#you KNOW i had to end it with Francis Forever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

buckybarnesthehotshot · 1 month

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Francis Forever (CS55 x Reader)

|ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ|

summary: words unsaid keep him up at night after y/n loses her f1 seat (inspired by Francis Forever by Mitski)

word count: 4117

warnings: angst not proofread, swearing maybe, y/n is essentially daniel from the 2022-2023 season

December 19, 2022 (Spain)

He was lost in the 2022 season. Red Bull had a different dominance to them, and Ferrari could not seem to keep up with the absolute rocket ship of a car Red Bull had. In the end, his thoughts only drifted back to her. They both struggled greatly in the season. The season was over, and so were they.

It was three in the morning in Spain—he’d spent the night tossing and turning in bed, seeking warmth his blankets could not provide him—when the news stumbled onto his social media. Multiple accounts across multiple platforms announced y/n to be Red Bull’s third driver for the 2023 season. He even went on Red Bull’s account to verify the news.

He sighed. He believed she would have taken a break from Formula 1 in the time she wasn’t going to be driving. Instead, he was mortified to learn his ex girlfriend would only be a few garages up the pitlane. How couldn’t she? With the love Red Bull always had for her, it was never going to come into question that they would have bailed her out of the situation she found herself in for the season.

Despite Red Bull’s history with its drivers, his heart lit up with joy knowing they would have taken care of her. After all, her time with Red Bull was preferable to the time she spent with McLaren. He was almost in a daze, caught up in the moment when he found himself scrolling through his phone’s contacts, his heart skipping a beat as his gaze landed upon the familiar contact; her number saved under the name “Mi Amor”.

“Saw the news, amor! Congratulations, I can’t wait to see you again on race weekends” he typed up before mentally kicking himself when a moment of logic washed over him. Though the message was plain, it was far too sentimental for his liking. Far too sentimental for what they were now.

“Congratulations. See you!” he made a attempt to revise the message. He sighed, repeatedly tapping on his phone’s backspace key until not a single trace of the message existed. No message. It’s what he had settled on instead that night.

March 3, 2023 (Bahrain)

It was time for the first race of the 2023 season. Walking through the paddock, he saw her. She smiled as she walked past reporters and photographers, clad in her team’s dark blue t-shirt as she made her way over to the Red Bull garage. He stood still, watching her from meters away as she disappeared behind the motorhome’s walls. He could not bring himself to move closer to her, unsure of whether or not he still had the right to do so after their breakup.

Back then, race weekends were not so awkward. They used to be fine. Perfectly fine, and so perfectly enamored with each other. Their eyes used to light up so clearly when they spotted each other from across the paddock walking into their respective motorhomes. It was never this messy between them.

August 27, 2022 (Belgium)

The 2022 season was exhausting for the pair. y/n had just announced she was parting ways with McLaren and that made it all real. And though Carlos wanted to be there to support her, he had his work to do with Ferrari. After the announcement, she was working to prove herself to other teams, fighting to make the improvements she needed to. The pair hardly found much time for each other.

A few garages distance had never felt so far.

“So, Red Bull wants to give me a third driver seat,” she spoke as they jogged side-by-side on the hotel gym’s treadmills. Her e/c eyes scanned his face for a reaction, frowning when she got none. It took her waving her hand in front of his face for him to finally rid himself of his earphones.

“Sorry, amor, were you saying something?” he questioned cluelessly, an expectant look on his face. She frowned.

“Never mind. I haven’t signed anything yet,” she shook away the thought of letting him in on the news this early.

“Why? Are you getting offers already?” he questioned almost absentmindedly, gaze fixed on the view outside the glass windows the treadmills were situated in front of.

“Kind of? Not really, though. It’s complicated and the driver market is insanely complicated this year,” she shook off the thought. Mercedes had offered her a role as a reserve driver, and Haas offered her a seat she had no plans of taking. She didn’t know how well those teams would have fared for her and her career.

“Let me know when you have a seat, yeah? We can go out and celebrate,” he smiled proudly before making a suggestion, “If you can’t find one, maybe I can put in a good word for you in Ferrari for a reserve driver seat or something.”

She grimaced at the thought. There was nothing wrong with it. She knew he was trying to help in a way he knew how. Still, it felt as though he were implying she needed him in order to stay in F1. Him leaving McLaren was what led her into the team in the first place. To many, it seemed like Carlos was responsible for the opportunities she was given in her career in recent years. It wasn’t fair for her achievements to be diminished by the fact that her career was waning, incomparable to the way her boyfriend’s career shone.

“I don’t need it,” she responded, her tone clipped, “I’ve got opportunities. Plenty of them. I’ll find a seat next year on the grid, and if I have to wait for somebody else’s contract to end, I’ll do it.”

“Maybe you can try a different racing series?” he suggested, “Le Mans could be interesting for you, no? Maybe even rally cars like we did with papa that one time.”

“And what about us? Would we be able to take it? Traveling to different places in the world at different times, our schedules almost never lining up?”

“I think we can handle it,” he nodded, interlacing their fingers, “I have trust in our relationship. I know we can make it through anything.”

“Well, I’d like to stay in F1. Maybe I can take a short break before I get a seat back. I’m sure I’m not leaving Formula 1, though.”

November 22, 2022, Monaco

“You know, I think you’re taking this a bit extreme now,” Carlos sighed, watching her race on her racing simulator set up in their apartment.

“I have to do this, Carlos,” she insisted, “I have to prove I’ve still got it.”

“And who are you trying to prove it to? It’s just you and me here, y/n,” he reminded her, unplugging the simulator and wrapping his arms around her, “It’s going to be okay. Take a moment to rest.”

“Okay,” she nodded, giving into his request and following him to the living room. She let out a sigh, “It’s weird for me to think I won’t be racing next season after all these years. I thought I had my contract sealed for next year. I thought I would have had time to redeem myself at McLaren instead of having them buy me out.”

“I know, Amor,” he sighed into her hair as he held her in a comforting embrace, “I’m going out with some of the other drivers later. Do you want to go?”

“I think I’ll stay here first,” she shook him off, “You have fun though. Don’t get too drunk, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” Carlos winked.

Later that night, he found himself on a quiet rooftop bar with George, Lando, Charles, and Max.

“I found her on the simulator earlier,” he admitted to his friends under the influence of a few tequila shots, “I mean, she seemed so rough earlier. I worry for her, you know? She’s so stressed out with everything that I feel bad because I have a seat and she doesn’t.”

“Don’t you think it might hurt her if she has to keep traveling with you for F1?” Lando chimed in as the topic of y/n’s career came up. It was inevitable for them to end up talking. They were drivers, and y/n was Lando’s teammate. One way or another, it would have come up in conversation.

“And what makes you think that?” Carlos quirked a brow at Lando’s remark.

“Does she have any plans outside F1? I heard Nicky’s going back to uni with Logan replacing him,” George explained, taking a sip from his beer, “If not, maybe it will take some getting used to for her if she’s going to follow you around on races.”

“Well, not that I know of right now—”

“Does she have a confirmed seat anywhere? Maybe even a reserve driver seat?”

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” the Spaniard shook his head at the thought, only vaguely being able to recall their conversation on the treadmills in Belgium.

“If she doesn’t have one, then yeah, I think it would suck for her to do all this F1 stuff with you. Especially with where her career is right now,” George sighed, rubbing his cheeks as though mentally putting himself in y/n’s shoes.

“But wouldn’t it be good for her to stay within F1? That way, she stays in conversations when the driver market opens up again?” Max suggested. Carlos was tipsy at that point, not too sure about what they were discussing in that moment. The driver market got complicated at times; the tequila made it difficult for his comprehension.

“Maybe she needs a break from F1 if it’s making her as stressed out as Carlos is saying it is,” Charles chimed in, “There are plenty of teams outside F1 as well who would love to have her as their driver. Maybe she’s insisting on F1 because Carlos is in F1?”

Carlos’ thick brows furrowed at those words. Was it true? That she was only insisting on staying in F1 for him? That he was the one holding her back from jumping to other divisions of racing liek Charles was insinuating?

He sat deep in thought that night as the conversation shifted to other topics his fellow drivers wished to talk about. He stumbled into their apartment that night, a frown in his face as he knew what he was about to do.

“Fun night out?” she questioned, a warm smile on her face as Carlos entered the apartment. He was going to miss that smile.

“I think we need to break up,” he blurted out. Her eyes grew wide, the smile slipping off her face as she stared at him in disbelief. Chuckling as though she just misheard him.

“What?”

“It’s for your future, Amor. I know you love all things motorsports, and you told me how you would have gone for Indycar if you didn’t get into F1,” Carlos began to ramble, unable to sort through his drunken thoughts in a way that would have made sense to his sober girlfriend.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she demanded, her voice cracking upon the realization that he was serious about his words.

“It would be easier for you to leave if I wasn’t making you stay,” his voice broke.

“But you aren’t making me stay, Carlos. I’m choosing to stay,” she shook off his words, “Darling, you’re drunk. Surely, this is just a big misunderstanding. We can talk about this in the morning.”

“No. No. I have to leave now, you understand?” he sounded desperate as he rushed into their shared room to start packing.

“Carlos, darling, come on. We can have this discussion in the morning. You aren’t thinking straight,” she pleaded with him, “Carlos, let’s just go to bed, please?”

“Okay,” he nodded, following her into bed. When she had woken up, he was gone. Most of his things as well. He meant what he said that night, it seemed.

July 11, 2023 (Great Britain)

y/n wasn’t there for every Grand Prix that year. He found his eyes going to the Red Bull garage every chance he could, hoping he’d be able to catch a glimpse of her. Disappointment set in whenever he couldn’t find her, or whenever he learned she wasn’t going to attend the weekend at all. He went from seeing her daily to doing his best to steal glimpses of her.

Carlos Sainz was subscribed to the Oracle Red Bull Racing team’s YouTube channel. Though he was ashamed to admit it, he would have videos of her on the channel on replay constantly whenever he missed her. It was the only place he could catch her smiling and laughing nowadays. He wasn’t sure if her smiles were genuine. Part of him wished upon her the same hurt. Just to see that their relationship meant something to her. That he broke her heart as much as he did his own that day.

And though she did not see him often on race weekends she did attend, he was there. Hell, he was present at Silverstone, watching on as she did the tire tests for Pirelli, clad in a Red Bull racing suit as she drove a Red Bull car around the track. She looked amazing in the suit, driving around like she was still doing it every weekend.

Three in the morning again. He spent the night tossing and turning in the cold hotel bed thinking of her that day. She drove the car amazingly, with such ferocity. With a renewed vigor as she made her way through every corner, perfectly in sync with the car. He missed being with her on the track. He missed seeing her in the car, so perfectly in her element. He was a fool to think she would have walked away from Formula 1 that easily.

“Everyone’s talking about how amazing you did in the tire tests, amor. You did amazing. I would love to see you with a permanent seat in Red Bull. You were so happy there.”

He deleted the message again, unwilling to send it. Besides, after the day she had, she was likely asleep. His eyes grew wide at the notifications on his phone that popped up immediately after he erased his message.

A press release came out saying she was replacing Nyck De Vries in Alpha Tauri. She was back in a Formula 1 car. This is what she was working towards since the news broke form McLaren. He regretted parting ways with her now more than ever.

Had they still been together, he would have been the first person she told about the contract. He would have smiled proudly, excitement evident on his face as he took her out to dinner in celebration of her. Instead, there he was, stuck staring at his phone, trying to think about whether or not he wanted to send her a message.

What was there to say? What words were enough to make up for what he’d done to her. Would he tell her he was sorry? That he wanted her back? That he’d made a mistake in doing what his drunken self believed was best for her?

She knew exactly what she was doing in her career. He was stupid to think she wasn’t going to be back in a seat by the 2023 season.

“You’re back on the grid! Excited to see you with your foot back in the competition. The fans missed you as well, you should see the support they give you online. I missed you”

Deleted again.

August 25, 2023 (The Netherlands)

Grand Prix weekends grew difficult for Carlos following the announcement. He had to see her more and more now. The media was saturated with reports about her, their focus heavy on her. Many eyes watched her, just to see if she was as promising as they said she would be. To see if she was worth sacking De Vries for.

Her face was everywhere on his social media. Her name slipped through everyone’s lips in gossip. The one time he wasn’t hearing about her, he found himself stuck in a press conference with her.

She sat herself on the furthest end of the couch, away from him. She acted as though there was no history between them. Though they knew, the drivers knew, the fans knew. They were together for years, back when she was in Red Bull with Sebastian himself. She put on an act of aloofness toward him every time he would look at her, plastering on a smile for the reporters who asked her questions.

It was evident she was excited for the weekend. Carlos knew he was what stood between her and actually enjoying the press conference.

“How are you feeling entering the race weekend?” one of the reporters directed the question to her.

“I’m very excited,” she announced with a smile, “I’ve been in the car for two Grand Prix, I’m still trying to get the hang of it and get in sync with it. I’m looking forward to being able to do more with the car than I was able to. I’m still getting used to the car in terms of race pace and all. I’m hoping for a few points this weekend.”

“She’ll be on the podium in no time when she gets the hang of the car,” Carlos chimed in awkwardly, eyes wandering over to y/n.

“I hope so,” she shrugged, a tense smile on her face, “I’ve got a ridiculous amount of competition for that, though.”

“You’ll do great,” Carlos spoke again. y/n looked over at him, nodding awkwardly before settling back into the couch.

Unfortunately, her race weekend was cut short when she hit the tire barriers in the second practice session of the weekend. The yellow flags came out and Carlos frowned as he saw her car in the tire barrier next to Oscar Piastri’s McLaren.

The news about her condition came later upon finding out her injury was worse than they initially thought. Her wrist was fractured. She was not going to be able to race that weekend. His heart felt for her as he recalled how excited she was in that press conference.

He continued on with the weekend, relying on announcements from social media regarding her condition. He finished fifth that weekend.

September 17, 2023 (Singapore)

He knew she was in the paddock that weekend. He was made aware of it on social media when the Alpha Tauri social media account posted about it to their feed. It was a photo of her in the Alpha Tauri pit wall, a smile on her face despite the fact she was not going to be racing that weekend.

The car had pace that weekend. The practice sessions proved that. However, he wasn’t sure if it was going to transmute to Qualifying positions. However, he was certain he was going to do his best because this time, there was hope for another win. And it was going to be in Singapore with y/n watching.

He pushed himself to his best during Qualifying. He was going for pole position and nobody was going to get in the way of that. With the Red Bulls out in Q2, Pole position was up for grabs. He was going to make sure he was the driver to get it.

He drove the quickest lap possible at that circuit, pushing his red Ferrari to its limit, pulling momentum into every turn he took, crossing the line with the quickest lap time. He’d done it. He was starting from Pole in Singapore.

That night, it wasn’t him with his eyes glued to his phone screen at 3 in the morning. No. That night, it had been y/n with her phone stuck in her hands, staring at his contact saved to her phone. Cameras caught her watching the qualifying session, a video circulating of the way her eyes lit up when Carlos set his time.

He didn’t see that, though. Not when he was in the car, celebrating getting pole position.

Still, she hesitated to click on his contact. Was it right for her to send him a message? He broke up with her. She had gone through a whirlwind that season and she didn’t hear a single word from Carlos. A sharp pain struck her injured wrist, the one she held her phone with, resulting in the block of glass and metal to hit her square in the face.

“Good job today, darling. Wishing you luck for tomorrow’s racefhkwe”

Her eyes widened, mortified. The message was sent. She sighed, typing up another message, deciding there was no better time to say the words.

“I miss you.”

She spent the rest of the night in a dreamless sleep, awaiting a response to her message. Though, she knew Carlos well enough to know he kept his phone usage to a minimum on Grand Prix days.

Before the Grand Prix started, he pulled out his phone, killing time in the minutes before he had to enter his car. It was then he saw the message she sent him at 3 in the morning. His eyes grew wide, reading the three words over and over again.

“Carlos!” his race engineer called out to him, “The driver parade’s about to start.”

He had no time to reply y/n’s message before he was pulled in all sorts of directions for Grand Prix duties. Soon enough, he was in the car, still not having been able to reply to her message. He was determined to get the whole race over with, eager to finally reply to her. It paid off in his favor. He crossed the line first. When the celebrations with the team at parc ferme were through, he made his way into the cooldown room in preparation for the podium ceremony.

He’d gotten so used to looking for her over the race weekends that he was sure he could spot her in any crowd. This time, his eyes grew wide as he climbed onto the top step of the podium. He blinked, believing his eyes were deceiving him. In the red sea of Ferrari, McLaren, and Mercedes staff, she stood out, clad in her Red Bull team shirt. She cheered excitedly with the crowd, despite the sling her arm was in.

Despite her injury, there she was, joining the crowd to celebrate a podium ceremony Red Bull took no part in. He didn’t think he was going to see her anytime soon after her injury. Nothing was going to keep her from Formula 1. He was certain of that now.

It was unmistakable, the glimmer in her eyes as she cheered along. The joy that was painted on her features as she gazed up at the top three finishers of the Grand Prix. A part of him hoped that gaze was meant for him.

When the ceremony ended, the team, including him gathered in the garage for celebratory pictures. To his surprise, there she was.

“y/n, what are you doing here?” he questioned, shock evident in his expression as he wiped the champagne away from his face.

“The team invited me after the podium ceremony,” she explained bashfully, her arms wrapping around her torso, unsure of what to do with her hands, “You never replied to my message.”

“I wanted to,” he breathed out, relieved she was finally talking to him, “I saw it right before the driver’s parade started. I wasn’t able to reply. If it’s any consolation, I miss you too.”

“We can talk about this later if you want to, yeah?” she smiled up at him, that twinkle in her eyes returning, “Go celebrate your win with the team.”

“No. No,” he shook his head, unwilling to put the conversation off any longer, “I made a mistake that night in Monaco. I thought, I thought that whatever I was doing was better for you. I thought it would have helped you shift your focus to other options in racing. I was an idiot.”

“Yeah. You were,” she gave a small smile.

“I’m sorry, y/n. Really, I’m sorry,” he frowned, “I know it will take time for you to forgive me, but I want you to know that I’m proud of you and I still love you. I was too guilty to tell you then, but I was so happy, seeing you make your way back to the grid this season, and—”

“I forgive you,” she cut him off, tears in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his tall frame, “I love you too, Carlos.

December 19, 2022 (Spain)

March 3, 2023 (Bahrain)

August 27, 2022 (Belgium)

A few garages distance had never felt so far.

“Sorry, amor, were you saying something?” he questioned cluelessly, an expectant look on his face. She frowned.

“Never mind. I haven’t signed anything yet,” she shook away the thought of letting him in on the news this early.

“Why? Are you getting offers already?” he questioned almost absentmindedly, gaze fixed on the view outside the glass windows the treadmills were situated in front of.

“Maybe you can try a different racing series?” he suggested, “Le Mans could be interesting for you, no? Maybe even rally cars like we did with papa that one time.”

“And what about us? Would we be able to take it? Traveling to different places in the world at different times, our schedules almost never lining up?”

“I think we can handle it,” he nodded, interlacing their fingers, “I have trust in our relationship. I know we can make it through anything.”

“Well, I’d like to stay in F1. Maybe I can take a short break before I get a seat back. I’m sure I’m not leaving Formula 1, though.”

November 22, 2022, Monaco

“You know, I think you’re taking this a bit extreme now,” Carlos sighed, watching her race on her racing simulator set up in their apartment.

“I have to do this, Carlos,” she insisted, “I have to prove I’ve still got it.”

“I know, Amor,” he sighed into her hair as he held her in a comforting embrace, “I’m going out with some of the other drivers later. Do you want to go?”

“I think I’ll stay here first,” she shook him off, “You have fun though. Don’t get too drunk, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” Carlos winked.

Later that night, he found himself on a quiet rooftop bar with George, Lando, Charles, and Max.

“And what makes you think that?” Carlos quirked a brow at Lando’s remark.

“Well, not that I know of right now—”

“Does she have a confirmed seat anywhere? Maybe even a reserve driver seat?”

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” the Spaniard shook his head at the thought, only vaguely being able to recall their conversation on the treadmills in Belgium.

“Fun night out?” she questioned, a warm smile on her face as Carlos entered the apartment. He was going to miss that smile.

“I think we need to break up,” he blurted out. Her eyes grew wide, the smile slipping off her face as she stared at him in disbelief. Chuckling as though she just misheard him.

“What?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” she demanded, her voice cracking upon the realization that he was serious about his words.

“It would be easier for you to leave if I wasn’t making you stay,” his voice broke.

“No. No. I have to leave now, you understand?” he sounded desperate as he rushed into their shared room to start packing.

“Carlos, darling, come on. We can have this discussion in the morning. You aren’t thinking straight,” she pleaded with him, “Carlos, let’s just go to bed, please?”

“Okay,” he nodded, following her into bed. When she had woken up, he was gone. Most of his things as well. He meant what he said that night, it seemed.

July 11, 2023 (Great Britain)

“Everyone’s talking about how amazing you did in the tire tests, amor. You did amazing. I would love to see you with a permanent seat in Red Bull. You were so happy there.”

She knew exactly what she was doing in her career. He was stupid to think she wasn’t going to be back in a seat by the 2023 season.

