#whether it’s unrequited or not idk? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jiminrings · 3 months

Text

fail-safe

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.

The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.

He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.

You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.

Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.

He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.

He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.

You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.

Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.

“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”

He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.

He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.

“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”

“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.

“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”

“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”

You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”

“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.

You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.

You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.

You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane.

You go where your love goes.

“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.

“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.

“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.

“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.

“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.

He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.

Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.

“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.

“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it. “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”

It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.

“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”

“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”

He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.

“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.

He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.

Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.

“Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Let me throw that out for you.”

“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”

“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”

“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”

Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.

“Sure.”

( ♡ )

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

“You can have the helmet.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.

He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.

Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place.

It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.

You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.

“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.

“Why are you up?”

“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor.

“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.

It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.

You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to. You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.

Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.

“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.

“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.

You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”

“But that’s still easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.

He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”

Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.

You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.

“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”

You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.

“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder.

You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”

“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.

He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm.”

“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”

He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.

Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.

You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.

He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.

Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.

( ♡ )

Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.

Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.

When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.

You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.

Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation.

It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears.

“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.

Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.”

The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.

You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.

Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.

“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”

He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her.

Yoongi’s your next plausible option.

“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

“Heh.”

Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”

You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”

“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.

The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.

“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.

“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,

“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.

Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.

“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know, try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”

“But it is.”

You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.

You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.

By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.

The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.

He thinks that you don’t get him at all.

“What do you meandon’t?”

Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”

Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.

“Can you be my first kiss?”

“Are you insane?”

“Ugh.”

You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.

You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.

You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.

“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”

“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.

“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.

You try until the solemnness turns into pity.

“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”

Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

( ♡ )

You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.

You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts.

You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.

Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.

Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.

Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.

You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.

“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.

“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”

“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.

He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.

“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”

“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.

“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”

You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.

You leave your home without saying another word.

Namjoon’s panicked.

He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.

He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.

Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.

He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.

The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.

Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.

It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.

“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.

Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”

Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.

“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.

“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”

Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”

It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas.

Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.

They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with.

Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it.

There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.

“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.

“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.

“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”

The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”

You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.

Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.

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queers-gambit · 2 years

Text

Tears in the Rain

prompt: feelings are confessed and a decision is made; the only thing left to do is heal and be okay.

pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 8.4k

note: Eddie's 19, reader's 18+, and Chrissy's 17-18 years old. and yes - The Book of Unholy Mischief was published in 2008, but i still use a quote from it, oh well - roll with it!

warnings: Hanahaki Disease AU, cursing, unrequited love, y'all know the drill - angst! hospitals, and minor description of surgical procedure. again - angst! please proceed with maturity and caution. is this a happy ending? depends on your mental state idk anymore. ✅ no spoilers

other Eddie Munson Hanahaki Disease fics: Cherry Blossom Colored Kisses Gone with the Sin

It started in the 8th grade, spitting out bits of petals and scraping them off your tongue when nobody was looking; subtly wiping your hands on your jeans and pretending you hadn't. Your child's mind was overwhelmed and confused by the sight but figured it had to be normal, never asking any questions, because who would ever believe your symptoms?

You kept this secret to yourself like you did many others, never sharing with anyone the pain that was slowly creeping through your veins. You didn't even tell him - the boy who made your heart race and palms get sweaty. The boy who made your mind go blank and simultaneously race with thought. He's been your friend since the 1st grade, best friend since 3rd, you thought you could share anything, but after the talent show in 7th grade and you saw the way he was held hostage in his seat while watching Chrissy Cunningham do her cheer routine, you knew things couldn't stay the same.

His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape, and it was the first of many star-struck looks Eddie would give the strawberry blonde. A look you'll come to understand would never be directed at you.

Everything around you was changing but you refused to be left behind, so, you changed with the times; you changed with your friend. Your hair was cropped short as his grew out in unruly curls; you wore black almost everyday (like he did), you might've even learned how to play guitar so you two could have another bonding experience, and you even joined his stupid fucking Hellfire Club because you thought you could impress him with your Dungeons and Dragons knowledge that you didn't spend all summer studying over.

When you got to high school, your symptoms changed - just like you did. It wasn't fair, but you never tried to fix what was wrong; Nancy Wheeler spending hours with you in the library as you feigned a personal project you needed to research, searching for any solution. Your friend didn't know you found answers the summer before high school, the summer puberty hit you like a bullet train; the summer everything changed.

You knew something was terribly and fatally wrong yet never bothered to fix it, because why bother putting forth effort into an inevitable end? Your options were limited and neither sounded better than the last.

Option One: you succumb to your symptoms and suffocate. Two: you got a surgery to remove the blooms growing in your lungs - but it would in turn take away all known thought and memory of your beloved. And Option Three: confess your feelings and pray to any and every known God, Goddess, Deity that he would return them.

However, you worried that if he did return your affections - whether he verbalized them or not - you wouldn't be in this predicament to begin with. So, you sucked it up and kept quiet because having him as just a friend was better than forgetting him, or losing his friendship. You were never good being alone but found being alone with him was better than being by yourself. You chose to remain strong and silent, despite the way you withered away inside; you chose to stay close, even though his proximity made your heart crack. You chose to borderline torture yourself because you knew walking away would take more bravery than sticking around.

But in the words of Ellie Newmark, "Unrequited love does not die; it's only beaten down to a secret place where it hides, curled and wounded. For some unfortunates, it turns bitter and mean, and those who come after pay the price for the hurt done by the one who came before."

You positively refused to turn "bitter and mean", so, you plastered a smile on your face and never gave anyone reason to think anything could be wrong. You never thought there'd be anyone after him, because you were enamored with everything he did and the very idea of being in love with anyone except him drove your heart into your throat. The idea was unimaginable.

The first semester of high school, your chest got heavier with meat but also pressure, causing a terrible tightness that left you feeling as if you were breathing through a sauna; your lungs constricted with tendrils of prickling pain, and soon, those bits of petals were fully intact, giving you first sight to what was being hacked out of your body - white chrysanthemums.

After a bit of research, you discovered these particular flowers were used in European funeral bouquets - but not many others. You discovered white chrysanthemums were a symbol of death, grief, and mourning in some Asian cultures, and it did little to quell the worry in your chest.

Yet, how oddly beautiful to suffer through this; where your own body betrayed you but produce something pure, innocent even, despite being slathered with a halo of tacky blood.

However, you feared life without him and even if it meant your heart would permanently weep, you would sign yourself up for a lifetime of pain if it meant he stayed close. If it meant he stayed in your life. If his hand would continue to hold yours. If his smile would grace your sight, if those pillowy lips would form precious nicknames that always made you feel on top of the world.

You'd mourn yourself, in order to preserve and celebrate all he was.

For years, you persevered through the unimaginable pain in body and mind, and for years, you and he grew closer than ever before. In the 10th grade, things changed again - but this was only because you caught yourself about to confess your feelings for Edward Munson. Panic-inducing fear halted the words before they could slip out, and instead, it caused a violent coughing attack.

One so intense that it made you turn away from Eddie and get back in your father's car, driving away from his trailer as your palm was slathered in a slick, sticky mixture of blood and limp white petals.

You felt immense guilt when you glanced in the rearview mirror, Eddie's shocked, confused, and concerned figure standing on his porch - watching you drive away, and wondering what had gone wrong. You two had been smoking, sure, but Eddie often thought that you could smoke him under any table, any day. Maybe he had indulged you too much, and maybe your lungs and throat were going raw from it all - spurring a bud of guilt to sprout in Eddie's gut.

He didn't let you smoke going forward.

You accepted the new limitation because you couldn't handle telling him the truth. You chose to suffer for him, you chose to remain close and depend on him more than you should've. It became increasingly painful to live through your days, and to your heart-stopping fear, the pain was tenfold when you were nearest Eddie.

Eddie, who was oblivious to your pain.

Eddie, who couldn't pick up a fucking hint.

Eddie, who you've been in love with since you were a kid.

Eddie, who you spent every birthday and holiday with.

Eddie, who only ever wanted the pretty, popular head cheerleader... And not you.

Still, his friendship was better than nothing at all and you dealt with the staggering pain that soon left your limbs weak. Surely, the pain of losing him wouldn't match the pain you had now, so, you stuck it out.

You and Eddie hung out every weekend. You went to his shows at The Hideout, you helped him do his homework and study. You defended him against bullies, you'd wipe his tears, hold his hand through tattoos, you brought him new customers to up-charge his drug sales. You loved him, and you did what you could to show that without needing to verbalize it.

You laughed with him, cried, watched movies; went to concerts, checked out books in the library on how to fix automobiles to help him tune up his van. You remembered his Uncle Wayne's birthday and got him a new mug each year, you taught Eddie how to bake, you both would raid the music store and spend his drug money - and he'd always buy you a new record, even if it "wasn't real music".

Because that's what best friends did - they loved each other unconditionally.

And for years, you'd watch him stare after the pretty captain of the cheer team; her oblivious to his staring and him oblivious to yours. It was like a never-ending circle, watching the three of you idiots tiptoe around feelings and truth. Yet Eddie was focused on what was in front of him in the form of Chrissy, never bothering to ever check to see what was behind him - in the form of you.

Because you were always there. A constant presence tethered to his soul, forever being a safety net during the times he pushes himself too far.

The stake in your heart drove deeper when he'd ask your opinion on his hair - wondering if Chrissy would notice the trimmed dead ends (like you did). He'd ask you what flower was your favorite, because he wanted to impress the pretty strawberry blonde with a pretty bouquet. He asked you for a mixtape of your favorite love songs - learning a few of them on his guitar in the hopes of serenading the girl who you'd never be.

Thing was, Eddie was the only constant in your life and you felt it was impossible to walk away from him; some kind of chain keeping you from ever wondering too far. He was there from Day One, never leaving your side, and always knowing when something was wrong - until now.

When your symptoms graduated to coughing out blood daily, he didn't notice. When your chest was ready to cave in, making your breaths ragged and wheezy, he didn't notice. When your eyes became dull and lifeless due to the consistent pain that didn't let you rest through the night, he didn't notice.

What he did notice, was how Chrissy Cunningham was paying him slightly more attention since she and Jason Carver broke up. He noticed when her hair was different, he'd rave about how good she looked in the color green, gush to you in excitement when Mr. Lang had assigned them as project partners, and how Chrissy told him how funny she thought he was.

And the first day they decided to hang out together outside of educational purposes was the day you coughed out a full bloom. Floating on the surface of the water plugged in your bathroom sink was a white chrysanthemum, speckled in bright red blood; a string of red-stained saliva dripping from your mouth as you stared in shock. The face scrub popped lightly on your cheeks and fingertips, but your skincare routine was forgotten as you registered the newest symptom change.

This was new, this was much more painful. The usually beautiful flowers slowly grew in your lungs, sprouting thorns the longer you fought against your feels - refusing to admit defeat, and confess your deepest, longest kept secret.

For the following days, you were excusing yourself every single class period to retch into a toilet bowl, the blooms now sopping wet from your blood due to the shredded rawness of your throat and lungs.

Eddie didn't notice because Chrissy's perfume was still in his nostrils. Her swaying ponytail still behind his eyes. Her beaming smile painted in his mind, and fingers tingling from the ghostly memory of her hand in his.

Thorns sliced your throat, stabbed your tongue, and shredded the inside of your cheeks when you tried to spit them out as quick as possible. It was like your blood was made of glue, keeping the blooms and thorns stuck to your mouth and lips - no matter how your river of tears tried to wash them away. Or how your sobbing breath tried to force them out into the toilet - they just wouldn't budge.

Petals and flowers and thorns stuck to you, like your love for Eddie.

And Eddie didn't notice because Chrissy was wearing that skirt today, and he was telling you all about how beautiful she was instead of focusing on spending quality time with you; instead of noticing how you visibly shrunk into yourself in an effort to quell the pain throbbing in your chest and head, in an effort to block out the pain of hearing the boy you love gush about the girl he loves.

Breathing became harder, as if something were blocking your lungs. Blocking the passageway air needed to travel; blocking you out of your life. It took a physical toll; color of your eyes dulling, hair drying of any moisture, bones protruding from the harsh symptoms that refused to ease in severity. You felt fear for the first time since the 8th grade and this had all first started; trying to weigh your options over what to do.

Three options...

Eddie didn't notice your turmoil to make a decision because Chrissy agreed to a date with him.

Before you know it - years have passed since your first indication of symptoms. You prayed for deliverance, but God couldn't hear you through your gargled cries; coughing petals and blooms out between blobs of thick clots. Your pillow cases were all soiled, yet you couldn't replace them - it was futile with the way blood shot from your mouth and nose. You ran through tissues more than tampons, and your bedroom became something akin to a hospice room.

Eddie didn't notice when you dulled of life.

Being as you were now seniors, you figured showing up at Eddie's trailer in the middle of the night wasn't totally weird. After all, you both had sought refuge with the other since before you really understood what friendship meant. With worry and fear dropping your heart to your feet from the weight of your panic, you hopped in your beat up Toyota and drove through town to reach Eddie's home; used tissues scattered across the passenger seat - all saturated with blooming drops of blood.

You had no idea how to explain what was happening, but you needed to tell him. You needed help, and if there was a chance all of this could be over if you just told him the truth, you were willing to let down your walls. Eddie had always told you he'd do anything to help you, and you just banged your hands on the steering wheel as you tried to rid the idea from your mind that that, too, had changed.

When you got to Eddie's front door, the lights were on and you prayed he'd answer despite the late hour. You knocked, waited; knocked again, waited some more. After 4 minutes, you were pounding at his front door until it was shoved open - forcing you back a step - and to your horror, there stood Chrissy Cunningham... In Eddie's favorite Metallica shirt.

And only his shirt.

"Oh, hey," Chrissy smiles awkwardly, shifting her weight over her feet. Her shining strawberry blonde hair is strung off her neck in a messy bun that makes her look fucking ethereal. "Um, Eddie's in the shower... Do you want me to go get him for you?"

But the small blemish poking out from the collar of the shirt she wore made you shake your head through tears; trying to offer a small smile. "No, oh, my God, I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean to interrupt. Shit, my bad, Chrissy," you backed away down the stairs, needing to use the railing to save yourself from falling over.

"You weren't," she assured. "We were, um... Done. H-He's in the shower, why don't you come in?" Her brows pulled together as if a string was threaded between them, offering sweetly, "I was gonna make some tea, do you want some? We could, um, hang out? Until he's out of the shower, i-if you want?"

