tickle me. I don’t want to kick you in the face.”
“You’re not that angry with me then, or you wouldn’t have warned me,” he grinned as he swam even closer and raised his hands in the water.
He slid his cool fingertips over your ankle and the top of your foot, and the moan you let out was not a sound you’d expected or intended to make.
“Is that ok?” he asked, touch faltering.
“Mmhmm,” you said. His fingers were surprisingly gentle, if tough, and as he closed his fingers and thumbs around both ankles and gripped experimentally, you inhaled sharply. If he’d wanted to, he could have dragged you off the jetty and into the water in a flash, but instead, he simply explored you with a stunning degree of reverence and delicacy.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, pulling himself slightly closer to you through the water. His limbs trailed behind him in the water, but you could see they were all flared wide, like an open parachute.
“So are you, Caspian,” you replied. “And you’re the most beautiful colour… you know that?”
He smiled and ran his palm up your calves.
You’d parted your legs before you knew what you were doing.
Caspian’s touch faltered and he looked away. “I…. probably shouldn’t…” he whispered.
“Caspian?”
“Yeah?” he said, his rich baritone hoarse and rasping all of a sudden.
“Can you… I mean… Can octomer leave the water at all? I know octopuses can, but… I actually don’t know all that much about your kind…”
He nodded. “Sure we can. Not indefinitely, but for a good amount of time. Why? You want me to come up there and join you?”
“I think it’d be easier than me trying to tread water…” you smiled.
“I’d hold you up,” he said, but he made his way towards one of the sturdy pilings which supported the jetty and latched his limbs around it. They were as muscular and powerful as the top half of his anatomy suggested, and with relatively little effort, he hauled himself up with a rush of glittering water.
Once he was on the wood of the jetty, with phosphorescent lights running down the lines of his bulky yet sinuous body, you felt your own mouth go very dry. He loomed over you while you remained seated, and he used his tentacle-like legs to pull himself towards you.
“Not too freaked out?” he said.
“Not at all.”
You turned to face him and he settled himself down beside you. You raised your hand and tentatively traced the lines of his collarbones and down his pecs, almost testing to see if he were really there, and not some salt-water hallucination. Caspian sucked in a breath at your touch, goosebumps prickling all across his torso.
“Ticklish?”
He shook his head, drops of sparkling water scattering around you.
“You like that?”
Mutely he nodded, and, feeling emboldened by his reaction, you continued to touch him, working lower and lower until you came to his hips. The skin at the transition between his human upper half and his octomer lower half was a bruised, inky purple, and the texture of it changed too, from smoothly human to a thick, tough sensation, almost like wet leather. His breathing hitched as you passed on down and shyly ran a fingertip along the top of one of his massive tentacles.
It coiled tightly and then went slack on the wood of the jetty. He started to keel over to one side, as if he were melting under your touch, and he barely caught himself on one arm. “Fuck…” he gasped. “Fuck, that feels so good.”
His head lolled backwards slightly and his lips parted to let loose ragged breaths.
You glanced down at his body and saw between his limbs that something else was becoming visible. When he saw you looking, he huffed an embarrassed laugh. “Look at the state you’ve got me into,” he snorted, and he started to pull back, pull away from you.
“Caspian, don’t…” you said. “You don’t have to… I… I want this… if you do…”
He fixed you with an unreadable look. “You mean it?”
You nodded. “You’re gorgeous, and funny, and intelligent… and… I trust you.”
He let out a shaky laugh and bit his lower lip hard. He put the flat of his hand gently onto your leg and began to slide it upwards, pushing the material of your clothes up with it, never breaking eye contact with you. He shifted closer on that writhing mass of limbs until he was rearing up above you. He let one tentacle slide around your ankle, and another began to creep up your inner thigh.
You tipped your head back and closed your eyes at the strange sensation of it. When he discovered a moment later how aroused you were, he moaned and rumbled something that might have been a half-swallowed curse. “You’re so warm,” he said, letting the tip of that tentacle play over your skin.
Fire shot up your spine the moment he began to circle and nudge you, and you arched your back. He caught your face tenderly in his hands and kissed you. His lips tasted of salt, but as his tongue found yours, you suddenly didn't mind. He continued to play with you while he kissed you, teasing you with the smooth, cool tip of his tentacle. When he sought out the heat of you more deeply, you felt yourself clench around him as he pushed gently inside you.
“More,” you gasped, loving the stretch of his tentacle inside you. “Please…”
He nodded and eased you down onto the jetty behind you so that you were lying flat on your back. He used two of his tentacles to undress you and then spread your legs, and once you were open for him, he began to squeeze around you, coiling and covering you with four of his limbs around each of your legs.
“Gods, you look so beautiful,” he said, face alight with wonder as he gazed at you. “You’re so beautiful…”
In the soft light you could see his cock now, flushed purple and fully hard, and weeping a pearly pre-come profusely down its length. It was shaped like a smaller tentacle, thick and ridged towards the base, with a more pointed head, and it coiled lazily in the summer air, drooling drops of his pre-come down onto your thighs. “Are you sure you want me to do this?” he asked.
You nodded.
With the highlights of bioluminescence in his hair and on his body, he looked incredible, and it was hard to believe he wasn’t some sea god or something, come ashore for the night as if out of a fairytale. As it was, you didn’t have time for any more lust-filled musings. He slipped the tip of his cock inside you and you gasped as he stretched you. The stretch grew until he filled you utterly, and as he seated himself fully inside you, he bowed his head over you, his whole body tense and taut.
“Gods, you’re so hot…” he hissed. “I mean… the heat of you is… it’s…” he shuddered and then began to move with an embarrassed chuckle as you grabbed his hips.
He started slowly, but soon his rhythm picked up pace. The tentacles that were wrapped around your bare legs began to grip you more and more tightly, each of the suction cups forming a delicious counterpoint to the intense pleasure that the ridges of his cock gave you as he pistoned in and out. His breathing deepened, quickening to match his pace as he lost himself in the feel of you, of being inside your heat. He used his hold on your legs for leverage, and tilted his own hips a little until he caught that spot inside you that made you see stars, and you yelled with pleasure.
“Yes! There… don’t stop… please don’t stop…” you whimpered, and he obliged. He fucked into you hard, the tip of his cock catching you over and over as you felt your orgasm building.
The white hot heat of it rushed up for you and as he squeezed your body just a little tighter with his muscular limbs, he grunted and tipped over the edge first. As the heat of his release filled you, you followed him a second later. Clinging to him, you felt yourself clenching around his cock, drawing his release from him. Caspian’s eyes rolled closed and he bellowed as he emptied himself into you in a series of powerful thrusts.
When he finally finished, he suddenly went limp, his tentacles losing all their strength and sliding off you, unfurling and falling to lie weakly on the jetty. Occasionally one would spasm and then lie quiet again. He just caught himself from crushing you completely, and propped himself up on shaking arms.
“Caspian?” you whispered, still dazed and still clenching around his cock whenever he shifted.
“Mm?”
“You ok?”
“Mm.” He swallowed. “You need me to move?”
“Not just yet.”
“Good, because I’m not sure I can… That was… That was incredible. You’re… You’re incredible.”
You smiled and kissed his forehead since it was all you could reach. He responded by nuzzling gently at your neck and kissing you there.
When he’d recovered, he rolled off you and lay on his back. You turned and watched him for a moment or two, enjoying the sight of his spent, glistening cock still lying openly amongst his limbs.
As you glanced down at your own body, you laughed and groaned at what you saw.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, cracking one eye open and looking at you.
You pointed at your legs. “Either I’m going to have to wear jeans tomorrow, or I’m going to have to say I’ve got chicken pox or something…”
He squinted, and when he saw the spiralling patterns of circles that the suckers of his tentacles had left on your skin, he laughed. Some of them, the ones where the tops of his limbs had been, were almost as big as the palm of your hand. “Sorry.”
You shrugged and lay back down beside him. “I might feel differently about them tomorrow, but right now, I couldn’t care less. You know, for your first time with a human, I’d say that was pretty good.”
“Being a scientist though, I can’t just rely on one experiment.”
You elbowed him hard in the ribs and he grunted. “I’m not a curiosity fuck, you know?”
“I know,” he replied, turning more serious. “But would you like me to do it again anyway?”
Turning your head to face him, you saw the way his eyes glittered playfully in the dark. “Yes,” you said very quietly, and you were met with a broad, happy smile. “Would you?”
One hand moved down his body to take his hardening cock in his fist. It writhed gently in his relaxed fingers, still covered in his come and once again leaking everywhere in anticipation of more. “Very much,” he said, and this time, it was you who straddled him.
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Eddie Eats A Map
Written for @symbruary Day 11: "romance". Featuring Morbius again because I've been meaning to bring some Venom/Morbius into the world for forever.
Honestly this is less "actual romance" and more "being friends and also there's secret attraction that might be one-sided" but like... it's pre-romance. Also Eddie mentions being married to symby so there's your romance. Also this was supposed to be two scenes and the second scene was going to have more romance but then this got long, I'll use my Free Space day to write the second scene or something.
My friends, I've never read an issue actually set in Monster Metropolis, my description is based off the wiki and posts I’ve seen other people make on it. Please forgive any inaccuracies.
###
Eddie studied the crude map.
"I'm trusting you with this," Morbius said solemnly. "Both not to abuse this information and not to let it fall into the wrong hands. Memorize and then destroy the map—"
Without bothering to check if anyone else in the 24 hour diner was looking their way, the symbiote stretched Venom's mouth across Eddie's face and they stuffed the map into their maw.
Morbius froze mid-sentence, mouth open behind his disposable face mask.
Venom slurped down the fang-shredded paper and then grinned at Morbius for just a second before their fangs receded back into Eddie's face and their skin melted and oozed back into Eddie's pores. Eddie wiped some green slime off his chin with his thumb and took a sip from his mug of hot chocolate, smirking.
Morbius glanced around the diner to make sure nobody noticed—the whole point of Morbius's wearing a mask and Venom's keeping their slimier half stored on the inside had been so that they could meet on the street level without immediately being pegged as monsters—but the other three late night/early morning diners looked half asleep at their tables and the waitress was boredly watching her phone. Morbius turned back to Eddie and stammered, "Yeah, that—that accomplishes the task. But you shouldn't do that again."