“You’re back on the grid! Excited to see you with your foot back in the competition. The fans missed you as well, you should see the support they give you online. I missed you”

Deleted again.

August 25, 2023 (The Netherlands)

Her face was everywhere on his social media. Her name slipped through everyone’s lips in gossip. The one time he wasn’t hearing about her, he found himself stuck in a press conference with her.

It was evident she was excited for the weekend. Carlos knew he was what stood between her and actually enjoying the press conference.

“How are you feeling entering the race weekend?” one of the reporters directed the question to her.

“She’ll be on the podium in no time when she gets the hang of the car,” Carlos chimed in awkwardly, eyes wandering over to y/n.

“I hope so,” she shrugged, a tense smile on her face, “I’ve got a ridiculous amount of competition for that, though.”

“You’ll do great,” Carlos spoke again. y/n looked over at him, nodding awkwardly before settling back into the couch.

He continued on with the weekend, relying on announcements from social media regarding her condition. He finished fifth that weekend.

September 17, 2023 (Singapore)

He didn’t see that, though. Not when he was in the car, celebrating getting pole position.

“Good job today, darling. Wishing you luck for tomorrow’s racefhkwe”

Her eyes widened, mortified. The message was sent. She sighed, typing up another message, deciding there was no better time to say the words.

“I miss you.”

She spent the rest of the night in a dreamless sleep, awaiting a response to her message. Though, she knew Carlos well enough to know he kept his phone usage to a minimum on Grand Prix days.

“Carlos!” his race engineer called out to him, “The driver parade’s about to start.”

When the ceremony ended, the team, including him gathered in the garage for celebratory pictures. To his surprise, there she was.

“y/n, what are you doing here?” he questioned, shock evident in his expression as he wiped the champagne away from his face.

“The team invited me after the podium ceremony,” she explained bashfully, her arms wrapping around her torso, unsure of what to do with her hands, “You never replied to my message.”

“We can talk about this later if you want to, yeah?” she smiled up at him, that twinkle in her eyes returning, “Go celebrate your win with the team.”

“Yeah. You were,” she gave a small smile.

“I forgive you,” she cut him off, tears in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his tall frame, “I love you too, Carlos.

a/n: this was a draft i found from last year and decided to fix up today, my writing's hella rustayyyy 😭

F1 TAGS: @errrrrat / @ricsaigaslec / @veronicapaula / @buendiabebeta / @abditory-77 / @navia3000 / @revengze / @love4lando / @princessria127 /

CS55 TAGS: (OPEN)

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fanfiction #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz imagine #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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aventurinemylove · 9 months

Note

FIRST TIME REQUESTING! So I have no clue if you're okay with what I'm ganna ask?

May I ask for a angst to fluff. (Only if you're okay with both in the request! unless you want it to be full angst) Like where reader/ y/n is near death (again only if your okay with it) wiith Dazai and Chuuya. (If you wish to add another one that's your choice!) It can be either a headcanon or short fic. Whichever one your more confterble with!

(Ps I love your smau au!)

Have a nice day/night/afternoon (it's 3:10 a.m for me 💀) but anyways if you can't accept my request I understand! But take care of yourself. ♡

A/n- OMG YOU DONT KNOW HOW FAST I GOT UP AND STARTED WRITING TYSM FOR THE REQ OMG AND IM GLAD YOU LIKE THE SMAU😭🫶

Close call

Dazai x reader and chuuya x reader (separate)

Genre-angst and fluff

Warnings- heavy topics, torture, blood, mori…

Songs to listen-skyfall adele,I bet on losing dogs mitski,francis forever mitski

Osamu Dazai

You were sent on a mission by yourself by Fukuzawa to gather information on a rival organization. You knew the risks of this but you were willing to risk it To give the Ada any type of advantage. Before your mission dazai told you to be more cautious about everyone and everything, he had a pitiful feeling in his stomach..the same feeling when he lost his dear friend, which left him wondering if his past finally catching up to him?

Ever since you left the feeling only got worse and worse, he couldn’t take it anymore it was eating him alive he felt a sense of guilt, and for the first time in year, he felt fear..? Something might have happens to you..days without contact or even texts all his texts were delivered you never left him on delivered. He couldn't take it anymore and decided he will look for you himself.

Meanwhile, you haven't texted Dazai due to leaving your work phone at the ADA in order to not cause any suspicion between you and your new boss however you couldn't stay like this forever he saw you rummaging through classified files which ended up with you having to reveal your identity causing you to fight. What surprised you was the ambush from behind which ended up with u getting stabbed in the chest and losing conscious.

Once he got there he was late...your body on the ground bleeding profusely, he couldn't believe it he failed you. The person he vowed to serve and protect you only to fail you. His heart aches at seeing you so motionless so still. He couldn't even form a word he couldn't even stand on his feet. “You're not gone [name] right..” his voice filled with sorrow and disbelief. If only he came earlier..he could've prevented this he wouldn’t have lost you.

He ran to your body and held it..for the first time in years he couldn’t mask his emotions how could he..you were special to him the only one keeping on this ground, but now that your gone he has no will to live no reason to be here. “[name] I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, you didn’t deserve this awful fate my love..I’m sorry”. You were still conscious you heard everything how u you wish you can tell him “everything’s going to be okay” but honestly not even you knew if your going to make it”

Dazai held u so close running towards the nearest hospital he could find without any second thought begging every doctor to treat you before it was to late. He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were unconscious, atsushi brought Dazai food and made sure to give him company and any ounce of hope he had.

It was almost a month since that event you haven’t woken up not even once…this left Dazai terrified he only thought of the worst outcome. Though before u hit one month of being unconscious you woke up, every emotion hitting you but the one hitting you the most was shock and fear. You couldn't believe you were alive, and you also wondered who brought you to the hospital but soon realization and memories hit you. Dazai found you laying unconscious, you couldn't help but have guilt. Your poor husband finding you unconscious and unresponsive was a horror to think about.

You were so deep in thought you didn't notice Dazai practically tugging you into a hug crying his eyes out on your shoulder. [name] my love I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you, I'm sorry I failed you I was so scared, I was so scared of you leaving me like everyone” he said between broken sobs. “Dazai dear I'm sorry for being so careless I really should've seen it coming” you say through your tears.

To say the least, dazai is happy you're alive and that's all that matters to him.

Nakahara Chuuya

You and Gin were sent on a mission personally requested by Mori, which was odd since usually, he would have you take missions with Chuuya since he had his suspicions here and there. You always found your boss “odd” he always figured out things even he was told which was a scary thought.

On the mission, you were told to play a fair person and your objective was to woe the victim over and that's when Gin strikes. Though it was easier said than done, during the night you felt like something was coming for you or that you were being watched but you pushed your thoughts away for the sake of the mission. You found something quite odd about your victim he looks like a former mafia member though you've never seen him, you feel like his name was mentioned somewhere.

Fortunately, before the night ended you got the victim to think that you were an innocent person trying to get help from him for your company on how to grow it etc. But he knew you were from the mafia he had his eyes on you ever since you stepped in, he knew Mori would send an executive to assassinate him during this party. You had a feeling that your facade was seen through like clear glass, which made the gut feeling start to tell you “leave” or “go home” but you knew being in the mafia your life was always on risk.

Chuuya on the other hand was sweating and shaking something was telling him to watch over you that night, he had a feeling Mori had some plan since usually he would send him with you and no one else. So while you and Gin were on your way to the party he followed you guys but decided to stay hidden until he felt he was needed.

You were unexpectedly brought a handkerchief to your mouth making you pass out. Otherwise, Gin was concerned about what could have happened to you, you weren't giving her any sign to strike..unless the struck first which had her panicking since she also didn't see the host anywhere. She Knew something was wrong, so through her headset she let everyone know “Code red, our executive is missing”. Just hearing this made Chuuya jump and head to the party area before he knew it, he was frantically searching for you everywhere in the area but had no luck he couldn't find you and this made him more frustrated he couldn't believe he took his eyes off you for a bit and you were MISSING.

It was days maybe 3 days since the incident they had you tied to a chair with handcuffs tied to both hands making it impossible to use your ability. You were so beat up all these days tortured just for some information you didn't have. “Now where is that supply box” he spoke, another hit towards your ribs but you stayed silent. “OH SO WE ARE GONNA PLAY THE SILENT GAME ARE WE?!” he says but before you were hit again the doors of the area were crushed open before you knew it Gin ran to you and untied you, and carried you to the truck where they already had a medical professional on board.

Meanwhile, chuuya made sure this man was dead and he made sure that he paid for what he did to you. Chuuya had rage in him, the state he found you in made me sick and sad, how could this asshole do this to you. After his job was chuuya got back to the truck where the doctor talked to him. “Sir they will be unconscious for a few days maybe a few hours if lucky but they had a few broken ribs and a few bruises to the head”. He couldn't believe what he heard, he felt the rage he had earlier come back to him, but he kept his composer just nodded to the doctor.

He was now facing you he felt his heart shatter to 100 pieces the pain and guilt he felt was eating him alive. “If only I got there earlier” or “I should've taken the mission but compared to other missions this was one of the least dangerous. He knelt near your bed while holding your hand slowly letting the tears down.

After 3 days you finally open your eyes looking around the unfamiliar room it looked nothing like the mafia hospital room which relieved you, you didn't have to deal with mori and his annoying overbearing antics, how u hated him and wanted someone to take his spot.

While lost in thought u turn to see flowers and a note on the bedside, you grabbed them smiling to yourself already knowing who it was. As you looked at the flowers you open the note slightly smiling as you read. “My dearest [name] I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you as I vowed to you I will, so after you feel better let me take you out to eat, sincerely yours Chuuya Nakahara” but before you finished you saw the end “ps I’ll visit you later I'm on a mission right now”. You never knew how you got lucky with such a man but honestly, it did take you guys a while to be where you are at right now.

Later…

You were sitting down reading a book when you heard the hospital door bust open, at first you thought it was an enemy attack but you were relieved to see Chuuya at the door with a little box at hand. “My love” you heard Chuuya speak “I got you this,” he says as he gives you the box. You were shocked, to be honest, you weren't expecting anything so when u recognized the jewelry box you began to cheer up. “Thank you dear you didn't have to,” you say smiling at him while opening the box, to your surprise there was a gorgeous necklace that you'd been wanting for a while but couldn't get your hands on it, so it was surprising to see Chuuya get ahold of such an item.

You felt your eyes start to tear up as you pulled Chuuya into a tight hug and whispered “Thank you my love I couldn't ask for someone more amazing than you”. Chuuya was surprised by your sudden action but didn't complain at all. “My love I'm sorry for not being there on time,” Chuuya said his voice cracking “If maybe I was there earlier this could've been avoided”. “Chuuya it's ok, I'm fine I'm here with you look on the bright side at least we got him” you say softly.

Chuuya knew you were right, he was just happy you were alive and with him still.

#bsd x reader #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #chuuyabsd #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara x reader

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hawkland · 14 days

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Hello hello and I can't tell you how excited I am for this one. Finally I have had the chance to collaborate with @autisticandroids — and with some Megstiel, no less! On a story for the SPN Angels & Demons Reverse Bang: "not him/not her/not me."

The painting below was actually the first piece I did for the @spnangelsanddemons-rb. I really wanted to get some Megstiel out of this bang, and while deep in my pre-Raphaelite fixation I discovered Sidney Meteyard's Hope Comforting Love in Bondage, and, well...even the title of the art piece seemed perfect to me.

Those wings took me FOREVER, I'll have you know. I wanted Meg's dress to look like blood/demon smoke...and I feel like it ended up with a bit of a Francis Bacon feel as well? Anyway, it was a really fun (if at times tedious) piece to work on but I love how it came out in the end.

The Meg piece was actually something I'd started a long time ago, ended up shelving for over a year, but in thinking about how the story was going I reworked it and finished it to go with the Empty/demon smoke vibes:

I also did this piece as a close-up of Cas's eyes...originally I wasn't quite sure what project it would be for, but in the end @autisticandroids jumped on it to go with this story and who am I to object?

>>Read "not him/not her/not me" at AO3 here<<

#megstiel #castiel #meg masters #hawkland art #sidewinder art #my art #watercolor painting

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kay-elle-cee · 8 months

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i'll be fine, i'll be good || Chapter 6/6 || Read on Ao3 A Slytherin!Lily AU || 14K words || Rated M || Playlist || Read from the beginning

Chapter 6: Give me purpose

Guilt lives in her lungs with every breath when she sees James Potter enter Murk’s that next week, an excited smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he practically bounces on his heels across the register from her. “I, ah…know someone who wants to meet with you. To discuss what we talked about at The Drunken Crup.”

From the Playlist: Quit Fucking Around — Francis of Delirium, Rearview — Beach Bunny, The Archer — Taylor Swift, Renegade — Paramore *A pedantic note that Renegade is more of an "end credits" song

—

A note from me: Wow. The response to this fic has been absolutely unreal. This is one I've had really close to my heart for a while, so to hear how many people have enjoyed it literally means the world to me. I hope this ending lives up to the rest of the story so far. Thank you, thank you, thank you. (and please come talk to me about this fic forever in my inbox, I'll never get tired of it!)

#i'll be fine i'll be good #lily evans #james potter #jily #jple #slytherin lily #jily fic #kay elle cee #kelsey writes #completed fic

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lyrical-fics · 9 months

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Can I request a fic inspired by kinda both I love you so (The Walters) OR/AND Francis Forever (mitski), Where the trailblazer has to leave Jarilo VI and Bronya or Seele or really any adult women are kinda sad Im asking for angst >:D

Feel free to ignore it if you don't vibe with this request! <3

I Miss You More Than Anything

Characters: Bronya, Seele, Serval

Song: Francis Forever

Synopsis: They knew you had to leave; you were a trailblazer, after all. However, they can’t just shake away the feeling of the feelings and memories the two of you shares together.

A/N: Yes, of course, anon!! I love Mitski very much, thank you for the request :D Also, a bit ooc Seele cause I have no idea how to write her, I’m so sorry. 😭 This is also probably a tad bit badly written, I’m using this to get out of my writer’s block and practically forced these words outta my brain 🥲

Serval

Serval knew of the consequences, she knew you would leave soon. After the incident that happened between her and the previous supreme guardian, she knew that she had to close off her heart. But here she was, in love with you; then you left. You left her and her heart that still ought to sing for you. But what can she do? You are a trailblazer, after all.

Serval didn’t cry when you left, knowing fully well what you do in your job as a trailblazer. But you can’t say she didn’t get hurt. She was hurt; so much to the point that as soon as she didn’t see your figure anymore, she ran to her workshop and cried the whole day; Gepard having to console her the whole duration of it.

She knows you wouldn’t come back and you couldn’t. So she faced the truth and tried to carry her life on normally.

Tried.

It’s 3am, she’s awake, looking at everything that reminded her of you. To the stuff that you left for her, unintentionally or not, to her very own workshop. You two spent a lot of time writing songs, talking and laughing together inside that building.

She wanted to sleep, but not when her mind is literally clouded by you. She needed something to pour all those thoughts out on. Now she’s writing a song about you again, only difference is— it’s no longer with you. She was used to this, composing music alone; until you arrived.

Oh, how she wishes she came with you instead and joined the trailblazers. But she couldn’t, she had a family here; a family that also loved her.

Serval’s stuck between her thoughts as she writes down lyrics for you. Lyrics you’ll never read. A song you’ll never hear. She can only chuckle softly as she feels her tears slowly drip down on the paper she’s writing on, writing one final lyric to finish the song for you.

“I’ve been trying to lay my head down, but I’m writing this at 3am.”

Bronya

Bronya wasn’t supposed to fall for you. She did her best to keep it all to herself, until you confessed your feelings for her. This was so wrong, she was aware you would leave that’s why she tried to avoid you. But how she wishes it didn’t end oh, so fast. Her mother dies by your hands, and you leave for another expedition. She should’ve expected it. So she’s left with a broken heart and a responsibility to shoulder.

She’s tired. So tired. Being the new supreme guardian gave her a lot of work to burden, more than she has ever handled before. Dark eye bags obviously appearing on her face. She hasn’t taken a rest in what, two days?

She didn’t cry when you left, that would destroy her reputation as the new supreme guardian, so she smiled softly and waved at you as she watched the train disappear.

Bronya would’ve finished her workload faster, if it weren’t for you lingering in her mind. They would have been by my side, encouraging me to finish this, she thought. They would have started helping me relax by now, she thought. Then she cried.

She didn’t need the whole world to know about what she has done for Jarilo-IV and the work she had to do. She needed your encouragement, your support, your praise. But you’re gone.

“I don’t need the world to see that I’ve been the best I can be, but I don’t think I can stand to be where you don’t see me.”

Seele

Seele was not worried a single bit when you left. You promised to return for her once you were done, after all. The first week of you leaving her was spent with numerous texts and calls with each other— until it stopped happening. She figured you were starting busy, so she waited. She waited, and waited, and waited. Numerous seasons passed by, but you never arrived.

Seele opens her phone and checks to see if there were any messages from you for the nth time that day, sighing as she sees an empty inbox. It’s been months since the two of you talked the last time, but she knows hopes you’d message her soon.

“Seele, don’t you think it’s time to move on? I don’t think she’s coming back sooner, she’s a trailblazer, remember that. They probably only said that to lessen your pain,” Oleg says, murmuring the last part, which didn’t go unnoticed by the girl.

“I’m working on it,” she replies blatantly, not even sparing him a glance.

“Look, Seele, if you don’t—”

“I’m going for a walk. Please don’t disturb me.”

She left with tears in her eyes. He was right. Maybe she should really think about moving on. You left and gave her empty promises, she should hate you.

And so, she gains a new goal. She straightens her back and continues walking around. Examining her surroundings, she notices that she ended up on a tree-lined path, the one that the two of you used to walk on. Looking up at the gaps of sunlight, she remembers your oh-so warm touch and smile.

Then she realizes.

“I miss you more than anything.”

#serval #serval landau #serval x reader #bronya #bronya rand #bronya x reader #seele #seele vollerei #seele x reader #honkai star rail #x reader #honkai star rail angst #angst #hsr #hsr x reader

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nieded · 6 months

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Back in February of this year, I preordered the official Good Omens Tarot Deck & Guide Book. I think, originally, it was supposed to come at the end of October. It finally arrived today!

It comes with a full 78-card deck. I'll include pictures and thoughts of the major and minor arcana below the cut, though since I'm just exploring it, my first inclinations are pretty surface level. Overall, I think this is a beautiful deck worthy of anyone who enjoys tarot or just good art.

The Major Arcana

First and foremost, I am bummed that they changed The Lovers to The Duo. Granted, at the end of season 2, Crowley and Aziraphale aren't lovers, so it does make sense, but 'Duo' just feels a little weak. In the standard Rider Tarot Deck, The Lovers can represent love in general, romantic desire, or seeking wholeness depending on how and where you draw the card.

Interestingly enough, the guide book does refer to Aziraphale and Crowley as The Lovers, so I think it's a cop out not to have it written on the card itself! I have a feeling that The Duo/The Lovers was a late edit. Either it was meant to be The Lovers originally, and it got edited out, or vice versa, it started out as The Duo and then they changed it after Season 2. Here's what the guidebook as to say:

"Upright: You're glowing! You've made a marvelous connection with someone. Things feel--dare you say--magical. Whether this connection is a close friendship or romantic relationship, it's clear that destiny has brought you together. The Lovers card also carries with it an element of choice. Will you choose to stay in this heavenly partnership despite any and all hellish complications? Or will you give in and let outside forces succeed in driving you apart?

Reversed: A once-heavenly connection has crashed back down to earth. You're feeling out of step with someone who means a great deal to you, and you're wondering whether patching things up is worth the effort. Perhaps you have simply grown apart. After all, some people just aren't meant to stay in your life forever. A bit of soul-searching will reveal whether you should double down on your efforts and recommit to this person or move on."

If you draw a reversed card, it typically focuses on the negative aspects of a card. It doesn't always exactly mean the opposite of the upright card. I think we've seen numerous times in canon when Crowley and Aziraphale aren't sure of each other and have to recommit, so I do think both of these descriptions are fitting.

Other thoughts: I love the choice to make Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis represent Temperance, and I find it particularly interesting that Crowley is The Hermit, especially after seeing him in the Job minisode as Bildad. He's just a demon who goes along with Hell as far as he can, and it is lonely. Being a hermit, however, can be a good thing, representing someone who is staunch in their convictions and comfortable going against the flow.

My two favorites in the major arcana are Aziraphale as The Star and Crowley and Aziraphale as The World.

The Minor Arcana

The Good Omens major arcana does not deviate much from the Rider Tarot Deck, but the minor arcana is where it gets interesting! Traditionally, the minor arcana is divided into four suits: wands, cups, swords, and pentacles, each with their own general theme. The Good Omens deck divides it into: angels, vessels, demons, and the humans.

After comparing the two decks, I have hard time linking the suits together. If I had to guess, I would assume they correspond like this:

wands = humans: linked to the fire and is represents creativity and passion.

cups = vessels: emotion and relationships (romantic and platonic), intuition

swords = angels: logic and reason, cutting through illusions,

pentacles = demons: tangible reality, substance

I don't know how accurate this is. Wands and Pentacles could possibly swapped, or more likely, we need to interpret the deck not based on the Rider Tarot Deck, but on the GO universe. So with that said, let's jump into my first impressions.