FUCK! You knew Eddie didn't have fucking tea, so, the sweetheart must've brought it with her and now, she's offering to make you some? God damn it. Why'd she have to be so nice!?

"Oh, yeah, um, no, no thanks, Chrissy, that's really nice of you, but it's really nothing. I should just get going, I'll talk to him later, um... H-Have a nice weekend, and I'm sorry, again."

"Are you sure? You look kinda upset - I don't think you should drive right now."

Eddie didn't notice - but one look from Chrissy Cunningham and she had. If your heart wasn't broken before, it was now.

You nodded despite the pain swelling in your chest, "Yeah, no, no I'm fine - I should've just called. It's not a big deal, I'm sorry again, um, good night, Chrissy, um, yeah - just, yeah, have a nice night."

She nodded, "You, too. I hope you feel better, I'll tell Eddie you stopped by."

You trusted that she would, returning home and with petals still sticking to your tongue, charged into your mother's room. She sat up in her bed in shock - late night shifts taking their toll and leaving her sleep deprived. This was her first weekend off in months, and you felt terrible for interrupting her, but you couldn't hold it in anymore.

You needed your mother. You needed her more than ever before because your fear was tangible, and you weren't ready to die.

See, thing is, your mother was borderline your best friend (besides Eddie, that is). She and your father had been high school sweethearts, married, and he died in a tragic car accident on the night your mother was going to tell him she was pregnant on their first wedding anniversary. She never dated, she never brought a man home, she only focused on you. When you got older, she figured she could work more and you were happy to support her; taking up more house chores to save her from any unnecessary stress.

It was just you and your mother... Until Eddie, then, he was a constant presences at your dinner table. He had his own Christmas stocking your mother knitted. His favorite snacks kept in a stocked up supply for whenever he chooses to visit. And you and your mother would spend an entire day baking a cake for his birthday before hosting a full meal for him and his Uncle Wayne.

Your mother never had an issue with doing any of that because she was grateful for Eddie being in your life. It made her feel as if you'd never be alone.

However, you now felt like a burden, but the moment your mother clocked your tears and trembling hands clutching bloody tissues, she was beckoning you to her chest and begging you to tell her what was wrong as she rocked you soothingly.

So, you confessed. Everything.

From that night in 7th grade when you saw Eddie mesmerized by Chrissy Cunningham for the first time. That being the night you coughed out petals... And how everything changed and got worse from there on, and you didn't understand what was wrong, why you were suffering.

You told her about how you were now coughing out the full thorny blooms, how the bleeding wouldn't stop; how the pain was festering, spreading, and suffocating your heart, mind, and soul.

You told her about tonight... What you saw... How nice the cheerleader had been, how you couldn't find it in your heart to hate her, and how you didn't know what to do anymore.

You told her how Eddie didn't notice anymore - he couldn't see you - because he could only see Chrissy, and it was slowly killing you.

It took all night to explain, and your mother sat you at the kitchen table. She made you hot tea and plated a few cookies - talking well through the night and into the morning. She wanted to understand everything and as the sun breached the horizon, she was encouraging you to tell Eddie how you felt after reading the same book you had that explained the disease you suffered from.

You told her she was crazy, but she begged you to at least try. She validated that you had the right idea in going to his trailer; she thought that you and Eddie had always been cute, that you'd make a great couple; and though your sense of style had changed again (after it didn't get Eddie's attention, like you'd hoped), she still thought you two complimented each other well. "You balance each other, my dove," she whispered. "Tell him. Please, for your own sake."

So, you bucked up the courage to tell him on Monday. You'd see him at school and couldn't back down, leaving it neutral grounds for you both to be honest and open in. Or, so you hoped.

That morning, you caught Eddie before he could enter the school and asked to talk to him. "Shit, I meant to call you, doll," he breathed, looking at you with concern. "Chrissy said you were upset and showed up at my door - are you okay? What was wrong? I'm sorry I wasn't there."

So, when Chrissy points it out, he pays attention. Instead, you just answered, "It's okay, I'm okay. Um, c-can we go talk? Privately?"

"Of course, yeah, c'mon," he agreed, leading you to the lesser-populated hallway to slip into the old drama classroom that now posed as the Hellfire Club room. Eddie sat on his throne but leaned forward on his knees to hold your hands as you took time to think over in your mind what you wanted to say.

"Eddie," you whispered. "I-I just really need to tell you something, and you have to promise not to hate me after."

He nodded, "I could never hate you, pretty girl, and you know you can tell me anything."

"Right," you sniffled. "Well, um, listen, I just want you to know that I-I value this friendship more than anything, and never want to jeopardize it..."

"Okay, now you're scaring me," Eddie chuckled. His hands squeezed yours, encouraging, "C'mon, sweetheart, what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

You nodded, blurting, "I'm in love with you."

Only the silence stretched between you two like an oversized bubble of Hubba Bubba - popping as your words registered in his mind. His eyes just shot between both of yours, mouth opening to form a word before sighing and shaking his head. Panic and fear gripped your heart, lungs, and mind in a tighter vice than the white chrysanthemums' roots.

"You can't be," he finally whispered brokenly.

A record scratched in your head, "What?"

"You can't be in love with me," his head shook as he repeated his statement. "No, no, you - you can't be."

"Why can't I be? Is it that hard to imagine?"

"Because you're my best friend - you're supposed to be my best friend!" He looked spooked, startled, unsure, and like he was going to have an anxiety attack. "You can't be in love with me, you're just - no!"

"Well, I didn't exactly plan it."

"Just - stop!"

"Stop what?"

"Stop loving me!"

"You don't think I've tried!?"

"Try harder!"

"For fuck's sake, Eddie! You don't think this is hard enough?"

"Well, it'd be easier if you had some kind of restraint!" He snipped, wiping a hand down his mouth. "Shit, I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do about this?"

"I-I don't know!"

"Well, why tell me?"

You gulped, fearing telling him the truth now. Instead, you just whispered, "I-I take it you don't feel the same?"

"Shit, sweetheart," he sniffled, shaking his head, "y-you know I love you but... But no, I-I'm not in love with you."

You nod slowly, blinking even slower, "No?"

"I'm so sorry - fuck, God damn it."

"It's not your fault," you promised. "I-I didn't mean for this to happen, okay? I swear, I didn't want to do this, I never wanted things to change between us."

He nodded sadly, "I get that, I do, but I think I need time to think."

"Wait, what? Think about what, Eddie? L-Like - you need to think about us? You need time to think about us?" You squeaked, panic swelling. You started to cough lightly, that sticky feeling clogging your throat again.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Because I'm with Chrissy and I don't think she would like... This."

Now you understood... "So, because you're dating Chrissy, you can't be friends with me? We've been friends forever, Eddie, why does this have to change things?"

"Because you're in love with me! I didn't want you to be, you were supposed to be my friend. Just my friend!"

"I'm sorry it happened, but why does this mean we can't still be friends? I've dealt with it this long, I can go longer - "

"Because I'm in love with Chrissy, and can't do this to her! For fuck's sake, why'd you have to do this, huh? Why'd you have to fall in love with me right when I got a girlfriend - "

"It didn't just happen, Eddie, I've been in-love with you since middle school! But notice how we stayed friends! Please - please, we can stay friends, this doesn't have to change anything."

He shook his head, standing abruptly, "It changes everything. I gotta go - I just can't be here, I'm sorry."

"Eddie! Please! Wait, just wait, please, let me explain!" You begged, watching him flee the room; the door slamming in an echo around you and forcing the tears teetering in your waterline to fall pathetically. You felt your heart nailing you to the floor, tears falling numbly down your cheeks; hands shaking and coughing getting worse. Your hands finally found feeling again and rose, covering your mouth and nose to catch the splatter.

You hacked as your lungs shriveled to expel whatever clogged them, falling to your knees and needed to use two fingers to reach in the back of your throat to pull a full floral bloom out; blood dripping off of it and from your mouth to soak into the old, dingy carpet. The thorns pierced your finger pads when you rolled the short stem between them, the flower falling into the puddle of blood you'd spat out.

Stumbling to your feet, you kept a tissue in hand and covering your mouth; the material slowly saturating as you punched your mother's number in the outside payphone.

"Mom?" You begged into the receiver, wheezing and sobbing through the pain. Everything had changed, again. "I-I need you to take me to the hospital. Please, Mommy, i-it's hurts. 'S blood everywhere, an-and the pain - Mommy, please, it hurts so bad."

Your mother was pulling up in a skidding halt within 6 minutes. Her rubber tires burned over the pavement, slight smoke wafting into the air to indicate not just her speed, but her harsh stop when she saw your body bolting towards her.

From the side of the school, moments before the first bell rang, Robin Buckley and Nancy Wheeler watched you fully sprint for the car and how fast your mother pulled off, sharing an uneasy look before darting for the same payphone and calling Steve Harrington.

But they couldn't find you all over town, opting to wait at your house instead. They only waited for about an hour before your mother's car was pulling into the driveway.

"You gonna tell them?" Your mom muttered, smiling and waving at the three teenagers.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Doctors said keeping it a secret doesn't make it easier, right?"

She nodded, "For whatever it's worth, my dove, I think you're making the right decision. This took a lot of bravery, but you're going to get better, and you're going to feel better, too."

"I know," you whispered with a watery smile. "Just gonna suck until Thursday."

"I'll call the school, you're gonna be out for recovery for at least 2 weeks."

"Don't forget my post-op appointment," you nodded.

"Right," she agreed, opening her door and triggering you to follow suit. "Hey, kids," she beamed at your worried friends.

They greeted her politely (but enthusiastically) before she was excusing herself and heading for the house. It left you to stand before the three people, who, up until a few years ago, you wouldn't have imagined being real friends with.

Technically, you and Nancy Wheeler had been friends since before Eddie; Robin and Steve coming into your life through inter-dimensional circumstances before choosing to stick around.

"Are you okay?" Nancy asked first, looking the most worried. "We saw you running from school and thought something was wrong."

"So, you blew off school to stalk my house?" you teased lightly, trying to alleviate the pain settling on your heart after leaving the hospital.

"Exactly," Robin crossed her arms. "You ran like something was chasing you - we knew something was wrong. What is it? A-Are you okay? I mean, you looked pretty spooked, we were afraid something else came back - you know - "

"Okay, Robin, yeah," you chuckled lightly, interrupting her rapid words. "Um, I appreciate the concern, but it could've waited."

"Not when you've been acting funny for months now," Nancy shook her head. "Don't think we haven't noticed; you're skinnier, you look like you haven't slept in weeks, you carry tissues around like you're paid for it... What's up with you?"

"And I've clocked the constant nose bleeds," Steve nodded, arms folding against his chest. "Look, if something's going on, you're going to need friends through it, and we're willing to take on the job."

Your heart swelled slightly and you nodded, blinking quickly to keep the tears down. "Um, yeah... Yeah," you sniffled, looking up at them as the emotion couldn't be kept out of your voice, "something's going on, and um... I-I think I would like to tell you guys about it. Do you mind waiting in the backyard? I've gotta grab a book from inside, trust me, it can explain some things better than I can."

Nancy looked nervous as her fingers twisted together; Robin nodding before nudging her along. Steve shifted on his feet and dropped his arms, clearing his throat, "You sure?"

"Yeah," you nodded with a whisper. "Just hang tight."

He nodded with crinkled brows of concern, heading off behind the two girls as you bolted for the front door. Your mother was heard in her room, on the phone, and you dropped your school bag on your bed, snatched up the library book you checked out every year, and made for your backyard.

As kids, you and Nancy loved hanging out here because it was spacious, and your mother had a beautiful garden with patio furniture nestled amongst the greenery. At the white-washed table, Steve, Nancy, and Robin waited together, muttering quietly, and left you to take your seat.

Sighing, you opened the book and slid it forward; Nancy's hands darting to pick it up and read swiftly as you began your tale. After voicing everything to your mother, you had a better idea of how to word it all; starting with when you realized you had a crush on Eddie in the 5th grade, how it festered in middle school, and when you realized you'd only be friends - so, you kept it that way.

You told them about the tiny bits of torn up petals, then how they became intact. Next, you explained how things got worse for you; blooms being coughed out with blood, how Eddie crushed majorly on Chrissy, and then to how everything hit rock bottom.

You explained the petals changed into full blooms, sprouting thorns as you stuffed your feelings deeper inside your cracked heart. You explained the constant pain, the confusion, the sleeplessness, showed them the cuts on your lips and in your mouth; even picking a leftover petal from the inside of your cheek to prove your point.

Steve's hand deftly reached out to examine it.

You explained the mental anguish of loving someone who couldn't love you back; the anguish of being so close - yet so far; and the anguish of knowing you were being killed from the inside, out because you couldn't let go of your overwhelming feelings for Eddie 'the Freak' Munson.

Then... You told them about Chrissy and Eddie at his trailer when you went to tell him the truth. How you confided in your mother for the first time in years. How you were encouraged to tell Eddie - and how it royally backfired, which lead you to today.

To your decision.

To your appointment at the hospital that your mother bullied administration into giving you last minute.

To meeting the cardiothoracic surgeon that diagnosed you with, as the library book highlighted, Hanahaki Disease.

Steve had tears in his eyes; elbows bent on the tabletop to keep his folded hands in front of his mouth, like he was physically suppressing his emotion with the petal laid to the table. Robin stared at you the whole time, never once making you feel as if you were talking to thin air; brows crinkled and perked at appropriate moments, never interrupting.

Nancy had read the entire passage before slamming the book down and letting her tears fall. She listened intently as you explained to the three that you had to choose one of three options, and immediately after that, you told them you had come to a decision.

You'd made the appointment and you were to under the knife that Thursday before returning in two weeks for a post-op check-up that would ensure all of the blooms were cleared from your lungs. And after today, you had discovered the plants were creeping up your esophagus and if you waited, soon, it would kill you.

"Well, why're you upset?" Robin asked gently, reaching for your hand. "This is good, right? Y-You'll be cured!"

You nodded in agreement, but it was Nancy voicing, "She'll forget Eddie completely."

"What?" Steve asked, looking between you and Nancy urgently. "Are you serious?"

"It's the only contingency in exchange for my life," you nodded.

"You've been friends forever," he shook his head, leaning back. "No, I just - I can't believe him. He doesn't love you back? That's just bullshit - c'mon!"