"You were saying?" Eddie prompted, digging into his omelet. "About Monster Metropolis?"
"Right." Morbius tried to collect his thoughts. "This city has already suffered more than its share of traumas. Just a few years ago it was nearly destroyed. I know all you've done to help and protect the dinosaur-people—the Moloids have brought a couple to the metropolis and they speak very highly of you. I know you can keep this metropolis secret as well."
Eddie nodded, slowly lifting a bite of omelet to his mouth. He didn't comment until he'd swallowed. "I’m not sure we like how you say 'can,' there. Like you know we can but aren't sure we will."
Morbius hesitated. "Not everyone in this metropolis is what you might personally consider 'innocent.'"
"Ah."
"But we protect them anyway," Morbius insisted. "Not from the consequences of their actions, but from the persecution based on their nature that they would face on the surface. When they cause trouble, we handle it internally. We won't have our city exposed to the surface world again and its cruelty again. I'm asking you to agree to that much."
Something in Eddie's expression shifted at the word persecution. Morbius was sure he had his empathy then—hopefully the other's, too, although it was hard to tell. In all the times Morbius had overheard Venom talking to themself, he couldn't recall ever hearing them disagree with each other; but surely it had to happen; and he was well aware that, as often as they agreed, their thoughts weren't identical. Why would they need to talk to themselves at all if they were?
And every once in a while Eddie said something in a slightly different voice—it wasn't as obvious when Venom spoke, but it was when Eddie spoke—and Morbius got the impression that he wasn't sharing his own thoughts so much as conveying something his other had asked him to say. He didn't think in those moments the alien had actually seized control of Eddie's vocal cords to speak its on mind, just asked Eddie to speak for it; but the difference was still audible.
When Morbius was around Venom, he had long since gotten past the eerie feeling that an uninvited third party was listening in on a one-on-one conversation, and instead moved on to the entirely new eerie feeling that he was having a conversation with two people but one of them was dead silent except to occasionally whisper in the other's ear.
"We notice you gave us the map before checking whether we'd agree to your terms," Eddie said. "And you're not getting the map back. Why the show of trust?"
Morbius had been hoping Venom wouldn't look that gift horse in the mouth. But, since they'd asked... "For three reasons," he said. "First... if I'd been considering this a few years ago, before you two..." He puzzled over the appropriate wording for a moment. "Separated?" He thought broke up might sound too intimate.
But Eddie nodded in confirmation. "Temporarily separated to work on our marriage."
Marriage. That word hit heavily. He pushed his own reaction aside. Oh, okay, he should have leaned toward more intimate. Talking to Eddie and his other was a constant exercise in reminding himself to underestimate the nature of their relationship a little less. "Before you temporarily separated, I wouldn't have given you the map. But the person—people?—that you are now, I believe I can trust with it. But I'm having to take it on faith that you're going to keep being who you are now rather than who you were then. If you get my meaning."
Eddie smiled tiredly. "Believe me, that's what we want, too." He sighed. "All we've ever wanted—before and after our separation—is to be a hero together. It's... just been a process getting there. You know," he shrugged, looking down at his half-eaten meal, "had to work on ourselves a while, had to work on our relationship..."
Morbius nodded, trying to look less mystified than he was from wondering what an alien goo had to work on. He supposed anything with sentience and emotions must have personal issues worth working on—he just couldn't imagine what they actually were. That silent third participant in the conversation he knew so little about. "The change is evident. Both from seeing you in in the news and from talking to you."
Eddie smiled sheepishly. It wasn't a common look on his face. "I'm going to take that as approval of where we are now rather than as an indictment of where we were then."
"That's how I meant it."
"Good."
"And second," Morbius said, figuring they were probably more than ready to move on from even this relatively gentle critique of their (comparatively) wild days, "Monster Metropolis is, first and foremost, a haven for the nonhuman people that humanity considers monsters. And your other is nothing if not seen as a monster. If it ever needs somewhere safe to run, I want it to be able to find the metropolis." Morbius didn't know a lot about what Venom was doing when they weren't in the news—and even then, their newsworthy appearances were less in-depth interviews and more cryptid sightings—but he got the impression Eddie and the symbiote spent more time than either would like getting violently separated and scrambling to reconnect. That wasn't easy when you had to live a life restricted to dark alleyways and deep tunnels. Maybe Monster Metropolis could make it easier for them to find each other again—or at least give the symbiote a haven where it could hide and a community that could help it locate its missing home/partner. "Of course, you're welcome there too, Eddie, I don't want to slight you—but Monster Metropolis does primarily exist for the monsters."
At first, Morbius thought Eddie had flinched; then realized it was more of a ripple, his very skin itself—or something under his skin—stirring.
"What is it?"
"Was that visible? Sorry." Eddie picked up his hot chocolate again, noted it was empty, and picked up Morbius's. (Morbius had thought he should order something to look a little less strange, and Eddie had told him he wouldn't mind a second drink.) "You uh, surprised us—particularly my other. It's not used to it being the one to receive the invitation and me being its 'plus one' guest. In fact, it usually only happens when someone in a lab coat wants to prod it a while and hope that a superpower falls out." Eddie had that voice on—the one Morbius thought meant he was reporting the symbiote's thoughts rather than his own. It sounded just slightly more professional—like a journalist reporting a paraphrase of someone else's statements rather than giving his own opinion. He took a sip before giving Morbius a wan smile. "You got a Nobel for some kind of biochemistry thing, right? You wouldn't happen to be doing any kind of research that might benefit from an amorphous alien that can alter its host on a cellular level, would you?"
Morbius would be lying if he said he'd never wondered if there was a distant chance the symbiote might be able to help with his own condition—but he certainly wasn't wondering it right now. "I'm inviting you as a guest, not as a test subject." He meant that comment directed to the symbiote, not to Eddie—would that be obvious to them? Was it even appropriate for him to speak directly to the symbiote? It was much easier, psychologically speaking, to direct comments to the person visibly sitting in front of him as though asking Eddie to pass the message on; but the symbiote was sitting in front of him too. Why should he speak to Eddie instead of to it?
Eddie twitched in surprise again. For a moment, the surfaces of his eyes were covered in porcelain white and his grin was filled with sharp teeth. Message received, apparently. "Every once in a while, we meet a scientist we can trust. We think you're probably one of them."
"Thank you. I'd like to be."
Eddie's face was back to normal when he returned to his omelet. "So what's the third?"
"The what?"
"You said there were three reasons you gave us the map?"
Oh right he had said that. He shouldn't have said that. "Yes—right," he said. "Third. I've found that I... Your company is pleasant, when we cross paths." He was careful to understate just how much he'd found himself growing fond of their infrequent meetings. He wasn't sure how welcome a full confession would be. ("Our marriage," Eddie had said. How literal was that? Morbius had already assumed Venom came as a package deal—Eddie and symbiote both—but the word "marriage" implied a certain level of unavailability, didn't it? Not that his hopes had ever been high—nor his expectations even fully conceptualized—but...) "But we only cross paths rarely—and usually only when one crisis or another has driven us outside our usual haunts. I thought it might be nice to... hang out outside of work, as it were?"
Eddie snorted. "You don't look like the kind of man who tends to 'hang out,'" he said. "You don't even look like the kind of man who says the words 'hang out.'"
"You—don't look like the kind of man who drinks hot chocolate," said Morbius, stupidly, mainly so that he had some kind of retort.
Eddie considered that, then shrugged, as if to say fair enough. "You like our company enough that you're willing to risk your monster sanctuary over it?"
"No," Morbius said sharply. "I'm willing to risk it for the first two reasons. Still, your company is... a contributing factor."
"Huh." Eddie drank down the rest of his hot chocolate. "Flattering."
Morbius grimaced. (He was glad for his mask.) He thought that could have gone over better.
"Guess we'll have to make a visit soon then. Are you going to be around in the next few days?"
That had gone over better than he thought. "I don't have a set schedule, but I try to visit the metropolis at least a couple times a week."
"Sounds like our schedule. The hard lives of busy heroes, huh?"
Morbius wouldn't have picked heroes as the first word that fit the three of them—monsters, more likely—or freaks—but there was something comforting about the fact that Venom did. Even if their history with heroism was somewhat checkered. "Afraid so."
"Well, we'll keep swinging by when we're free. Eventually we'll both be around at the same time, right?"
"Eventually." Morbius was well-known enough in Monster Metropolis that Venom would be able to just ask around to find out whether he was in town; and Venom stood out enough, even among monsters, that Morbius would be able to just as easily ask about him.
"Sounds like a plan." Eddie turned and waved his hand, catching the waitress's eye. "Hey. Separate checks, please."
"You want me to pay for the hot chocolate you drank?"
"You ordered it," Eddie said, smirking. "We're halfway to broke and we're also paying for an omelet, you can cover a hot chocolate."
Morbius gave him an affronted look. But he sighed and dug into his pocket for his wallet when the waitress dropped their checks off.
Once she was out of earshot again, Eddie asked wryly, "Regret saying you want to hang out with us yet?"
"No," Morbius said, "although you do a fine job of trying to make me regret it at least once per meeting."
Eddie smirked again—this time, the fangs were back. "I guess we'll have to keep trying."
###
Like I said I planned two scenes but uhhh, it's late. Next one in the next few days. Anyway this is a fine standalone piece, enjoy.
Crossposted to AO3, link in my description. If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment or reblog.
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Episode 6 - Open Eyes TRANSCRIPT
[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]
AUTOMATED VOICE
Please state your message.
[THEME MUSIC AND INTRODUCTION PLAYS.]
VAL
Three-Eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.
[THEME CONTINUES BEFORE COMING TO A STOP.]
[PHONE BEEP.]
[EXT. OUTSIDE OF THE BOOKSTORE.]
[THERE ARE FAINT WIND NOISES IN THE BACKGROUND.]
IRENE
[MUTTERS] I hope this recording still sounds okay.
Other than the cracked screen, I haven’t run into any issues with my phone since I dropped it due to a…mishap, in my search. I can probably try to get the screen replaced at some point, but Aiden was right about backing up my recordings.