Angels

Immediately, I suspect that when the tarot deck went on presale, it did not have season 2 in mind since the major arcana features nothing significant from season 2. Starting with the Angels, however, we immediately have season 2 characters including Muriel and Saraqael! And the Metatron takes center stage as The King of Angels.

Interestingly, Aziraphale appears in a solo card three times, and again with Mr. Dalrymple, the surgeon from The Resurrectionist mini episode. This will be relevant for later.

My favorite card is IV of Angels, which represents celebration.

"Upright: The IV of Angels represents milestones and celebrations. Whether you're turning another year older, you're preparing for a reunion, or you've just narrowly managed to save the world from Armageddon, it's clear that a little fete is in order. Take Aziraphale's example by tucking into your favorite celebratory sushi dish and pour yourself a glass of bubbles. You deserve it."

The Vessels

I am certain that The Vessels represent emotion, as every card in the guidebook focuses not on the characters or events of each illustration, but emotions of the moment. This is the closest correlation I could find to the Rider Tarot Deck, and well, the name also gives it away.

My two favorite cards might be The King of Vessels with Shadwell's ridiculous finger and X of Vessels, featuring the Garden of Eden.

X of Vessels:

"Congratulations! Hallelujah! Your prayers are being answered. Whether you've hoped or prayed for an idyllic, perfect paradise of a home, true love, or something more mundane, the X of Vessels represents a wonderfully favorable outcome. Rejoice and enjoy!"

The Demons

Hey, remember how I said it was interesting Aziraphale had three solo cards in The Angels suit? Crowley has ZERO in the Demons suit. He shares a card with Shax in the II of Demons. And remember, before you point out the IV of Demons, that is not Crowley. It's Aziraphale! This card is literally about luxuriating in a bath and treating yourself, and I'm finding not every card has a good correlation to the plot of Good Omens, but that's to be expected with 78 illustrations. This scene has a lot of potential for interpretation, however, and I wish it had been used better. But back to my original thought... Crowley is not considered a demon based on this deck.

Also interestingly, two cards feature the Four Horsemen, War in the Queen of Demons and the tools of the Four Horsemen in the III of Demons. Crowley and Aziraphale can't remember whose side they're on in canon, deeming them 'independent contractors,' but Minerva Siegel and Luthien Leerghast certainly felt they were more on the side of evil than 'good.'

Three of Demons:

"It's an unfortunate fact that even the best-laid ineffable plans fall through sometimes. Though you're feeling betrayed and disappointed, this heartbreak won't last forever. Give yourself the time you need to grieve this loss."

Yeah, you know, the more I think about it, I definitely think the Demons = Pentacles.

The Humans

Last, but not least, we have The Humans suit. It features a wonderfully diverse cast of main and side characters like Sister Mary Loquacious and RP Tyler. Obviously, Adam is The King of Humans, but I absolutely love that Elspeth is featured here. HOWEVER:

There is an error in the book here. The book swaps the pictures of Elspeth and Mrs. Henderson, and now I'm not sure who is supposed to be who!

Before I read the guidebook, I thought for sure Elspeth would make a perfect Knight of Humans, but Minerva Siegel has described her as the Page of Humans despite the card being mislabeled.

I have to look at the deck more closely, but this is the first misprint I've found.

Either way, the art is gorgeous, and I'm going to have a lot of fun looking through this deck. I probably won't use it much, however, because I don't want it to get damaged. I love collecting tarot for the art and different interpretations, and I'm super excited to add this to my shelf!

#good omens #tarot deck and guide #ni speaks

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quordleona03 · 1 year

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A Priest in Korea is Moving to the AO3

Many years ago, I was friends with Scarlatti on Livejournal, and I found she had written a whole lot of M*A*S*H fanfiction (twenty stories! That was a whole lot back then!) using the name Iolanthe.

I read all her stories - mostly Hawkeye/Mulcahy: as far as I know, she was the very first person ever to write Hawkeye/Mulcahy slash stories - and I loved them and I started seeing Hawkcahy in the series and one of her stories gave me the idea for the story that eventually grew into Sins and Virtues.

She read the final part of S&V only in first draft - I started sending her sections as soon as I had finished them - because Susan had cancer, and she died, four months before she would have turned 40. Her website, A Priest In Korea (William Christopher's description of M*A*S*H was "Oh, it's about a priest in Korea") fell into the Wayback machine, and last year, thinking of her stories again and looking for them, I found a complete snapshot of her website, and I thought "I could transfer this over to AO3 and let everyone read them: I bet they have a process for that".

They do. Julie was my Virgil as I walked through the Open Doors and now a priest in Korea has moved to AO3: A priest in Korea03. The longest story on site isn't even a Hawkeye/Mulcahy story: it's a Francis Mulcahy & Margaret Houlihan story, Polarity, which uses "a creaky old sci-fi plot device" to put Francis into Margaret's body and Margaret into Francis's -

He grew even more uneasy under the appreciative once-over with which Dickinson now favored him, and a blush warmed his face. When he caught sight of Houlihan's sidelong glare, he wondered how she -- or any other woman, for that matter -- would normally handle that kind of attention.

"Well now, Major, I can see you're a take-charge kind of gal," Dickinson drawled. "Meaning no disrespect. But your C.O. would have my head on a platter if I sent you off without an armed escort. Ain't that how you got into this mess in the first place?"

And the next-longest is also not precisely Hawkeye/Mulcahy, Playing the Game: The night air was pleasant and warm, and I was enjoying the mind-fuzzing effects of several beers, so my pace was unhurried. I'd almost made it to my tent when a man stepped out of the shadows behind the nurses' tent and latched onto my upper arm. "Hold it right there, Mister Vatican," he hissed.

I knew who it was without needing to see his face. No one but Colonel Sam Flagg, alleged CIA operative and all-around loose cannon, had ever addressed me in that fashion. I froze obediently, though my heart was racing and every instinct was telling me to flee for the hills at the earliest opportunity.

"Got a few questions for you," Flagg went on.

(sadly, now and forever unfinished, but rather in the sense of "there should have been more" than "ends on a cliffhanger")

She wrote what is still (as far as I can tell) the only Henry Blake/Trapper story, one of the few Radar/Hawkeye stories, and also Trapper/Mulcahy.

But mostly, she wrote about Francis Mulcahy falling in love with Hawkeye, and Hawkeye's gentle reciprocation.

Between us, we somehow managed to get the tent door open and cross the threshold. At that point, I expected Mulcahy to say goodnight and go pass out in his bunk, which is what I would've done, but instead he had a surprise for me.

As soon as the door closed behind us, he turned in my grasp until we were face to face. Before I had time to fully register what was going on, he'd looped his arms around my neck and was pulling me forward into a kiss.

It was, I think, the softest, sweetest, most tender kiss I've ever received...and one of the most inexplicably erotic.

What can I say? I loved her stories. She inspired me to write Hawkcahy long before that shipname was invented. I never got to meet her. I'd like you all to read her stories, and thanks to Open Doors/AO3, there they are.

They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead, They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed. I wept, as I remembered, how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of grey ashes, long long ago at rest, Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake; For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.

This is sort of a sad post, but it shouldn't be: Susan was hilarious, and it's been a pleasure and an honour being her archivist.

Thanks, Susan.

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thecrenellations · 8 months

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me running around in circles about the parallels that come together at the end of Checkmate:

(yeah)

what it says on the tin, below. Contains maximum spoilers.

(also contains references to themes of suicide, sexual violence, live chess, etc, because everything is connected.)

and because everything is connected, this is something like how it flows together in my brain. I’m not sure if it makes sense outside of it, and it’s certainly not exhaustive. I was mostly thinking about Marthe and Francis vs Kuzúm and Khaireddin. Bringing Sybilla, for example, more directly into it is a whole other spiral…

anyway:

As Francis decides whether Khaireddin or Kuzúm will die, Jerott asks, Which? The one who had experienced love and a modicum of happiness, or the one who had not.

Lymond said, “Marthe.” Marthe is the piece that takes Khaireddin. I think about Khaireddin as Marthe, sacrificed, while Francis and Kuzúm, loved by Philippa, are saved. Strangers switched as infants; siblings switched at death. In Amiens, Marthe convinces Sybilla to bully her son back to life. In Edinburgh, Philippa convinces Francis to spare Gabriel in order to save the son he has just learned exists. “I will not fail you, ever.”

Which child? The one whose life had been innocent, or the one who had been earliest corrupted and whose first uncertain steps had just been taken towards his birthright of friendship and joy?

Philippa rides to St. Mary’s with information that will destroy Joleta and Gabriel. Francis lets Gabriel kill Joleta when he could have died in her place, and I think about it as a sacrifice of his sixteen-year-old, vilified self. Like how Francis lets Khaireddin die to finally kill Gabriel. Khaireddin is Marthe, but he’s also another version of Francis, whether or not he’s his son. And the knight was the child who had not yet known happiness; the child Lymond had drawn to himself. Who is corrupted, and who is innocent? Who gets to know happiness?

“Then allow me to take the child’s place. I have no objections.” Roxelana and Güzel refuse, Khaireddin dies, and Philippa makes Francis promise to live. Marthe has told her he will not want to and told her brother that Philippa will not be thinking of herself. The marriage holds longer than the promise, but he still lives.

When Güzel is dead and Francis has made a new promise to his mother to live and return home, Marthe rides to Philippa’s home with news that would destroy Richard. Richard tries to save Marthe, but Austin destroys her, and they both do so thinking she is Francis. Depending how you count, there are four Crawford siblings and two of them are bastards. “Your father’s two sons will never meet again.”

“Like your son, I am a bastard.” “No, my dear. Forgive me, but I think you are a bastard like nobody else.” Marthe comes to England and dies before reaching Scotland. Francis tries to leave Scotland forever, to keep his brother safe. He fails. “Richard will be safe.” For the sake of someone he is just beginning to love, he does not let himself drown. The irony of “not yet.” He fails that Richard, too. It is an impossible task. The Crawford brothers take turns riding through the night to find each other alive and fracture again. Richard can never learn why Francis left, because that is the truth that would destroy him. And the sacrifice Francis made was unnecessary.

"Five years—even five such as these—can’t tear me drop by drop from your blood." Francis thinks of 1547-8 as the year he fought his brother. Richard’s sole, desperate purpose is to kill Francis, and he saves him instead. Francis’s purpose is to save Richard, and he tries, so hard, to kill himself. “I’m here to help you. You’re going to be free.” What can ten years tear apart?

Ten years later, Marthe says, “I am going to move the pieces. I am going to direct the end of the game.” Nostradamus tells her her part is still to come. In Constantinople, Francis is king and Marthe is queen. But Roxelana watches, and Güzel watches, making sacrifice necessary. In Dumbarton, the father of one pawn finds the mother of the second in his room. Adam watches, and then Richard finds them both. “So this is the outcome of it all. This is why Tom Erskine preserved you; why Christian Stewart died and Gabriel has worked to redeem you … for this. Francis, I would sooner have discovered you dead.” Richard doesn’t mention what he did that year, himself. The year he saved his brother. “Francis! I can’t let you take your own life.”

Lymond screamed once with agony, and then screamed and screamed again.

Joleta screamed three times, a thin, breathy kind of scream, with her hands spread rigid, like shining, flesh-eating plants before her.

In Volos, Francis will not let himself scream. He recites, and Marthe joins him. “I called you sister. Was I right?” “Yes. What made you sure?” “The luggage of poetry you carry.” In the sweet summer’s dell north of Hexham, Richard tells stories of everything but their father and does not want Francis to explain about Eloise. But, before that, it’s Richard who brings her up minutes before Francis stabs himself with his brother’s knife. God, Francis had screamed.

"My sister … Who will speak for her? ... Are you so short of rods that you must despoil young trees: so short of stones that you need to walk the very graveyards for them...?"

It’s a series bookended by dead sisters, dead by powder. Francis asks those questions when his own trial drags up rumors. If they were about Gabriel’s abuse of Joleta, they would be true. In Moscow, the night Francis comes to her room, Güzel says, “I too have had my Margaret Lennox and my Agha Morat and my child-whore Joleta Reid Malett.” But who is she? I think of Joleta, Míkál, and Philippa in his rooms in Dumbarton, Thessalonika, Constantinople, and Paris. Those are four very different nights. On one, he calls out to Eloise.

“I am going to call on Philippa, when we get to London. What will you do if I take her straight to my lodging and rape her?” Austin was very white. “Kill you,” he said. “If I can.”

Is Joleta innocent or corrupted when her brother kills her on the stairs? How much does it change the meaning of what Francis did to her at Dumbarton? That year, Philippa’s moves in the game are to tell Trotty Luckup’s version of Joleta’s story and to spare Gabriel to save Khaireddin. Which child?

Two great women who play with fate steer Philippa towards Kuzúm and towards Francis. In Algiers, a pawn’s mother dies and Oonagh turns to fire. Lymond was dedicated. And she…she was the sacrifice. He doesn’t know she is alive, and then he doesn’t know that he will find her dead. To Francis Crawford, this unknown son was a tragedy of which he must never learn. But he does learn. He sees her, but she will never see him again.

There were other children, and nothing to tell her whether the bubbling purr she heard at night, of a baby full and content, was his. … She did not know Khaireddin’s scream, or the sound Francis Crawford might have made when once he too was branded for the galleys.

This child; this unknown son of his blood, was worth one life: his own. … This, one felt of one’s son. Was it not also true of Gabriel’s?

In the chess game, who knows whose child is whose? Who makes sure they are there? Kiaya Khátún, with her whims, switches children and lovers. Marthe and Jerott marry each other as substitutes for Güzel and Francis. Philippa marries Francis because he promises to preserve his own one life. Francis believes that to live and return would be to kill his brother. Forced to go home, he believes he will return to Güzel.

Güzel, who was dead.

Francis reminds Archie that Philippa has released him from his promise. Archie has saved him so many times before. So has Jerott, who knocks the opium out of Francis’s hands and turns it to powder. So Francis decides to die joyfully, in fire and flood, ground by a burning mill on a river. Jerott pulls him from the river anyway, and holds him in his arms as he faces his mother and comes back to life, surrounded by love and tapers burning like Oonagh’s. "My life has a rudimentary value in that you were moved to preserve it." In Amboise and Blois, Oonagh leaves his survival to chance, but she also saves him.

“No. Oh Christ, no. It should have happened long ago.” Jerott knows that he has taken away a death Francis wanted. He stops Richard from intervening and lets Austin kill the rider none of them know is Marthe. “Don’t stop it. No one else could do it for him.” Jerott kills Austin without knowing whose death he’s avenging. It is the death of Marthe, who wanted her own life. The words from the garden in Djerba come to Jerott once he knows, as Francis and Philippa embrace. My beloved is dead.

As he aims, Austin is so sure he’s the only one who sees the real Francis Crawford, rotten and arrogant and undeserving of life. “Is it for this thou wast created?” thinks Philippa, who first saw Marthe as a shadow and a voice and mistook her for Francis. For Marthe, the answer to that question is yes. “Poor sister. A pawn more helpless even than…”

They had used a knife, so the child’s face was not distorted.

He aimed into the fair, weary, rancourless face, and then at the heart, and both balls found their mark and brought death in the end.

“Consider: who — stretching the imagination, of course, to its most grotesque outer limits — might be taken for my younger brother.”

Acting and not acting, Marthe speaks with the voice of the woman who created both of them, a dead chessmaster who won’t be silent. “You will harm her,” Francis warns Camille. Marthe tells Jerott, “I enjoy acting, as he does. The human scene is well rid of us both.” Many agree. Richard says to his brother, “My dear, you are only a boy. You have all your life still before you.”

“God damn you both. You summon and you throw away. You treat love like a bird for the table… Like a pawn, now in frankincense, now discarded and thrown in the dirt. You don’t know what love is, either of you. And God help us and you, if you ever find out.”

“Whatever made you think you were free? But because of you there will be something, I promise you, by which men will know Francis Crawford has been.”

“There’s an unnatural conspiracy to keep me alive, that’s all.”

“How do you take leave, for all time, of a brother?”

They set off that evening to take Marthe Crawford to the home of her fathers, which she had never known.

And they bury her in the dirt of Midculter, which her brother owns and will never own, where Kuzúm knows happiness.

#stringboard vortex of themes #I rest my case #it’s been fun to poke at over the last few weeks #quote fun unquote #lymond chronicles #checkmate #dorothy dunnett #francis crawford #and company #something i #lymond #lymond chronicles spoilers #marthe

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agaypanic · 9 months

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Childhood friends to lovers with Francis Wilkerson x male reader 🙏🙏🙏

Francis thinking he’s straight until he and reader get older and he starts to question himself. They start to lose touch when Francis gets sent to military school, but when he comes back he sees reader and is like “…ok maybe I’m a little gay-“ maybe ends in fluffy kisses 🥹

Kissing The Homie (Francis Wilkerson X Male!Reader)

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Summary: Francis always thought he was straight. When he comes home from military school and sees his childhood friend for the first time in almost two years, he starts to learn some things about himself.

A/N: kind of unserious title bc i didn’t know what to title this lol also i feel like this sucks but i wanted to work on something

***

“What the hell do you mean you’re going to Alabama?” You asked your best friend, about to laugh. This must have been some insane joke. “Francis, you can’t be serious.”

“I wish I wasn’t, man.” He sighed, running a hand through his long hair and taking a drag of his cigarette. “My mom’s crazy.”

“Can you blame her? She’s got you as a son.” You snorted at your own jab, and Francis shoved your shoulder.

“It’s not funny, Y/n! I’m going to military school; I might as well die.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Francis.” You snatched his cigarette to take a smoke. “You’ll get kicked out and be back here before you know it.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He murmured. The two of you were quiet for a minute, passing the cigarette back and forth. In a week, Francis was getting shipped off to a military school across the country, and although you joked about it, you didn’t know when you’d see him again, if at all. Sure, you’d been friends since you were five, but being states away with probably little contact could change that.

“I’ll miss you, man.” You said solemnly before smashing the lit cigarette against the bottom of your shoe. Francis laughed, shaking his head.

“Don’t be gay, dude.” Now it was your turn to push him.

“Shut up.”

***

Contact with Francis became less and less the more that time went on. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault; you two just became too busy with other things. You pulled away from Richie and Francis’ other friends, realizing that you only ever hung out with them because Francis hung out with them. Not wanting to end up in the same boat your friend was in, you started focusing more on school. You and Francis tried to keep up with each other, but sending letters felt too time-consuming, and Francis used most of his phone calls on his family or girlfriend of the week.

You’d sulk about it, but that’s just how life worked.

Because you and Francis were childhood friends, your parents were somewhat close with each other. So you weren’t surprised when you came home from school one day, and your mom told you she got Lois to get you a job at Lucky Aide. The only bright side was getting money, although it wasn’t much.

After what felt like forever, spring break had finally come. It didn’t feel like much of a difference to you since you still had to work, but it’s the thought that counts. You got to work fewer hours because Lucky Aide had some kind of program going on where a bunch of people could work and do inventory for the week. Craig was in charge of it, so you didn’t care much about it.

“Hey, I got another box for you.” A voice sounded behind you while you were stocking a shelf. It sounded a bit familiar, but then again, this was a small town.

“Thanks, man. Just put it next to the open one.” You turned around and were startled by the baby blue eyes looking at you. “Holy shit. Francis?”

“Y/n, hey!” Francis dropped the box and roped you into a hug, patting you on the back. You hugged him back, a bit shocked. “I didn’t know you worked at Lucky Aide.”

“Have been for a few months. I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Just for spring break.”

“Nice, nice.” You nodded, looking him up and down. Military school seemed to do him some good. Not behavior-wise, he was probably still a menace. But you mentally thanked whoever made him cut his hair. Sure, the long hair looked cool. But it looked so good the way it was now, short but messy. And after almost two years, he seemed so much more mature. Again, not behaviorally. He looked, dare you say, kind of hot.

Wait, you shouldn’t be looking at your friend this way. You didn’t like guys.

Maybe.

Little did you know, Francis was looking at you the same way. He didn’t think anyone would look as good as you did in a Lucky Aide smock. You filled it out perfectly. And you had certainly grown a lot since he last saw you, almost reaching his height now with broader shoulders. But you still had the smart-ass smirk on your face that he loved to see.

But Francis wasn’t gay. Nuh-uh. He just knew how to appreciate another dude’s looks. Yeah, that’s it.

“Well, listen, man. I dunno when your shift is over, but I get off at five, so maybe tonight we could catch up or something.” You suggested, continuing your task of restocking the shelves behind you. Even though he probably had something to do, Francis helped you by handing you items from the box.

“Yeah, that sounds great. My mom’s being a real pain in the ass-”

“What else is new?”

“-so I’m a little desperate to get away from home.”

“Well, I have a car now, so just let me know when you’re free.” He was about to answer you when Craig appeared at the end of the aisle.

“Francis! What are you doing here? The bouncy balls are not gonna recount themselves.” You laughed while Francis rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed his peace was interrupted.

“You better go.” You said, taking the final item from his hands. He sighed, briefly balling his hands into fists before letting them rest at his sides.

“Yeah, I guess. I’ll see you later.”

“See you later, man.” You patted his shoulder before pushing him away, watching him mope and drag his feet toward where Craig was waiting for him.