"Steve - "

"No, seriously!" he cut Robin off, her hand tightening in mine. "We've all seen how he looks at you, how he behaves! It doesn't make sense, it's not possible. He's just scared," his head shook still, looking angry with pinched brows. "He's scared and he's not thinking."

"No, Stevie," you whispered, "he understands, and trust me, he doesn't feel the same. It's okay."

"You'll forget your best friend," Steve shook his head. "That's not okay."

"It's a small price to pay, right?"

Nancy nodded, "If it means you're out of pain, and you won't die, yeah, I'd say it's a reasonable price to pay."

You agreed, "It's gonna be okay, but I'll be in recovery until the surgeon okay's me to return to school and normal activity."

"Will you remember why you need the surgery?" Robin wondered.

"Apparently not," you shrugged.

For the next few days, you remained at home and prepared for your operation. Your mother worked extra shifts because she was taking Thursday through TBD in order to take care of you, and your friends visited you everyday.

Nobody spoke of Eddie, who had asked Robin that Wednesday where you were - only to receive a fierce glare and slammed locker in his face. Chrissy's brows furrowed at the aggression, worrying something was wrong with you if your friends were shunning Eddie. She reminded him of how upset you'd been when you showed up at his trailer, his mind flashing to when he found a bloodied white chrysanthemum in the Hellfire room after he left you when you confessed your feelings for him.

He knew that was why you showed up at his trailer that night, and his heart constricted as he grew cold in your absence. He had to admit, if you've had these feelings since middle school, you never let it interfere with your friendship and he was a fool for blowing up at you.

Could it really be that hard to love you? Was the idea that far fetched?

The day of your surgery, your mother and you pushed out of your front door at 4 am to make it to the hospital for pre-op; blood work; all the standard procedures that needed done before you were sliced open and roots carved out of your lungs. And to your honest shock? Steve Harrington was waiting on the street, leaning on his car, dressed in a pair of jeans and an old hoodie.

"What're you doing here?" You wondered, oblivious to your mother's knowing smirk.

Steve shrugged lightly, "Figured you'd want a familiar face around, and Nance and Robin have tests in school today - otherwise, they'd be here, too."

"'Too'?" You repeated with a soft smile.

"Yeah, well, I-I'd still be here," he nodded. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah," you breathed, nodding with a soft smile. "I think I'd really appreciate the, um..."

"Support? Comfort? Seeing my pretty face when you wake up from anesthesia?" He grinned.

"All of the above, Harrington, c'mon," you chuckled, waving him with you. In your mother's car, she kept conversation light as a distraction when your nerves flared the closer you drove to the hospital; the boy in the back doing his best to chime in charmingly. Steve was allowed to stay with you once in the pre-op procedure room (again, your mother bullied hospital admin into letting him stay), and cracked a few really poor jokes while needles were poked into your skin.

Medicine was administered, your hair stuffed into a surgical cap, vitals taken for a final time - and then it was time to go.

When you were wheeled away, Steve squeezed your hand and your mother kissed your forehead; both wishing you luck, reminding you of your brave decision, and sent you down the sterile hallway. While staring up at the blinding, florescent lights of the operating room, a gas mask was placed over your mouth and the anesthesiologist instructing you to count backward from ten... And your heart begged you to change your mind.

Begged you not to erase Eddie. Begged you to jump off that table.

But your mind told only your tongue to move, and you counted, "Ten."

Eddie's soft hair through your fingers, "Nine."

Eddie's stupid grin when he's showing you a new guitar riff he'd mastered, "Eight."

Eddie's laugh, "Seven."

The warmth of Eddie's hugs, "Six."

His hands holding your cheeks, thumbs sweeping to clear your tears as he would coo to you, trying to calm you down, "...Five..."

"She's out," the doctors nodded to one another; scalpels clinking over the sterile table, machines beeping to indicate vital readings, and rubber gloves snapped into place as your hospital gown was peeled away, and disinfecting betadine squirted over your skin.

Across town, in the hallways of Hawkins High, Eddie was pacing by your locker. He looked disheveled, not himself; confused and scared, by what Robin could judge.

"What're you doing here?" she shot venomously, using her hand to push his chest and force him back a step from your locker.

"Where is she?" he begged. "Please, Robin, I know she's hurt - I know I hurt her, but I have to talk to her an-and she hasn't been at school all week. Please - I have to talk to her."

She used your combination to open your locker and set the packet of missed work inside for her to pick up at the end of the day, sneering, "It's too late."

"No, it's not - "

"No, seriously, Eddie," she snapped, the locker slamming in an echo. "It's too late for you. She's let you go, time for you to do the same."

For two weeks, Eddie repeated the last words he'd said to you, how broken you looked when he said he didn't love you. The words you said to him, then how you weren't seen again, to that bloody flower he found, and how Robin, Nancy, and Steve were all giving him the cold shoulder. He thought over what went wrong and every single way he was going to make it up to you, because while he might be in love with Chrissy Cunningham, there was never replacing you - and he needed you.

Eddie needed you.

And his heart sunk to his stomach as he realized how bitter he's turned; shunning Chrissy, becoming testy, canceling Hellfire, and missing you to the point he was tugging his hair out of his scalp and chain smoking cigarettes.

Loving you was easy and maybe he's loved you longer than he's known - longer than he ever wanted to admit. But missing you was hard, and Eddie wasn't accustomed to it.

It was supposed to be easy between you two, but when you confessed your feelings, Eddie felt everything become messy and change. Eddie Munson wasn't very good with change. He missed your laugh, he missed your comfort, a few times he'd even looked up to his bed when he mastered a new guitar riff - and feeling his heart sink in disappointment when he only saw Chrissy.

Granted, she was smiling at him, but it wasn't your smile. Tears filled his eyes when he realized he spent every Friday with Chrissy, finding new ways to impress the cheerleader, and feeling crushed when he remembered he never needed to impress you. You were always proud of him, you always encouraged him, and with a single look, you could say more than ever opening your mouth.

Eddie needed you, and he had ruined any chance of loving you properly. But Edward Munson was stubborn and not willing to give up, not until you were beating him off with a stick. The two of you had been friends forever and he knew you had some fights, but one way or another, someone was always apologizing and together, you could move past the issue. So, until you were telling him to fuck off, he was going to try - because you had never given up on him.

Two weeks of nothing. Two weeks of your home's voicemail. Two weeks of nobody answering the front door. Two weeks of confusion, heartache, and stress. Two weeks of smoking packs of cigarettes, of snapping at Chrissy, of praying to a God he's never prayed to before.

When he saw you that Friday, Eddie's heart leapt into his throat and he gave a strangled gasp before sprinting across the carpark to make it to your side. You were surrounded by Nancy Wheeler and Robin Buckley, all three piling out of Steve Harrington's car - who now leaned on his driver's door, mid-conversation - and he thought you looked more beautiful than ever.

The weight you've lost had slowly built back up now that you weren't constantly vomiting. Your head had cleared, your heart feeling lighter than ever before, your veins racing with helium, and the bags under your eyes had cleared. In fact, your eyes looked clearer than they ever had, and your skin was practically glowing.

God did you look good.

Eddie panted your name, coming to a skidding halt as Steve pushed off his car and looked at you with worry.

Why would Harrington need to worry about you?

"Oh, uh, hi there?" you nodded at him, tugging your binder closer to your chest and sending a cautious look to Robin.

But Eddie's heart was in his throat, "I-I need to talk to you, please."

To his horror, you shook your head, "Um, I don't think we actually have anything to talk about."

"What? No, we have so much to discuss, please, I know I was a jackass and you don't deserve that - "

"Wait, hang on, I-I'm sorry. You don't understand, we don't have anything to talk about," you chuckled weakly, "because I don't know you."

Ice shot into Eddie's veins, stuttering, "W-What? Th-That's not funny, doll, don't joke like that."

You looked at Nancy for support, whispering in a small, panicked voice, "I don't know him, do I, Nance? I don't think I know him."

"No, honey," Nancy assured, smiling softly at you before glaring at Eddie. "He's just a classmate."

Eddie knew Nancy was protective of you but what the hell was going on? What kind of a sick prank was this? Look, Eddie knew he's pulled some mean jokes in his life but this? This wasn't mean, it was cruel, and he didn't find it funny in the least bit.

"What? No - what the hell are you guys talking about?" Eddie begged, looking between the four teenagers. "Sweetheart, it's me - it's Eddie. It's your Eddie, please, what do you mean you don't know me - what's going on? This isn't funny, sweetheart, please, okay? Look, we've known each other a decade, right, how can you - how can you not know me?"

"I'm really sorry, um... Eddie? Was it Eddie?"

His heart shattered, shards stinging as they were pumped through the rest of his body. "Sweetheart, no, please, I just... I'm so sorry, but this isn't funny - "

"Look, I'm really sorry, but this isn't a joke, I really don't know you," your head shook. "And I would remember someone I've known a decade - right?" You asked Nancy again, looking nervous. "I-I don't know him, but he knows me. Nancy, I-I don't understand, I don't know what's wrong. Is something wrong with me?"

"No, honey," she rushed to speak, sending Steve a pointed look when stress made your eyes shine. "You're okay, you're okay, it's okay."

"Okay, hey, hey, hey, okay," Steve stepped in, pushing Eddie back a few steps. "You need to back off, you're upsetting her."

"I'm upsetting her?" he repeated, tears collecting as his feet tried to plant against Steve's force. "She doesn't remember me - "

"Back off, dude," Steve warned.

"I'm really sorry," you called to him, genuine look of distorted pain over your face. "I'm sorry," you repeated to Robin and Nancy, "I-I don't know him, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I-I don't know what's wrong, I'm sorry - "

"Hey, hey, breathe, okay? It's all fine, it's all good, you're okay, I promise, just try to focus on breathing," Robin assured, hand rubbing circles over your back.

"No! Baby! You do know me!" Eddie begged over Steve's shoulder as Nancy turned you away. "Please! No! You know me, baby! Don't do this, please, please, I need you! Sweetheart - please! I need you, and I'm so sorry for what I said! Don't do this! No, please, I-I'm sorry!"

His heart glued itself back together just to shatter once again when Robin took your books to let your hands slap over your ears to block him out as Nancy directed you away - Steve still pushing Eddie back.

"Dude!" Steve snapped with anger coloring his iris' a darker shade, "You're fucking upsetting her!"

"Steve, please - "

"No," Steve shook his head. "You had your chance, and it's too late. Okay? Leave her alone, she doesn't remember and doesn't need you trying to 'remind' her when it's already done, dude. Okay? It's done."

"What the hell does that mean? Please, Steve, I need her - she's my best friend and I can fix this," Eddie begged.

Steve felt fleeting compassion for the other boy, seeing the distress and heartbreak over his face. Steve sighed, glancing back to see you being spoken to softly by Nancy and Robin, assuring you it was okay not to remember the boy with long hair, before turning to look into the eyes that had broken your heart on too many occasions.

"She doesn't remember because you were removed from her memory, Ed, you were just... All of you was removed from her, okay?" Steve sighed finally. "Look, it's hard to explain, but do yourself and her a favor?"

"Anything."

"Go to the library and look this up," he pulled a torn piece of paper from his pocket, handing it over. "It'll explain what was wrong, and you should hopefully be able to piece together why she can't remember you. Don't make this harder, all right? She's finally okay, and you were so sure you didn't want her that it's time for you to be okay without her, too. Don't do this to her, man, you get me?"

"What did I do?" Eddie whispered.

Steve gulped, shaking his head, "You couldn't love her back."

Eddie stood there, piece of paper clutched in his fingertips like the petal of a flower, as Steve turned and headed for you three girls. He lifted his arm to bring you in for a side hug, assuring you that it was okay not to remember - while Eddie stood there, like you had so many times, watching with tears and heartbreak in his eyes.

He didn't go to classes, he obsessively searched books for the Hanahaki Disease Steve told him about; finding his answers, and never finding peace. He had to live everyday watching you really bloom into your own person; becoming more radiant by the passing second, realizing he was draining you of your life before, and how there wouldn't ever be room for him with you now.

When you graduated with an acceptance to your first choice college, you returned home in your cap and gown with a giggling Robin and Nancy; planning on changing and getting ready to hit a few grad parties already. The girls were so excited that you were feeling (and looking) better now that they didn't want to waste anymore time and insisted you all hit a few parties. However, before you could hop up the stairs to your room, a large bouquet of flowers caught your attention.

Sat on your kitchen counter was a thick bouquet of white chrysanthemums. There was no note, no signature, but something in your gut twisted with knowledge. Your fingers reached out to gently stroke the petals before smiling lightly, leaning in to sniff them, and then turn for the stairs to rush up to your bedroom.

All the while across town, a long haired metalhead in a matching green cap and gown, tipped a bottle of Irish whiskey to his lips; a single stemmed white chrysanthemum rolled between his fingers; old polaroid photos scattered around his body on the floor, tears sliding down his cheeks, and regret echoing across his mind.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things season 4 #requests open

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luvfy0dor · 7 days

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Omg wait... so like imagine that Chuuya found someone new a few months or a year later; and in that span of time, reader changed a LOT (in a good way) but they still love Chuuya. So when they see Chuuya's new gf, they're like 'I can be a better girlfriend than her' and 'I can treat you better than she can' KSJASJDJ AHAHA

idk I've been listening to too much unrequited love songs recently 😭😭

“Once I Fix Me, He's Gonna Miss Me ♡” Chuuya Nakahara x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; unhealthy mindsets, reader is obsessive (?), jealousy

Description; This is a part two of sorts of THIS fic!!! After seeing Chuuya out with someone after your breakup, you feel the need to change yourself for him and try to get him back.

A/n; IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG SILVER!!!! I hope it's acceptable 3: i dunno if it's exactly what you wanted but I hope you don't hate it or nothin 😮‍💨

Chuuya doesn't want any bad blood between the two of you after he leaves, but you can't help but feel abandoned. Even if the relationship only last a couple of months you're still heartbroken- you put all your trust in Chuuya and opened up for him, all for it to be tossed out the window. He told you he felt like the chemistry wasn't there anymore and that he'd fallen for someone else, someone who made his heartbeat speed up the way you had for about a week. You still wanted him though. Just the sheer memory of his beautiful blue eyes gazing into yours made your body heat up and everytime you tried distracting yourself with other people, your mind only wandered back to him.