I’m not sure how I would react if I lost all of them. I mean, do I even need to keep them? I don’t usually go back and listen to them, but…I mean, I guess I have an emotional attachment to them.
It’s fine for now. I’ll look into saving them when I get home. Right now, I’m at the Open Eyes Bookstore. I know I’ve mentioned coming here before, but this is the first time I’m actually here.
I’m hoping there might be something here about the thing I saw in the woods. I have sort of a theory going right now—and okay, sure, I don’t have much evidence, but here me out.
Bernard Kelly Valencia, the guy who used to live in my house, hung out with the previous owner of this shop a lot. They always seemed dedicated to some sort of mysterious research, right? I think they might have known more about this creature than I do, and while Dorothy Wood passed away, her bookstore is still standing. There might be something in there that explains all of this.
I’m looking through the window right now. There’s nobody in there but a young girl with a cane. To be fair, I think they’re about to close. I came here a bit late.
Well, guess there’s nothing left but to go in.
[A BELL CHIMES AS IRENE OPENS THE SHOP DOOR. “I DO” BY ROSEMARY ROMANO IS FAINTLY PLAYING FROM A RADIO OR SPEAKER IN THE BACKGROUND.]
PHOEBE
[FROM A SLIGHT DISTANCE] Oh, hello! Welcome.
IRENE
Hey there.
[THE DOOR CLOSES. THERE’S FOOTSTEPS, ACCOMPANIED BY THE TAP OF A CANE, AS PHOEBE WALKS OVER.]
PHOEBE
[IN RANGE] Welcome, um, welcome to Open Eyes! I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?
IRENE
Nope, I’m new in town.
PHOEBE
Oh, um, neat! That’s neat. Um, let me know if you need help?
IRENE
Got it. [A BEAT.] Dorothy Wood used to own this shop, right?
PHOEBE
[SHE SWALLOWS.] Yes. I’m, uh, actually her granddaughter.
I’m Phoebe Wood.
IRENE
[TAKEN ABACK] Oh, that’s cool. Uh, hi. I’m Irene. It’s nice to meet you.
PHOEBE
Oh, the pleasure’s mine. [A BEAT.] I mean, uh, nice to meet you, too. [AWKWARDLY] Yeah.
If you’re here for Dorothy, then I’m really sorry, but she’s not alive anymore. I’ve taken over the shop since, though, so if you need to talk to the owner, that’s—uh—that’s me!
IRENE
I knew that, don’t worry. You’ve been running this shop by yourself, though?
PHOEBE
[SHE GIVES A SHAKY BREATH.] For the most part, yes. It’s, um, it’s been fun! I think. [beat] I mean, really, really stressful, because I haven’t hired anyone else yet because I don’t even know how to run a— [SHE STOPS HERSELF.] It’s fine. It’s fun!
IRENE
It sounds like a lot, though.
PHOEBE
I’m okay! It’s okay, I promise. Sorry.
IRENE
It’s really nice in here, though. It’s cozy, I guess in the best word?
PHOEBE
[SINCERE] Thank you. Lots of the decor is left behind by my grandma. People, er, they came here a lot before she died because she made it feel like a home.
[REASSURING] Business is still good, though, don’t worry. Still, I try my best to take care of the plants she left behind; Make sure the shop still feels like a home. I mean, for me, it is a home—I live in her old apartment on the second story. [GROWING DISTANT] I want to start to incorporate more things I like, but…it feels too soon, I guess.
[COMING BACK TO HERSELF] Sorry, I’m so sorry. [MUTTERS] Jeez, I was rambling.
What can I help you find today?
IRENE
I’m… [HESITANT] Okay, this is going to sound really weird, but do you have any books about…monsters?
[A PAUSE.]
PHOEBE
[CONFUSED] You mean, mythology? Or, horror books?
IRENE
No, not that.
[A FEAR LINGERS UNDER HER VOICE.] I saw something in the forest. It was big, and it came up from the ground, and it saw me without any eyes. I know you might not know what I’m talking about. If you decide to just kick me out of your store, that’s fine. [DESPARATE] I need to know what I saw, though.
…do you think you have any books to help with that?
PHOEBE
[QUIET] Oh.
[SHE REALIZES, THEN, IN SURPRISE] Oh! Right. You, uh—
[MUMBLING TO HERSELF] Well, heh, she said that—I don’t know if —
IRENE
[OVERLAPPING, CONCERNED] Hey, if you want me to leave, I can—
PHOEBE
[CUTTING IRENE OFF] Follow me.
IRENE
...okay?
PHOEBE
I— [SHE FORCES A NERVOUS CHUCKLE.] I think there’s something in the backroom you should see.
IRENE
Oh. Okay, sure.
[THERE’S FOOTSTEPS, ALONG WITH PHOEBE’S CANE, AS THEY GO TO THE BACKROOM. PHOEBE OPENS THE DOOR. SHE FLICKS THE LIGHT SWITCH SEVERAL TIMES.]
PHOEBE
Come inside.
[THEY ENTER THE ROOM. PHOEBE CLOSES THE DOOR, AND THE BACKGROUND SONG FADES TO A STOP.]
IRENE
[ASTOUNDED] What is all this?
PHOEBE
My grandma’s research.
[PHOEBE WALKS FURTHER INTO THE ROOM TO BEGIN SEARCHING.]
IRENE
There’s so much of it, though. That’s a hell of a lot of reading material.
PHOEBE
[ALMOST BITTER] Well, it would be if all of it actually meant something!
IRENE
What do you mean?
PHOEBE
[GUILTY] Oh, sorry. It’s just that most of this doesn’t make any sense.
When my grandma died, she left me a letter where she pretty much left me the shop. She said that this room right here was the most important room—that all of the information here was vital, and needed protecting, and that I should only let very specific people see it.
You’re uh—heh—you’re actually the very first person I’ve brought back here.
IRENE
I guess that makes me special?
PHOEBE
[DREADFUL] Please don’t say or do anything to make me regret this. I’m still not even sure if it’s a good idea to be showing you—or, or anyone—all of this.
IRENE
Sorry. [A BEAT.] What did she research?
PHOEBE
I’m not quite sure.
She was always so secretive about all of it. I mean, I saw her working on it for my whole life, but I never even saw this room until after she died.
Don’t get me wrong, I tried asking about it, especially when I was a kid and I was living with her. She told me it would put me in danger if I knew about it, though.
[UPSET] Now, she actually wants me to know about it, but she’s not even here to explain it to me.
[SHE IS HEARD FLIPPING THROUGH SOME PAPERS.]
PHOEBE
Most of this stuff is blank, or it’s written in a way I can’t understand. I think she wrote some of it in secret codes?
IRENE
[CONFUSED] That’s…odd.
PHOEBE
I’m able to read some of it, though. She wrote some things in the format of actual books, so it’s easier to read. Even then, though, none of the things she’s talking about make any sense to me. I mean, it’s all almost like some fantastical story.
[WORRIED] I’ve tried to find some sort of starting point, like a “how-to” guide. Between running the shop and everything else in my life, though, I can hardly sort through the surface level things, let alone process any of the information.
IRENE
Sounds like quite the situation.
PHOEBE
[SHE SNORTS.] That’s one way to put it.
I’m sorry. I think there’s got to be something in here about forest creatures, though.
[SHE GRUNTS IN PAIN AS SHE SITS ON THE FLOOR TO BEGIN SORTING THROUGH A BOX.]
PHOEBE
Could you please look through that stack of books over there?
IRENE
Sure.
[IRENE WALKS OVER AND BEGINS LOOKING THROUGH A STACK OF JOURNALS. SHE IS HEARD TURNING PAGES AS SHE SPEAKS.]
IRENE
Let’s see…The Feast? [VAGUELY UNCOMFORTABLE] Mm, no. I’m not sure what’s going on there, actually.
Um…? [THEN, TO PHOEBE] This one is just called Folk.
PHOEBE
Oh, um, trying looking through it? That might be one of the ones with pictures.
[IRENE LOOKS THROUGH THE BOOK.]
IRENE
I think…wait, yeah, this looks right. I think this might have something.
PHOEBE
Oh, that’s good! Does it, I mean, does it have the thing you saw?
IRENE
Hmm, well, it has lots of illustrations of the forest [SLIGHTLY GROSSED OUT] and also one of a dead rabbit. For whatever reason. It’s a starting place.
[IRENE CLOSES THE BOOK.]
PHOEBE
Oh, okay! Feel free to take it. I, um, I mean, please return it. I can’t charge you for it because technically it’s not part of the store, but just make sure you give it back when you’re done. I don’t want to lose any of my grandma’s research.
IRENE
You have my word. Thank you, er, Phoebe, was it?
PHOEBE
Yup! Thank you for remembering, and just, please promise not to tell anyone.
[SHE PAUSES, THEN, MUMBLES IN REGRET] Hnng, I, uh, shouldn’t have sat on the floor.
IRENE
Do you need help?
PHOEBE
Please.
[THE FLOORBOARDS CREAK AS IRENE HELPS BRING PHOEBE TO HER FEET.]
IRENE
And here’s your cane.
PHOEBE
[GRATEFUL] Thank you so much. I have to go close up shop for now, but, let me know what you think of the book! Hopefully at least some of it makes sense to you.
IRENE
[TWINGED WITH DOUBT] Let’s hope.
[PHONE BEEP.]
[RECORDING ENDS.]
[INT. IN IRENE’S CAR, OUTSIDE OF THE STORE.]
[IRENE CLEARS HER THROAT BEFORE READING ALOUD.]
IRENE
The Forest Folk cannot bring harm, because they are made of harm. Without pain, without suffering, without death, they would not exist. They know that pain lives everywhere. In the streams, the trees, the sky, the earth. They know the natural cycle of pain as it comes and goes.
Because of this, they know no need to harm others, as nature will run its course without the assistance. No, the Folk do not bring harm—they collect it. They absorb all of that pain, gathering it all into one final resting place beneath the ground.
The Folk know nothing, but they know everything, and more than anything, they understand. They cannot give you answers, as they do not speak, but ask them about what it is you seek and you shall soon find it.