***

Instead of waiting until his shift ended, Francis snuck out behind you after you clocked out. He raised the collar of his jacket to cover his face as he ran out to your car, making you cackle as you fished around in your pocket for your keys. He practically dove into the passenger’s seat when the car was unlocked.

“Where do you wanna go?” You asked as you settled in the driver’s seat, turning the car on.

“As long as I’m out of the house and not at work, I literally don’t care.”

Half an hour later, you were tearing into a giant bag of fast food in a park’s parking lot. A random radio station played as you messily ate the cheap food. You reached down to the floor of your backseat and pulled out a bottle of cheap alcohol. Francis definitely wasn’t opposed when you offered to splash some in his soda cup.

“So, what’s military school like?” You asked, chewing through the last of the curly fries. Francis swallowed the bite of his burger and grinned over at you.

“Dude, it’s so much better than I thought it’d be. I mean, most of it sucks, but the amount of shit I’ve gotten into is crazy.”

“Such as?” Francis’ eyes lit up. Clearly, a story had popped into his head, but then he sunk into his seat as if it were embarrassing. “Oh man, this one’s gotta be good.”

“Okay, so it was sometime last year. A buddy of mine and I did community service for a local beauty pageant. It was perfect, half-naked women everywhere who would want some kind of attention. Of course, I showed interest in the pageant to get with one of them. But…” He trailed off, and you leaned toward him in your seat, silently egging him on. He looked away from you. “But instead, she and the rest of the girls thought I was gay.”

You couldn’t help but snort.

“Were they right?” You received an eye roll and a punch in the shoulder.

“Shut up, man.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t tell me all that and expect me to not ask questions.” You looked away and took a bite of your burger, confused by the slight disappointment you felt. It’s not like you really cared about the answer. “It’s no big deal if you are, bud.”

“And who said I am?” Francis’ voice was higher than it just was, like he was slightly panicked by the accusation.

“Those pageant girls, apparently.” You answered with a teasing grin. “Ever kissed a guy?”

“Gee, Y/n, no. Guess I never had the opportunity.” Francis sighed, taking a large sip of his spiked soda. You raised your eyebrows in surprise. Sure, it seemed believable while he lived in a military academy in Alabama. But, especially looking the way Francis does now, you’re hesitant to believe he never even had the offer.

Huh, maybe you did like guys. Or at least a guy.

“Do you want an opportunity?” The words left your mouth before you even thought about them, surprising you further. By the look on his face, Francis was just as surprised.

“What?” He managed to choke out. You shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant about the fact that you had just offered to kiss your childhood-turned-somewhat estranged best friend.

“Just saying, Francis. Better to kiss a friend than a stranger. Besides, who knows? You might like it.” You kept out the part that you were now secretly rooting for him to accept. You smirked at a now thoughtful Francis, trying to seem uncaring yet slightly intrigued by the whole matter.

A quiet Francis wasn’t a good one, which had you worried. You had half a mind to laugh, claiming that you were joking or that the cheap alcohol had taken your filter. But you were too deep now; you wanted to know what he’d say.

Francis licked his lips before turning to look at you, taking a deep exhale.

“Fuck it.” The craziest part was that he seemed completely serious.

Wordlessly, you both prepared yourselves. There seemed to be this unspoken agreement that whatever happened in your car would stay in your car until the both of you died. You took a final long sip of liquid courage before Francis took your face in his hands. You didn’t expect him to take charge of the situation, but you’re glad he did because the situation probably wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t.

The kiss was quick but enough to absolutely boggle your mind. Francis slipped one of his hands to the back of your head to draw you in. His fingers became tangled with your hair, keeping you in place after he pulled away. The two of you were quiet with eyes closed, not knowing how to proceed.

“Am I a good kisser, Wilkerson?” You asked, trying to lighten the mood. Francis took the shy grin off your lips with another quick kiss, and when he pulled away, you opened your eyes this time. His baby blue eyes stared at you, filled with surprise and profoundness and what you wanted to say was lust.

“Okay…” Francis licked his lips again, taking a deep breath. God, it was so hot. “I think I might be a little gay.”

“Agreed.” You replied, staring back at him. He immediately went back in for a kiss that was longer and deeper than the previous ones. And you didn’t complain in the slightest.

#francis wilkerson x reader #francis wilkerson #francis wilkerson x male reader #malcolm in the middle #malcolm in the middle x reader #agaypanic

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welivetodream · 5 months

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TSH New Years headcanon (after the epilogue)

Richard's POV

By the time Camilla and I arrived at the balcony of his house; Francis as expected was already lounging on the sofa, with a glass of red wine in his hand and looking at the dark sky twinkling with stars.

He barely acknowledged us as we sat down opposite each other, Camilla put down the box of Macrons she had bought as a gift and I opened the bottle of champagne I had bought.

Without a glance he shook his now empty glass towards me and made me pour some for him first.

"Do you not feel cold? Shouldn't you at least put a sweater on?" Camilla asked him in a concerned tone

"I was trying to die from frost bite" Francis chuckled, "I was joking" he added to me when I raised an eyebrow.

"It's ten minutes till twelve" I looked at my watch "what plan do you have for new years?"

"I have stopped caring about plans since the time Henry ended up dying"

Camilla and I exchanged looks, her lips twitched and she avoided eye-contact with me. Perhaps she too felt the same emptiness Francis seemed to be feeling. After all before I met them, they already celebrated New Years together with the others. But this year too Charles, Henry and Bunny were gone.

"How is Charles?" I asked Camilla, not really expecting an answer

She shrugged "I have no idea. He sent back the Christmas card I sent him. But he did take the money I left it in"

"Of course he did" Barked Francis, he sat up straighter to look us in the eyes for the first time

"And Julian? Do you know where he is?" I asked Francis this time, ounce again not expecting any answer

"Who the fuck cares about him now? I don't. He is probably in some private college, trying to recreate another Greek tradegy"

"I heard he is doing a world tour" Camilla said "He is currently in the Caribbean"

"I hope he dies there" Francis said bitterly

After Julian ditched our side when we needed him, we had stopped caring about him like he did to us. I did keep up with his news, despite his deeds he was still quite fascinating to me.

"do you remember the first class you had with Julian?" Francis asked me

"yes, I do" I could never forget that first class, no matter what

"What was the question Julian asked at the end of the class?"

"And if beauty is terror" I said slowly remembering the exact words "then what is desire? We think we have many desires, but in fact we have only one. What is it?"

"To live," said Camilla

She was perched up on the sofa with a shawl covering her head; her nose and cheeks pink with cold.

"To live forever" corrected Francis "such an ironic thing for Bunny to say, isn't it?"

He then poured the three of us more champagne.

"Here's to the New Year" he said more brightly, raising a toast "To live forever"

"To live forever" repeated Camilla and I, as we clicked the glasses together, the fireworks started.

Another year went by and we remained stuck in the past. This year, we will move on. That was my new year's resolution.

(I wish I could write better 🫠. But here's to a new year "To live forever")

#dark academia #the secret history #chaotic academia #donna tartt #tsh #henry winter #richard papen #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #francis abernathy #bunny concoran #julian morrow

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ephemerlskies · 1 year

Text

The Stars as They Appear Above Us | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members: hoseok, taehyung]

⇢ genre: one-shot, angst, fluff, heartbreak au, college au, strangers to lovers au

⇢ rating: pg-13

⇢ word count: 19.6k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of death, mentions of homophobia, themes of grief, themes of depression/anxiety, alcohol consumption, codependency, many emotional ramblings and existential crises.

⇢ summary: misery loves company. against better judgment, yours sought out Jimin's. from one chance encounter to another, the question of whether your heart could brave the wreckage of loss and still retain the capacity to love again drew closer and closer to finding an answer.

alternatively

“Do you think the stars will remember us?"

inspiration: francis forever by mitski and mikrokosmos by bts

a/n: for my lovely readers. if you have yet to find love in yourself, i hope one day you do. i hope you can rejoice in the beauty and splendor of being you.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

"I think I'm falling out of love with you."

You wished what he said felt sharp where it struck your chest. That it would puncture the skin, clean and precise, leaving behind a sure but manageable ache.

No, this was dull.

This forced its way through flesh and met the bone with an unforgiving rage. A cruel promise that no matter how this wound healed, the scar would always remind the world of just how true his sentiment was.

"Wh-" Taehyung's hand found yours. You were tempted to withdraw, knowing comfort would only remind you of the very pain he'd inflicted. "What..."

You stopped yourself from asking how. You weren't sure you wanted to harbor the reason as to why you stopped being lovable to him. You weren't sure, because you couldn't defend yourself, his mind made up as sure as your heart broke. There was no evidence, no witness, no judge. Nothing, but the rawness of giving yourself entirely to him. Loving him, even when the world reminded you of just how fragile and damning of an act it was. You placed your heart in his hands without knowing it was a trial, without knowing it could end in a death sentence.

"I'm sorry..." As if it could resolve anything, he squeezed your hand. Maybe to remind you to breathe, the way he always had. Maybe to ease his own heart, pulsing hard enough to give life to another body.

There was a beat of heavy silence. A moment to stall, collect every bit of strength, and look into his eyes before you became a supporting character in his story.

"That's all?"

"What?" Surprise seized his eyes.

"Is that all you have to say to me?"

Your throat was tight; it didn't offer much, but it gave what was necessary. More importantly, it withheld what was too vulnerable to reveal.

Because he had everything else that was supposed to be yours. Your soul, your purpose, and worst of all your love. But not your pain, that was something you writhed with, the way a storm-front meets land. It would devastate all the beauty you created, how else to prove your power over something but by destroying it completely? This anguish, this was yours.

"Come on, ___. Don't be this way." Making demands of you after he plunged his bloodied hands into your chest, only to give back what he'd rejected, he knew his power.

"Don't be what way, Tae?" The heat in your face flared, you swore it lit something within you. "You want me to scream at you? You want me on my knees pleading? I'm not going to give you anything else, Tae. Not after I've spent three years giving you everything just to make you happy. I can't. I... I have nothing left. You win."

"___, it's not about winning. You think I feel so fucking great about doing this? I wanted to deny it, shit, I have been denying it because it's you, ___." The way he laughed out spite like an illness, you knew what was about to come. "You know what I think of you. You're the one I fought for. You know how much I care about you, how much of your dreams are no different than my own. I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. You amaze me and inspire me-"

"But not enough to be loved by you." It humored you how these praises fell from his lips. There was no way to explain how he can recite such intimate musings about your character one minute, then reject it all in another.

"___..." You wished he would stop saying your name. Taehyung called to you with too much love to keep your denial at bay. It hurt to be held by him now, even if it was just the way his voice held your name. "Please, let me explain."

"I was waiting for you to say that." You knew you were being cruel, but both you and Taehyung understood it wasn't entirely undeserved.

"I just feel like the only thing keeping us together is familiarity, like being together is a habit not a choice."

He paused, most likely with the hopes you would miraculously agree, that some sort of forgiveness would be surrendered. It was never that easy, though, not when it came to you and him.

"I feel like I'm standing still, and you're moving forward... or the other way around. But either way, I feel this distance that I don't know how to close." You did not have to look at him to know there were tears pooling in his eyes. "___, most of the time when we're together, I feel as though it wouldn't make a difference if I were there or not."

If it was neglect he was accusing you of, your tongue felt a sting to remind him all the late nights you two spent over how he kept the rest of his life so separate. How little words were exchanged over dinner when recounting your days apart. The number of opened and unanswered texts that sit in the graveyard of your messages.

"I'm not saying I am perfect either, I know I'm contributing to this emptiness in our relationship. I don't think I understand you, and it hurts to admit that I fall so short as your partner." Of course, he knew what you were thinking. He knew exactly how to respond to the words that were never kind enough to bring to life. "I just... we need to be honest with ourselves. We need to be honest about if we really understand what we need in life. If we know for sure that it's each other."

"Well, I guess there is a difference between us."

He was cautious, keen of your tendency to be quick witted before you could be transparent. Taehyung's eyes trailed along the outline of your body in preparation to defend himself.

"Even though I feel distance and there are issues between us and our relationship isn't always perfect, I would never give up on you." It was brutal, the way you spoke felt like inhaling fire, but at least you weren't the only one burned.

"It's not always as simple as love. Love isn't the only thing that keeps a relationship alive. How can we grow as a couple when you never let me get close enough to try?"

Your eyes seared. He found the wound. He knew exactly where to apply pressure.

"I didn't know trying was such a burden for you." Frankly, you found it difficult to locate what exactly he meant by this, but your heart hurt all the same. "Just so you know... falling out of love will be much harder for me."

Taehyung wondered how you could admit love as though it were a sin, how he had become the one who assigned punishment, how this hadn't stopped him from feeling the need to ask for forgiveness. And still you were able to lift yourself from where you sat, and walk away.

"___, I'm scared." It was true, you felt what one could only describe as desperation pooling in his words.

"Me too." Admitting this was far more crucifying than admitting your heart would always beat for someone who had forgotten how to love you back.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

It was difficult to look in the mirror. The person staring back looked so much like the person he loved. But that wasn't you anymore. The person in the mirror was the ghost. What worried you even more was the idea of someone finding out what a lie this was. This body of yours, each piece stacked so neatly, as though you could be anything more than shards of loneliness that cut with each step you took. As though you didn't live your life checking the ground that follows you, ensuring fragments of your soul were not being left behind.

There was no rule book on how to remain whole after a heartbreak. How to fill the nights with warmth and the mornings with meaning.

Taehyung would always remind you to lock the door, but it never felt so simple.

Lock the door, angel, don't forget!

Lock the door, I love that you forget. I love being the one to remind you.

Lock the door, and never stop forgetting. Never stop letting me remind you.

You stared at the doorknob until it started to feel like a broken promise, and it delivered your eyes a new kind of pain. One that couldn't render tears, because you were all cried out. Maybe if you forgot this time, he would come running to remind you once again. The way he always did. You sighed then winced. The click of the lock sent a shooting pain in your ear.

I'm falling out of love with you.

This confession began to feel more like an accusation. Your mind tucked his words deep. It never failed to rear its head right before you loosened your fist or a smile took hold of you, right before you almost let your body belong in the world with ease.

"Excuse me, you're next." A voice broke through your daze.

This has been happening frequently. One moment, you're gripping the doorknob. Another, you find yourself in a cafe, or a grocery store, or a parking lot of a grocery store. Your body moved through the world as a chore, abusing the skill of muscle memory to no end. You stopped caring where it took you, because you knew it wouldn't be with him.

"Sorry..." Your voice dragged along your tongue like a limbless creature. "I'm sorry you go ahead."

If you hadn't been zoning in on a specifically worn floor tile, you would have noticed the person behind you. Their eyes, thick with concern, studied you and politely yet firmly ignored the offer to pass you in line.

"You can go, I don't know-"

"Let me buy you your drink." He sounded like rain falling against the world. Inviting, comforting, and timid, asking permission in the gentle way raindrops cling to the openness of a window. It was momentary, the idea of sneaking through the back door to let him fall against your skin.

"No." You were quick to respond. Your heart ached you into a habit of rejecting kindness when you knew you needed it most. "No, you don't have to."

You didn't feel his body brush past you. Could he have somehow known as well, you needed a small kindness?

"Would it be too cliché of me to say I know I don't have to?" He said.

"Yes, and it would be even worse if you also said 'I know I don't have to, I want to.'" Your eyes finally peeled away from that jagged tile, and met his.

There was a smile woven into the way his voice sounded. It struck wonder in you, how he could vocalize something as invisible as joy. Within seconds, he made the intangible into something physical, something you could hold onto. Something a little less fleeting than the feeling itself.

"I'm Jimin. And I swear I'm like... super cool and unique so I won't say that." His hand, extended out to you, looked so soft. Almost as though if you dared to touch it, you would damage something. The tenderness adorning his body only sought to exemplify the sharpness of your own.

But, your desire to quell an awkward handshake rejection triumphed over your fear of destroying a purity you could not find in yourself. And you were right, his hand stretched so gently around yours. You swore it could have melted if you held on too long.

"___. And I swear I'm not always this cynical." It was a half-lie, but today a doorknob made you cry, so you had to defend yourself in some way.

"I think it's kinda charming." He laughed at himself, "I mean, not only did you ignore me in line, but you also managed to call me cliché before I even had the chance to be cliché."

"Actually, I think I was just doing you a favor. Giving you another chance to say something more original." This was the first time you let yourself smile without seeking repentance. Your joy was not a crime with this stranger.

"Mm... well, let me think." You could see in his eyes, he was piecing the unlikely together. "You want a cappuccino with a little bit of brown sugar?"

"How are you so sure of yourself?" Your brows furrowed, a hint of intrigue in your voice guiding him like a light.

"Well, you said you didn't know what you wanted yet, but I haven't seen you look at the menu once. Which tells me you probably do know what you're going to order, you just couldn't for some reason." He paused, and by now you knew it was to observe and conclude an honesty you buried somewhere no one cared to upend. "Judging by the slight dark circles under your eyes, and the fact that you yawned about three times during this conversation, you haven't had your daily dose. And in more ways than one, you seem tired."

You felt your body giving in. He was right, you were tired. So, very tired.

"That doesn't explain the brown sugar part." Speaking to him was easy. You wondered if he felt the same way.

"You just seem like someone who appreciates something sweet in life." Everything he said felt like a riddle, like there was an answer hidden in the crooks of his words.

"Jimin, you make quite the first impression. Are you always this invasive upon first meeting people?"

"Honestly? Yes, but specifically because I've seen you here quite a bit and I've become somewhat acquainted with you." Your head slanted and an urgency fell over Jimin, "I mean... in my head. You're around here a lot, and I've come to expect to see you. Kinda like how you expect to see the same buildings outside your window or whatever."

"I've never been compared to a building before. I'm flattered. It's nice to finally meet you." When he smiled, it offered more than you once thought capable of accepting. There was a dynamic you caught onto far before he did. Neither of you knew each other, however that only seemed to beckon both of your willingness to unravel the best parts of yourself, and hope to god it was as real and as good as it felt.

"Well, are you going to buy me a drink or not?" Jimin was quick to step towards the register.

It was easy to discern you were not alone under siege of his charm. The way he moved through the world, as though it was his to arrange and rearrange. How common it must be for him to acquire small talk and fond goodbyes like collector's items, how many people he must leave wanting more from him. Some quiet part of you ached to know where you belonged in his world, or rather if you belonged at all.

"What do you do? What's your thing?" His elbows rested on the counter with familiarity.

"I'm an artist. Painting, mostly. But I appreciate charcoal more these days. And, I- why are you looking at me like that?" You asked, couldn't help yourself. The way his eyes bore an opening into you was hard to ignore.

"Nothing, just kinda had a feeling you were some sort of artist. The paint stains on your jeans gave it away, if I'm being honest. I'm sure you create beautiful things, ___." It was so easy to let your eyes linger, even when his brightness overtook your vision and especially when he smiled.

"You don't know that. You've never seen my work." Your palm cupped your chin, and you put your fingers to good use, gating the smile that couldn't be subdued.

"Don't have to, you don't seem dense or shallow enough to make bad art."

This conversation uplifted in you something so close to hope. Enough so that when he paved the way to an open table, you followed him like it was a reflex.

"You're... presumptuous." Your will began to subside. The chance of this door you put up to the world remaining felt frayed. He'd find a way to open it. Perhaps he'd already found one.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I do?" His words were playful, enticing you into a game that seemed to have no real winners or losers, just a chance to participate.

"What do you do, Jimin." Your tone indicated you were in fact amused by his prodding. That you were more than willing to participate.

"I'm a writer. Mostly poetry, maybe I'll start a manuscript some day. But I'm not sure I'm cut out for something like that, you know?"

It was after he said that that you noticed a delicate dim in the lightness his voice carried.

"Honestly? I don't know, why wouldn't you be?"

Jimin hadn't been able to recall this budding hesitation when it came to talking with strangers. Usually, people would agree tentatively and construct a weak sincerity in response to him talking of his artistic abilities, or lack thereof. You however, inquired less about what he said and more on why he said it. In other words, people tend to deny consideration where it was inconvenient, but not you.

"I just- it's harder to create a story, and characters. I worry the world would look wrong the way I portray it. That it might give something away about myself I'd rather not reveal..." His neck, sheltered by his palm, grew warm. This feeling with you had felt like a forgotten memory, all the more exciting. He found that more than anything, he wanted to reunite with it.

"Ah, well. I don't know, Jimin. Within the little time I've known you, you've already read me pretty accurately. I really hate admitting that, but it's true." That smile, his eyes waning like two crescent moons, felt like encouragement. "You see people, things that are never displayed through physical indications. You voice the things people wish they saw in themselves so plainly, as if you could see it written on their skin. I think a story would come to life if you wrote it."

"That's..." As a writer, it was rare for words to be at a distance to Jimin, and yet. "You're... so..."

"Don't" Your head shook. "You don't have to. It wasn't a compliment, just an observation. Nothing, really."

"I'm not sure what you are, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to find out."

"If you found out, I'm not sure you'd get much of anything. Maybe a little regret and an unnecessary amount of art history knowledge."

You wanted this to stop, to retract your hand, only an inch from where he rested his on the table. You wanted to leave, to lock the door, to keep yourself tucked away where it was lonely, but safe.