While out on a walk one day in attempt to clear your mind, you found yourself wandering into a cafe for some coffee. While waiting for one of the baristas to make your drink, you spotted a familiar head of orange hair sitting in one of the booths. The same orange hair that you'd run your fingers through every night not long ago. He seemed to be talking to someone, an amused smile on his face. You felt your heart drop to your stomach, dragged down by the jealousy that you felt for whoever he was talking to. Your attention was pulled back to the counter when the barista handed you your drink. "Here you go, have a good day!" The woman has a smile on her face, one that no matter how hard you tried you just couldn't reciprocate. You huffed as you walked out the door and back to your apartment, and on that walk you decided that you had to do something, anything, to make yourself better. You were content with who you were before, but if Chuuya didn't like you, you also didn't like you.

You tried to attain a healthier lifestyle, eating more fruits and vegetables than usual and buying clothing that seemed to better fit his aesthetic. You started getting more sleep,whether it be out of determination to make yourself as good as possible for him or because you felt too depressed to do anything else. When you did have energy, you used it going out and hoping to bump into him. Sometimes you'd even look at his socials medias on burner accounts in attempt to find out his plans for coming days so you could 'coincidentally' show up at the same time and place as him. Stalking his socials only made you spiral more, your jealousy getting worse every time you saw that woman on his profile. Even if she wasn't in the pictures her comments would always appear underneath them, punctuated with an unnecessary amount of heart emojis. You wouldn't be able to admit without shame the amount of times it made you slam your phone onto a dresser or table. Sure, you had gotten healthier physically and dressed like you were doing well, but your mental health proved to be deteriorating. You came to realize that when talking with anyone but Chuuya became difficult and you got snappier. You knew it'd be in your best interest to get therapy, and you figured Chuuya would prefer someone who was more stable than not, so you made time in your schedule for it weekly. All of this just for him to like you again.

As a matter of fact, on your walk back home from an appointment, you were taking in nature when you spotted him at the end of the street you were walking down. Your eyes widened when you realized that he wasn't with his girlfriend. You had every possible meeting between the two of you planned out in your head, so you knew exactly how to start a conversation. Sure, it was real cliche and definitely embarrassing, but you did what you had to. You tripped and fell down onto the sidewalk, yelping at the impact. His eyes widened and he kept a steady pace, considering walking past you, but he decided to help you up. He held out a hand for you. "oh- Chuuya! Long time no see- thank you." You brushed off your clothing once you stood up. "Yeah, no problem." He gave a small smile and went to walk passed you in his way but you stopped him again. "Hey, wait- are you busy?" You asked. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue hesitantly but soon shook his head. "No, why?" You smiled and fidgeted with your fingers, a nervous habit of yours that he immediately recognized and smiled to himself. He didn't exactly hate that he still made you nervous.

"Would you wanna get coffee or somethin'? On me, I won't make you spend your money, I just think catching up might be nice." You say, trying to convince him to go with you, just for a moment. "It's a little late for coffee, don't you think? How about to a bar? You're not driving anywhere, are ya?" You shake your head. "I walk nearly everywhere." He nods, waving you along to walk with him to a bar. You followed with an excited smile on your face. "You're not either, right?" He shakes his head and sighs. "My motorcycle is in the repair shop, I just dropped it off, actually. That's why I'm out." You hum in understanding. "Oh, I'm wishing it a speedy recovery then." He smiles and nods. "And a cheap one."

The bar quickly comes into view and the two of you enter and sit down on one of the stools next to each other and order a drink. "So...uh, anything new?" You ask, sipping on yours when it comes. "Yeah, I'm seeing someone I guess." His gaze was averted to the counter top. 'i guess.' An unlikely mood booster. You had to hold back a grin from appearing on your face. "Oh, I hope that's well...I haven't met anyone interesting enough." You say light heartedly, making him laugh quietly under his breath. "The girl I'm seein' is great, just...we butt heads a lot, but she's a real sweetheart." He tells, clearly still trusting you enough to let on those details. Keeping your face neutral was difficult, but you kept it up anyways. The fact that he was praising her outweighed and happiness you got from the fact that he seemed to be questioning their relationship. "Haha, I'm happy that you're dedicated to her, it only took us butting heads badly once as for you to have enough." You said, trying to sound as not-bitter as possible. You swirled your drink in its glass.

His eyebrows furrowed and looked back over at you. "No way, it was definitely more than once." He says, accepting his drink from the bartender. "It was only real bad once, and I don't even remember what it was about." You say bittersweetly, feeling your mood deflate, regardless of whether or not you had him sitting with you again. "Yeah...come to think of it me neither." You say for a moment in silence. "Did you want to get rid of me that whole time? I offered counseling, so did you just not want me anymore?" He chewed on his lip and thought. "Maybe." You took a long swing of your drink. "I honestly think I was a great partner." He immediately replies, the gentleness fading from his tone. "I'm not saying you weren't." There's a bit of an uncomfortable silence. "You don't need to defend yourself, I know the end was my fault. Damn." He says, his patience seemingly having worn thin throughout the day. "I'm...I'm sorry if that was over the top. It's been a rough day." He says , downing the rest of his drink. "On you, right? I think I should get going." He stands up but you call after him, not wanting the conversation to end just yet. You slapped a fifty dollar bill on the bar and followed him outside, straightening out your jacket as you did so. "Why are you leaving?" You ask. "Is it just a habit or somethin'? Always leaving me?" You persisted, your anger growing inside of you with each second. He turned back to you and quietly but aggressively started talking.

"I am not gonna sit with you and talk about our past relationship, it's over, and if you think you can slide back into my life by buying me a drink then you really need to rethink your strategy. I know you better than you think and I know you still want me. I have a good woman to get home to, goodbye, y/n." His presence in front of you is punctuated by a strong glare before he turns and walks away from you. "I'm better than her and you know it! Why will you never give me a chance!" You frustratedly yell back to him, but it does nothing to stop him walking away from you and only makes him pick up his pace. You bit your lip to hold back your tears and quickly walked back off to your own place, storming inside and slamming the door behind you. You collapsed onto the couch with an angry groan, making one of the few cheap throw pillows into a victim of your aggression, punching it a couple times before hugging it to your chest. Had this happened to you a couple of months ago you would have thrown and broke things out of your anger, but even if you wanted to right now you couldn't fathom doing anything but lying on the couch and crying to yourself. You felt pathetic, you didn't think Chuuya would see right through you like that, but having been with him for a few months he must've known just how persistent you can be. You sat there and stared at the ceiling, feeling your tears well up in your eyes. You had gone through almost every stage of grief when dealing with the loss of Chuuya in your life, and no matter how much you didn't want to, it was finally time to accept it.

A/n; see told you guys I'm on that request grind. I really hope this is okay silver 3:

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saetoru · 11 months

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。12:06 AM — SAMPO KOSKI.

notes: friends/acquaintances to lovers, mutual pining but seemingly unrequited love, confessions (kind of lol), happy ending !!, not proof read and also idek if it’s in character but idk i just want to kiss him but he’s also rly punchable so we had to work with that okay

sampo is a bit shameless—it’s what anyone would tell you. personally, you would have to agree.

“so,” he drawls, “how about it, huh? you, me, a fancy little date—”

“no,” you interrupt—it’s immediate, your response, it comes through grit teeth. “you can forget it.”

“alright, alright,” he raises his hands in surrender, “no need to get all aggressive. the sampo koski will change your mind soon enough.”

you’ve lost count how many times he’s asked you this same question. maybe it’s admirable—the way he’s so persistent. maybe it’s dangerous—the way he always gets what he’s after. most people describe sampo koski as an added headache to the already difficult life of the underworld. he’s a bit too lively for his own good, you think. but you’d describe him as pretty words and perfect teeth and cologne that makes your head spin.

you hate it.

“there won’t be any mind changing,” you say promptly.

“oh, c’mon,” he insists, voice effortlessly honeyed and so painfully alluring. “what’s the worst that could happen, huh? we have a good time?” his lips curl into that smile if his. you swallow and look away.

a lot, you want to say. the worst that can happen is a lot.

and it’s easy, you think—to reach over and fix that strand of hair that’s fallen to the wrong side of his face. it’s easy to bump shoulders with him or turn and brush your noses together and feel his hot breath as he exhales.

but that would be toying with overstepping dangerous boundaries, boundaries that are very much set in place by yourself for your own sake. sampo has saved you one too many times from a hard spot—but he’s always managed to disappear just when you think he’s reliable too. he’s too good at bending things in his favor, a little too good at getting what he wants out of everything.

it’s not hard to think what he wants from you—and it’s not hard to imagine him disappearing once again once he’s got it. the difference is you think this time…well, you think this time might just crush you.

“sampo, do you want me to punch you?” you huff, crossing your arms.

it’s late. you’re not sure why he’s gone out of his way to walk you home, but he does and you’re a tad bit grateful. you’d rather not run into a vagrant on your way—and if you do, that’s happily sampo’s problem now.

there’s something about it, about the way he’s dedicated only when there’s something to gain out of it, about the way he’s so sweet and charming as he butters you up with his actions, about the way his smile is gentle around the corners just perfectly to crack your resolve.

he’s so good at what he does—and so painfully bad for your heart. your poor, fragile heart that’s so carefully locked away from his awaiting hand. you think to give it to him would be to hand the devil your soul and trust it’s safety.

you’re not so foolish.

“hey, we’re pals, you and i,” he nudges you with his shoulder. the contact is enough to make your breath pause. “how can you be so cruel?”

there’s a pout on his lips. a perfectly rehearsed, theatrical and conniving pout on his lips that’s meant to add to his charm and chip away at your composure until you give him exactly what he’s after. for a moment, you debate whether or not you’d rather just take on a vagrant or deal with the (very attractive) disaster next to you.

“we’re acquaintances at best,” you purse your lips. “very faintly acquainted acquaintances at that.”

“well that’s just mean,” he gasps, “after all the business deals we’ve had together? i thought i’d be on your good side by now.”

that’s all you think he sees anything as. a good business opportunity. maybe he’s a good friend—he never leaves you for dead and he never really lets you down when you need him most, but perhaps that’s for his own benefit at the end. how else can you have connections if they’re all dead? but you don’t think intimacy is a word sampo uses in his every day vocabulary—much less his every day routine.

“sampo,” you snap, “drop it.”

“hey,” he eyes you, “everything alright?”

you hate that he acts like that—like he cares as his lips curl into that soft frown and his eyes gloss over in concern. it’s so carefully crafted, that mask of his, the one he can turn on to mimic every emotion he might need to fool you that he really cares and he really wants to know if you’re okay.

and you’re not—but he doesn’t need to know that.

“everything would be fine if you quit asking for your stupid date,” you grumble, “cross me off your list for the day.”

he stops walking. you kick yourself for immediately noticing the lack of warmth as soon as he’s not beside you anymore.

“what?”

it’s a simple question. one word. one syllable. yet it says so much. the hurt in his voice, the genuine confusion, the slight shock and the underlying betrayal.

“why’d you stop walking,” you raise a brow, “it’s late and i’m tired—”

“you’re changing the subject,” he cuts you off, “what do you mean list?”

“c’mon sampo, let’s not play this game tonight,” you sigh, “i’m really tired.”

“and what game are we playing?”

“the game of playing dumb,” you snap, and this time, there’s a bit more bite to your words, “the game of asking around to worm your way into everyone’s pants.”

“everyone’s pants? i didn’t know sampo koski had such a reputation,” he chuckles in that playful way of his—but there’s no charm this time, just dryness. “i didn’t know you believed it too.”

“so what am i supposed to believe? that you want to go on a date for fun?”

“that’s usually what people do on dates,” he shrugs, “have fun with people they like.”

he looks a bit wounded. it makes your heart bleed and you don’t like it. his shoulders are slumped and his eyes aren’t looking directly into yours for once—it’s like you’ve peeled off that confidence he wears like a second skin and left something a lot more tender and raw underneath.

something a lot easier to sting with the burn of rejection.

admittedly, you never thought you’d see the day where you’d feel bad for sampo after your rejection. you always thought you’d feel bad for yourself—saying no to everything you want but can’t ever really have. but he makes you feel like he wanted it too….that he’s been craving you just as badly as you’ve been craving him all this time.

“what are you—”

“listen, i….” and then he trails off. like he doesn’t have the right words. like he doesn’t know what he wants to say and has everything he wants to get off his chest all at the same time. like he needs you to know what’s on his mind. in the end, he plasters a grin on his face—one that’s tight and forced as he chuckles, “let’s get ya home, yeah? sampo koski will have you delivered to your door in once piece in no time—”

“sampo,” you sigh, “what do you want from me?”

there’s defeat in your voice. maybe hope. definitely caution.

“a date,” is all he says. “i’ve only ever asked you,” he adds, “if that’s what you’re worried about. no side deals or anything.”

that last part comes with another chuckle that really has no humor at all. it’s dry and empty and maybe even a little bitter.

“look, i appreciate the dedication, but i’d rather not be that fun hook up on the side that—”

“hey! that’s just harsh,” he gasps, “you’d think so lowly of sampo koski? after everything we’ve been through?”

sampo is good at one thing—playing the ever dedicated, ever conniving, ever charming business man. he knows how to lace in sweet words and tempting offers like how the devil whispers sins into your ears. he never cracks, never lets that facade fall even when he’s backed into a corner.

except this time, you don’t think it’s a facade. you think it’s a wall to keep you from noticing the pure heartbreak in his eyes.

it fills you with guilt instantly. it makes you almost hate yourself for not seeing good in him. it makes you feel blind for not noticing all the signs he’s been dropping for so long—signs you know he’s never given anyone else.

who else does he bump shoulders with and walk home in the dark and flick foreheads and make time for even when he’s on a tight schedule? who else gets to hear him talk about his day for just the sake of talking without and not a guise for a deal?

for a second you feel bad—and then you decide that for once, you’ll do something about it.

“sampo koski is always disappearing,” you say softly, taking a step forward, “what if he disappears this time too?”

“sampo koski always comes back,” he reminds you, heart on his sleeve as he meets you half way.

“always?” you ask hopefully.

he nods, like it’s the surest thing he’s promised. “of course.”

“okay, sampo,” you chuckle breathlessly, whether in joy or in disbelief, you’re unsure. maybe both. your hand cups his cheeks and when he leans into it, you decide it’s definitely both. “let’s go on your date. you’re paying.”

“you didn’t have to bring money into it,” he pouts—but the excitement in his voice is almost tangible.

you giggle, squeeze his cheeks together as his hands find your waist. it’s dark and it’s late and you’re tired—but sampo koski is here and nothing else has ever mattered more.