They will not ever ask you to join them, but it is advised you never do.
[SHE SIGHS DEEPLY AS SHE FINISHES READING.]
IRENE
And that’s pretty much one of the only coherent passages.
[SHE FANS THROUGH THE BOOK.]
IRENE
There’s illustrations, and blank pages, and special code, like Phoebe mentioned. The stuff I do understand seems to go back to pain and death a lot, but the “Folk” it’s describing seem to be peaceful.
[A LONG PAUSE.]
IRENE
[BAFFLED, TINGED WITH AN ANGER OF SORTS] What the fuck?
[PHONE BEEP.]
[RECORDING ENDS.]
AUTOMATED VOICE
Today’s quote is: “You are not wrong who deem / That my days have been a dream; / Yet if hope has flown away / In a night, or in a day, / In a vision, or in none, / Is it therefore the less gone? / All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream.”
Edgar Allan Poe in “A Dream Within A Dream,” 1849.
[THE AUTOMATED VOICE STARTS TO SLOW DOWN, BECOMING SLIGHTLY DISTORTED. THE PAUSES GROW BETWEEN EACH WORD AS IT BECOMES SLOWER AND SLOWER.]
AUTOMATED VOICE
She is listening.
We are sorry.
[THEME MUSIC AND CREDITS PLAY.]
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Birthday Drabble 2019
I’ve been away cuz we had a death in my immediate family and was also doing stuff for other fandoms because I was feeling them more
Wanted her to do some self love so she’s alone like last year but its in a positive way (also i know its late now and idc its for me)
She crossed her feet on the numerous pillows and scrolled through her phone. The heat of June made the room swelter despite her fan’s efforts. It stood blowing hot air onto her face; rattling when she buried her face in the sheets and flailed. She groaned like a child threatening a tantrum. The ding of her message notifications continued ceaseless as a wave at tide.
“I get it I get it you’re all very busy this year. Lady Luck has abandoned you, and there’s no way I can broker anything so suddenly.”
She flipped on her back to scrunch her face at the ceiling as if it ought to know a piece of her mind. It calmed into a parade of several funny expressions that came at random. After a time she laughed but most importantly she turned herself to contemplation. Eli would webcam her by evening over three thousand kilometers away in her grandmother’s spare bedroom. The other seven in their divided, hectic collective had, partially influenced by their shame, vowed to leave their lines of communication open. Extra emphasis had been given to spam her congratulations in the meanwhile.
There were research papers due, some overdue, work to remain on to make rent, hay fever. Each felt given to expressing their regret unprompted until it drove her blistering mad by the flush darkening her face. She furiously typed replies on her keyboard and that was the end of it. For a pause of untold length she stared into space. Absentmindedly she groped for a pillow and cradled it, unable to fixate on any singular want. By the swift calculations of her brilliant mind she took comfort in above all else the assurance of companionship.
It remained an odd concept to grasp that caught her examining its reality in spontaneous bursts. Though not always physical she could speak at anytime, shout into a void if she chose; an answer would be sent back. All at once she felt power surge within her. What a privilege, a delight social contact was, a gift few knew to know friends. Though years had passed since her emergence from the alien otherness of isolation its grip remained imprinted vividly. She sighed as frustration ebbed away from her. The others had not shunned her, had remained and would remain regardless of form. A word floated to the surface in her thoughts, stability.
It had an air of the forbidden to consider herself approximate to the concept. For over a decade prior there’d been only wandering and loss, wandering and loss, indifference building in between. There was stability of status and it’s brotherhood but what then was left for the equally important self? This idea split her tangent in two and opened a new door. She made to get properly dressed then found herself gladly away.
The intimate lighting, packed seating, and embedded scent of grilled meats was everything she’d hoped for. Patrons crowded around their tables centered by table grills and conversation. She examined them all with her curious eyes; salarymen attended their bosses with regret mounting beneath their over-enthusiasm, friends told jokes with years of layers, another birthday or two was being raucously celebrated. A smile came over her as her mouth watered spying the glistening meats served in passing.
Without delay she was seated and handed a menu. An array of sliced beef in dazzling variety opened before her. The haze of smoking meat flooded her nose in renewed force. Her stomach growled in obnoxious protest. A beat passed before she remembered her surroundings and the saintly patience of the waitress. She blushed in embarrassment. At a glance she spied the prices and set the menu down.
“I’ll have everything you can bring me until I’ve finished.”
The waitress gave her a sharp look as her eyes widened. She appeared suddenly as if she’d swallowed a bee; in seconds her professionalism returned. Nozomi refrained from giggling.
“We are currently experiencing some delay due to rush hour. We’re sorry if this causes any inconvenience but we’ll serve you as best we can. Anything to drink?”
“Melon soda please.”
“To be refilled?”
“Yes.” Nozomi said with a grin.
She was left alone to wait. Ever restless her hands fiddled with the table grill’s heat level. She made a game of counting the speed at which she could eye something else, then snap to the red coals. When her drink was set beside her she thrust her hands on her lap; they remained their until her prize arrived.
A long plate of thin sliced raw beef piled generously was served. Hungrily she licked her lips to the nervous onlooking of the waitress. The moment she rushed to attend other guests Nozomi wasted no time lining the grill. She drummed her fingers as the beef cooked and not a smidgen of coals could be seen beneath. In this routine she passed the hour oblivious to that which did not concern stuffing her mouth.
She took simple joy in every detail. There was magic in the meat crisping golden brown, in the fuzzy drinks; most of all she was too busy to feel alone. When at last she meandered onto the street full and carefree she stretched. Her attending waitress had watched her leave in awe and shook her head. The day continued into late noon.
Her gait was slow though she hadn’t a worry. With her stomach sorted her mind now hungered for new excitement. She checked her phone, replied to her messages with a lightened heart, and began to whistle. The sun reflected off each skyscraper grander than the last. It made her suddenly want to skip without abandon as she framed one using her hands. Strangers threw cautionary stares her way; they failed when her newfound optimism deflected them all. A destination appeared in her mind’s eye as she spun then walked giddy.
The arcade was lit brighter than day itself on ranks of machines. Some were bulky, others massively wide, a few slim. Some had stood where they were since the nineties. The wear and tear marking them hid subtly beneath well kept surfaces. She felt them put her at ease because they were things like her; because they were welcome distractions. Curious she wandered the floors eyeing everything like a kid in a candy store. What little restraint she still possessed came only out of courtesy until she settled on a taiko game.
Before she could boot up a level a boy of twelve slunk near. He eyed everything he passed with a mix of scrutiny and inquiry. His hands were in his blue jacket pockets and his bag bent on his slouched back. A red baseball cap with ‘Get Smoked’ emblazoned across the forehead shadowed his face. He stopped beside her, examined the screen, then spoke flatly; his stare looked on as if he were seeing past her. It reminded her in an intimate way of herself at his age and her chest tightened.
“Hey sister I’ll bet you a thousand yen you can’t beat me at this one.”
“...Why?” She asked with her face knitting in confusion.
“‘Cuz you’re new blood here that’s all there is to it. You in?”
She stared him down critically sizing his appearance and shrugged. A thousand just once wouldn’t hurt on her birthday. A strange tingle in the back of her neck gave her premonition to keep caution on the backburner. Slowly she nodded and he registered as Player Two with the speed of familiarity. That detail made her stomach flip as if to steel herself against what was to come. There was however no time for regret as the screen changed.
“You can pick the song.” He said.
His borderline monotonous tone at this was another sign that made her regard him with suspicion. She chose something of medium level that would by her judgement confuse a child. No one ever said she had to play fair with money at stake, after-all. Today was a day she could afford a cheat. He said nothing though she swore she caught a smirk out the corner of her eye.
They were thrown into the rhythm head first with a steady opener. Though she’d almost never played anything rhythmic extensively she nailed the first notes with a natural focus. That method had never failed her before, and she found little reason to doubt it now. In fact it inflated her confidence. When a short break appeared she grinned at the boy but his eyes were glued to the game. She heard the notes miss before she saw them, quickly recomposing herself.
The notes ramped up speed and began to double layer. Her wrists burned in the struggle until at last they cleared. She groaned seeing the score tallied. The boy stuck out a hand, his expression largely blank.
“‘Fess up the cash I beat you fair and square.”
She made to reach for her wallet then stopped.
“I’ll tell you what. Today’s my birthday so I’m feeling playful. Instead of paying you now how about you try beating me at every game here first?”
“Psh, no fuckin way. You’re just sore cuz you lost.”
His eyes widened just barely at his own words. He glanced away and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. It made her eye him with a curious look.
“Sorry I cursed. Still you totally lost and we never said anything about playing a bunch of stuff.”
“That’s true but how about this. Think of it as a game within a game. It looked to me like winning so easily made you bored. It’s not really winning if it doesn’t feel earned right?”
At last a look of surprise however faint brought life to him. She danced giddy in her thoughts; she’d guessed him right. The boy stood thoughtful in his silence. When he was ready to speak he no longer slouched and wore focused eyes. It was the most she’d seen from him since they’d played.
“You’re on.”
They carved a path marked by a few surprised onlookers through each new floor. They passed giddy onto each game in the manic focus children posses best. For every cluster he won at she’d break his streak by the next. She refrained from teasing at his losses. His eyes would narrow and his face scrunch severe; at times he sucked his teeth. In the heat of moments a barrage of curses would fly from his mouth; every outburst soon signed with an apology.
Within the myriad labyrinth that comprised the arcade they lost time. It became a measurement felt only in their gradual tiring. The blur of their play quieted into a final contest at a shooting game. Neither said so out-loud however. When a noticeable crowd surrounded them her eyes widened. She looked to him and his expression was focused as ever. A low buzz of gossip circled around them from all directions.
“That’s him!”
“The Arcade King...”
“Didn’t he leave for that other place?”
“What’s he doing playing against a noob?”
She frowned and pressed harder on the trigger, aimed faster. The outside voices dimmed into white noise. Time passed like an abstract concept hinted at only by the increased sweat on their hands. Onscreen a zombie shambled towards her with grasping arms. One shot struck it clean through the head for an enthusiastic hundred point gain. Pride swelled her chest like an inflated balloon; she hissed a ‘Yes!’ through her teeth. More mounted up the pressure and for each she downed her grin grew. From the corner of her eye his effort intensified; head shots appeared in quick succession.