And when his hand grazed the top of yours, you did none of those things. It was tedious to define safety when your skin knew a visceral hunger that your heart did not. You let yourself lean into this unrefined craving, and perhaps be known by Jimin.

"Wouldn't know unless I tried." His smile meant a number of things, but this time it resembled a challenge.

Because the last time someone tried, it proved to be just that. A challenge.

Though you met so recently, he'd already established a clear admiration that extended far beyond reason. His eyes gave way to vision only to find beauty. His senses were predisposed to seeking goodness. Even more impressive, he was someone who could bring it out in unexpected places.

But that was the exact reason why Jimin terrified you. Because what if there was nothing in you, no goodness that he could withdraw?

He was watching you, most likely on a hunt for something. His eyes were determined yet tender as they searched for answers in yours.

"Well, thank you, for the drink." Timing was generous today, granting an escape from the space he opened up for you in this moment. "I should get going, it's my first day back in university."

"Ah, where do you attend?" Whatever attempts he made to mask his disappointment were futile, and all too obvious.

"University of Crane River." As you dragged yourself back into a state of reality, it distracted you from his smile, though you wished it hadn't.

It would be nice, you mused, to get one last look.

"Well, I hope your days get better." Jimin held his breath, watching you depart felt no different to him than folding the corner of the page right before the ending. "Oh and ___!"

You turned back, half expecting him to remind you to lock the door, then remembering it would never be that. Still, what he said next wasn't entirely disappointing, but completely disarming.

"See you at school."

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Decisions were hardly decisions at all to you. You never had to wait until choosing became necessary; your mind was always as sure as an anchor would sink, fate locked into you like a companion.

That was until you noticed the pen markings, impulsive and needful, under the sleeve of your cup. You let your finger glide over the numbers. An irrational attempt to see if they'd disappear. It made no sense, but life after Taehyung was nothing if not nonsensical.

You lingered at doors, waiting for someone to impossibly fill a role originated by the love of your life. You waded through crowds as if it would dispel the loneliness that weeps in you like a ghost. You lived in memories to resurrect something rotting and overdue for a burial. You ran a finger across those numbers knowing it was a fruitless remedy to erase the meaning they carved into a disposable cup.

As the bus carried you closer to the school, music flowed from your headphones. Though no amount of noise could drown the echo of Jimin's voice. His was a melody that learned how to swim.

You tried to keep your thoughts in order by mentally planning your academic day, busying yourself in ways that proved successful in the past. It seemed that your thoughts developed a sense to maneuver around denial, to sink itself into what you weren't aware you needed. When it came to Jimin, at least, you were just the shell of someone trying to hold on to what it felt like to be in his presence.

Despite how true all of these feelings, these untamed thoughts were, you refused to allow them to move you. The idea of seeing him again filled you with fear and eagerness all at once. Again, the decision to hide or to unfold yourself was not within reach. It felt like something that was less of a decision, more so in the hands of chance.

However, he was a writer, you a painter. The chance of sharing a class or even a building with him was slim to none. This soothed you less than you hoped, but then again, safety for you always reserved the remnants of disappointment.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

"___!" Before you had to turn, you knew exactly who wielded such a voice that reached every corner of a room.

"Hobi, I thought once we entered college you'd become a little more... I don't know... calm?" That was the truest word you could use that brushed past being an insult to him.

"Why would I be?" Hoseok's arm nestled along your shoulders, "Maybe you need to be less calm."

"Okay, whatever you say." Both of you avoided asking the compulsory 'How are you' and this was an unrehearsed consideration composed by Hoseok's thankless demeanor. He was a loud, robust dancer with a heart of gold, but no less observant than you. He knew not to ask, not to resurface the pain just below the skin, waiting to erupt.

"What's your schedule looking like?" He asked.

"Mmm." You searched through your bag to pull it out.

"You know they have these online, you don't need to print them out, nerd." This fond judgment didn't stop him from taking the paper from your hands.

"Any classes together?" You asked, eyes static on the pen markings etched along your cup while his was scanning your schedule.

"Nope... looks like we're just gonna have to spend extra time together outside of class." His smile lured one out from you too, the same way the sun channeled light where the world needed it most.

And then, like clockwork, that cruel mantra sauntered into the front of your mind again.

I think I'm falling out of love with you.

"Mm..." In times like this, expressing your care for someone felt like trudging through a storm. It was easier to still, to let the storm rage around you. But you loved Hoseok, maybe just as deeply as you could love Taehyung. There was just too much pain to be soft the way Hoseok was soft. Admiration and guilt forged into one heavy burden piling on your shoulders.

You hoped he knew this. You hoped the vacancy of words never translated into an emptiness he could detect. You hoped one day, you'd be able to out-love him, the way he deserved.

"___, I promise everything's going to be okay." How could you love someone like him enough? Someone who would demand a storm to rest just so you could finally move forward.

"I really want to believe you." The tears gathering in your eyes were infectious, spreading across bodies. Hoseok felt your despair prick at his own eyes.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand it either, ___. I really hate him for this." He spoke through strained whispers.

Before your eyes could corrode into water slipping down your cheek, his lips pressed into your forehead. It was something he'd been doing since you were barely able to reach the top shelf. He knew it wouldn't mend the pain, but it would give you enough love to last the day. And tomorrow, he'd be there to replenish. He was the 'always' you knew you could trust.

"I love you, Hoseok. Go to class, though. You're gonna be late."

"Shit, I'll see you soon! Text me after class!" He called back, already ten or so feet from you.

Hoseok loved and cared with every part of him, but even those qualities hadn't overruled his forgetfulness. Luckily, he always had you as a second conscious.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

There it was again. The memory of that night itching against your skin. It always began so faintly, but you knew by now what was about to follow. You knew ignoring a heart breaking would only aggress it more.

Under the guise of needing to use the restroom, you excused yourself from class. Though, you required more than a simple escape from the small art room that held you captive. The air felt stretched thin indoors, which is how you ended up wandering into a forested area of campus. Your legs demanded solitude, and apparently, running water.

Crane River, the sign read with resistance. Time chipped the paint and rusted the metal.

You peered over the edge of the bridge, water rushing against the riverbed. Somehow, your body responded to this view with a feeling you couldn't assign a name to. You knew though, it reminded you of being left behind.

What good are my lungs for if they stop working every time I'm upset? You criticized yourself unfairly between deep, unfulfilling gasps. It seemed that this was all you could give to yourself. How sad this must appear, a body rejected by the soul that calls it home.

It was true, nonetheless. You hated being you, feeling the things you felt. Pathetically clinging to the rail of a bridge, pleading with water to idle so you could keep pace. If this was how the rest of your life would be, you weren't sure how long you'd be able to hold on.

You closed your eyes, reeling in the moment this morning when you felt your heart beating in the same rhythm as the world, as him. It should have been clear to you how inevitable this would be. You, reaching into your bag to retrieve what should have been trash, dialing the numbers only to hover your thumb over the 'call' icon.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your courage and turned your phone screen back to black. This whole time, your body took in each breath manually. Innate functions such as breathing or blinking had become tiresome. So, when your focus shifted to the presence of another person, your breathing stopped altogether.

"Hey," His melody proceeded. "You."

"Of course... you." Fate had reintroduced itself to you, joined by regret.

"I know I got here after you, but, to be fair, I've been coming here since last year so... This time you're impeding on me." It wasn't bragging in the technical sense, but there was an underlying celebration in his voice.

You were almost too suffocated to do witty with him. Almost.

"Yeah, just waiting for you to come save me again." Your eyes remained where they were before he arrived.

"Is that it?" Jimin's voice grew in volume, even though he spoke softly. The edge of his body now seated in your peripheral. "Save you?"

"Mhm, I was just thinking if only someone would come and ruin my peace and quiet." He laughed, somehow privy to the honest relief obscured under the layers of sarcasm.

You gambled with bravery, craning your head to finally face his. He wasted no time returning the favor. For a brief moment, you were just a person catching the light of another's eyes. You could breathe, blink, and appreciate how normal could feel so thrilling with him.

Jimin's smile eroded the longer you held his gaze; it had you already pleading to earn his forgiveness.

"You were crying?" His eyebrows formed concern so beautifully.

"No... not really." You attempted to lie, but your eyes betrayed honesty to Jimin's.

"It's okay. We don't have to talk about it. I mean, we just met so..." Jimin let his admiration run unsupervised, indulging in how this moment stretched beyond time. "It's just... I hate the idea of you crying all alone."

"Why?" Regret finally broke through the adrenaline, more so when he said things like that. The desire to retreat came rushing, however you couldn't relinquish the victory of looking away first. "You don't even know me."

"Do I need to?"

Why had it sounded like a command?

"I guess not. But" Your throat nearly denied you sound. "I don't understand what you're getting from this."

"Jesus, ___." It would have felt like scrutiny if not for the protective armor of his laugh. "It doesn't cost me anything to be kind to you, but it seems to cost you quite a bit to reject it."

"I-" Why bother arguing with him? "It's hard."

"I know." You could have meant anything, but Jimin, overfamiliar with pain in his own ways, didn't have to know in order to know. "I'm sorry. Whatever is hurting you so much, I hope it subsides enough to let you live a little easier."

"Just a breakup. Nothing special, nothing new."

"Still, it sounds pretty rough. I'm sorry, ___. How long were you two together?"

"Three and a half years." Your exhaustion felt so justified after voicing how long it's been.

"Damn, it makes sense why this is so horrible. I mean we're still pretty young. Three years is a lot if you think about it."

"True. It was just really..." You watched as his eyes drifted comfortably along your face. Even if you wanted to pull back, it felt wrong to take that away from him. "Unexpected."

"You love him?" Jimin's inquisitiveness was partially selfish, but mostly born of genuine curiosity and care.

"Trying not to." The warmth collecting at your cheeks confessed some twisted form of shame around this.

"I get it. It's very justified to take your time with it you know? Don’t be hard on yourself." Jimin paused but even that was carried out with certainty. "He sounds lucky to have someone who could love him this much. Not sure if this is necessarily helpful in getting over him but, I think it is beautiful to love someone even if they aren't there to experience it."

You couldn't understand how he gave shape to your feelings with such kindness.

"Thank you, Jimin." Gratitude was a costly emotion to express, a tear or two expended no matter the circumstances. "You're sweet. I'm not sure uh... not sure I deserve this."

You smiled at that last confession, thinking it would lighten the weight of what was said between you two, perhaps distract you and him from the tears. But it soon felt like a mistake upon noticing it might've struck a chord with Jimin.

"Why wouldn't you?" This was not rhetorical in the way you wished it was. He asked, expecting you to answer, to voice the shame lodged into your body like a dagger. "Why wouldn't you deserve it?"

"I'm not..." You reached for answers that were not there. "I don't know. All I know is whenever people try to comfort me about this I feel so guilty. And like I can't give it back? I'm tired of needing so much from others. I just want to be good. Easier to love."

"For now, it's not your job to give back." How did his body extend in a way that reached conclusions never so accessible to you? “You do not have to be good to be easy to love. Someone would be lucky to love you.”

You watched the world regress, intricacies of this universe conflating into a singular truth. This man crafted simplicity from the chaos. You felt greedy, your heels already primed to run after him, to chase this world he'd created that made your movements fluid, rushing with no traction like water.

It must be a writer thing, you theorized.

By now, your arm had been pressed against his as you both leaned against the rail, overlooking the water. It was hard to release the notion that this might've been trespassing. Closeness, a risk that ended in punishment the last time you took it.

"Jimin?"

"Hm?" Jimin's wordless response felt assuring of what you were about to say, even before you knew yourself.

Speak, he seemed to say, bring any noise to your voice that does not know loss, does not mourn.

"How do you always know what to say?" Everything about you felt dangerously undisciplined. You'd been unraveling, completely negligent to how easy it had been to breathe in and out this whole time.

"To be honest, you don't make it the easiest." His careful nudge against your arm promised compassion without the words. "But, I like you. I like the way you see the world."

"You too. I like how you see things too." Rather, you liked how he saw you, how it never felt like a judgment. It was warm where your bodies made contact, heightened how frigid and starved the rest of you had been.

Somewhere, there was a world where you could find solace in togetherness; the borders of your body and his body ebbing from the way you held each other. Imagining this left a bitter taste in your mouth. Not because it seemed wrong, but because it felt so unattainable. It hurt to hope, to open your heart enough that it might discover another breaking point.

"I, um, gotta get to class." A sigh nearly slipped from you when he pulled away. "It was lovely seeing you, ___."

Jimin settled his hand right between your shoulder blades. His thumb tracing out a pattern only he could see. A parting gift, you assumed, a piece of him he felt necessary to leave with you. In one swift motion, you were reminded of how sentimentality was quick to filter your memories.

The way he touched you, so unsparingly, it must have meant there was more of him for the taking. And from where you stood now, looking down at the river, it lacked its usual hurriedness; almost as if it had stilled completely.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

"Hobi?"

"What's up?" He responded, stretching his hamstrings.

"Nevermind." This wasn't enough to curb his curiosity. You knew that all too well.

"___..." He expressed an expectation by calling your name, giving you another chance before he proceeded to more drastic measures. "What's on that little mind of yours?"

"Just..." A nervous tick flared, your fingers finding friction against each other to ease it. "How can you tell if you're a good person?"

"What are you an idiot? I love you. That’s how. You're kind and funny and intelligent and creative and fair-minded and all that good stuff." The question was obvious to Hoseok, so much so that he carried on loosening his muscles for dance practice.

You always sat in on his practices when possible, finding comfort in watching Hoseok move so freely, so determined. It impressed you how he made passion into a precision. Something so prone to growing rampantly, like a wildfire, restrained through the way he controlled his body movements. It was like he wielded passion the way a god would.

"I just don't get why though." You leaned against the mirror, exasperated by the vagueness of it all.

"God, Taehyung really did a number on you. Only someone so self-involved and immature and straight up stupid could not love someone like you." This began to swallow you in a well acquainted guilt where gratefulness was supposed to be, like you were tricking him into praising you. His kindness sat in your stomach like rotting food.

"Hobi..." You scolded despite the fact that he had done nothing to warrant it.

"Okay, you're right, let's not get into that now." Hoseok straightened himself, reoccupying where he stood so tall. Arms outstretched, ready to consume the world like prey.

It's what he always looked like when he was about to dance.

"Places!" The instructor’s voice filled the silence. Not long after, music took its place.

Right as everyone settled into position, the door swung open. A panicked series of footsteps and a haphazard toss of what sounded like a bag followed. Your focus busied itself with sketching because warmups we're not particularly engaging for you to watch.

"Oh, good afternoon!" The instructor was startled, but still maintained the patience to be welcoming. "Glad you could join us. Please, find a spot and begin warming up."

Their shoes shuffled along the practice room, a humble gratitude expressed by the swiftness in which they obliged.

"Hey, Hoseok!" Your brows pulled together when they spoke.

It couldn't have been.

"Jimin, what's up!" Your eyes tore from your sketch pad only to find Hoseok exchanging an informal handshake with none other than Jimin. It surprised you less that Hoseok had already been acquainted, being that socializing was a necessity no different than air to him.

Is this a joke? You questioned the mercilessness of the world. The more you saw him, the harder it was to shed the fondness pulling at the seams of your willpower.

It took a mere two seconds for Jimin to recognize the only person sitting among the piles of bags and discarded sweatshirts. It took much longer to release from him the mix of intrigue and delight that held his gaze captive on you.

He mouthed your name, partnered it with a coy nod before cutting his attention back to the lesson. The downturn of your eyes only accentuated the smile you were trying to dilute.

You selected your next move carefully, similar to how one would play a game of chess. A modest nod pawned back to him, timed perfectly to when you secured his attention again. He grinned without the boldness to look directly at you. Then, a flicker of hope that this meant a small victory lulled your nerves to rest.

You wondered if these uncanny collisions with him would become a routine. This man collecting moments of your life, all to give you a motive to make them worth something. And you realized then there was this feeling posed where you couldn't quite reach. Perhaps it was eagerness, a moment teeming with potential.

Throughout the practice, parceling your attention to anything but Jimin was hard. Whenever he had returned to you through gazes, your eyes retreated to the wall or your sketchbook.

But you pocketed every chance you could to take him in. Jimin was the only person that made you consider more carefully who the best dancer you could name was. Hoseok was still your favorite, of course, but any attempts to insist that Jimin couldn't move just as fluently in this art was denial at its weakest.

Every arch and extension he wielded as though his body was designed to move only to melodies. His arms were loyal to the choreography, but there was always a glint of reinvention embodied by his movements. Where Hoseok sharpened himself like a blade to the music, Jimin softened himself, the way a tree allowed winds to tangle through the leaves. It was full of a delicate generosity, an openness. He must earn applause not only for admiration, rather gratitude for being able to witness him dance.

Jimin was beautiful.

When the practice ended, you felt an urgency to restrain every feeling you encountered while watching Jimin. Quickly, you buried your belongings into your bag so as to not invite him over with your idling.

"I'm so tired." Hoseok elongated his speech, making it clear that even talking was too strenuous. The rest of his body surrendered to the fatigue building in his muscles. "Carry me home?"

"You know I can't but you did great today."

"Mmm... Thanks ___." You laughed softly. Tired Hoseok was hardly distinguishable from drunk Hoseok.

And there he was. Hair worn in from a one hour practice, somehow draped gracefully along his forehead, sweat-soaked shirt carving out his chest a little too tastefully. If you could've brought yourself to look away, you would have.

It was easy to ignore how the students' exhaustion translated as a potent thickness in the air, even how Hoseok's sweat invaded your skin where he leaned his head. It seemed everything that would normally bother you had reduced into unintelligible noise. There was no room for doubt. The answer always seemed to be him.

Before you were able to plot an escape, Jimin made his way over to you, mouth slightly hung and chest rising and falling with intention to circulate energy back into himself.

"Are you following me?" His attention wouldn't budge from you, even with a half-conscious man leaning on your shoulder.

"What was it? Oh right 'I was here first... you're impeding on me'. Is that how you said it?" You laced smugness into your voice like a drug, all the more intoxicating to Jimin.

"You're funny, you know that?" He'd squatted down to your level, now unable to ignore the intimacy passing through the bodies you and your best friend. Jimin could deduce he wasn't your boyfriend, being that you were currently heartbroken and too considerate to reduce someone into a rebound. However, his stomach fell when he saw you exchange a closeness he hadn't gained yet.

He was never one to get jealous, especially over someone that owed no loyalty to him. Even so, it was hard to not cross that bridge with you.

"This is Hoseok, but it seems you know him already." You jerked your shoulder to wake him, only for his head to limply drop back onto you. "We've been friends since high school."

"Ah, how sweet. Small world." You gathered that your response soothed him in some way. Likely because you were expectant of that reaction. Another moment stashed in your favor. "We met last year in an intermediate dance class."

"Yeah Jimin's pretty cool. I feel like we taught each other so much last year." Hoseok chimed in.

"Yeah, you were really great." You hoped this comment sounded casual, uncommitted. But from the way your heart nearly broke through bone, you knew it didn't. Jimin snuck you a smile. It looked selective, a gesture to deepen the feelings making waves in the air.

"How do you and ___ know each other?" Hoseok's question was innocent enough, not without making it clear he wanted details. Excruciatingly specific details.

"We met at a cafe. They were dawdling in line so I practically had to force them to let me buy their drink if I wanted to get mine." A grin strapped onto his lips. He aimed it at you in such a rehearsed manner. "And we just talked for a bit."

"Ah, ___, why didn't you tell me about this?" Whatever his tone had suggested, you feigned ignorance to it, and it had Hoseok and Jimin toppling over in anticipation. You were now compelled to choose what you said wisely, decisively. You kept flitting your eyes between the other two, hoping they would land at some point.

"I-" You pressed your lips tight. "It must've slipped my mind."

Hoseok garnered some energy, picking through the scarcity of words to unveil the things you and Jimin wanted each other to know without giving sound to them.

"Yeah, the bridge must have slipped your mind too, huh?" Jimin cleared the view of his forehead, hand seeking refuge in the lovely field of his hair. Your face stiffened to bury the smile threatening your lips.

"Must have."

"Bridge? What bridge?" Hoseok traded off between you and Jimin, neither of you could bring yourselves to break away from this standoff. "There was a bridge?"

"There was a bridge, indeed." He flirted with admittance, waiting for you to comply. Waiting to see how easily you'd confess to those coveted moments being known to the world, and all the more real because of it.

"Jimin, how long have you been a dancer?" You figured deflection had been your only option. Jimin tucked his head down, a smile most likely being shed in this position.

"Since I was about ten. I started in ballet, but slowly worked my way around to contemporary and hip-hop." He responded when he lifted his head back to you and Hoseok.

"You know, that's what I love about your dancing. You're so versatile." When it came to dance, Hoseok's seal of approval was rare. You'd only witnessed its appearance twice in your time knowing him.

The first was when your friendship was still new, the borders of your closeness still a bit unrefined. He was explaining how his dance teacher had been the one to inspire him to pursue it professionally. You took note of how his eyes blazed, honored to be caught in the fire. The second had a much more bitter tinge to it. A competition, one you couldn't even remember the name of, ended with Hoseok's peculiar silence as he turned the bronze medal over and over in his hand. You were giving him a ride home when he admitted defeat to the one that earned the gold, accompanied with a vow that someday he'd be the dancer others would have to overcome. The flame in his eyes was fed such fierce resolve, and still hungered for more.