“i expect only the best date from the sampo koski.”

“good,” he grins, charming as ever, a little extra only for you, “because sampo koski never disappoints.”

you kiss him after that. and every day too.

i have been bewitched by the meathead guys 😔

#tee star rail debut ?? i thought my first piece would be blade but it’s taking me 8274 years to meet him. never expected sampo but good god #he gets you when you least expect it #sampo x reader #sampo x you #sampo fluff #sampo koski x reader #sampo koski x you #sampo koski fluff #star rail x reader #star rail x you #star rail fluff #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr fluff #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail fluff #teepods.writings #drabbles.

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doobea · 7 months

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DAYTIME SHOOTING STAR - REO MIKAGE

synopsis: Being a college student sucks. Having a crush on your best friend also sucks. Your best friend having a crush on your other best friend is . . . kinda the worst. In which, Reo is hopelessly in love with you but you’re hard crushing on Nagi.

-> MASTERLIST.

contents: reo centric, second lead syndrome feat. fem!reader & reo, heavy narration, also in an au where bluelock never happened LOL, starts from past -> present day, mentions of unrequited confessions, country farmgirl!reader -> stem major in college, insert anime cliche of riverbanks and convos about falling in love, kinda proofed word count: 4K (HUH??) a/n: i wrote this while listening to shoujo openings - lets try and find a song suited for these two (eventual) lovebirds, shall we? 'mini-series' my ass idk why the first chap came out so long??? whoops.

SUMMER TRIANGLE -> next.

Reo can’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with you.

He thinks it starts all the way back when you first transferred to Hakuho during his second year.

You were a quiet country girl whose parents had just moved to the big city all due to your father’s new job. And it was painfully obvious that it was your first time experiencing anything remotely ‘fancy’ when you came to school the first day. At the time, you were still wearing your old high school uniform, saying something about shipping getting delayed. Your skirt came almost all the way down to your ankles, your sweater vest had loose threads sticking around the edges, and your shirt still carried its creased marks.

To anyone in that school, you looked like an eyesore. Whispers about your family’s net worth, your relationship with the school’s faculty, and whether or not you cheated your way through the entrance exam began circulating.

From the moment you stepped inside the class, Reo knew you would get hell from the nation’s young elites. Reo thought by the end of the first quarter you would’ve dropped out and transferred to another school.

The first few months were rough, from what he observed. No one wanted to partner up with you for group projects, students would try to misplace your assignments, harsh messages were marred onto your desk earlier mornings before you arrived, and your gym clothes always went missing. But you stayed awfully silent, didn’t complain much, and quickly made yourself known to be the “weird, quiet farm girl”. Reo thinks everyone left you alone after you managed to score top ten in the class during finals week, despite the harassment. Still, even after all of that, no one bothered talking to you like normal and moved on to the next hot topic as if you were a dying trend.

Reo didn’t get the chance to talk to you much that year but, safe to say, he was pleasantly surprised to see you again the following semester. Instead of sitting all the way in the back of the classroom, you were seated by the windows. And the empty desk next to you? It was his.

Carefully, Reo placed his bag down on his desk, trying his best not to disturb whatever book you’re currently nose-deep in, and cleared his throat.

“Hi, I’m Reo Mikage,” he introduced himself and was taken aback when you stared at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape. He figured it was because he was one of the first to genuinely say anything to you without any malicious intent behind his words.

As you softly mumbled back your name, the gentle cadence as it escaped your lips, coupled with the swift turn of your head towards the window, Reo couldn't help but be enthralled by how soft your features looked in the sunlight. You’ve always kept your appearances simple, trying to not shine too much otherwise the other students would start talking again but, for some reason, all of that made Reo drawn to you more.

While you were deskmates, the two of you didn’t talk much outside of classroom-related topics. And it was always him starting the conversations, not that he minded. Him being close friends with Nagi, who was also a social outcast, made Reo slightly more curious about you ever since the new semester started. But you kept your distance, for obvious reasons. So, after a while, he reached out to you only out of necessity.

Fast forward two months and Reo is found slipping a party invitation on your desk. Well, not specifically yours, but everyone’s desks. Word of his father’s business migration with another classmate’s family company spread like wildfire before journalists had the chance to write up a meaningless article and Reo was forcefully instructed to invite his entire class to celebrate for the occasion.

So he did.

And, of course, everyone and their parents decided to show up. There were a few students that he didn’t recognize, probably snuck in through bribery or faked the invitation — not that he ultimately cared. There were more than a handful of mothers who had proudly flaunted themselves at his father and more than a dozen other student’s fathers trying to network with Reo.

At seventeen, Reo told himself that this was something he should’ve gotten used to by now, but it honestly felt horribly embarrassing every time. Reo blocked out the comments about the lack of ‘fancier food’ and ‘decor’ in his own home and retreated upstairs to his bedroom with Nagi trailing not far from behind.

“How long do you think they’re staying for?”

“Hm?” Nagi briefly looked up from his phone, eyes focusing on Reo’s perplexed expressions as he lay in bed. The male shifts around in Reo’s office chair and taps away at his device with a shrug in response. “Dunno, when the food and drinks run out maybe?”

Reo ran a hand through his hair, brows furrowing more as sounds from outside gradually grew louder. “This always ends up happening and I don’t understand why can’t he find a reception hall to throw this.” He paused, listened closely to the voices and conversations, and scoffed. “Do you know what they’re saying right now, Nagi?”

“Ah,” Nagi frowned as a deflated noise emitted from his phone, indicating he lost a match. He went into another queue and bounced his leg against the floor in waiting. “No, what are they saying out there?”

“That they think I’ll be together with Rika by the end of this year.” Reo launched his body upright at the thought, lips pursed tightly.

Again, Nagi doesn’t bother looking up. He just landed in a new match. “That heiress? Doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Since when do you know anything about types, Nagi?” Reo was half expecting Nagi to say something dumb relating to those terrible romance novel games that he sometimes plays.

The other male shrugged again, eyes flicking up this time. “Just doesn’t seem like it, that’s all.”

“You—”

The conversation abruptly ended with a single swing of the door. The door frame nearly collided with Nagi's face, accompanied by a high-pitched yelp. Reo had invited the whole class, but this was one of the people he hadn’t really expected to show up.

You were almost unrecognizable. Hair straightened, over blushed cheeks, a lipstick color that was too mature on you. The dress you wore hugged awkwardly to your sides and the height from your heels seemed to be too tall for you to maneuver around. From one glance, he knew you were uncomfortable.

You clung to the door handle, attempting to steady yourself, evident signs of mortification settling in. “S-Sorry, I was looking for the bathroom.”

Those words almost sounded foreign to Reo. The only times you’ve spoken to him were in curt, stoic sentences either about math or science assignments. He’d never seen you this flustered or worked up before.

Reo snapped out of his inner thoughts when Nagi decided to roll out from behind the door frame with a hand over his nose. Nagi looked unphased, but the familiar dull sound from his phone proved otherwise.

“Made me lose another round,” Nagi said simply and Reo watched as you fidgetted around, almost appearing self-cautious now.

“I’m sorry?” Was all you said in response.

Reo was about to hop out of bed, the bathroom directions loaded on his tongue, until a herd of footsteps followed by loud giggles was ascending the stairs. “Wait, close the door; I don’t want anyone coming in here.” The last thing he wanted was his classmates messing around with his personal belongings.

You appeared even more bewildered. “Um, I still need to—”

“He has a bathroom in his room, don’t worry,” Nagi interjected.

You were quick to believed Nagi's words and shut the door before heads peeked from the staircase. Reo shot his friend a questioning look as you shuffle your way to his bathroom and Nagi merely shrugged once again. Reo found himself thinking, finding that his plan of hiding away had just gotten a whole lot more complicated and awkward with you being in the picture. They both stayed quiet until you walked out, eyes facing everywhere but the two of them.

Reo's voice jolted you back to reality. “Sorry if this sounds rude but why are you here?” Okay, no matter how he would've phrased it, it did sound rude.

You didn't seem to mind it, probably already used to the harsh treatment. “My parents saw the invitation and got excited. They bought all these things for me last minute and dropped me off. I only said yes to coming because they were worried I wasn’t making any friends.” You explained, your steady nonchalant tone masking a layer of vulnerability.

Reo felt vaguely guilty at the response. Maybe he should've skipped your desk altogether? No, that would've been borderline bullying, he thought. Still, you shouldn't have been pressured to go.

“Did you want to hang out here instead?” Nagi casually offered up as if it was his house too. “We’re avoiding everyone else.”

“Nagi—!”

“What?” Nagi blinked at Reo in confusion, cocking his head slightly. “It’s written all over your face.”

He doesn't even know what expression he's making right now. All that Reo hoped was that you don't end up saying anything weird the next day. Not that he assumed you would be the type but, judging from how his guests acted earlier, he felt safer keeping his guard up.

There was a momentary pause, and then you gave a small nod, eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and relief. “Only if you’re fine with it.”

"Shouldn't matter to us," Nagi answered.

Reo considers this particular moment to be the turning point in your close friendship. It was his party, but almost everyone attending seemed to have forgotten his whereabouts soon after he disappeared.

At first, he was hesitant to talk about his thoughts or just about anything really, but Nagi didn't seem to care. As you and Nagi engaged in a somewhat awkward conversation about video games – or rather, Nagi half-scolding you for making him lose – Reo, after finally getting tired of listening, spent the remainder of the time venting about the various students and teachers at school.

That was nearly two years ago.

As the first year of college draws to a close, the three of you, on a spontaneous whim, decided to host a modest celebration in Reo and Nagi's shared apartment, only sending out invites to a handful of your close classmates.

You arrive about two hours before everyone else with the cake and drinks in hand, letting the door shut behind you as you rush into the kitchen. Nagi’s sitting on the countertop in the corner, attempting his best to unravel some of the cheesy party decorations that you insisted on getting, and Reo is pouring a weird red jello shot mixture into tiny plastic cups in the living room.

The three of you haven’t realized just how busy everything would be after starting college. Hangouts would only be frequent maybe once or twice a week, but everyone’s schedule was all over the place. You had your three-hour labs, Reo signed up to become Treasurer and President for two student organizations, and Nagi pretty much slept all day as soon he came back from lectures. Now, with this year finally coming to an end, Reo is finally looking forward to spending more time with everyone with summer nearing.

“Do we really need this many streamers?” Nagi is sighing as he swings his legs back and forth.

He managed to string a couple of them into long-wrapped strands but gave up halfway. There’s a bag of animal headbands next to him, so he fiddles with them next, claiming a bear-themed one for himself.

You set down the items on the counter and waltz over to his side, immediately fishing through the bag for your own pair. “We do and—,” Reo watches your lips upturn right as you reach over to Nagi, adjusting his headband and fixing his hair in the process. “—the bear suits you well.”

Nagi hums in thought and leans into your touch, seemingly unaware of your flustered state. “Think so?”

“I—uh yeah, you’re like a big bear sometimes…”

He helps you dig through the bag and pulls out a headband with cat ears. Without hesitation, Nagi tucks your hair back slightly and carefully places it onto your head. A satisfied faint smile makes its way onto his face. “It looks cute on you.”

Reo almost spills the remanding liquid all over the coffee table from the scene and breaks away from the before it evolves into something more. He hears you trying to say something back, maybe a ‘thank you’ or a compliment, but it comes out as incoherent noises and soft mumbles. And, although tonight is supposed to be reserved for a well deserved celebration, Reo can’t help but to think he doesn’t even feel like he belongs in his own apartment right now.

“What do you think, Reo?” Nagi calls out.

“What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t she look cute in them?”

Reo pours the last bits of the liquid into the cups and glances over. It takes everything in him to not turn the slightest shade of red because you look do look ridiculously cute in that headband.

He sticks out his tongue and blows a raspberry. “Looks the same to me.”

You roll your eyes and blow one back. “I was gonna assign you the bunny eared one but now you’re getting the rat.”

Reo chooses to not say anything back, not that it really mattered. He gets up and places the empty pitcher into the sink and focuses his attention to the dining room. The table is a bit messy, cluttered with stacks of his business textbooks and your forgotten stationary supplies. He has food catered that’ll be arriving within the next hour, so he spends this time cleaning and setting up the area.

Their dining room goes vastly unused with how often Reo and Nagi eat out. Because of this, Reo settled with a small table tucked in the kitchen corner that’s mainly used as a storage area rather than eating—so it’s kind of nice seeing it finally being used for its intended purpose.

It’s you, him, Nagi, Chigiri, Isagi, and Bachira that eventually congregate around the area. Before the party, Reo tells his friends not to bring any gifts or extra food, but they show up with them anyway. Chigiri brings over a really good sushi bake while Isagi and Bachira gift Reo a shitty Ouija board for whatever reason and… well the party is actually pretty nice.

Way different from all the other stuffy parties Reo grew up with and he thinks this might be the only party where he’s surrounded by people he cares about. No serious conversations about the family business or his future plans, just really lame attempts to call out whatever spirits Bachira thinks lives in their outdated fireplace.

“That was fun,” You say quietly after everyone else leaves.

The apartment is a little bit messy, even though Isagi did most of the heavy-duty cleanup. There are still some dishes piled up in the sink and confetti peppered all over the living area but Reo will procrastinate on that for tonight.

He’s sprawled on the couch, head thrown back as he melts his entire body weight onto the furniture, tired and socially drained for the night. He only looks to the side when you plop down in the tiny empty space next to him, face deep in thought and cheeks warm. Reo knows that look. He’s seen it maybe over a hundred times at this point.

It’s about Nagi Seishiro.

“I think I’m gonna do it tonight.” You’re whispering into his ear and Reo picks up on the sweet, subtle perfume laced around your neck. It seems like you had just applied it moments before coming over.

He forces a smile and glosses over a fake veil of excitement. “Oh, finally? You’re not going to chicken out like the last couple of times?”

You smack his arm, cheeks puffed out. “I’m not! I’m taking your advice for once. Better now than never, you know?”

“Yeah,” Reo says, maybe a bit too fast.

His mind is racing, along with the drumming in his chest, because you’re not joking around this time. The look in your eyes tells him that you’re serious and he feels really confused. Reo has been encouraging you since high school to get with Nagi and, now that you’re actually following through, he doesn’t know what to make of it.

Maybe it’s his ego, pride, or just plain possessiveness that’s driving him mad. But he knows better than to wish anything but happiness for his two best friends. Nagi, although more introverted and aloof, has become more open whenever you’re around and you two do make a good couple—at least that’s what Reo convinces himself.