Before she fully comprehended it the level faded into a clear screen. The information at a glance made her shoulders sag. She heard him sigh and felt an electricity through her when it was contented. The crowd gossiped a half minute longer then dispersed; she heard none of it. He reached out a fist in invitation and with a slow look down she bumped back. She watched him crack his first smile that carried innocence and when viewed beheld the innocence of seeing a rainbow for the first time. She sensed with painful clarity that indeed they had common ground.
“Keep the money. That was the most fun I’ve had in a while. Mom usually can’t take me anywhere so I like hanging here alone. I normally come after school- if you’re ever around sometime we can play again.”
It was the most he’d spoken so that for a pause she stared incredulously. Without hesitation then she nodded. Her smile was easy, earnest.
“Sure. That’d be very nice.”
“See you around then, later.”
As abrupt and meandering as he’d first appeared he walked away. Soon he melded into the packed corridors. There was every chance they’d never meet again. She let that thought slip as her phone jingled. She smiled at the screen before leaving through the doors; her heart several degrees lighter.
#Do not reblog#birthday drabble 2019#could this be better yeah but days later im tired of looking and it and its cute enough i guess
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The Right Thing vs The Greater Good
I’ve been rewatching the middle bits of s11 on the TNT loop today (11.14-17), and throwing in 11.10 for Dabb putting his fingerprints all over the mytharc for s11, it really feels like this chunk of episodes is really when Dabb started exerting his influence all over the major themes of the series. And this group of episodes really clearly shows the sorts of themes that s12 is addressing in another way, especially since it seems like Dabb had been in cahoots with Bobo, and still is… :D
(pffft another way)
I included some of my chattybubble thoughts to Lizbob for both clarification and some just for funsies because I think I’m hilarious. :D
There’s the extremely surface level stuff about the MoL involvement in Europe in the past, and bringing that plot to the surface (heh because those events culminated in the sinking of a submarine, I crack myself up).
I’d like to point out that 11.14 and 11.16 BOTH deal with time travel, or stories that play with time in interesting ways, THIS is how you do time travel episodes. And the consequences of 11.14 are similar to the consequences of traveling to the past in the entire history of this show (4.03, 5.13, 6.18, 7.12…) WITH THE EXCEPTION OF THE DREADED BUCKLEMMING TIME TRAVEL FIASCOES. Ugh. Okay. Sorry. Just had to say that.
Most of my thoughts on 11.15 and 11.16 ended up tidily summarized in our chats, so here, have a transcript of those, followed by my runthrough of the MAJOR INPORTINT THEMES in 11.17 that are still playing out mid s12. Under a cut, because I still haven’t learned the meaning of the word “brevity.” At least I’m still funny:
(edited for readability, and focus in on the main points. Y’all don’t need to hear such bits of this as me musing over the dozens of robins roosting in my birch tree or that Lizbob went out for a walk at one point...I bolded some key things if you’d prefer to just sorta skim this...)
Mittensmorgul: oh gosh mel's texting me, and I had to tell her that I'd rewound the "travel back in time" episode, she's like "ooh wrestling ep in 4 minutes!" and I had to tell her I'm "not caught up to real time yet." I hate time travel :P
Elizabethrobertajones: hahaha you're in a time loop. amazing :P are you up to the wrestling yet? Does it look any different from a Dabb vs performing Dean hindsight?
Mittensmorgul: It's a bit like an early "ghost of john winchester" preview to s12
Mittensmorgul: Heck I feel really bad for Harley, He believed in himself, turned down a demon deal, and ended up tortured and dead because of it :(
Elizabethrobertajones: yeah :< he was a Dean mirror at the time, right? I can't remember why
Mittensmorgul: He'd spent the first half grumpy at the "old guys." He was almost killed accidentally by the hangman's noose in the ring. the one whose funeral started everything. he was a suspect at first, they thought he was the demon for a bit. he was accusing gunner of being on drugs (he saw his dealer... er. demon). He was a hothead supposedly starting trouble, but really he was standing up for the "honor" (not the right word but whatever) of what they do, working for next to nothing night after night on the road. Ends up having his soul stolen by a demon against his will anyway
Elizabethrobertajones: right, he was a worst case scenario about souls being snatched, which we were worried about at the time
Mittensmorgul: and then in the end, after all Harley's yelling at Gunner about being dirty (via drugs, or via whatever...) Dean finally breaks through to Gunner with reason, with words\ Like Dean was an older and wiser version of Harley. Harley could never have guessed that GUnner's problem wasn't "drugs" but a demon... But Dean not only understood, he empathized, and talked Gunner into choosing another way
Elizabethrobertajones: heeey that sounds familiar :P
Mittensmorgul: honesty, accepting your responsibility, "It's never too late to do the right thing." ack gunner "I look in the mirror and I hate the face looking back at me. I got this coming." That hasn't been Dean in a while now
HELLHOUNDS
and oh my... Dean's "It's never too late to do the right thing" which he believes because "I have to." Because at the beginning his SOLE mission was finding a way to save Cas from having said YEs to Luci
And Sam's like, "If he even wants to be saved"
Dean says "He does, even if he doesn't know it yet"
RUFUS! I've been wanting to see this episode again since reading something about the parallel between Dean and Rufus via Ketch's arrival at the bunker
It's like Bobo, Dabb, and Robbie had all conspired to this theme of "fixing the past" via actions taken in the present by finding another better way
It’s literally it's the entire point of this episode
Where Dean's "better" spell doesn't just trap the soul eater, it KILLS it and frees everyone who's stuck "outside of time and space" in its nest
[we had a rambling discussion of just how much this foreshadowed everything that happened in 11.23]
Elizabethrobertajones: so Dean walked in and walked out And clapped eyes on a long-lost parental figure on the way out :P
Mittensmorgul: BUT in doing so he ALSO frees Bobby's soul, and the trapped kids from the past
Elizabethrobertajones: freeing the things from the past. yikes :P Like Mary was freed from the past
Mittensmorgul: This is literally the theme of s12… Having better tools, better info, a more complete plan for saving everything, healing the past so everyone can move forward
I remember seeing something about how 12.15 paralleled Dean to Rufus... and some of 11.16 does... literally putting Dean into Rufus's exact position as they switch back and forth between past and present. BUT THEN IT'S BOBBY WHO GOES INTO THE SOUL EATER'S NEST WITH DEAN Like Sam and Dean have flipped roles here. Or that they're interchangeably both bobby and rufus...
ACK the soul eater telling Sam "Your brother wants to go to the Darkness, NEEDS to go, but I can keep him here safe, forever." but... they ended up finding a better way through words and balance
Elizabethrobertajones: it's the only time they've seen each other since Bobby died, and Bobby's still technically alive on HIS end, so Dean STILL has never interacted with him, unlike Sam who has twice plus a dream
Mittensmorgul: We're picking at the ghost of John this season, but Bobby's a big part of "father figures" for Dean, and he's been there subtly all season too
ACK the bottle Sam and Jody found in 7.12. And the first call Bobby gets when he's free is from Dean... in the past... They're talking about Bobby maybe having been there "outside of space and time" and that Bobby had never written up his notes about that case... when Dean says "Let's get drunk and never think about this again.” Which is probably what bobby did.
AND THEN THE SAME SONG IS PLAYING ON THEIR RADIO THAT PLAYED ON BOBBY'S AS THEY LEFT
Okay, that was the end of our chat because we had to run off and do other things for a bit, but I did go on to watch 11.17 again as well. And that just neatly tied everything back together again, and there were some things there I believe are KEY to what s12 is focusing on. Back in s11 all of these topics were being dealt with “externally,” applied to situations beyond just Sam, Dean, Cas, etc. Yeah, Dean was central to the Chuck and Amara stuff (pffft as the firewall between light and dark), but now all these big themes are being applied to the Winchester family directly in a sort of “As above, so below” sort of way.
A LOT has changed since 11.15 when Dean needed to take a break from research to clear his mind, because he’d been “spinning his wheels” trying to find a way to save Cas from Lucifer. But now in 11.17 it’s Sam who’s brought him this new case. Dean’s no longer spinning his wheels even if he hasn’t gotten any traction on solving the Casifer problem yet, but his drive to succeed has taken on the KEEP GRINDING motto. He doesn’t want or need to distract himself with this werewolf case, but Sam thinks it’s time for another “clear our heads” break.
Dean drags his heels, but relents.
Like many of the other “civilians” they encounter in s11, Michelle readily accepts the supernatural. Corbin had originally “rejected” the idea that these could be “monsters”-- specifically werewolves, and in the end he’d become the monster himself.
One of the big themes of 11.17 is miscommunication. Everything from Corbin questioning why they needed a landline phone (Don’t you have a cell phone?) because there was no signal service way out there in the woods, to Corbin lying about the extent of his own injuries and making Michelle doubt the evidence of her own eyes.
Michelle: Are you okay? I thought yesterday...
Corbin: Just a couple scratches.
She’d seen him bitten, but he dismissed her concerns over and over again, even dismissing her “outlandish” claims when she’s finally at the hospital being interviewed by the sheriff.
Here’s another lovely pair of themes from s12 illustrated very concisely:
Corbin: I... look. Hey, Michelle's real sick, but she's got a chance. Him... he's slowing us down. And if they find us...
Dean: We saved you, okay? We saved both of you.
Corbin: It's three lives versus one.
Both the “you vs ALL of you” and the theme of “the greater good.” Compare that to I love you, I love all of you, and >.>. But also that last line, “three lives versus one.” That’s The Greater Good reduced to a simple math problem, which Corbin had rigged in his favor by “killing” Sam.