"Thank you." Jimin was nothing if not cognizant. His eyes nearly pressed close from how wide he smiled. "You really inspire me, honestly."

You were pleasantly surprised how quick they took to talking, sinking into the background as they carried into conversation that permitted your silence, courtesy of your lack of dance knowledge.

Half of you tried to keep up with what they were saying, a nod here and there to feign engagement with the mess of dance terms. The other half tormented with an insatiable need to figure out Jimin. With every interaction, he unfolded more of him, meaning there would always be something to keep your heels from touching the ground. You hoped to find a crack, any break that would volunteer some hint of what else he had in store. And you also hoped you wouldn’t, setting aside agency over what excited you; the unknown nature of whatever Jimin meant to you delivered a complicated position for you to fill.

You resented yourself for what had always been around the corner from excitement: remembrance.

A sudden but familiar mourning crashed into you like a bird falling mid-flight. There was one person you had known so well. Someone that nullified any need to guess. The knowing of a person, of the private moments only to be shared through intimacy, of hearts precisely sure where to love someone, it could cast loneliness into a graveyard. This emptiness you weathered felt so full. It resurrected that loneliness in you, your body one long hall for it to haunt.

Two years ago

“I can't believe you convinced me to do this! This is so stupid!” Your pleas fell short, not even reaching his ears. The waves had drowned words. You worried that you were next. “What if we die?”

The cliff overlooked the Pacific. The very edge of land, a world you knew coming to a stop, giving way to water. It wasn't very high up, admittedly, an altitude that barely reached fifty feet hadn't deserved so much fear. That didn’t stop your pulse from turning into an unruly mess of panic. You turned to him, unable to meet his smile with one of your own. Taehyung ran his thumb over your brow, tense from worry. It only made him smile harder and fall in love with you more.

“I’d never let anything bad happen to you, ___!” Taehyung’s arm, as though it was a device to locate your fear, warmed the part of you he had sheltered. “Trust me, okay? If you get scared, squeeze my hand. And when I squeeze back, It means you’re safe. it means…”

He paused, pressing his lips against yours, slow and intrepid, “I love you.”

It was the first time he said it. Whether it was the way your eyes made the salt in the air taste sweet, or how your hand tightened around his like an instinct, Taehyung knew regret was far more difficult to shake than fear. He had to say it, had to make it known to you.

And your body seemed to align with that same truth. The waves, though treacherous and unwavering, did not carry the same bite to them. You peered over the edge, squeezing tight to the hand in yours, and when you felt it squeeze back all the fear that once detained you had sunk, been swallowed by something far more emphatic than any ocean.

“I love you too.” In unison, two bodies leapt into the chaos as though they were powerful enough to subdue it, or perhaps, become a part of it. The tides ushered your bodies with an intent to pull you in deeper, however your hand remained with his. That same force, the one that helped you jump from a cliff, the one that tread alongside the chaos of water, the one that loved Taehyung, was an anchor that you believed would hold you secure in the ocean with him.

Hoseok was the first to locate your somber resignation and through a silent alarm, Jimin squared his focus back to your face, glossed over with grief. Both battling off worry in their own ways, Jimin found a release by checking his phone, acting as though time had gotten away from him. It's not that he didn't want to be there for you, to ask you to unfold the pain you felt, to feel it with you like he’d done at the bridge. He did, however he knew it would be more appropriate if Hoseok filled that role. He knew he had to wait until you were the one to ask.

"Today was fun. Nice seeing you, Hoseok." He suddenly felt so mismatched. Eyes following how Hoseok's arms enveloped into warmth, it was an invitation not yet extended to him. "___, take care. I'll see you around."

"Bye, Jimin." You broke yourself in two trying to act normal. If you could speak without crying, you would have asked him to stay. Your hand tightened around the air you wished was him instead.

"See you next week." Hoseok said, cheer still lingering in his voice. He hadn’t spent any additional time letting your change in temperament go unattended. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Really, you don't have to ask every time. It's always the same thing." You pleaded in a way that insinuated this was some sort of favor. He knew it wasn't.

"I just..." Hoseok wilted as he felt your body lean away from him. "We need to figure something out."

"I know." Only you didn't. You couldn't possibly piece together what could be done.

"Hmm, there's this party." On cue, two sets of eyebrows moved in opposite directions. Yours sinking and his climbing. "No, listen-"

"No..."

"C'mon, just like one hour!"

"Hobi." Whenever you whined, it meant there was allowance for persuasion.

"I'll be with you the whole time, swear!" Hoseok's hands cupped yours. "Don't you wanna celebrate being back in school?"

"Why would I want to celebrate that?" You argued even though your cynicism never carried enough potency with Hoseok.

"Because! It'll be fun." Hoseok pulled a shield over his ears when he wanted something.

A beat of anticipation passed. You rolled your eyes in defeat because how could you let his eyes limp on the ends and his mouth hang in such a heart wrenching way.

"Fine." Hoseok cheered himself into wakefulness. Already prattling on about the plans, the pre-gaming, the outfits.

This, you thought, was rewarding enough. His eyes became a house of stars while his smile reached to his ears. Hoseok was happy, and it miraculously made way for you to be as well.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

It’s not that you thought this wouldn’t happen, just that you knew you would never be able to arm enough resistance to the gravity Taehyung seemed to have on you.

There he was. A stunning ray of light dressing him like a saint. You played out what would have happened two months ago. There would be a kiss before a verbal hello. A hand remaining at the small of your back, holding to make sure you would stay close. Love exchanged through a single glance, so palpable you would inhale something denser than air. It was almost impossible to remember why such a connection could waiver, let alone collapse completely.

You were already making your way back home and you didn't want cowardice to strand you in an unplanned detour. No, you were going to face this pain. The damage seemed to ricochet a bloodthirsty bullet in the caverns of your chest when you tried to avoid it anyway. Taehyung's notice of you was tardy, just a second too late to pretend he hadn't.

He hadn't been able to fully drain the life from you, leaving your mass of flesh half-alive, panting like unfinished prey. His hands were still red either way. It's what made seeing you feel vindicating. Him, faced with the aftermath of a mercy kill denied.

"H- hi."

"Hey."

The ice felt so unbroken, frost hardly even brushed away.

"How are you?" He winced at his own question.

"You know. Getting by." Your knuckles had turned white. It matched accordingly with your shallow breathing. "You?"

"Yeah, uh- same. Just preparing for the school semester and all." He was an artist as well.

It was actually what brought the two of you together. He asked for an extra pencil from you in class one day, bartering a boxy grin to repay the favor. Your eyes were still fresh, absorbent of the beauty the world had to offer. You loved the kind of beauty he offered.

"Mm. I hope everything worked out with getting your classes." You couldn't help but reference a time when menial information like a class schedule and a good meal at lunch were things you kept tabs on.

"Thanks. It did work out since a few students dropped classes last minute." He auctioned off a pained smile. You sighed and wished he hadn't.

"Good. That must be relieving."

You were frugal with your eye contact, gaze warily hoarding itself against the floor. Whether this was to protect you or him was unclear. How could you weigh the severity of earning unwanted pity against the punitive fear that he would not care at all? Both resulted with betrayal exploring the parts of you that had somehow remained unscathed.

"Yeah for sure." Both of your voices were forced, held at gunpoint but unsure of who exactly commanded the weapon. "Listen, ___, I've- um, I've been wanting to talk to you."

"About?"

"Um..." His hesitation was rewarding, shamefully so. You wanted to make him say it, to voice the ugliness of it all. How criminal he must feel, seeing you limp through the world, searching for whatever you lost that made his love deter. "You know. About... everything."

"Taehyung." Before, you only said his full name when circumstances called for sternness. Now, it was the default. The kindness with which you addressed him drowned somewhere between the initial heartbreak and the fourth night spent emptying yourself of him through tears. "I can't really do this right now."

"I didn't mean right now, just sometime." Maybe a week ago, you'd fold yourself in half trying to fit into his life. You'd take out a notepad, write down all the things that went wrong so you could fix it.

But you didn't want to be fixed for him, not when he was the one who broke the two of you.

"Tae..." His nickname slipped out like acid. You had to release how it burned in your mouth one way or another.

"Please? There's just so much I want you to know." He punctuated his gaze on your boots, the ones he gifted to you last Christmas. "Please?"

It was selfish, rash. You'd finally gained an ounce of momentum. It wasn't always much help but it was something. Would he really be cruel enough to lay waste to it all? Just because he wanted you to know the gritty details of how he now found you to be unlovable?

You do not have to be good. His words were a lullaby that breathed for you when your lungs could not.

"I-" You felt frustrated with him, released something once held hostage. "Can you just respect that I might not be ready?"

You ignored the sting of guilt when he nodded so hastily.

"Yeah, sorry. You're right. I'm sorry" He was profuse with his remorse. Again, you wanted him to stop.

"It's fine." You said quietly.

"It's just... seeing you now," There had been a twitch in his arm, a motion overruled. You wondered if it was to reach out to you. "All I want is for you to be okay, ___."

"Thanks." This conversation began to run stale. You adjusted your bag, somewhat of a prompt for Taehyung to bid his farewells. "I'll let you know."

It was a promise already half broken.

"Okay." He exhaled. "I'll see you around, ___."

"Yeah, for sure." Whatever love you still felt for him was undetectable, buried deep beneath the rest of your feelings for him. Not all of them were bad, but certainly overpowering and abstaining from anything close to love.

Taehyung watched you leave and still so much of you stayed with him. He hadn't noticed how long it's been since your voice had touched his ears, hadn't realized, until now, that he missed it. He didn't know what to do with this, so he did nothing and hoped complacency would work out this time.

As you left, the pain grew a little quieter. It felt empowering to be the one that walked away. You never realized how much bravery there was in this until now, how your legs continued forward as some sort of defiance to the rattling of your heart, the shivers running along your skin. It was the same feeling of when you jumped off that cliff all those years ago with him. But there was no cliff. Just a person who walked away and hadn't needed an entire ocean nor his loving hand to consume fear.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

Dusk casted a blueness onto everything. It reminded you of the lost things, not just in your life, but everyone's. The forgotten things, abandoned things, things sacrificed and things surrendered. In some strange way, it helped to cope with loneliness, the idea that you were not the only lost thing in this world.

It was cold, a bit disheartening you had grown to feel so comfortable in this. Taehyung tinted the life you had shared, so much that you had forgotten what it looked like without him. You missed how he rested his head in your lap, how he turned his head into your hand when it brushed through his hair, how he used the backside of his fingertips to graze your cheek. It was a source of comfort and safety specific to you, but as you sat on your couch in the fetal position, you had no agency to stop him from doing the same thing to someone else's cheek.

You missed loving someone so fully, missed how it meant you were needed because it made you feel like something.

Now, you asked yourself, what could you be if not a home for his soul? More importantly, where had yours gone?

All these years, you were busy being someone else's. You dedicated yourself to others, set aside your own appetite for reciprocity, as though you could repay the absence of love by doubling down with yours.

Sure, you felt the cracks along your bones, felt the quiet exhaustion in your chest. However, you also felt the necessity to please, the gratification of sacrifice; it drove you this far in life all to break apart.

"Fuck." You released a deep exhale as your fingertips mimicked Taehyung's. If you closed your eyes, it was almost like it was really him performing that small gesture of love along your tear ridden cheek. Almost.

There was one person, besides Hoseok, that never took from you what they couldn't return.

Before you could convince yourself not to, your hand had already dialed in Jimin's number. And without attempting to rationalize it, you called him.

The rings felt like an alarm, warning you to end the call.

The ringing ceased, your pulse raged through your body.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Hi." You said instead, knowing it confessed what you couldn't say out loud.

"___." He said, as though he was expecting this. And for some reason, it eased you.

Your hand dropped from your cheek.

"How are you?" He asked without sounding burdened by the unplanned call.

"I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"You called me just to say 'I'm fine' and 'mhm'?" He laughed fondly.

"Um... It's stupid, really. I- uh- wanted to hear your voice."

His laugh, even as it filtered through the phone, was lively, colorful. The room around you was a bit less blue, you could have sworn it. You had to stop yourself from thanking him out loud.

"It's not stupid. It's sweet."

"It's not... really. If I'm being honest, it's selfish. I'm just..." You sucked some air in. "Lonely."

His pause meant many things to you, all at once. Even in silence, you felt so much to decipher with him.

"I'm sorry. I get lonely too." Another part of him served to you, eager to be devoured. If a man like Jimin could be lonely, maybe you weren’t a lost cause.

"I guess it's pretty normal. To feel alone."

"Yeah, but it shouldn't be."

"Yeah." Your voice was feeble.

"Hey, can I tell you something?" He asked.

"Sure."

"I'm selfish too." Jimin said this quietly, a hushed guilt overlayed his voice.

"How?"

"You remind me of someone. Someone I miss a lot."

"Oh."

"They passed away."

"Oh."

"Does that scare you?"

"No,” You contemplated. “I wouldn't use that word."

"Okay, that's good."

"Was it someone close?"

"The closest."

"That's really heartbreaking. I'm so sorry, Jimin."

"Thank you." He wasn't sure where his gratefulness came from, just that when you saw his pain he felt the need to thank you for it. "They were an artist. Just like you."

"When you said you like me..." You hated yourself for needing to ask.

"Yeah?"

"It was them you liked? Them you were looking for?"

"Well... Not exactly but... I... maybe a bit."

Your skin softened like a bruise. It wasn't betrayal, but it wasn’t exactly virtuous either. You wished it just felt okay, endearing to be someone that resembled such a beloved person in his life. You wished it felt like admiration only, and not another proposition to lessen yourself for the sake of someone else.

You weren't sure if you were justified in feeling this, but you couldn't stop yourself from hurting.

He wasn't sure if he truly wanted you to become a replacement for his friend, but if you started to, he wouldn't know if he'd be able to stop you. If he'd want to.

"I see."

"I-" The panic was palpable, dry. It drained the simplicity that once made sense of the world, the one Jimin breathed life into just to drown it again. "I still like you though. You, not just because of the person I miss. I know it's not the same. You just remind me of them, that's all."

You wanted to be so much more than a reminder of someone who he missed loving, someone he needed back. But you were afraid of even having this desire. These tears were viscous, dread sinking down your face, wet and brutal. And at the same time, you were guilty just as much as he was. Had you not been tracing along the lines Taehyung had drawn first, just moments ago been failing to replicate an intimacy that you felt could be satiated through hearing his voice?

You wanted to accept this part of life, the part that was messy. For once, you wanted to be messy, to create havoc with Jimin and walk away unconcerned with who would be the one to clean it all up. Everything in you felt a strong gravitation to forgive what hadn't been apologized for, to put those parts of his grief he could no longer carry into your own hands, to hold it for him just so he could know weightlessness again. The same way he had recolored the word for you.

How bad could the mess be if it was so beautiful and light?

"No, don't say sorry, please. I’m flattered, I think." You muted your microphone, let yourself weep with slightly more sound. Your pain could not be known. Partly because it hadn’t felt right to let it be. Mostly because you were scared. "I'm just... I'm sorry. Who was this person?"

"A dear friend. I'd known them for so long. We grew up together. Shared so much. I never thought I'd have to live life without them. I'm not sure I know how to." There had been a gentle tremor in his voice, though it was not out of fear. He did not agonize over judgment, not with you. Perhaps it's because he somehow knew when he spoke, it felt like he was reciting your own thoughts back to you.

"How long ago was it?"

"Two years ago."

"I'm sure it must not feel that way."

"Yeah... You know, I haven't taken a picture since?" He admitted and almost laughed at his own absurdity.

"Why's that?"

"It would require me to open my photo album, to see all the pictures we had. There's so many. I can't even bring myself to look." This was only half of the story. The other part was that he didn't want to capture life through photos and suddenly make it real. His camera roll void of moments that were without them. He never left denial. It was the safest stage of grief. One that did not catalyze death.

"Jesus. I know grief never really stops, but it doesn't even slow down, huh?"

"Pretty much. Um-" His voice didn't have the strength to silence his pain and neither did his eyes. "We used to always go to this cafe together, even when we were definitely too young to go alone. Our parents weren't the most careful, but that's another story. Anyway, it was always like a safe place for us, a second home. They took me there when I got in this huge fight with my dad, bought me hot chocolate. And I took them there when they came out to their parents, and were threatened to be sent away to some camp. It was an empty threat, but still. It was uh, actually the cafe we met at.

It's dumb, frankly. I just sit in there for hours and hope that maybe, if I wait long enough, they'll walk through the door and everything will be normal again. I'd get to see their smile. Hear their laugh, talk about their day. I could wait forever, live off scones and lattes. I still remember their drink order, still want to order it when I order my own."

"Jimin. It's not dumb at all. It's quite possibly the most devastatingly beautiful and human thing to do." It was out in the open now, the way you were weeping for him. No possible way to hide it, not when he'd offered such genuine pain to you. You tried to picture everything he told you, to honor the life that had been lost by making it real in your head, making them exist in the world even more by searing it into your memory. You felt it was the least you could do.

"Think so?" He didn't want to talk over the phone anymore. Now, he wanted to be able to see your face, whatever it could reveal to him, perhaps wipe your tears away. "I've never told anyone this. I'm sure they wouldn't see it the way you do."

You thought it parallel to a crime to know what Jimin does and think of it as anything but the utmost act of love.

"This whole time, it must have been so confusing for you. So hard to find hope. So lonely. And still, you're this... you're kind and unafraid of love, even when the worst of life tries to destroy the very idea of it. You're the one mourning someone, and you still listen to me cry over a stupid boy who broke up with me." You laughed, not out of humor. Perhaps remorse or irony. "I- It's unfair, someone like you had to go through this. All that love you have. I wish you had somewhere to put it."

"You-." Even though the subject matter had been locked in the rawest, most painful part of him, he felt warmth, felt your care blossoming in him like Spring. "I feel so seen with you, ___. I can't tell you how much it means to me. How much you mean to me."

"You... mean a lot to me too, Jimin."

It was true, he meant a lot. The fine print of said meaning was something you decided not to examine. For now.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

You already knew Jimin would be at the party. Hoseok was always so quick to share intel about the social life you were never so keen on. You could only contribute to socialization within the parameters of Hoseok. With him, you'd been able to hold conversations, elicit a laugh or two, garner acquaintances that exchanged nods as you passed by them on campus. Though, nothing seemed to stick with you. Those connections were a spark bound to fade.

This made you wonder how long it would take for Jimin's interest in you to expire. Even though you knew your connection with him was much deeper, you saved room for disappointment. Old habits die hard and this one felt immortal.

Your clothes could barely do its job tonight. Resting slightly askew, seams etching discomfort along your sides at just the right angle. But you'd already tried using this as an excuse to skip the party. The taxi two minutes away from the address denoted how weakly your complaints pushed against Hoseok. He knew how hollow they were, and hadn't bothered refuting such backless protests.

The music spilled from any opening that would allow it. There was some form of chaos contained in the house before you and Hoseok. You were incredibly out of your depth, hand gripping your friend's forearm. He winced, trying to fend off the slight burn at the sinking of your fingernails.

"Alright. Game plan." He turned to you. "Let's immediately try to find something to get us more drunk."

You nodded along like a cadet following orders. It made Hoseok chuckle, seeing you stiff and earnest.

"Just relax, ___" He ran his hands up and down your arms. "We already had like two or so shots, it shouldn't be too hard to get tipsy enough to enjoy ourselves."

You appreciated how he used inclusive language like 'we' and 'our'. The two of you, a team. He involved himself in your feelings, ensuring you never actually took to heart how truly out of place you were.

"Sure, sure." Your agreement only surfaced because of a six-year and counting trust in him. "Just need to find some vodka or something."

"Yes! God, I love drunk ___. You get so giggly and excited." He smiled, leading the way to the front door.

Inside, a tumultuous scene laid out like a battlefield. There was nonstop movement, a body always knocking into another, a place more exciting than the last. Your hopes to source any kind of alcohol began to recede. It wasn't a particularly overpopulated party, but you could feel the hunger, how rapidly these people took to abandoning their sobriety.

"Follow me!" He hitched his voice to a half-scream, barking an order that sounded more like a warning since he held your hand tightly and began dragging you mid-sentence.

"Okay!" You were lucky to be caught in Hoseok's wake. A few unknown faces recognized him, making way with an eager greeting.

"Hoseok, what's up?"

"Hoseok! Finally showed up!"

Many more renditions of these circulated on the way to find drinks. One person, however, hadn't crossed paths with you yet. You warded off disappointment through your continual search for him.

The mini bar sat against the back wall of the room, a few people departing as quickly as they approached. To your delight, it was still stocked, generously so.

"Who the hell is hosting this party?" This question was provoked by the sheer amount of alcohol and variety in this corner of the world.

"Honestly? Not too sure, but they're probably rich as fuck." He responded, already sifting through the options.

"Hey, glad the two of you made it." This was the first person to signify your presence, acknowledge your quiet company with Hoseok. You knew it had to be him. You knew, because suddenly, you captured that rare sense of belonging.

"Jimin!" Hoseok may have voiced excitement, but it had not surmounted yours. As you turned to him, you felt your words catch in your throat.