He finds himself dozing off against the balcony railing outside on the apartment’s porch while you go off to find Nagi in his room. Reo scans the area, taking in the dim orange lights from the street lamps on campus and the warm inviting late spring breeze. It’s a decent distraction.

The college campus is really nice, an old one, with lots of mature trees, and stretches of green between the buildings, all connected with little cobblestone walkways. It’s almost like stepping back in time because Tokyo is a large, sprawling city. Reo decides he likes it. It’s way different from his past life, very jarring from his lavish big, but empty, mansion with butlers and maids alike, his old home was so different than this new, slower-paced way of life.

Reo’s over himself when hears the porch door slide from behind him, he doesn’t need to turn around to know that it’s you. And, judging from the way your body flops against the railing, he concludes that it didn’t go well. It’s strange, he thought Nagi would’ve reciprocated the feelings back at least a little bit. Reo makes a mental note to privately ask his friend about it later.

He avoids your gaze and continues to stare at the city skyline in the distance, waiting for you to say the first word.

After a while, you sigh. “Do you… do you think he’ll be uncomfortable around me?”

Reo feels his heart stuttering in his chest. “Of course not,” He answers quickly and relaxes when he sees the frown on your features slowly disappearing. “Nagi’s not the type to easily throw away a good friendship.” Reo knows that by heart.

You groan and bury your face into your palms, shrinking more into your oversized campus hoodie. “I’m so dumb, Reo…” Your voice comes out muffled and strained. “I should’ve never said anything.”

Reo wrestles with the thought that he’s an asshole for thinking quite the opposite. On one hand, he's relieved that you got rejected, but on the other hand, witnessing your heart break doesn't make things any easier for him. He’s still your friend at the end of the day.

He refrains the urge to extend his arms, grab your shoulders, and draw you into the warmth of his chest. Suppressing the desire to run his fingers through your hair, tenderly massage your scalp, and whisper that everything will be okay—that he's by your side. Instead, Reo opts for a laugh, presenting you with his credit card. “Let’s set him aside for a moment and concentrate on you.”

You peer up from your sleeves, immediately widening your eyes in disbelief and then shooting him a half-glare. “I’m not gonna be spending your money, Reo. You can’t fix a broken heart with that.”

“Yeah,” Reo softly agrees, face crescent fallen briefly before recovering. He shuffles towards you, just close enough so that your shoulders touch. “But I know where we can go.”

Your eyes sparkle at the idea, already knowing the exact location Reo is mentioning. There’s a quaint riverbank not too far from the campus and high school, the one that you would always go to whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed or upset. Reo knows that it reminds you of home, the countryside, and listening to the steady streams helps calm your nerves.

With Nagi likely cooped up in his room, the two of you sneak out of the apartment, and the night air wraps around you both like a comforting blanket.

By the time you two arrive at the riverbank, you find a comfortable spot to lie down near the top of the hill. Reo joins next to you, the cool grass beneath him contrasting with the warmth of his body. Slowly, the heaviness that lingered from earlier begins to dissipate.

Reo lies on his side, the night enveloping the two of you in a cocoon of solitude. His voice, gentle and warm, breaks the silence, "Hey," he faintly calls out your name. Patiently, he waits until your body turns to mirror his, until you're just inches away, and the distant sounds of passing cars fade into the background.

It annoys him how clueless you are, how you’re able to be physically bold and unapologetically yourself when around him but, when it comes to Nagi, you turn into a stuttering, blushing mess. He selfishly wishes to have that all to himself. “Why don’t you fall in love with me instead?”

Reo watches your eyes widen, mirroring the same motions you did when he first introduced himself to you, and your body reacts first before you’re able to construct words. You kick him, admittedly harder than he would’ve liked, followed by an immediate apology.

“That was a joke, right? Like a really, really, really bad joke?”

Pretending not to feel the pang in his chest, Reo rubs his shin and forces a chuckle, his arm thrown over his face to conceal any hint of redness that might betray him in the night. “Yeah, thought it would cheer you up somehow,” he lamely replies.

The sound of your huff and shuffling suggests you turned away, likely out of annoyance. Reo senses a momentary pause, and he thinks you might be on the verge of tears again until you murmur, “Love is so complicated.”

A twitch courses through him and he swallows hard against a lump in his throat before joining the conversation, “People do a lot of things when they’re in love. You confessing to Nagi tonight was out of love.”

“Yeah, I just wished it was easy to… I guess, understand.”

“Love happens randomly and doesn’t need reasons. If love was easy to understand then most of our world’s problems would go away.”

“Have you ever been in love, Reo?”

"I have," he answers truthfully. As you shuffle some more, he peeks from under his arm to find your face wide, brimming with curiosity. Reo sets his arm aside and smirks. "What makes you think I’m gonna tell you?"

You’re toying with the hem of your hoodie, looking like you’re about to jump to your feet. “Because I just got my heart broken tonight and I feel like maybe the least you can do is tell me who you like?”

“Let me think,” Reo fake ponders for a few seconds and then shakes his head. “Nah, don’t think so.”

You kick him again, this time very softly. “You’re no fun,” you whine, but there’s something so sincere to it that Reo’s heart aches again. “Can you at least tell me when you fell in love?”

His laugh comes out weak and hoarse, feeling the sudden need to look away but he doesn’t. Reo stares straight into your eyes because he knows that no matter how hard he tries, you’ll never get it unless he spells it out for you. “I became aware of it when I was sitting next to them.”

You start laughing, as he expected, but it's lighthearted and innocent. Reo doesn't feel insulted—at least not yet. “It was love at first sight?”

He's definitely a tomato right now, he can feel it in his face. “More like first interaction...” Reo mumbles out, now facing the river.

“Well, whoever they are, they're lucky to have someone like you crushing over them.”

“Yeah, I guess they are lucky.”

TAGLIST - OPEN

@celestair @kitorin @popponn @yoisami @anurst @katsukiiishoe @yuzurins @vitaniangel-blog @kunikame @miwafei @astruoise @faeroow @wooasecret @limerence-lu @jaynawayna

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #doobea writing #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage #DAYTIME SHOOTING STAR - REO MIKAGE

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angel-kyo · 5 days

Text

Pay it no mind

Part XVIII

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself, and... idk, I didn't mean to put anything warning worthy here, but if you think of something I guess let me know. <3

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII

----------------------

The days that followed after Satoru told you he liked you, it seemed that everything had gone back to normal and you two were slowly falling back into your usual routine: meeting up early in the mornings, bantering in between classes and missions, and eating lunch with Shoko when all of you were at the school. It was comforting to have things return to how they used to be, or that was what you thought.

“What’s up with him?” Shoko asked across from you.

Satoru had business to attend so he had just left you and Shoko at the table in the cafeteria.

“What do you mean?” you looked in the direction he had gone but could no longer see him.

From your perspective, Satoru had not changed much since that day he walked through the school holding your hand; he had not pressed the subject of whether you liked him back still any further either, and since he appeared to be okay in this grey zone where you two were sitting, you had not brought it up either. However, Shoko, as perceptive as ever, had noticed how Gojo, who always seemed to like your personal space, was moving into it almost permanently these days; how he was not even bothering to be discreet with the way he looked at you or remained by your side when you were in the same room, and how, if he was not careful, it would be evident to everyone pretty soon.

At first, Shoko had believed it was all in her head; since that day, years ago, when she first considered that Gojo could have some kind of crush on you, the notion had prevailed. In fact, she had thought she was looking into her friends’ relationship too much, maybe because none of them seem to pay any mind to how they were perceived, so it was not entirely impossible her eyes were just making her believe what she had accepted as true for so long was finally materializing.

Gojo’s laid-back attitude had been one of the reasons why Shoko doubted he cared seriously about whatever feelings he could have for you. Other than that rocky season in high school and a few other occurrences through the years that followed, Satoru had never taken any steps towards an actual relationship with you. Hence, Shoko thought it's a harmless crush.

But as of lately, he looked more... intent. Or maybe...

He’s losing his grip.

“You’ve never found him annoying, have you?” Your friend looked at her almost empty plate and it somehow reminded you of a similar talk you had had months ago.

“A bunch of times, but I guess I don’t find him too annoying,” you answered.

“Isn’t that all love is about?” Ieiri’s eyes connected with yours.

Her comment caught you off guard, and she might have noticed the way your smile froze because her gaze did not leave yours.

You did the only thing that could think of: laugh it off. “Yeah, I guess, if love is annoying, that is.”

Are you finally annoyed by it, Gojo?

“You tell me.” Shoko smiled and put the last bite of her food in her mouth.

***

“Why won’t she just admit she likes him?” Satoru asked while looking at the movie playing in front of him.

Maybe it was a rhetorical question, but you did not look at him before replying “Because there would have been no movie if they were that direct.”

It was a Friday night and Satoru had made an impromptu proposal to you to have a movie marathon at his place. You had accepted but now, into your first movie of the night, you were having trouble to stay focused on the story, which was supposed to be some sort of romantic comedy, not half as bad as many, but the romantic scenes were making you self-conscious.

You watched the scene where the protagonists had gone from arguing to making out and you felt the need to look somewhere else.

From the corner of your eye, Satoru seemed unimpressed.

He’s unfazed, of course he is.

Actually, Satoru was only calm on the surface. Unbeknownst to you, he had also perceived the change in the air between the two of you when the more intimate scenes started playing. He thought he should have chosen a different film, but suggesting changing it now would only make the unsaid more obvious, so he was sticking it up with the most unexpressive face he could manage as the actors on the screen seemed to melt into each other.

Satoru had not meant anything suggestive by choosing that movie; he had just played the first thing he found as he always did when you had not planned in advance, and under normal circumstances, that would have been fine. You had watched all kinds of films together, including romantic ones, the good and the bad ones, but now…

Satoru was already looking at you when you were about to steal another glance in his direction.

His gaze revealed a question he dared not ask, or rather, a question he had promised himself he would not ask until you were ready.

He was trying to be a good friend, even if he wanted to be more than that. It had took him a while to figure out his feelings, so he had resolved to give you as much time as you needed. Yes, Satoru was convinced he could wait patiently, but…

Is he leaning forward?

At times… His resolve weakened.

“[name]…”

The look he was giving you was that of a kid who wanted to ask for something but did not know how. In his clear eyes, there was need but also fear of being denied.

What is your answer? his eyes were asking.

The winter had also frozen time in your friendship, in this safe spot in Satoru’s place, where you could still be friends and pretend nothing needed to change as it never changed in the years before, not in his apartment nor in your friendship. But time must go on, does it not?

“Satoru...”

His phone rang.

Both of you looked at the phone that was screen-down on the coffee table in front of you, and it seemed to take Satoru a couple of seconds to decide if he wanted to pick it up, but he finally did.

“I’ll be right back.” You got up and went to the kitchen.

Giving him some privacy to take the call was an excuse; part of you just wanted to escape of it all, ask Satoru to take it back, let everything remain as it was, stay in the known, but the other part, the part that had been falling for him all this time wanted to see it through.

Are you in love with him?

For a second, you were back in your living room with Haruki, his question and your answer resonating in your head as you watched the cup of tea travel steady from the table to his lips.

“Some people think knowledge that doesn’t change behavior is worthless,” his eyes did not meet yours, and you did not reply immediately.

“If you knew he liked you, would you act on it?” He had almost finished his cup.

"I don't know," you replied.

Months ago, you had been convinced you wanted to act on your feelings, but now, the idea of change was scary, the idea of trying to later find out it was not what you wanted, was scarier; the idea that you and Satoru would never recover if that happened, was terrifying.

“To change something, you first need to accept the possibility of change, and of course you need to know that those possibilities exist. I guess in that way, that knowledge is not worthless, even if nothing actually comes out of it. We should accept the possibilities.”

His feelings were sudden but if there is a possibility...

“Okay, I can accept that,” you said lowly to yourself.

“You can accept what?” Satoru was looking at you and taking the sodas you had just mindlessly pulled from the fridge from your hands.

The room felt a few degrees warmer with his proximity.

“Nothing, I was just...” Your gaze drifted to the door leading to a small terrace where Satoru had installed a couple chairs to sit on when the weather was nice. He almost never did it though, and you could use some fresh air. “Do you want to go outside?”

A smile played on Satoru’s lips. “Isn’t it cold?”

“Just for a bit.”

That was how you and him needed up outside looking at the city lights. You looked up but it was impossible to see the stars. Satoru mirrored your gesture and then directed his gaze back to the city.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked.

“Regret what?”

He shrugged. “Staying here, doing what we do, not going somewhere quieter or… somewhere where you could see the stars.” He looked up again and you kept your gaze on him.

Why was he asking that now you did not know, but you answered him honestly.

“I do not regret it.” It was true. Even when you did have the opportunity to do something else or be somewhere else, you chose not to leave. “This is pretty too.”

The lights of a city that never seem to sleep were probably not as fascinating and mystical as the stars that burned millions of light years away, but they had some beauty of their own.

“I guess so,” Satoru agreed, and he wrapped an arm around you, and after some silence he spoke again.

“Aren't you cold?”

You nodded your head. “But can we stay here a little longer?”

And maybe what you really wanted to ask was can we stay like this a little longer?

In any case, Satoru would have given you the same response as he held you tighter.

“Of course.”

----------------------

Note: I'll try to proofread... Oh, and sorry about basically disappearing. Thank you a bunch for the kind messages during my silence. <3

Thank you for reading!

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh @stellasloth @bloopsstuff @cheesemachine44 @tetsuski

#gojo satoru #jjk #gojo x you #jjk fanfic #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #gojo fanfic #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #satoru x reader #pay it no mind

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faintedlcve · 9 months

Note

hii love, could you write a mattheo riddle x reader fic based on the song someone will love you better by Johnny Orlando where reader and her bf (maybe Draco? Idk you can choose) fall out of love and reader falls for mattheo instead. Draco realises this and breaks up with them so they can get with Mattheo. thanks!

Someone will love you better

Hope this is to your liking xx

Part 2

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x fem!reader/draco malfoy x fem!reader? (ish)

Summary: draco and reader fall out of love as draco realises the reader fell in love with mattheo.