(also bizarre aside, are trees out to get Dean? Here he has a fight with a tree, and in 12.11 the spell that made him lose his memories was carved into a tree and Rowena described the spell as written in “the Language of Trees.” Not to mention the bloody handprint on the tree that spurred him to giddily remember that their best friend’s an angel… okay, end random tree-related digression)
(no I’m reopening the random tree-related digression to postulate that ALL of this is down to the Vanir’s apple tree Dean burned way back in 1.11. I swear, that apple pie was probably freaking worth it... between scarecrows,pie, apples and orchards-- thinking of 7.05 here too-- and just trees in general, I think it wasn’t the broken mirrors from 1.05 that have haunted them all these years, but that dumbass scarecrow... okay, moving on for realsies now)
First it’s Sam’s turn to try and convince Corbin and Michelle to go, to run, to save themselves and leave him behind. Corbin sees the truth of it, though. He knows Dean won’t leave Sam there to die alone. So he makes the executive (possibly influenced by his loss of humanity, that he’s already becoming a “monster”) to suffocate Sam so that Dean will have a reason to leave.
For the greater good…
And at that point, Dean still needed to be convinced to leave Sam behind, but he promised to come back. He went along with the “greater good” of saving the “innocent people” since he didn’t know that one of them was literally and figuratively a monster.
This also neatly captures all the duality subtext in s12, as well. Nephilim, MoL vs hunters, people as monsters, monsters as people, angels as humans, angels living in harmony with a human soul, angels trapped in human bodies… there’s just a lot of this in s12. There’s also the lengths someone will go to in the name of “love,” however monstrous or misguided or even unwanted by the object of that love. More on that later.
Again, like 12.12 that told the story in a non-linear fashion, 11.17 employs a similar “messing with time” storytelling device, only revealing the past through the events of the present. We only understand how the story got to this point via small glimpses of “revisiting the past” through the events of the present. This was a HUGE theme of s11 (most clearly demonstrated in 11.14 and 11.16, as described above), considering the end result of s11 was a resolution of the original “problem” that resulted from the creation of the universe. S12 is doing almost the exact same thing, but instead of being framed around the Darkness being released and eventually reuniting with God, Mary has been released, bringing that universal conflict down to a human scale.
Back to the miscommunication…
Rather than explaining that there was another injured member of their party he needed to get back to attend to, Dean fights against the sheriff and ends up tasered and arrested. If he’d just used his words, the sheriff probably would’ve let him run back to help Sam, but then Corbin would’ve likely killed/turned Michelle without Dean there to intervene at the hospital, and he may have killed many others, as well.
Over and over, cell phones either don’t work in this episode, or they’re only working well enough to get a word or two through.
MISCOMMUNICATION IS THE EVOLEST VILLAIN.
Or maybe it’s actually this:
Corbin: I saved us. Look, you're hurt bad and... and I love you, Michelle. I can't lose you. I did what I had to do.
Seriously, if you hear I DID WHAT I HAD TO DO and don’t simultaneously hear Kill Bill sirens… you should be hearing Kill Bill sirens...
Meanwhile, Corbin knows exactly what bit him, and when asked directly by the doctor, he only tells her “I’m good.” He lies, he refuses to answer, he downplays the truth when someone else speaks it, even to the point of dismissing Michelle’s point of view entirely.
In the worst rendition of “unsuccessful communication,” the sheriff is unable to contact Charlie the Ranger for assistance because he’s already been killed by the monsters.
In another example of miscommunication, even between two people who are actively trying to help one another, Dean refers to Billie as a “Scary, crazy death machine,” and Michelle repeats back “Crazy, evil death machine.” She reinterpreted Dean’s words, and replaced “scary” with “evil,” and those words just aren’t synonyms, you know? Just because something’s scary doesn’t mean it’s evil. Proof that even when two people are essentially on the same page, they might very well have VASTLY DIFFERENT UNDERSTANDINGS AND INTERPRETATIONS of the situation at hand.
*coughRashomonEffectcough*
And… poor Michelle:
Michelle: Corbin?
Corbin: Hey, baby. Please, don't be scared of me. I didn't want this. Okay, any of this, but... it's happened and it feels so... you'll see. [Michelle whimpers.] We'll be together.
Michelle: No. Please.
Corbin: Forever.
Michelle: No!
Forced love, or forced life, overriding someone else’s will, and yet Michelle decides what she wants for herself.
And then, a theme that’s been sort of haunting the narrative since the pilot episode, and has now been resurrected right along with Mary:
Michelle: They said I could leave... [she sighs] an hour ago. But... where am I even supposed to go? After everything we survived together... [turning back to Dean] I watched the man I love die. There's no normal after that.
This is what happened to John Winchester. He watched the woman he loved die, and there was never any normal after that. Now Mary is back, without John, and there’s never going to be any normal for her either. But that doesn’t mean there can never be anything worth living for again.
#spn 11.14#spn 11.15#spn 11.16#spn 11.17#spn s12 speculation#this is an andrew dabb appreciation blog (except when it comes to car stuff)#this is a bobo berens appreciation blog#i tag this with rewatch notes but really this is mainly for my own record keeping purposes#and is likely just an arrangement of words in the shape of a pile to anyone else but i swear it's all relevant to s12!#breaking the codependency#using your words#men of letters vs hunters#spn monsters#here have my belated thoughts on the whole love... and love#winchester family dynamics#dabb vs cars
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Wicked Games (Chapter 7)
Things got pretty awkward between me and Lauren, and even Dinah as well. Incidentally, I began to regret my decision to stay with them while my floorboards were getting replaced.
Lauren and I tip-toed around eachother as much as possible. I avoided her, and she avoided me. I tried to stay out as long as possible, so that I would come home late, and when I was there, Lauren stayed in her room.
Dinah was still friendly towards me, but I felt weird knowing that she knew, knowing that she had heard what transpired between me and Lauren. I knew it was silly, but I was avoiding her as well, feeling slightly embarassed.
I told them I was staying out late studying in the library, which was true, but I could have just as easily studied at their place. I just didn’t want to deal with the underlying tension between us three. Additionally, I hated having to pretend like everything’s normal when Mani and Ally were around. I preferred to act like nothing had ever happened, and to stop thinking about or acknowledging it.
Today was game day, and I was a little concerned the awkwardness would carry over into the game. I made the executive decision that we would need to have a talk before we let this ruin a potentially good game for us. Our opponent was Pacific Lane University, who’s in our conference. It would be our first conference game of the season. It’s especially important that we beat them and start off our league schedule on a good note, if we hoped to get to the post-season and win our conference championship.
Although Pacific Lane had not won a game thus far in the short start of the season, you could never underestimate an opponent at the college level. We had learned that the hard way last year, when we lost to what was considered the worst team in the conference and, as a result, lost our playoff contention. Any team could beat anyone on any given day. You have to bring your best every game or else you will lose.
I needed Lauren, Dinah, and I to bring our best today and not be worried about off-court issues. Which is why I texted coach and informed him that I wanted to have a players meeting between us three before shoot around. One of the reasons that I liked and respected Coach Tommy was that he let me make decisions as captain. Most coaches that I have had in the past would give you the title, but never let you do anything with it, other than shaking the refs’ hands at the beginning of the games. He truly allowed me to step into the role, no questions asked.
I stopped both Dinah and Lauren before they left the locker room to get on the court and motioned for them to come with me to the conference room. Lauren blinked at me, clearly astonished. Dinah seemed to have an understanding expression. I said nothing as we walked to the room.
The conference room was a small room, with a long wooden table, and a series of nice chairs on each side. A projector screen was on the wall at the front. This is where we hold team meetings, have film sessions, and the occassional interview. I gestured for them to sit in the available chairs at the front of the table. I sat in a chair opposite them, and then cleared my throat.
“I think we all know why we’re in here,” I started, my voice shaking slightly. I swallowed my nerves and continued, “I just want to make sure there is no more tension or distractions for our game today.”
Dinah spoke up first, while Lauren refused to meet my gaze, opting instead to stare at the ‘wonderful’ mahogany table. “Honestly Camila, I’m sorry if I’ve been a little weird lately-”
I put my hands up to cut her off, “No Dinah, I’m sorry. I’ve been the one who’s been avoiding you. You did nothing wrong. I just..” I looked from Dinah to Lauren, and then back to Dinah when Lauren did not look up, “I was embarassed that you overheard it.. ya know,” I admitted, shrugging, trying to be honest.
Dinah nodded her head, “I understand and I promise,” she said as she put both hands up, “there’s no judgment here.”
I never was concerned that there was, but I nodded, appreciating her reassurances. At the same time, I cringed internally for Lauren at the comment.
I looked over at her and noticed that she still hadn’t looked up from the table, clearly doing her best to block out this conversation. This was exactly what I didn’t need. What our team didn’t need.
“Lo, I’m going to need you to look at me, and talk to us,” I said cautiously, worried she might lash out.
Her beautiful greens finally moved up to meet my eyes. She looked back-and-forth between me and Dinah for a few beats and then sighed.
“I’m sorry for putting you on the spot here Lo, but… what happened.. happened. We can’t take that back now. I just want to move forward and make sure all of our focus is on getting that ring at the end of the year.”
She just stared at me for a few seconds, with an unreadable look in her eyes. I swallowed, worried that she wasn’t going to say anything, until at last, she nodded her head and said, “I agree. It’s in the past. It won’t be a problem on the court.”
“Ok, great,” I muttered. I got up from the table and walked around to them, opening my arms. I pulled them both in for a hug, as they stood. “I love ya’ll,” I spoke genuinely. Then I pulled away and looked at them both, “Let’s go get this win.”
Dinah was smiling. Lauren had a blank look, but they both nodded in agreement. I took that as good enough. We ran out to the court, only a few minutes late for the shootaround. I gave a thumbs up to Coach Tommy and we proceeded with putting up shots.
Once shoot around was over, we all went for our pregame meal at Subway. I came back to the gym straight after to get treatment from the trainers. They stretched me out and had me put a heat pad on my legs and hips for twenty minutes, since my muscles were often tight and tense there. Lastly, they taped my left ankle, which had a tendency to give out on me. I went through this ritual before every game.
Finally, it was time for warmups. I went into the locker room, and grabbed my uniform off the hooks, which had already been hung up for us. To finish, I put on my shooting shirt and shoes. I slid my headphones out of my ears, and put my phone away in my bag.
I closed my eyes, taking a moment to remind myself that this was my last year, and I needed to approach every game as if it was my last. I also took this time to remind myself that I know what I’m doing, to remind myself to trust my instincts.