It was nothing spectacular, nothing you'd remember on anyone else. His hair styled in a way that accentuated the beauty dressing his features like a picture frame. His loosely fitted button up, undone at the top, sleeves folded halfway up his forearms, revealing just enough to want more.

"Hey!"

"Hi!"

The two of you had indecisively stood across from one another, unsure where to go from here. Your bodies a soft rebellion to the movement surrounding you. How easy it would have been to reach out, collect his warmth as your own through embrace.

Hoseok broke the stillness, handing both of you a shot glass full of something clear and pungent. Jimin watched you take it from him, steadying Hoseok's erratic movements with your palms, hands so gentle they made him into something delicate, soft, easily broken, and yet shielded from harm by how your fingers curled over his skin. He watched, treading in wonder of what it felt like to be touched in such a manner by you.

"Okay, cheers!" You spoke through a laugh, interrupting Jimin's reverie.

The shot slid like hot coal down your throat. Hoseok's face contracted into itself while you steadied your breathing to keep it from coming back up. The punishing taste nearly made all this not worth the trouble. But tonight, you wanted to breathe again, to throw fear in the air, even if it meant there would be a crash landing. Tonight, you left your grief waiting at the door. Jimin had done the same.

"Okay another!"

"Damn, ___! I didn't expect you to be such a..." Jimin cautioned, making note of your spirited smile, "wild card."

"Oh this?" You'd finished pouring a second shot, holding out the bottle to the lip of his glass, alcohol eager to fill the emptiness. "This is just free therapy."

"___'s kidding. Kind of. It's like the only idea I had left that might pull them out of their slump." Hoseok explained.

"Ah, yes. The heartbreak." Jimin spoke as though it was an admittance to something.

"He knows?"

"He does." You confessed on behalf of him.

"How?"

"The bridge."

"The bridge." Hoseok's emphasis on the word assigned notoriety to that moment that was now referred to as ‘The Bridge’. Had your eyes been on Hoseok's investigative grin, you would have been more subtle. Jimin was too magnetizing. An affair of longing and reticence traveling from your smile to his.

"You know, I'm very excited to see how this goes." Jimin toasted, another shot of liquid courage burying your inhibitions as you gulped it down.

The three of you basked in laughter, excavating a bit of the tension. The fragments of your joy felt so complete with them, pulling from the bottom of your gut and falling into your hands like a long lost friend.

About three more shots in, you had to allocate more attention on where your feet landed. Your hands frantic for a crutch when your head couldn't provide stability or balance. Hoseok would be given hell for breaking the pact, wandering into the dance scene when he heard his favorite song playing. But you had Jimin, and Hoseok must've known that there was security for you in that, one more reason, besides him, to stay.

"Jimin!" Words sloppy and undressed of reserve, you let them rise from a part of you not often shown to the public eye. "You know something about you!"

"What? Tell me." He smiled. Tequila was a convenient scapegoat for how his hand found comfort on the groove of your waist, how your body curved against the invisible partition once held firm by sobriety. Jimin labored to keep his heart rhythmic upon feeling your torso fitting into the crooks of his so neatly.

"You, Jimin," Your hand slammed into his chest, "You are very, very troublesome for me."

"Why's that?" A glint of hope painted his words. His cheeks were a shade of desire that nearly formed a plea in the soft, pink expanse.

"Because..." The fabric of his shirt was welcoming as you inched your hand lightly along it just to feel the texture, and nothing else. At least, that's what you told yourself. "I was safe."

"What do you mean?" Curiosity settled in.

"I was safe," You rolled your head off kilter, a result of the drunken lapse in your neck muscles. His hand was quick to cradle your head back to the close quarters. "I was just in my own little world... I could just mope around all day. I was so close to being okay with loneliness. And then you came along."

You felt that your skin being the only part of you shared with him was not enough now. The boundaries contrived of fear had withered, and holding your bodies tightly together hadn't sufficed for the closeness you craved. You wanted to feel him in ways not derived from physicality, like if you pressed your hand deep enough into his chest, it would be no different than his own beating heart.

He had a mole on his neck. For some reason, you loved that he had a mole on his neck. Your finger had disobediently grazed against it. He tried not to let it show physically how it excited him, but you took notice of his Adam's apple rising then falling.

"Jimin." His name formed like a prayer in your mouth. "What do I do now that you've become a part of my world?"

"I-" He took in air sharply through a clenched jaw, hoping courage would follow suit. "I can't decide that for you."

Jimin embarked on his usual journey along your face, drifting down to your lips and staying there uncharacteristically long. They twitched under the cinch of his eyes.

"Hey." You whispered. "Can I- I want to..."

Before continuing, you drew in close. You barely spared any space between your soft breath and the shell of his ear.

"Kiss you."

"Yes." He swallowed what was left of his dignity and let the chill of how your fingers ghosted along his neck calm him. "I mean... please. I want you."

"Jimin." You pleaded back, only to make him, this moment, more real from the utterance of his name.

His thumb flushed restraint away from you, sliding down the curve of your cheek and gliding across your lower lip. There might have been a better, more responsible way to release the pressure building between two bodies needing more from one another. However, it didn't matter. Not when your thoughts stilled, when he took his lower lip between his teeth in an effort to make himself pliant so you could decide what was going to happen, when the world quieted into a whisper, then silence.

A collision transpired, erupting from the friction of your lips tangling messily, greedily into Jimin's.

He kissed you the same way he danced, soft and experienced, as though this was something he had rehearsed for. How many times had this moment been a fantasy starved in Jimin's mind? You couldn't bring yourself to find an answer, to care. When the warm flush of his tongue introduced itself to you, everything in you was dedicated to giving sustenance to him.

His hands held you, moving in ways that only brought you closer. Jimin was pulling threads loose, unraveling into a mess that only knew how to want you. Your back was warm where his need pressed into you, and you returned the favor with how your hands brushed into his hair.

"___." His voice, echoing into you, speaking life into you. Reinventing you, through the way he said your name. "Not bad too bad of a kisser."

Both your eyes had been lidded, found it difficult to open them and make what just happened real. But he knew your smile emerged, feeling your lips stretch into joy.

"Shut up." You nudged him. And when his body leaned, yours followed, crashing against him like a tide on the shore. You opened your eyes, feeling emboldened yet slightly unprepared. "Jimin."

Open your eyes, you pleaded, I want this to be real. I want to be found by you, now.

And when he did, his finger wiped a tear away, one that did not ask permission to fall. Something in your body had sunken and fear had infiltrated where desire had once sat. What could he possibly find in you that Taehyung couldn't? What could you be for him if not the remnants of someone he loved more? This was maybe too advantageous, too much for your brokenness, his brokenness to handle. You cried harder, but remained soundless.

I'm falling out of love with you.

What if it happened again?

"Don't cry. I'll shut up, if that's really what you want." His joke landed him another smile from you. "Did I- Was this not okay? Not what you wanted?"

"No!" You said with such immediacy. "I- it's exactly what I wanted. I'm-"

"What's wrong?" You hated when he did this. When the confusion, the implausibility of it all had lost its stake. His tone, it was comforting, tempting and made this so difficult.

"I don't know. But there's something wrong with this... with us." You'd stopped trying to figure out the tears, but he had not stopped his hands from cleaning up the mess of frustration falling against your cheeks.

"Why? Why does there have to be? Why can't it just be simple? Just a person who kisses another person. Why can't it be right for you?" He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of this.

"It's just not, okay? I haven't figured it all out but it's not. There's too many things. Both with me and you." Jimin winced when you freed yourself from his arms as though you'd severed off a body part of his own.

"___. Don't do this. Just stay." He managed to grab hold of your hand, holding tightly. Holding, thinking it was the only way to keep his limbs intact. "Please, stay."

"I can't. It would be too hard..." You ran your thumb over the back of his hand, trying to soak in what he felt like. "to keep myself from you. And when- if I kiss you again..."

Jimin's eyes set fire to the spark in your body.

"I want it to be right. For the both of us." Your feet found its grip, all the empty noise clearing away for your voice. Because you knew you were right, you hadn't felt this determined for something in a long time. Whatever it meant to make this moment right, it would be something you found out for yourself.

"If that's what you need." His lips pursed. Words he'd wanted to say sealed for your sake. "Can I see you again soon, at least?"

"Of course." Your hand fell to your side, finally, resigning once again to solitude.

He nodded, already forgiving towards the things he never knew he could miss from someone other than his late friend. You saw hope strangled into disappointment. You wanted so badly to keep true to this promise, only if fear would allow such grace.

"Bye, Jimin." His heart jumped. There was a faint finality in your farwell.

"Bye , ___." He watched you leave, losing sight as your body was swallowed by the crowd. It looked the way the light filters through the trees, like starlight that finds a pocket to hide in during the day.

You found it was easier to just let the crowd move you rather than moving yourself. You knew it would land you somewhere on the outside of the mess of dancing and laughing and talking. On the way, you spotted Hoseok, smiling and dancing so radiantly.

"Hobi!"

"___!" He grabbed both your hands, leading you into a groove to the music.

"Very funny." You played along for a bit, only because you hadn't been able to spend a lot of time with him. "Hey, listen! I'm gonna go!"

"What?" He bent down so he was in a better earshot of you.

"I'm leaving! Going home!" The frenetic swaying around you only reminded you of why.

"Why?" His voice, tense and sharp, made you laugh, only to ease his worry.

"It's okay, Hobi! I had a great time, I'm just tired!"

"Okay well I'm coming with you then, just give me a few." He said decidedly to which you shook your head with more firmness.

"No! You're having fun. I'll be okay." You brought him close, hugging until his body was convinced away from tensing. "I'll text you when I'm home safe."

You knew that offer would deliver the final blow, his protectiveness satiated.

"Okay, love you, ___. Thanks for coming. I hope it helped you."

On the one hand, Taehyung had only entered your mind once tonight. Admittedly, this was an accomplishment to some degree. Memories staying put, for the most part, staying exactly what they were supposed to be: memories, and not the past persisting through grief. Your mind kept busy with more pressing matters.

"I think it did help, actually. There are some things I need to figure out. Love you, Hobi."

He nodded, archiving the questions he'd already begun forming for a later time. You smiled and made your way to the door.

The air was crisp, abundant. A slight breeze pulled the residual heat of the party from your face. You knew things would be different after tonight. Whatever conclusions it could make about Taehyung, or endeavors it would make with Jimin, all that lied so far from where you were now. For now you stood still, eyes shut, and let your hands unfold at your side, waiting to receive.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

“I came here as fast as I could.” Hoseok panted out with hands full of two wine bottles and an assortment of snacks. You smiled, even a meek laugh found its way between the fever of your tears. “God, look at you.”

He ushered past you, setting down the empty calories and alcohol on your counter before swiftly wrapping you in his arms. At this, the tears began to grow furious, your breath ruggedly thrashing against your throat and lungs. You weren't sure where exactly your hands were holding, just that they tightened around him, and it felt as though your rage could not hurt the world when he held you like this.

“Hobi…” You said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” He tried not to let it scare him, the way remorse plunged a fist into your heart. There was no reason for you to be apologetic towards him, towards anyone. “___, I’m worried for you.”

“Hobi, I just don’t know what to do. Why? Why is this so hard for me? Why can’t I just fucking get over him?”

“Because, it is hard.” Hoseok’s hand secured your head onto his shoulder, slowly growing damp from being a receptacle for your crying. “I wish I could take your pain away from you. You don’t deserve this. I mean, you guys were planning to build a life together. I saw it too, saw how much dedication your relationship seemed to have.”

Your legs felt weak, burning where the muscles strained to hold you upright. Through instinct alone, Hoseok slowly kneeled to the ground and kept his arms around you, leading you to sit in the nest of his body. He felt this was all he could give you, his entire body. Skin to skin, exacting hollow and desperate demands that some parts of your ache would displace into him. He hoped it would be enough this time around.

“How could he do this?” You spoke rather softly now, the ebbs and flows of your emotions were an unbridled wind storm that had suddenly decided to let the air stay where it was. “Hobi, everytime I try to get over him, I feel this emptiness. It scares me. I feel like I am nothing without him. How did I let that happen? How did I lose myself?”

“Even if you did, lose yourself, that is, that doesn’t mean you are lost completely. Because there’s so much of you that I love, that I have held onto. And I didn’t fall in love with Taehyung’s partner. I fell in love with you. And to me, no matter what, you are always going to be the person I love.” His hand brushed through your hair, repetitive motions that seemed to wash away your anguish. “You’re still my best friend. I think that should count for something. You are so much more than you could ever know. I haven’t lost you yet, and I plan on keeping it that way.”

For a while, both of you had stopped talking. The only sound repelling a stark silence was his soft breathing.

“___, remember the first dance competition I attended after I got that bronze medal?” He asked. Your lips parted, but sound had receded somewhere deeper than your throat. It was too difficult to reach for it, so instead, you nodded plaintively. “I told my own parents not to come. I was so afraid of losing again. I didn’t want to give anyone except for myself the disappointment of my failure. Of not being good enough."

It surprised you, how openly he spoke about his fears, especially since those fears were surrounding dance. He was perfect, and still he was afraid. The whole world, it seemed, sought safety in their own ways. Even the most skilled dancers could fear a stage.

"I don’t know how the hell you even found the stadium in the first place." He chuckled, the delicate rumble in his chest was nourishing when it echoed through your ear. "But when I finished my performance, there you were. Exactly two rows from the front. You showed up. I remember exactly how I felt. In that moment, I was good enough for you no matter what. I was good enough. You loved me more than I could ever love winning. That’s the kind of person you are. To this day, before my performances, I close my eyes and imagine your little hands clapping like crazy, your eyes entranced with me all those years ago. You’re the reason I still dance today.”

You looked up at him, and him down at you. He smiled because your eyes never changed. The way you looked at him, it never changed at all. “I know it’s hard now. But you will get through this. I know you will. You need to show up for yourself, the way you showed up for me, again and again.”

You couldn’t deny this, deny the friendship that survived the harsh shift of the seasons, and many things do not make it through the Winter. But you and he always had. As your grief ripped through your body like a dam corroding, water pulsing through as though it was your own heartbeat, when the ugliest emotions emptied, you were left with one thing. You were left with love.

“You’re right. I know I can still do it. I know because I will never stop loving you, Hobi. There’s a lot more I need to figure out, but I’d say that’s a strong start.” Your arms regained something you hadn’t known it was missing, and whatever it was, it allowed you to hold him back, the way he held you. “Thank you, for helping me believe again. For believing in me.”

“That’s just what we do, ___. Always. Promise me when you do find yourself, find whatever you’re looking for, that you’ll let me stay by your side?” He asked out of courtesy, because he already knew your answer, could feel it as your chest rose and fell against his.

“Always.”

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

Jimin watched the stars vigilantly. There was a credence stressing at the dead center of his eyes. He thought he was going to miss something. Some sort of astronomical miracle.

He’d never seen a shooting star. It felt juvenile, how he clung to the rail of his apartment, how something so banal was arresting him away from sleep. The breeze snuck beneath his shirt, but he ignored how his body searched for warmth. He needed this tonight, to glean anything but a cold-shouldered stillness in the night sky, to come face to face with something and watch it come alive.

In some impossible way, this might make sense of it all. What he felt for you, what you meant to him, when it's right to hold on, and when it's time to let go. How could he know when his heart was shrouded in grief, when he sought answers in the sky only to uncover even more silence, a galaxy of questions he couldn’t answer. He felt audacious to think the stars uncertain where they were fixed along the dark canvas above. The falling of one would be submission to clarity.

All he knew was that he wanted to call you and that your voice, gentle and steady, was perhaps the only remedy for a silence so formidable. All he knew was that when he reached for an answer himself, he found his hand, instead, reaching for his phone, to call you.

Jimin hadn’t tried guessing what reasons you had to pick up, just that when you did, and your voice heavy with sleep filled his ears, he was grateful to them.

“Jimin.” You almost sounded pleased. “You know it's two in the morning, right?”

“I lost track of time.” He said, half-invested in responding to you.

“Mm.” A pause traveled between your phones. You, tucked under a drowse, felt your eyelids weaken. You spoke, breaking the undefinable silence just to keep awake. “What made you lose track of time so late at night?”

“I was just stargazing.” The reverence softened his voice into a whisper.

Of course. You thought. Of course Jimin was stargazing the night before he had an 8:00 a.m. class.

“Can you come over?” His voice remained a whisper, but it blared through the phone like a scream.

“What?” You said, only so he would repeat it again.

“Come over. Please? You said we would see each other soon, but you haven't reached out.” When he said this, your heart ached, punishing you with sharp pulses.

It wasn't necessarily that he was persuasive. You were already out of bed, staring out of your window, watching the same sky Jimin was. “Okay, I’m coming. Just give me ten minutes.”

Jimin exhaled. His restitution felt a bit more grounded, like he was moving in the right direction. And as you drew near to his apartment, the sky had lost its might. With you here, the world below felt brighter than any light the sky could offer.

You knocked. It felt too formal; you were compelled to just wait at the door, hoping your presence alone would summon him without having to sound it out. The door was eager, quick to open. Jimin’s hair was lazy, falling tiredly on his forehead. It was new to see him this way, the rawness of him, the way he looked right before he let himself sleep, let his guard rest for the night.

You looked the same way to him. Raw, intimate, vulnerability taking over where your body softened for sleep.

“Thanks for coming.” He reflexively pulled you close. The incident at the party afforded him an inclination to hold you, and you to hold him too.

“It's nothing.” You let your exhaustion spill out, soak into Jimin through how you leaned against his body as though it were no different than a bed. “I-”

He loosened his arms, not to let you go, but to soften the embrace a bit. It somehow made you feel more held by him.

“I missed you.” You said.

“I missed you too. Watch the stars with me?” He felt your head nod, then pulled away to lead you to the back porch. The outside air did not offer the same comfort as his apartment, but as you sat down with Jimin, he was warm. You didn’t need to take cover inside to keep the cold at an arm's length. Never, when you were with him.

“I’ve never seen a shooting star.” He admitted. You thought it endearing. He would be someone who cared about experiencing the simple wonders in the world.

“Let’s change that.” You asserted such conviction in this, as though it were not up to chance, but will. “Tonight.”

He smiled, eyes peeling from the sky to catch sight of you. So beautiful, He thought. You felt his stare, a presence against your face that resided with fondness in a way that made you nervous.

“If you keep staring at me you’ll miss it. Eyes up, Jimin.” You commanded, and he obliged more out of respect to you than the heavens above. The stars looked so dull, entirely unimpressive compared to you.

"It's funny." He spoke of a thought that must have ruminated long before he said anything. "It's funny what you notice when you spend enough time somewhere. What stands out to you."

"Yeah? What did you notice in all your days at that cafe?" You asked.

"Lots of rude customers. Tired employees. People living their lives as fast as they can. And..." If you were looking, you'd see the smile that crept on his face. "And you. I always noticed you."

"Really?" You were suddenly aware of how close you were to him. The night winds felt like nudges, quiet urges to move you even closer.

"Yep. You didn't live your life fast, didn't feel like you were trying to escape it. And one day, you just stood at the back of the line, for almost five straight minutes. I thought, 'What are they waiting for?'" He kept the realization private, that he saw himself in you. A soul in waiting.

"And you must have thought the answer was some overly familiar writer and dancer who stares at strangers more often than appropriate?" When you laughed, he laughed with you. It was simple, a momentary feeling of delight. And it still managed to mean the world to both of you.

You were amused more than taken off guard when you heard a digitized camera shutter go off. When you looked over, you saw the aftermath of a secret photo being taken. His hands moving sharply down to his lap and a smile covering up his tracks, like a kid caught doing something they weren't supposed to.

"What was that?" Your expression cut in half, eyebrows furrowed and mouth half-grinning.

"Nothing!" Jimin locked his head towards the view of the sky as though it was true.

"You're so weird." You said and it hadn't sounded like an insult to him.

"You just looked too beautiful." Your heart would not still at this. You couldn't bring yourself to figure out what it meant, that yours was the first memory to be memorialized in his camera roll since his friend died. It was far bigger than you, more than you could ever understand. Your mouth opened for a response that wouldn't come. So, you said nothing.

Five minutes passed, though it felt much longer. Silence stretched out time like a marathon, leaving you desperate for rest, for time to stop altogether. Still, you remained pensive, even went so far as to sparse out your blinking just in case it caused you to miss a crucial glimpse of the night sky.

“So, why exactly do you want to see a shooting star so badly?” You asked, your voice protruding from your mouth as white clouds.

“Dunno. I just want to.” It was an unconvincing, partial truth. It hardly satisfied you, but you let it go for now.

“You know they say some of the stars we see right now have died long ago.”

“Really? I didn’t know.” Jimin felt daring, placing his hand over yours, bracing for you to either pull away or push closer. You chose the latter and his breath released with a smile.

“Mhm. Even the stars as they appear above us now are actually what the light looked like long ago, since light takes a long time to travel and stuff. It’s like a little time capsule don't you think? A way to see into the past.” You turned to him and gathered his beauty. His eyes reflected the stars, but the longer you stared, it seemed maybe the entire fabric of the sky, all the beauty scattered along it, had been fractals of light from his eyes.