A/n: The red italic writing are the lyrics xx the green text is extra stuff I put in because it felt smarter to do that than pile it all up at the top. It's kinda long xx idk the word count bc I have no idea how to figure it out bc I'm an idiot help pls 😭 I'm kinda happy with how this turned out :))

Warning: angst angst angst, kissing, unrequited love, shouting (kinda), mention of periods, not proof read, lmk if I missed any

Reader is Slytherin bc let's be honest draco prolly wouldn't date anyone who wasn't whether it was because of his father or just him. Theo and reader are best friends.

You and your friends were in the Slytherin common room. It was pretty much empty apart from some other students that lingered there. Your head was on Draco's lap. Just like everyday. Except the feelings weren't the same anymore. The spark was gone. The butterflies that you used to feel every single time his skin made contact with yours, even if it was an accidental touch, were gone.

You'd known Draco ever since you were in year 3 and you'd fallen in love with him ever since. So of course when Draco asked you out, you said yes.

It was perfect.

It was the greatest romance that sent a lightning strike to your heart.

(The orange text is an alteration I made in the lyrics to suit the text. )

Your mind that used to be on Draco was now occupied with thoughts of a certain brunette boy.

Where did it go, you asked yourself. We would slow dance, in the headlights in the parking lot, you told yourself, reminiscing the good times you had with Draco.

But as Draco held your waist now, all you could feel was guilt. There was no chance of ever falling apart. But you've noticed, that I'm here but I'm so far. Those were the thoughts that clouded your mind as you stared into the blonde boy's eyes.

You hoped he didn't realise. But sooner or later you'd have to tell him.

"Theo I have to tell Draco! I can't bear lying to him anymore." You told your best friend, Theodore, as you burst into his dorm. He was the only one who knew about your crush on Mattheo and also your best friend. He'd figured it out by himself, but in all fairness, you didn't shut up about Mattheo around him.

"Are you crazy?! Just yesterday Draco was going on about how loyal and perfect you were for him! You should've done it sooner! You can't drop that bombshell on him now! You have to wait!" Theo said, calmly. (im sorry I had to)

"But I've been running from the sun but I've got nowhere left to hide. Every night, I close my eyes and wish I was still in love. Trying to fight at war with my mind, it's gonna kill me to give him up. He's eventually gonna find out!" You reasoned.

ﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:*

"Hello love." Draco exclaimed as he saw you enter the great hall.

Your heart was heavy. You didn't want to hurt him, but the truth would be better than emotionally cheating on him, and, eventually, physically cheating on him.

Darling this is gonna hurt. No, I won't regret it. 'cause I loved you first, but someone will love you better. You repeated those words inside your head as you looked into his eyes trying to console yourself that you were doing the right thing telling him the truth.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" Draco asks you, looking at you with lovesick eyes.

You blushed slightly. Draco was known to be mean to people, so, him giving you the special treatment made it hurt even more to tell him the truth.

You share a "I can't do this" look with Theo. As a response, Theo gives you a "I told you so" look which makes you roll your eyes.

You look at Draco and the following words fill your head:

Last time I hold you, just cause you needed heart to console you, when I can't give you reasons.

Draco goes to hold your hand seeing that you looked nervous. His touch makes you tense up. You hope he doesn't notice. But he does. He noticed the time you rejected his kisses which you used to love. He noticed the time you were in a hurry to leave. He noticed everything despite your efforts in hiding them.

ﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:*

You went to your dorm early as the rest of your group stayed in the Slytherin common room. You weren't, however, aware of the conversation that happened after.

"I think there's something wrong with y/n" Draco says, not realising how passive aggressive that statement sound. Everyone one in the common room stared at him. Only then did he realise how wrong that statement sounded.

"I mean like- like she isn't feeling well." Draco corrects.

"Why's that?" Pansy asks.

"Well, she flinches at my touch and refuses my kisses!" Draco responds.

"I think there might just be something wrong with you." Lorenzo states matter-of-factly.

Pansy smacks his arm.

"ow!" Lorenzo exclaims.

"Anyways, it's clear she's not in love with you anymore." Pansy says.

"OR she's just tired or sick. Or maybe she's- she's on her period!" Theo says trying to make up an excuse to save your ass.

"You're not wrong." Pansy replies. "Us girls do tend to get mood swings on periods."

"You should read her mind. You know since you're a legilimens." Lorenzo suggests.

"That's not a bad idea." Draco says.

"NO- I mean, no. That's idea sucks. You're violating her privacy." Theo replies.

"I guess but you gotta do what you gotta do." Pansy says.

Theo couldn't say anything anymore in the fear of them getting suspicious.

ﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:*

"Hate that love can be a thing you lose. There's nothing him or I could do. We were fools to fall! And it's nobody's fault, no." You barged into Theo's dorm yet again.

"Good to see you too." Theo said, scared by your entrance and slightly frustrated at the lack of introduction or even permission.

You death stare him annoyed at his priorities.

"Anyways, you should break up with him" Theo says, noticing your death stare and being slightly intimidated.

"Well, yeah! No shit Sherlock! But it's too fucking hard. He's making it too fucking hard!" You exclaim.

"if you're not going to break up with him, you could atleast pretend to be in love with him" Theo says.

"what?" You ask raising an eyebrow.

"he's suspicious. says you refuse his kisses and flinch at his touch."

You stand there silent, not realising how Draco paid extreme attention to detail.

Fuck. This was bad.

ﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:*

You woke up the next day and entered the Great Hall. You walked over to your friends. That's when you noticed the looks on everyone's faces.

Theodore gave you a worried look. Disappointment plastered Draco, Blaise and Pansy's face. And Mattheo had a... shocked look on his face?

Draco hit you with the classic "we need to talk."

Was he going to break up with you? You felt sad but if he was then you wouldn't have to feel guilty about breaking up with him. You wondered what the reason could be.

Draco and you walked out of the Great Hall and into the barely filled corridor.

"What's wrong?" You asked. Anticipation hung in the atmosphere.

"Why didn't you tell me." Draco said. It sounded like a statement more than a question.

"what?"

"that you like my cousin, Mattheo."

Your breath caught in your throat. He knew. But how? Your mind wandered to a certain chestnut haired boy. No, he wouldn't. Theodore would never.

"how did you-"

"it doesn't matter."

"yes it does! Who told you?" You asked feeling betrayed, but by no one in particular.

"I found out myself. I- I read your mind."

"What?! Do you know how violating that is?" You asked half-shouting.

"Well, I am so sorry that you aren't satisfied with me! I had to find out why you were acting weird!" Draco says, joining in on the shouting.

Guilt clouded your mind.

"Look, Draco i- I've been running from the sun but I've got nowhere left to hide. Every night I close my eyes and wish I was still in love. Trying to fight at war with my mind, it's gonna kill me to give you up!" You begun. "Darling this is gonna hurt. No, I won't regret it. Because I loved you first. But someone will love you better"

It felt good to tell him the truth, but that feeling was replaced by guilt when you say the look on Draco's face.

"I loved you. I can't control who you love but I really did try my best." Draco said, his voice cracking.

"lt wasn't your fault." You replied. "it was mine. I am sorry. I hope we can be friends."

No response. Ouch, that hurt.

"Does Mattheo know?" You asked Draco.

He nodded.

Your cheeks flushed. Mattheo knew. To say you were embarrassed would be an understatement.

ﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:* *:;;:*+ﾟﾟ+*:;;:*

Thanks for reading! I prolly will make a part 2 x lmk if I should xx hope you enjoyed reading it 💞

Also if anyone can tell me how to establish word count, it will be a huge help! I feel stupid lmao.

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thistuesdaynight · 6 months

Text

Invincible

prongsfoot fluff microfic drunk prongsfoot first kiss, unrequited wolfstar, light angst this plot bunny would not go away. It might even become a little series? idk we'll see what happens.

"James," Sirius hisses, voice straining. "Come on, mate. Help me out here."

James couldn't stop giggling.

He often felt like that after drinking, like everything in the world was just so funny, how could he not laugh along? And he certainly was drunk tonight. He and Sirius had gone out together, taking shots like there was no tomorrow. But the bubbly, bouyant feeling in James' chest may not have been from the alcohol, but from Sirius' arm around his middle.

"I had such a good night," James sighed, delighted to be here with his best mate in the whole world feeling drunk, and happy, and invincible.

He loved how he always felt invincible when he was with Sirius.

"That's great, Prongs, but could you pick up your feet?"

Sirius was just as sloshed as James, but James always tended to get floppy when he was drunk. They swayed up to the front door of the house, pressed together hip to hip, Sirius holding onto James' waist, and James was buzzing from the warm point of contact.

After dropping them twice, James finally managed to get the keys into the lock. However, the door was finicky, and in his addled state, he couldn't twist and unlock it properly.

"Bollocks," James cursed. "Bloody door."

"Here," Sirius murmured, reaching over him.

Sirius took the keys from James' grasp, brushing over his fingers and sending goosebumps up his arm. It must have been the cold night breeze. Sirius leaned in closer to maneuver the sticky lock, invading James' space.

James traced the line of Sirius' jaw with his gaze, desperately wanting to know what it felt like under his lips. From this close, James could count the freckles on Sirius' ear, blow warm breath across his neck, and breathe in his scent of spearmint and eucalyptus.

He was captivated by the curl of dark hair currently falling over Sirius' brow, which was furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with the door. What would it be like to brush the hair from his face? To take those soft pink lips with his own…

With a great heave, Sirius finally got the door unstuck and the two boys tumbled forward into their front room, the door slamming behind them. They landed in heap of tangled of limbs, James on his back, and Sirius half on top of him, his curls hanging into James' face. James dissolved into hooting laughter, guffawing from the ridiculousness of it all.

"Prongs, shhhh!" Sirius shushed him with a hand over his mouth, but he was holding back giggles of his own, face flushed red with mirth. "Shh, Remus and Pete are sleeping."

James tried to respond, but Sirius still had his hand over his mouth, which caused them both to erupt into barely contained sniggers, grinning like idiots.

"What were you going to say?" Sirius giggled, moving his hand down so that James could speak, but keeping a finger on James' bottom lip.

"Who cares if they're sleeping! They should have come out to celebrate with us."

James and Sirius liked to go out sometimes to celebrate on random Fridays, just to commemorate the start of the weekend. Peter and Remus valued their sleep too much to go out with Sirius and James every weekend.

"Nah, it's better like this," Sirius whispered, his gaze roaming James' face.

James looked up at Sirius, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight, smiling down at James like he was the only thing in the world. James felt that same bubbly effervescence in his veins, and he didn't care whether it was the alcohol or not.

Invincible.

"Yeah, Pete can't hold his liquor for shit."

Sirius sniggered, laughing so hard that his whole body was shaking from trying to stay quiet. He swayed forward, resting his mouth on his fingers, which were still on James' lips. Sirius' warm breath whooshed over his tongue, and James tried to drink it in. Sirius tipped forward even more, until he was giggling into James' mouth, grazing his tongue, and smiling against James' bottom lip.

And every touch, every breath, every connection sent electricity humming through James' veins.

Sirius.

Invincible.

James surged upward, meeting Sirius's tongue with his own, moving his lips over his, and inhaling his scent like it was oxygen. He kissed Sirius so hard that the other boy fell back until James hovered over him, devouring Sirius' mouth like it was his last meal.

It was Sirius.

His Sirius, and they were kissing. His best mate, but they didn't feel so friendly any more.

Their noses knocked together as they pressed impossibly closer, sharing heat and breath, and this- this was better than being drunk, James decided.

Sirius Black was his own personal drug.

He needed him more than anything. More than everything.

James took Sirius' bottom lip between his teeth, pulling back slowly, enjoying the keening moan that left Sirius. He placed his lips on Sirius' throat, tracing it with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, and it was better than he'd imagined.

"Wait," Sirius said, out of breath and chest heaving. "We can't."

The words didn't register, and James continued his ministrations underneath Sirius jaw, because he wanted nothing more than to swallow him whole and be swallowed in return. But Sirius pushed on his shoulders. "We can't, James. You're drunk. We're drunk."

James pulled back, dazed and wanting nothing more than to have Sirius Black under his hands and in his mouth once again. "Drunk?" James pouted, petulantly.

"Yes, James," Sirius sat up on his elbow, pushing James out of the way to do the same. "We're drunk. We're not thinking straight."

James looked at Sirius, the angles and planes of his face, the smoothness of his skin, that mane of raven hair that James wanted to tangle his fingers in and never let go.

"Nope, not straight at all," James murmured.

Sirius gaped at him for a moment, letting out a surprised chuckle. Then he surged forward to capture his lips once again.

It was like Sirius couldn't help himself. He hummed into the kiss, reaching up to card his fingers through James' hair. Sirius gave a gentle tug on the strands, and James felt it all the way to the base of his spine, moaning wantonly into Sirius' mouth.

"Fuck, James," Sirius groaned, the noise only spurring him on.

Sirius moved to put a knee between James' legs, and the pressure was so exquisite James thought he would combust right there. He let out a whine, grabbing at hips, clothes and skin, clutching Sirius closer.

The light turned on then, a voice breaking them from their hormone cloud. "Prongs? Padf--"

Remus stood in the hallway in his pajamas, squinting from the light, and probably from the confusing scene in front of him. James bit his lip, wanting to laugh again, but when he looked closer, he realized that Remus wasn't confused, he was horrified. Frowning, James looked to Sirius, who was flushed and anguished.

Sirius pushed off of James, sitting up and allowing a rush of cold air to slip between them.

"Remus," Sirius said, guilty and pleading.

Remus said nothing, face stony. He just turned and went back to his room. Sirius buried his face in his hands, while James watched on, bewildered, his drunken buzz going silent.

Read Part 2 here!

#would anyone want this to be a series? lmk #don't worry y'all Sirius didn’t cheat #he and Remus had a little flirtationship so now he's jelly #prongsfoot #bambibelle #starbucks #james potter #sirius black #james and sirius #james x sirius #marauders #marauders fanfiction #tuesdaywrites #remus lupin #unrequited wolfstar

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tsukasalvr · 4 months

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Idk if requests are open but can you do a shinomitsu x reader unrequited love (Hanahaki Disease) if it's open?

hanahaki disease

Anime/fandom: Demon slayer

Characters: Shinobu Kocho and Mitsuri Kanroji

Warnings: I don’t proofread, angst, unrequited love, in here they’re in a relationship and ur the one w the hanahaki disease

A/n: stalking someone rn on insta

Demon slayer masterlist | Main masterlist

Shinobu Kocho and Mitsuri Kanroji

It was rare to see Shinobu and Mitsuri hang out because they were very busy especially with their positions in the demon slayer corps, when they hung out they made sure to catch up and go around everywhere

So on their free days, you could see them giggling and talking whether it be in the garden, or near stalls looking through selections of jewelry and accessories, or skimming through menus

It was like this for a while until you joined along and these hangouts became more frequent and the three of you looked happier and it seemed as if you being there brought out something in them that made them shine

Many around assumed you three were a couple or that you were dating one of them but it was always quickly denied, but you always hoped it would be true one day for the three of you

But when it came out that Shinobu and Mitsuri privately confessed in a hang out where you two weren’t invited in, it was heart breaking. Although you looked pleased for the both of them when you were near them, anybody around could tell how sad and heartbroken you actually were

It didn’t take long for prickling feeling in your throat to sprout, or ten petals that you would cough out whenever you watch catch sight of Shinobu and Mitsuri blushing and giggling, while holding hands

You would have to take check ups outside of the Demon Slayer corps considering Shinobu was the one who took care of everyone.