The thing I struggled most with throughout my entire basketball career had always been more mental than physical. Confidence was often lacking with me. Some people thought I was crazy for feeling that way when I put up the kind of numbers that I was currently, and maybe it was. Unfortunately for me, there’s always a voice in the back of my head that believes I am not good enough. To this day, I still wasn’t sure why that voice had come alive. I had made strides in quieting that voice in recent years, but it was always there. Just below the surface, waiting for a few missed shots, a few turnovers, a few missed rotations on defense, to wake back up.
I went through an exercise I had researched about. I flashed through memories of good games I had in the past, good moves I made, good reads, good passes, good shots, good blocks, anything and everything to remind myself that I know how to play basketball, and that I am good at it.
Once I felt myself regain confidence, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. I left the locker room, feeling in the zone, and ready to dominate.
Now, I was standing in the huddle with my fellow starters, getting the last pregame talk. Coach Tommy was reminding us that Pacific Lane loves to play a 2-3 zone defense with a trap in the corners. “We can still go to the corners, to move the defense, but make sure we zip it out of there as quickly as possible. Don’t get trapped!” Then Coach looked toward me, “Camila! Their defense cannot stop you, attack them.” I smiled slightly, appreciating his confidence in me. “Normani, draw the fouls. They love to reach on defense.” Tommy then put his arm out, for us all to meet our hands in the middle, “Win it for eachother ladies,” was the last thing he said before we broke out with a resounding, “Together!”
I stood on the left side of halfcourt, waiting for the jump. The ref threw the ball into the air between Dinah, and Pacific Lane’s center. To my delight, Dinah won the tip, and the ball found its way to Jamie, who drove immediately towards the right side of our basket. Timing it correctly, I slipped behind my defender, calling for the ball. Jamie floated it to me, and I easily hit the left-handed layup. 'Good start’ I thought as I ran back on defense.
The game continued much like that. Pacific Lane could not keep up with our offensive sets, and we got whatever we wanted relatively easy. I was on fire, Jamie was on fire, and Normani was finding us on every cut, and every screen.
We finished the game 82-57. We got ahead so much, that our bench players were able to get into the game, including Ally. The starters got to sit and rest for the entirety of the fourth quarter, which is our goal for every game.
The stats at the end of the contest found me with 18 points, 6 rebounds, 2 steals, and 2 assists. Normani had 10 points, 4 rebounds, 3 steals, and 10 assists. Dinah had 11 points, 11 rebounds (5 of which were offensive), 1 steal, 2 blocks, and 2 assists. Jamie had 15 points, 3 rebounds, and 3 assists. Missy had 8 points, 4 rebounds, 1 steal, and 1 assist.
We had 20 bench points, which is pretty remarkable. Lauren had 6 points from 2 beautiful 3-pointers, and a pair of assists. Ally even scored while she was on the court, which caused the whole bench to erupt into an array of wild cheers, in honor of our best cheerleader.
Everything was clicking for us in that game. As Coach Tommy reminded us in the locker room afterwards, it’s very hard to beat a team when they have four (almost five) players in double-digit point figures.
He told us to enjoy our vicory, but to remember that we have another game in 2 days, against a very tough conference opponent. Our record was now 4-1. I grimaced remembering our 1 loss, which came on the road during our second game of the season. I didn’t plan on adding any more to that column.
As I was unlacing my shoes, I noticed some feet move into my line of sight. I looked up to find the piercing green eyes of Lauren. She smiled slightly, as she raised her hand to give me a high-five. I hit my hand with hers and smiled back, as she stated, “Good game.”
“You too, Lo,” I responded warmly.
“Back to calling me Lo, huh?” she mumbled, half joking, but there was an underlying sentiment of sadness there as well that was unmistakable.
I leaned back, remembering how she questioned me about calling her Lauren. I didn’t realize that she paid that much attention to it. “I think that’s for the best,” I said dryly.
She nodded, and then turned to walk back to her locker. 'There it was again’ I thought. I went from feeling good and stable, to uneasy, all because of Lauren.
________________________________
AN: For future reference, all college names are fictional.
Wattpad: munkeytutu
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Blog tour day! Allow me to tell you more about Husband Material by Emily Belden, as well as share an excerpt from the book.
Husband Material : A Novel
Emily Belden
On Sale Date: December 30, 2019
9781525805981, 1525805983
Trade Paperback
$15.99 USD, $19.99 CAD
Fiction / Romance / Romantic Comedy
304 pages
Told in Emily Belden's signature edgy voice, a novel about a young widow's discovery of her late husband's secret and her journey toward hope and second-chance love.
Twenty-nine-year-old Charlotte Rosen has a secret: she’s a widow. Ever since the fateful day that leveled her world, Charlotte has worked hard to move forward. Great job at a hot social media analytics company? Check. Roommate with no knowledge of her past? Check. Adorable dog? Check. All the while, she’s faithfully data-crunched her way through life, calculating the probability of risk—so she can avoid it.
Yet Charlotte’s algorithms could never have predicted that her late husband’s ashes would land squarely on her doorstep five years later. Stunned but determined, Charlotte sets out to find meaning in this sudden twist of fate, even if that includes facing her perfectly coiffed, and perfectly difficult, ex-mother-in-law—and her husband’s best friend, who seems to become a fixture at her side whether she likes it or not.
But soon a shocking secret surfaces, forcing Charlotte to answer questions she never knew to ask and to consider the possibility of forgiveness. And when a chance at new love arises, she’ll have to decide once and for all whether to follow the numbers or trust her heart.
Advance Praise for Husband Material
“Tackling thorny questions of widowhood and dating after trauma, Belden's second novel is witty, full of heart, and blindingly au courant. Packed with pop-culture references, it will appeal to fans of Sophie Kinsella, Rosie Walsh, and Plum Sykes. Belden writes twists and turns to keep readers hooked.” —Booklist
“Charming.” —Publishers Weekly
“Sensitive, thoughtful, and touching.” —Library Journal
“In this touching, witty, and timely book, Emily Belden deftly explores the complexities of human relationships in our increasingly tech-obsessed world. By turns heartbreaking and laugh-out-loud funny, Husband Material beautifully demonstrates that you can't reduce love to a bunch of 1s and 0s.”
—Kristin Rockaway, author of How To Hack a Heartbreak
Buy Links:
Harlequin
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Indie Bound
Kobo
Google Books
Author Bio:
EMILY BELDEN is a journalist, social media marketer, and storyteller. She is the author of the novel Hot Mess and Eightysixed: A Memoir about Unforgettable Men, Mistakes, and Meals. She lives in Chicago. Visit her website at www.emilybelden.com or follow her on Twitter and Instagram, @emilybelden
Genre:
Romance, Chick-Lit
Rating:
4/5 stars
Review:
This was a very fun read for me.
Belden writes in a style that I really enjoy, it feels fresh and light. Though the book tackled some heavy subjects, none of it was felt in the writing. The plot was paced well, and the way it progressed felt natural.
The idea behind the book was beautifully executed. The characters were well developed and set up in a way that kept the book dynamic and entertaining. Though the characters aren’t relatable, straying from most books in the romance genre, Husband Material didn’t need to rely on that to make the book as enjoyable as it was. All it needed was the wit that Belden incorporated in it, and that was enough for me.
Excerpt:
Well, that’s a first.
And I’m not talking about the fact that I brought a date to a wedding I’m pretty sure didn’t warrant me a plus-one. I’m talking about grabbing a wedding card that just so happened to say “Congrats, Mr. & Mr.” on my way to celebrate the nuptials of the most iconic heterosexual couple since George and Amal. This—and a king-sized KitKat bar from the checkout lane—is what I get for rushing through the greeting card aisle in Target while my Uber driver waited in the loading zone with his f lashers on.
It’s Monica and Danny’s big day. She’s my coworker, whose gorgeous face is constantly lining the glossy pages of Luxe LA magazine. Not only because she’s one of the leading ladies at Forbes’s new favorite company, The Influencer Firm, but because this socialite-turned-CEO is now married to Daniel Jones—head coach of the LA Galaxy, Los Angeles’s professional soccer team. If you’re thinking he must look like a derivative of an American David Beckham, you’re basicallythere. Let’s just hope their sense of humor is as good as their looks when they see the card I accidentally picked out.
Before I place it on the gift table, I stuff the envelope with a crisp hundred-dollar bill fresh from the ATM. Side note: I think wedding registries are bullshit. Everybody wants an ice cream maker until you have one and never use it, which is why I spring for cold, hard cash instead. I grab a black Sharpie marker from the guest book table, pop the cap off, and attempt to squeeze in a nondescript s after the second “Mr.,” hoping my makeshift, hand-drawn serif font letter doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb. I blow on the fresh ink, then hold the pseudo Pinterest-fail an arm’s length away. That’ll do, I think to myself.
I lift a glass of red wine from a caterer’s tray as if we choreographed the move and check the time on my Apple Watch, which arguably isn’t the most fashionable accessory when dressing for a chic summer wedding. But aside from the fact that it doesn’t quite match my strapless pale yellow cocktail dress, it serves a much greater purpose for me. It keeps my data front and center, right where I want it, not on my phone buried somewhere deep in my purse. Bonus: the band, smack-dab on the middle of my wrist, also covers a tattoo I’ve been meaning to have lasered off.
Other than telling me the time, 7:30 p.m., it also serves up my most recent Tinder notifications. I’ve gotten four new matches since this morning, which isn’t bad for a) a Saturday, since most people do their Tindering while zoning out at work or bored in bed at night; and b) a pushing-thirty New York native whose most recent relationship was the love-hate one with a stubborn last ten pounds. That’s me, by the way. Charlotte Rosen.
Though present and accounted for now, the battle of Tide pen vs. toothpaste stain went on for longer than I intended back at my apartment, causing me to arrive about half an hour late to the cocktail hour. Which means I for sure missed Monica and Dan’s ceremony in its entirety. I, of all people, know that’srude. I’m someone who is hypersensitive to people’s arrival tendencies (well, to all measurable tendencies, to be honest; more on that later). But I’m sort of glad I missed the I Dos, as there is still something about witnessing the exchange of vows that makes me a little squeamish. I got married five years ago and, well, I’m not married anymore—let’s put it that way.