Other hashiras would take notice of your disease and some would try to convince you to convince that there’s a chance that they would welcome you in the relationship, while others silently took pity on you whenever they noticed your growingly weak figure coughing bloody petals

It didn’t take long for the news of you having hanahaki disease to reach Shinobu and Mitsuris ears though

#kny x y/n #kny x you #kny x reader #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x reader #shinobu x y/n #shinobu kocho x reader #shinobu x you #shinobu x reader #kanroji mitsuri x reader #mitsuri x you #mitsuri x y/n #mitsuri x reader

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1864reruns · 6 months

Text

ㅤㅤㅤˇ ˇᨳ꤬꣦𝆃 O،N SHUFF،LE⸝⸝⁞.ຳ

꒰ 📿 °᳝ꯥ‧ٓ⭝ general masterlist . ˚◞♡ ﹫svtdrabbles ▬▬▬

〢𓂅 svt x gn! reader ━ .ﾟ꙳ જ ،ˊˎ- 𓂃 ִֶָ

✹. ㅤSYNOPSISㅤ𖤐ㅤI put my miscellaneous playlist on shuffle and attempt to write drabbles for Seventeen members based on the song

✹. ㅤTAG(s)&WARNING(s)ㅤ𖤐ㅤALL OF THEM ARE UNEDITED (and could kinda be read as they're still idols but also not idk)!!!! s.coups⠀✦⠀lack of communication, established relationship, not really angst but discussion of breaking up, s.coups is pathetic and a fool in the face of love, it's sweet really ; jeonghan⠀✦⠀fluff, mentions of alcohol and drinking, domestic on objects (he beats up an oven 😔) ; joshua⠀✦⠀fluff, reader is sick, established relationship ; jun⠀✦⠀one sided love, unrequited love, weird ass couch metaphor (idk) ; hoshi⠀✦⠀real life "what are we?", fluff

✹. ㅤAUTHOR NOTE(s)ㅤ𖤐 ㅤ this is just a writing exercise because i have another angsty prose oneshot in the works; it's artist!xu minghao and muse!yn, idk why i always tend to write angst when it comes to prose oneshots but ohwell, also, my writing is heavily reliant on extended metaphors and the likes so take everything i write with a grain of a salt

،،̲ ﹕Choi "Dark Red" Seungcheol ❟﹗ ❲416 words❳

Unfortunately for you both, Seungcheol was completely ready to abandon his pride and beg you to not leave him. Something about your relationship recently was filling him with dread━ how you were pulling away from him, how it felt like you had retreated back to the shore after leaving him unable to control the directions of his body against the sea. The sick feeling of anxiety continued filling him with everytime the sea crashed against his back, sending him upwards above the waterline and high enough to see your back on the shore, walking back towards the comfort of your towel and the shade your umbrella offered. Seeing your back facing him and the sea felt like you had left him in the mess that you two had made home for so long, the slimy seaweed wrapping around his feet and tugging, tugging until his head was underneath water and his last breath was wasted on calling your name even if you couldn't hear him.

Maybe he was overthinking, high chances were it was not about him or your relationship in any way possible. Maybe it was work related, family issues, an argument with friends, but whatever it was, it was affecting you two. Your withdrawal from the relationship mentally felt horrible, it felt like impending doom, like watching a lie you've told previously blow up in your face with no way out. Maybe Seungcheol should've had a mature discussion with you about whatever was bothering you, whether it be about your relationship or not but in hindsight, you couldn't make him think that you were going to break up with him and expect him not to fall to his knees, cradling your hands close to his chest like your fingers were the chambers of his heart.

Unfortunately for you both, Choi Seungcheol was not a man that let his pride get in the way of important things━ things like you. So when you're casually talking about how hard things have been lately, and how you want to stop doing everything and just get on a plane to anywhere, it's only natural that Seungcheol slides off the couch you're both lounging on. It's only natural that his face is contorted into one of extreme hurt and caution and when he says, "don't give me up, please don't give up," continuing on even when you're ushering him up, eyes blinking wide confused, "honey, I belong with you and only you," you should've seen it coming, he thinks.

،،̲ ﹕Yoon "Thinkin Bout You" Jeonghan ❟﹗ ❲774 words❳

It should've been impossible for you to find Jeonghan more attractive than you already had been since you two met but somehow, it was happening. The living room had yet to be cleaned up, a lot of the snacks previously opened had been folded over and stacked on the low coffee table, empty soju and beer glasses had all been redirected to the kitchen, and there are a few miscellaneous arms and feet sticking out from underneath blankets, pillows in your peripherals. You shuffle around the shadows, trying your best not to step on anything that: a) might be a person, b) might be food, c) might be a wrapper, and thank the stars that Kim Mingyu had stuck himself with the group of boys that made teasing him their vocation. The house–warming party for whom you've forgotten through all the alcohol, unsurprisingly, turned into a drinking party when half of the boys had decided that nothing makes a good gift like meat and alcohol and so commenced the long night of bottomless samgyeopsal, kimchi, and beer mixed with soju.

The light of the kitchen is already on, sounds of smacking and grumbling becoming clearer as your vision does the same and you walk past the threshold and into the room. With his back turned towards you, Jeonghan is hovering over the oven with one hand leaning on the counter and the other pressing the buttons of the oven that you guessed wasn't working by the way he was repetitively pressing it. You silently find amusement in watching him struggle with working the thing until he curses, smacking his palm against the surface and you accidentally let out a loud 'ha!'. Yoon Jeonghan should look worse considering what time it is, how much alcohol he had earlier but he doesn't. Or maybe he does but you're too biased to notice or maybe the dream you've had previously wherein Jeonghan was stood amongst a field of flowers, the petals unable to rival the softness of his eyes made it impossible to think anything negative about him. Maybe it was hard to see Yoon Jeonghan in your dreams, watered with heaven's clouds and taking in nutrients from the same Earth that omce saw to the great Heracles with the sun dawning upon his features gracefully like he were the centre of the universe, and think that anything could make him unappealing to the eyes.

"Yn," he whined as you move to the oven, obviously stepping in to help him with it. You glance over the pot of water, the unopened ramen on the counter beside you, and when your thumb pressed down on the button, it turns on with a chirpy beep. "How'd you get it to work?" Jeonghan peeked over your shoulder, unconsciously pressing himself into your side with his fingers perched on your shoulder.

You mumble something hardly intelligible when you're met with Jeonghan's lightly flushed cheeks from the alcohol previously. He seemed to understand you well enough though because his eyebrows furrowed and he smacks the oven top again. "I've been clicking that thing forever."

Somewhere inbetween your delirious half asleep state and your alcohol induced zoning out, you managed an amused smile before you slip away to the corner of the kitchen where the kettle is to make yourself tea. A quiet humming of life begins in the kitchen, you slide over to open a few cupboards to look for cups and Jeonghan was where you once stood in search of chopsticks. He finds the metal utensils before you find anything that could even function as a cup, your eyes wander over to the bubbling kettle as you wonder if you even wanted tea that badly but a sound from Jeonghan makes you stop.

Infront of you, on the counter, there was a large mug. Painted in the colour of an eggshell, round with a strip of brown running around the bottom. You glance upwards to see Jeonghan grinning at you; it's a simple action, something you could do to a stranger in the street but your heart is suddenly seeping with love, the colour and flavour of Yoon Jeonghan flooding the liquid in your body until you were a murky existence tainted with your feelings for him. Between the alcohol and you still being half asleep, you hope the words are as unintelligible as you heard them to be. "I can't stop thinking about you."

But when you finally get the courage to glance at him in search of a reaction, the large grin on his face, green tea with sickening adoration, you know that he's heard you well enough.

،،̲ ﹕Hong "Heavenly" Jisoo ❟﹗ ❲395 words❳

The door creaks softly, you hear the background noise of your friends slip into your bedroom before the door shuts again. Feet sounded gently across the floor, getting louder with each step and closer; the intrusion of someone makes you whine, not wanting to get out of bed. You make an attempt to burrow yourself deeper into the duvet, the scratchy pillow, rolling over to the middle of the bed where you believed yourself to be untouchable. A gentle hand feels over your reddened face, mouth open as you panted slowly; Joshua's pinky ring provides a little coolness that you find pleasure in. You still seemed a little out of it, eyes open deliriously before they taken in the blur of colours that is your boyfriend.

He's frowning, you think, as he mumbled something about your high temperature underneath his lips. "Hey you," he called out softly when he catches you with your eyes open. His hair is a little messy and he carries a faint smell of food with him. You shuffle over to where he's sat on the bed, leaning your head up to burrow your face into his stomach. "You feel any better?" He asks you as you shake your head.

The light from the morning hours catches in your curtains; the lullaby of the rain against your window calls you back to sleep; Joshua's hands wipe away the hair that's stuck to your forehead, resembling streaks of paint on a canvas. You clear your throat, "are you not going out today?" You managed to ask, your tongue odd and heavy in your mouth.

Joshua hummed a 'no'. Your head moves away from his stomach, looking at him with furrowed eyes. "If the boys knows I left you alone at home sick, they'll force me home anyways." He defended like it was the only thing keeping him from leaving.

You have no energy to try and force him to go, a smile on your face as you pushed yourself back into his stomach. Joshua asks you if you need anything, indulgent and caring as he hears your breathing slow down a little. You shake your head, parts of your hair stabbing through the fabric of his pyjamas bottoms and meeting the skin of his thigh in ticklish kisses. He smiles before bending down awkwardly and pressing a kiss onto your head.

،،̲ ﹕Wen "Strawberry Blond" Junhui ❟﹗❲508 words❳

There's a patch of bleach on the back of your couch— it's the size of Wen Junhui's head and takes the shape of your heart. It's ruined your couch but sometimes, you like to sit there methodically and lay your head against the mark. You don't know how long it sat there, burning through the colours of your furniture until it left its mark; you didn't even realise it had happened until Vernon had pointed it out when you were about to sit down.

"What the hell—" You looked up, annoyed at your couch being ruined but your eyes land on Jun and he doesn't seem guilty at all. His face is straightened, shrugging. Seungkwan is there to help you calm down (because you think you were also annoyed over something else that day) and Dino offers to help you look for a new couch but that's too time consuming and expensive so you decided to get comfortable with your ruined couch.

Living with a ruined couch isn't all that hard. It becomes the norm to see it there, you can't remember what your couch looked like untouched and pristine; it doesn't really affect your life until someone points it out or Jun's head is there, covering it up perfectly. He stands up and reveals the mark again and your heart aches in your chest. Sometimes, it's disbelief that takes you when you're forced to become witness to the lightened leather of your couch, how had he managed to sit there without you noticing, how you didn't even notice when he moved and you sat down to take his spot, how you had simply accepted that you weren't going to get a new couch.

Life continues on, even with the stained couch in your home. Your friends also become normalised to it— when Jun is not there, they laugh at you and the way he had pressed his head against the leather chamber of your heart and bleached through muscle. They make pictures out of it, create characters with whiteboard pen and draw over the varying colours of splotches and wipe it off so they can do it again. They create fantasical stories from it, smiling and laughing and they spoke a world where Jun was always there to cover up the mark as he lived beside you into existence.

You're greeted by the boys one day, outside your apartment with a girl. She's stood with Jun and moves in slowly, cautiously. She doesn't notice the bleach material of your couch as she sits down and leans the back of her head against it. Your friends look at her cautiously, at the glimpses of the ruined headrest they can see and then they look at you. Vernon tells you that Jun was somewhat interested in her, Seungkwan pats your back with a smile, and Dino asks you, once again, if you want a new couch.

You say no, once again. It's too expensive, too time consuming. You think it'll stay with you until the end of time.

،،̲ ﹕Kwon "Tren Tinh Ban Duoi Tinh Yeu" Soonyoung ❟﹗❲414 words❳

For Hoshi, some of the lines that restricted platonic love from romantic love blurs together. He hugs like he's making an attempt to crawl into your heart, he presses kisses on your skin like he's falling from the skies and it's the only thing tethering him from hitting the floor distastefully, he cuddles like you're an iv drip, keeping him alive and you're forced to breath out the reading of his heart beats.

It's something that used to be confusing to you, who held the two separate, sacred in their own ways but his friends are somewhat similar. Between the group of thirteen, there are unspoken rites that they keep to show live to each other in way that mixes the two together and so as you get closer to them all, you become more accustomed to it.

When Hoshi treats his friends like this, however, it's hard to try and scramble together an understanding of what he sees you as. Before you met his other friends, you thought— believed— that he held romantic feelings for you; he never brought them up however so you were left trying to stitch the pieces together into a shaky puzzle. The pieces are forced together into an ugly picture, the colours don't match and the lines are all erratic. You finally meet his friend group, so full of love for each other, and the puzzle falls straight through your hands.

"You okay?" A head lowered to your shoulder, Hoshi is stood behind you with your other shoulder held tight in his hands. You smiled, leaning your head onto his for a second before you're straightening up and he takes a seat next to you.

Your eyes glanced around the room— you won't deny that there's a part of you that wants him to push a little more towards romantic showings with you but. "I'm fine," you breathed a soft sigh as your eyes sparkled.

When you landed on the belief that Hoshi liked you, it led you down the path of slowly formulating a specific love that you held only for him. You thought Hoshi liked you so your mind pushed him past the lines of platonic love into the spotlight of romantic.

For Hoshi, you're stood somewhere between the stages of platonic and romantic love but that's enough for now. You're happy with it. (Plus, even Jihoon thinks that the love Hoshi keeps for you is a little different than the love he extends to them.)

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