The good news is that with time, I can feel it’s definitely getting easier to come to things like this. To believe that the couple really will stay together through it all. To believe that there is such a thing as “the one”—even if it may actually be “the other” that I’m looking for this next go-round.
Late as I may be to the wedding party, there are some perks to my delayed arrival. Namely, the line at the bar has died down enough for me to trade up this mediocre red wine for a decent gin and tonic. Another perk? Several fresh platters of bacon-wrapped dates have just descended like UFOs onto the main floor of the venue, which happens to be a barn from the 1800s. Except this is Los Angeles, and there are no barns from the 1800s. So instead, every creaky floorboard, every corroded piece of siding, and every decrepit roof shingle has been sourced from deep in the countryside of southwest Iowa to create the sense that guests are surrounded by rolling fields, fragrant orchard blossoms, and fruiting trees. The reality being that just outside the wooden walls of the coveted, three-year-long-wait-list Oak Mill Barn stands honking, gridlocked traffic on the 405 and an accompanying smog alert.
As I continue to wait for my impromptu wedding date, Chad, to come back from the bathroom, I robotically swipe left on the first three guys who pop up on Bumble, another dating app I’m on, then finally decide to message a guy who looks like a bright-eyed Jason Bateman (you know, pre-Ozark) and is a stockbroker, according to his profile. We end up matching and he asks me for drinks. I vaguely accept. Welcome to dating in LA.
I’ve conducted some research that has shown that after the age of thirty, it becomes exponentially harder to find your future husband. What number constitutes exponentially? I’m not sure yet, but I’m working on narrowing in on that because generalities don’t really cut it for me. Thinking through things logically like this centers me, calms me, and resets me—no matter what life throws my way. All that’s to say, I’m officially in my last good year of dating (and my last year of not having to include a night serum in my skin care regimen), and I’m determined not to wind up with my dog, my roommate, and a few low-maintenance houseplants as my sole life partners.
“Sorry that took so long,” says Chad, returning from the men’s room twenty minutes after leaving. “Did you know the bathroom at this place is an actual outhouse? Thank god it was leg day at the gym—I had to squat over the pot. My quads are burning nice now.”
Confession. I didn’t just bring a date to the wedding, I brought a blind date.
No worries, though. Monica knows how serious I am about the path to Mr. Right and supports the fact that I go on my fair share of dates to get me there quicker. Plus, he isn’t a total stranger; she knows him—or, she met him, rather. He attended her work event last week at the LA County Museum of Art and is supposedly this cute, single real estate something or other. Of course he tried to hit on her and, unlike most beautiful people in Los Angeles, Monica actually copped to being in a committed relationship with Danny. (Who doesn’t like to brag they’re marrying Mr. Galaxy himself?) So she did the next best thing and gave him her single coworker’s Instagram handle and told him to slide into my DMs. It’s a bold move on her part, but I appreciate her quick thinking and commitment to my cause, Operation: Reclassify My Marital Status.
Since Chad first messaged me a week ago, I’ve done my homework on him. And I’m not talking about just your basic cyber stalking. I’m talking about procuring and sifting through real, bona fide data. It’s essentially a version of what I’m paid to do for a living—track down all the “influencers,” people with a lot of fans and followers on the internet, and match them to events we plan for our clients so they can post on social media and boost our clients’ profiles.
Some may think my side-project software, the one that computes how much of a match I am with someone, is a bit…much, but I don’t see it that way at all. I’m on the hunt for a man who is a true match for me—one who won’t just up and leave in the blink of an eye. I left things up to fate once and look how that turned out. I’ll be damned if I do it that way again.
While I studied up on Chad, I conducted a hefty “image search,” yielding about a hundred photos of him that have been uploaded across a variety of social platforms over the years. In real life, I’m pleased to say he checks out. Chad is over six feet tall, tanned, and toned, with coiffed Zac Efron hair that’s on the verge of being described as “a bit extra.” From the shoulders up, he’s an emoji. A walking, talking emoji. But as I step back and admire him in his expertly tailored suit, he looks like a contestant on The Bachelor. In retrospect, Chad is just the right amount of good-looking to complement my physical appearance, which can be described as a made-for-TV version of an otherwise good-looking actress.
“Something to drink, sir?” one of the caterers asks Chad.
“Yes. A spicy margarita. Unless… Wait. Do you make the margarita mix yourselves? Or is it, like, that sugary store-bought crap?”
Eek. I had forgotten my discovery that Chad is a bit of a…wellness guru. I guess so is everyone in LA, but I can’t help but be taken aback when I hear that there are people who actually care about the scientific makeup of margarita mix.
“Fuck it. Too many calories either way,” Chad announces before giving the waitress a chance to answer his question. “I’ll just take a whiskey.”
“Splash of Coke?”
“God, no. So many empty calories.”
With his drink order in, Chad rolls his neck around and pops bones I never knew existed. Then, one by one, the joints in his fingers. The sound makes me a bit queasy but I’m trying to focus on the positive, like his beautiful hazel eyes and the fact that cherry tomatoes and mini mozzarella balls with an injection of balsamic vinegar are the latest and greatest munchie to hit the floor.
Chad turns to me with a smile, his palm connecting with the small of my back. “Should we find our seats? What table are we at?”
Good question, I think to myself. I’m at table six. Chad is…on a fold-up chair we will have to ask a caterer to squeeze between me and Monica’s great-aunt Sally? I kind of forgot to mention to him that I didn’t really get an official okay to bring him tonight.
“Table six,” I say pleasantly with a smile.
“Six is my lucky number. Well, that, and nine, if you know what I mean,” Chad says with a wink accompanied by an actual thumbs-up.
The waitress comes back with his whiskey neat, and he proposes we clink our glasses in a toast to meeting up as we make our way to the table. Still not over the lingering effects of his immature, pervysixty-nine joke, I reluctantly concede to do the cheers with the perpetual high-schooler.
“So, what did you think of Monica’s event?” I say to break the ice as we take our seats at the luckily empty round table.
“Well, I don’t really know what she does for a living, but she is fine as hell. I mean, that’s why I hit on her last week atthe LACMA. Sure, I saw the ring on her finger, but couldn’t resist saying hi to a goddess like her. My god, that woman is something else.”
I nod in agreement. Partly because, yes, Monica Hoang needs her own beauty column in Marie Claire, stat. And partly because I’m too shocked by his crass demeanor to really do or say anything else. Did I say Chad reminded me of a contestant on The Bachelor? I think I meant he reminds me of a guy who gets sent home on night one of The Bachelor.
“She said you’re a real estate…attorney, was it?” I awkwardly segue. “What’s your favorite neighborhood in Los Angeles?”
It sounds like I’m interviewing him for a job, which in a way, I am. But had I known the conversation was going to be like forcefully wringing out a damp rag, just hoping to squeeze out something semidecent, I would have never invited him to join me at the wedding. In fact, I likely wouldn’t have gone through with a date, of any kind, at all. Conversation skills rank high on my list of preferred qualities in a mate. Looks like he’s the exception to the rule that attorneys are good linguists, because my app sure as shit didn’t predict this fail.
So how does my software work, then? Well, it’s all about compatibility. My algorithm is programmed to know what I like and what I’m looking for in the long term. So to see if a guy is a match, I comb through his online profiles, enter the facts I find out about him, and generate a report that indicates how likely he is to be my future husband or how likely we would be to get a divorce, for example. One of the most helpful stats is how likely we are to go on a second date. I’ve determined that anyone scoring above 70 percent means that chances are good we’d go out again. And, well, a second date is the first step to marriage. You get the point. Anyone below a 70, I ignore and move on. Chad pulled a 74, which is a solidC if you’re using a high school grading system. Not stellar, but certainly passable with room for improvement.
As it’s turning out, there’s a lot of room for improvement.
“Huh? I’m not in real estate,” he says with a confused look on his face.
“Oh, Monica said you were an attorney at Laird & Hutchinson?”
“Well, yes, that’s the name of our firm. The Laird side is real estate. But they acquired Hutchinson a couple years ago, and that’s the side of the practice I work on.”
“What kind of law is Hutchinson?”
“We’re the ‘Life’s too short, get a divorce!’ guys. You’ve probably seen a few of our company’s billboards.”
Chad slides his business card my way, and as soon as I see the logo, I picture those billboards slathered all over the bus stop benches down Laurel Canyon Drive and feel physically ill. Not only because he’s in the business of making divorce seem cheeky, but also because I’m wondering what other things I might have missed or gotten wrong about Chad.
“Wait. So have you ever been divorced?” The question pops off my tongue involuntarily. As soon as the words come out, I remember he reserves the right to ask me the same question in return and immediately regret posing it. I’m not ready to explain the demise of my first marriage.
“Me? Nah. Never married.”
Luckily, a server reappears to take our dinner order. But let it be known that if Chad had asked, I would have explained that I didn’t give up on my life partner because I was frustrated he failed to load a dishwasher in any sort of methodical way. I didn’t just get bored and say “screw it,” chalking the whole thing up as just a starter marriage (google it, this is a thing now). In fact, if anyone abruptly left anyone, he abandoned me out of nowhere.
“Would you like the chicken and veggies or the short rib and scalloped potatoes?” the caterer asks me.
“Short rib and potatoes,” I say, a game-time decision made entirely by my growling stomach.
At that, Chad looks at me like I rolled into the Vatican wearing a tube top. “You sure about that, Char? There are so many hidden carbs in potatoes,” he whispers with a hint of disgust.
First off, Char is reserved for people with a little more tenure in my life, thankyouverymuch. And secondly—
“Yes, I’m sure. An extra scoop of potatoes if possible,” I say, loud enough for our waitress, who jots down the special instruction.
“Chicken for me. Extra veggies,” my 74 percent match requests.
There it is. His wellness obsession flaring up again. I’m racking my brain for what to say next to a guy who screams “dead end” to me.
Excerpted from Husband Materialby Emily Belden, Copyright ©2019 by Emily Belden. Published by Graydon House Books.
#blog tour#review#excerpt#read2019#out2019#emily belden#husband material#romall#rom4#chickall#chick4
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