“So, one of these stars…” His pain surrendered to tears, nearing collapse as he continued speaking. You wanted to cry too. You would have, if only you let yourself. “Maybe we’re actually seeing it burn when my friend was still alive.”

“Maybe… Definitely.”

You acted as though the stars appearance didn’t take light years to travel to Earth. Much longer than any human walked along these grounds. For him, you wanted it all to be true. That the stars were time capsules, delivering a much less distant past back to us when the world rests, reminding us how love remains in loss through how light remains even in darkness. For him, each and every star would persevere when someone’s life did not have the same chance to.

“That also means,” His hand fastened around yours. “There are stars up there when your heart wasn’t so broken. All those stars…” Using his other hand, he gestured to the specks of light, “They remember the person you were before that wasn’t full of pain and loss. I hope they remind you that your happiness is enshrined into the universe. That some piece of the universe burns brightly as a reminder that you can love again. That you will love again.”

If it was true, what Jimin said, if you would love again, you knew precisely who it was you wanted to love.

“Do you think the stars will remember us?” At this question, he turned towards you.

You're going to miss the shooting star. You caught the reprimand in your throat, and instead let yourself be seen. You couldn’t protest. Not when he seemed to see beneath the shell of your being. When he looked at you, his eyes were full, and in turn, you must’ve been the fullness that made it so, your soul flowering petals, becoming real, becoming yours.

“I think the stars would recite prayers just to get the chance to burn for us.” He was a romantic. Everything about him moved in order to love the world. You wanted to do the same thing.

“If that’s the case…” You kissed his cheek, a brief warmth traded where your lips touched him. This time, it was you who left him with a parting gift. “Please, trust me. I will come back for you. But I need to be there for myself right now.”

I will come back for you.

He never knew it would be so consoling to hear that, couldn’t have guessed that it would make him want to wait for someone other than his late friend. But when you said it, the stars rewrote themselves for you.

“I'll wait for you, ___.” He let go of your hand.

You walked away, but differently from how you had done so with Taehyung all those months ago. You made strength into something much kinder than a weapon against pain. You made it into love. Your footsteps were resolute, even as they took you away from Jimin. The stars that had yet to burn would remember your promise, would someday become a light of hope in someone else’s night.

You took the long way home tonight.

For so long, you thought happiness would be a product of you belonging to the world, finding a place or person that would accept the shattered, unfinished mess of your soul. But right now, you didn't need Taehyung, Jimin, or even Hoseok to find a warmth that made itself seen through your smile. This moment, it belonged to you, this was something you could call your own. The world settled, the stars echoed their light like a song, the night stilled for a brief moment so that it could be a part of you.

The starlit streets had shed a calming, generous glow, allowing a blanket of light to tuck yourself into. You were alone, though the usual bout of distress or longing hadn't intruded on you. When you peered back up to the soft stars, you loved how its light made the world look blue, like a galaxy full of possibilities.

I am the world, too. Your whisper hadn't reached the ears, hearts of those you missed. But it reached you, and you felt as though that made it just as meaningful.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

Three months. It’s been three months since you had seen Jimin. It’s been three months of breathing slow in the midst of terror, shuffling from class to class, spending time with your best friend, painting everything that made you smile and everything that made you cry, locking doors without the need for his reminders, and rediscovering the beauty life had to offer you. Three months, and you felt that there was nothing fragile about you. Not in the way your arms held onto all the things you had to love, including yourself, especially yourself, or in the way you moved against gravity, against the odds. Looking back at your memories with Taehyung no longer felt like you’d unearthed a corpse. It felt like something sweeter, like watching the sun set or clouds pass by overhead.

On a particularly warm Sunday evening, you wrote a letter to Taehyung, though you had no intention to actually send it out to him. It was something to soothe your soul, to let go of what you once believed to be your future and embrace the unexpected.

Dear Taehyung,

I wish you knew how afraid I was. Then maybe, we could make more sense of what happened to us. I loved you, and a part of me will always love you. I think that’s exactly what scared me. Loving you meant so much to me, maybe more than it should have definitely more than it should have. You told me that I never let you close enough. And you were right. But not because I didn’t want you to be close. I just didn’t know how, didn’t know it was even possible for someone to want that from me. I don’t even think there was enough me, enough humanness, personhood, whatever you would like to call it. There was nothing that you could get close to. I hadn’t learned at that point what it meant to be my own person. That’s what made loving you so natural to me, so necessary. I was shapeless, like water, filling any container that would accept me. Did you feel it too, Taehyung? Did you feel the way my entire being spilled into a mess on the floor when you emptied yourself of me?

Perhaps I should thank you for knowing this was not enough, not what a relationship should feel like. Because in never becoming someone for myself, I could never truly be at peace. I felt like it was all I was good for, loving you, and when you left me, the one thing that proved my worth was gone. I worried maybe this meant I hadn’t deserved to love you in the first place. I realize though, it was never that.

What I was looking for was always in me. I need to understand myself, to be kind to myself. Nothing can tell me what I deserve except my own actions. I want to move forward with bravery and acceptance. It’s still scary, but I know there’s so much life for me to experience, for me to fall in love with. It never had to be you. I do not need to be a person that lives for others only. I can live for myself, too. There will be a day when I forgive myself for what I couldn’t do for my own heart.

So, thank you, for giving me a chance to live for myself. I understand now that love can look like many things, but letting go is possibly the hardest, most selfless act of love. You have done this for me. I’m still learning things, still growing. But I know that just means I’m heading towards something. Something bigger than what we had. Goodbye, Taehyung.

With love,

___

You didn’t want to be water, formless, waiting to take shape within the dimensions of another person’s soul. You wanted your own soul, something that could house all the allure of being alive. You wanted love to be your choice to make, not some calling that fell into the hands of someone who could never love you in the right ways. And there was a choice you did want to make, someone you knew would never let you erode back into water.

It was 4:30 p.m. If you started running now, you could outrun the odds of being too late. That was on the chance that he would still be there. But knowing him, trusting in the unwavering love of Jimin, you’d take that chance anyday.

The wind divided where your body surged through it. There was a force stronger than your muscles, more willing than your heart taking you to the cafe. When you arrived, the sun settled into a muted warmth. The metal door handle grew temperate from the grip of your hand. The large window framed this moment, almost still, eager to be introduced to movement.

And there he was, patient as ever, occupying the same table, stretching into a love that lied so far away. You never felt more sure of yourself that you could bring it closer to him.

I will come back for you.

The second you opened the door, his attention was stolen from his phone. A number of things flashed through his eyes, as though they were spelling out a eulogy.

“What’s with that face? I told you I’d come back.” You tried your hardest to steady your breathing.

“___.” His eyebrows hiked up high, incising lines into his forehead. Surprise had never looked so endearing to you. “Wh- What are you doing here?”

“Um, you know…” You bypassed asking permission, filling the empty seat across from him. If only you knew, any table he found himself at always had a seat waiting for you. “Just visiting the area. Decided to get some coffee.”

“Were you now?” He was quick to settle back into stride with you. The two of you pretended not to notice that you had no intention to order, hadn't even bothered to get in line.

“Yeah. You know, I was just thinking.” You spoke through a mild suffocation. Breathing was still precarious, but it had not been due to the running anymore. “I think I have to stop waiting for things to ‘feel’ right.”

“You think so?” It was the same charming lilt in his voice, but you developed a familiarity with it. You missed him.

Had he missed you too?

“I do. I have to start living my life. Even though it’s hard and sometimes right and wrong aren’t very obvious. I do know I’ll be one step closer to finding that ‘right’ I’m looking for if I try. Try everything, but especially love. I want to try at love, whenever I’m given the chance. You helped teach me this. And because of you… I mean…” One more sigh, and you welcomed air into your lungs with ease. “I could be spending this Friday evening doing anything else.”

“But you’re here.”

“I’m here.” When you answered, it wasn’t only for Jimin. “I used to be so scared of the things that make me happy.”

“And now?”

“You make me very happy, Jimin. And I am not scared of you. And if you’ll have me, I’ll stay.” You sighed, took his hand, and intended to never let go unless he asked. “I'll make sure that when you wait in here all day, you won’t be waiting alone."

"You don't need to do that." He said, smiling through tears.

"Why?" Your heart pounded.

"Because you're here now." His other hand covered yours. "I don't have a reason to wait here anymore."

The most skillful thing a writer can do is to choose silence and eventually, action.

The momentum of his racing heart led him to this, to his lips reuniting with yours. This time, it wasn’t starvation that fueled his kiss. It was far more buoyant than before, deeper as you cupped his cheeks. You pressed your lips harder into his as though to test the boundaries of your skin.

When you’d burned through the momentary passion fostered from two hearts colliding, he turned his face into the caress of your palm, leaving behind a chaste kiss there too.

“___.” Jimin’s whisper left a compassionate chill in your hand.

“Yes?” It didn’t take long for an urge to reconnect your lips to settle back in when his thumb grazed your jaw.

“Let's go home.” His eyes were brimming with tears, finding company with your eyes, love flowing freely between them.

It wasn’t important where home was, just that hope emerged when you nodded, allowing him to move on from this memorial overrun with inhibitions. He was ready; he wanted this cafe to be embalmed in something sweeter than aimless longing. Perhaps, grief in its most loving form, the kind that does not keep him static.

Even as the mouth of worry formed into a grimace, neither you nor Jimin turned away. Your skin was bound through a commitment, one where water is water and you are human, flesh, bones, blood and all.

You passed through the door as if it was an altar. There was a vow embedded in your departure, communicated through your hands lacing into his. To grab hold of the goodness wherever you may find it, to look for it, and most importantly, to love yourselves enough to untether your hearts from the tired grip of the past. Because neither of you belonged in the past anymore.

It was undeniable. The only place you belonged was in this moment, one that brought you and Jimin together.

“Look up.” He said. “Beautiful, isn't it?”

Your gazes lifted into the sky. The night was tepid, the most beautiful shade of blue, a calmness making the air around the two of you weightless and open.

And those stars.

“Yes, it is.” Yes, we are. You recited again, to yourself.

“Let's give them something to burn for, my love.” He said, guiding you forward, guiding you home.

╌──────────═❁═──────────╌

a/n: i hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! take what you need, leave what must be let go. embrace love in all forms. as our boys say, love yourself. i believe in you. <3

#bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts writing #bts x reader #jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #jimin fluff #bts fluff #bts one shot #jimin one shot #bts fanfction #bts strangers to lovers au #the stars as they appear above us #ephemerlskies

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obscurecharactershowdown · 1 year

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Before I reveal the contestants, I want to shout out some characters that didn't end up getting in, for one reason or another, but stood out to me

Prince Peasley (Superstar Saga): I mentioned him as a character I really enjoyed learning about, but since he won the Luigi ship competition, I'm unsure of his obscurity status and he may overpower the other characters. I'm sorry your highness, please know I love you

Francis York Morgan (Deadly Premonition): I was stunned to see not one, but 2 people submit this character. I'm endlessly entertained by his weird ass game. He would've been a shoe in had he not been submitted twice. Sorry buddy. Also if he was I would've put in my own propaganda, consisting only of this image

and a video of the squirrels that make monkey noises

Crow T. Robot (Mystery Science Theater 3000): the only reason he's not in is because another MST3K I consider comparatively more obscure was submitted, but I am going to post part of the propaganda for him now because I really loved it and it would be a shame if I was the only one who got to read it:

i have to take a chance on crow, for he is my #1 blorbo and my favorite mst3k character since forever. i charted out a whole TIMELINE for him and there's like. 4-6 of him just existing in various locations. he's shaped like a friend. he can be folded into a torpedo. he has legs and i constantly forget this until he has them on-screen and i'm like OH SHIT this guy is mostly leg (he's around 5'4"). he managed to kill mike (the human guy he lives with in space) TWICE on accident and neither time stuck. all of his presentations are insane and completely factually inaccurate. he claimed women were myths like bigfoot in a short-film style black and white presentation. he's friendly/friends? with pearl, one of the main antagonists (and a woman, who he just claimed didn't exist). he can play the trombone. he just kinda bounces up and down sometimes and is so shaped. he spent 500 years alone because he got bored of being pure energy at the edge of the universe after five minutes. he wrote patrick swayze christmas, the only christmas song ever. he's constantly doing t-rex arms. he keeps falling from extreme heights. to a few ancient romans he's a spider-duck god. he's a bit of a pyromaniac. he went to thanksgiving in deep 13 and walked away unharmed (everyone else got poisoned). he causes an illusion in the theater where it looks like he's staring at you instead of the movie. he's an absolute menace. he contains so much gender yet none at all. he's different! he wants to decide who lives and who dies, and i think he should. he is simply so guy. ty for reading my crow rant sorry for the wall of text

Thank you for this. I love Crow and MST3K too, you are in good company

Mister Qi (Stardew Valley): In the propaganda section, the submitter wrote: "He sucks and I hate him. It'd be really funny if he lost." and it made me laugh

Chuck Cunningham (Happy Days): The submitter's dad told them to submit him and that was also funny to me

Vincenzo (kdrama of the same name): Submitter's dad has a crush on Vincenzo <3

Pioneer 9 (17776): This was the most submitted character, with a total of.....4 submissions! Wow!

Husky (+Anima): This is the second most submitted character, with 3 submissions! I'm sorry to you both but this means you are automatically excluded from being picked for the competition.

Less specifically, shout out to the many characters who were just barely well known enough to drop out of priority. And the major characters/protagonists of major series. A couple were clearly jokes, but several were not.

And all of the characters from albums, commercials, various Real Life Things, myths, some OCs, etc: I have a plan for you. It's not the main bracket, but you are not being left out here. More information on that when the time is right.

Thank you for all your submissions! The list of contestants and their matchups are coming soon!

#obscurecharactershowdown

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fleetingcalypso · 21 minutes

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Hello love! i'm absolutely enraptured by your writing. If i could, i'd love to request a Henry Winter x Reader enemies to lovers? Like an absolutely cut-throat academic rivalry that culminates in a dramatic fight and reconciliation at Francis' house? Thank you!

≋ Sometimes attreactions blossoms even in the most hostile of places. I'm sure having Henry's life could only benefit from having a rival, turning his world upside down, keeping him on his toes. This is one of my longest works yet, also one I'm not too keen on, nonetheless I pray it captures your interest.

≋ Henry Winter x GN!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 4582 words.

≋ TW: mentions of dr*gs, consumption of alcohol, violence (Henry receives a slap in a moment of ire), Edmund "Bunny" Corcoran.

I remember when I initially stepped foot in Julian’s office: most of the words he spoke are lost in time but one thing is forever stitched in the fabric of my memory, he patted me on the shoulder as an affectionate mentor would and with an award winning smile he said, “You’ll fit right in.” It made me feel validated at the time, like I had a place in the world, a bird fallen out of its nest reunited with its family at last. He wasted no seconds in telling me how he would usually limit his students to the odd number of only five, but he could tell there was something about the way I carried myself that would not disturb the peaceful routine he had meticulously crafted.

Classes with Julian were anything but peaceful, to my displeasure, not because of him, not at all. He was a splendid instructor, I often found myself on the edge of my seat with each one of his words. With no surprise, I was not the only one placing him on a crystal pedestal.

One single man made each class feel as though I was being tortured by demons, poked by sharp pointy tails. Each of my comments was brushed off, deemed useless and void of meaning, each paragraph, line, even a single word I read was followed by a deep voice interrupting me and correcting my pronunciation with great emphasis. Thankfully, I had found friends as well, other than a snake spiraling around my ankle, threatening to consume me whole.

The root of all of my headaches, as much as I’d love to strip him of his name, is called Henry Winter.

It’s not to say that I’d let him walk all over me. On more than one occasion, I was victorious after our heated discussions about the accuracy of a translated text or if we were to choose one of the five Greek cases over another. Following each argument his jaw would clench and he’d let out a curt “Very well, then,” before turning his head away and acting as if nothing had happened, although I could without fail notice the tension in his body. It was rather easy, for some unknown reason we’d always find ourselves sitting next to each other, so close our knees touched.

“Henry, is there anything you’re unable to do?” One day I asked him, in Julian’s momentary absence, the question felt only natural to pose: with his expertise in various languages and his familiarity with the world in Ancient Greece being so fascinating. The taunting tone in my voice caught the attention of not only my interlocutor, but the rest of our classmates as well. Six pairs of eyes were fixed on me, some looking more amused than others. His response came only after Bunny elbowed him, egging him on, “Ensuring you will not plague my days, apparently,” he said, pushing his glasses further up his nose. The venom he spat failed to enter my system, nonetheless it makes my gaze narrow.

“You always know what to say.” It’s not a question this time, but an observation which he rewarded with a “Of course I do. Lack of words is for the uncultured.” Our interaction was cut short due to Julian returning, but that would not be the end of it.

That very same day, after our lesson was over we all stood to leave, his hand found the spot on the small of my back as he walked past me, as if it belonged there by birthright. Sometimes I still feel it, the memory creeps up on me in the middle of the night, it keeps me awake whilst making me want more and more of him, like a cruel, vicious, thrilling drug I am unable to have a sober day from.

Class wasn’t the only occasion of the day where we would have contrasting thoughts: once, it happened during a morning when all seven of us sat in the library, open books and notebooks scattered all over our table, “This is going nowhere,” groaned Charles pushing the wrinkled paper he was writing onto towards my direction, “Take a look at this. What do you think?”

It stroked my ego that he chose my opinion over Henry’s and by a flying glance I noticed a slight surprised glint in his blue eyes, though he was quick to conceal it by focusing onto the fountain pan in his hand. I wasn’t the only one surprised by our friend’s choice in who should aid him in his translation.

After a short look, the mistake was clear, “Ah, here it is. Your writing is not inherently wrong, ‘Who dares think one thing, and another tell, my heart detests him as the gates of hell,’ while it is correct, it could be worded in a different way, try: ‘For hateful to me as the gates of Hādēs is that man who hides one thought in his mind, but speaks another.’ That should flow better.” Just to be certain - and perhaps to bother him just a small amount - I turned to Henry, “Shouldn’t it?” He didn’t move for a second before humming and nodding, although I might have overheard him whisper “You’re doing too much,” under his breath. When I handed the paper back to its owner I could spot Francis with his hand over his lips, trying to mask a grin, obviously amused by my exchange with our friend.

The amount of times we’ve debated over the littlest of things, it would take all the stars in the universe to count, and it still would not be enough.

“You’re slow today.” He whispered to me one day, when I hadn’t jumped at the opportunity to answer one of Julian’s queries about the Iliad, his breath tickled my ear and sent goosebumps down the back of my neck. It's true, I was slow. Henry's cologne for some insane reason was all I could think about: his closeness to me, as much as it was far by greatly affecting my attention, it certainly was reluctantly occupying a part of my mind. “Have you considered that not every thought should be spoken out loud?” I argued, the left corner of his lips lifted into a crooked half smile, “Interesting. You could benefit from your own advice.” He said, and it ended there. It left me with something I can’t quite recognize.

Ultimately, every day turned into a competition: petty, small things that held my heart hostage, like who was the first to enter Julian’s office at the beginning of the day, who turned in an essay the fastest, whose penmanship was more aesthetically pleasing and whose comments in class were rewarded with more praise.

Another episode in which I thought our rivalry was set in stone, from the very moment he laid eyes on me, happened during a quiet Wednesday, and we were enjoying a delicious lunch at the twins’ place. Camilla had cooked lamb chops, the rest of us had brought refreshments and some side dishes. Henry got a hold of my chair before I could grab it, he pulled it out for me then took a seat in the chair furthest away from mine.

In the middle of our meal, as I was diving in for seconds, Bunny interrupted the calm atmosphere that had formed by being his usual exasperating self and kicking my leg from under the table, “You know,” He began waving his fork in my direction, with his lips still dirty with food, “I’ve always wondered, whenever you look at Julian with stars in your eyes, is it because you truly care about what he has to say, or is it because you’re trying to suck up to him and get easy marks by being a teacher’s pet? He’s too old for you, you know?” From the seat next to me I swear I could hear Charles choke on his food, Richard’s jaw fell open, Francis looked positively disgusted, Camilla -poor soul- pushed her plate away, as the mental image of me being in love with our professor was plastered into her unwilling mind. The only one with no visible reaction was Henry.

“That’s what I thought as well, at first,” He noted, dabbing his lips with his napkin, “Class with Julian is not a slice of bread even the dirty pigeons on the sidewalk can stumble upon. It is only a matter of time before you realize what blessing you’ve found.” He was a master of masking a mocking undertone in his voice, along with an air of superiority which implied that the one thing he was waiting for was for me to blow up, to storm away, pack my stuff and leave Vermont for good.

“Don’t you think assuming my inability to follow lessons with the rest of you is an insult to Julian’s ability to tell whether someone is worth his time or not? If I were him I’d be quite offended, if I can say so.”

The glare he shot at me, with his blue eyes piercing through his glasses, was enough for me to know I had won; the way he was gripping his fork, his knuckles white as ever, let me know that this was not only a win, this was one of his battleships sinking. This was war, as far as I was concerned, it could only end either with an impossible truce or until one of us was dead in a ditch.

Not wanting to entirely ruin lunch, Francis was the one to change the subject. What he said I do not remember, as I was too busy basking in my own subtle victory to pay attention, but it did work and Henry made no further jabs at me that day. The same cannot be said for Bunny, who seemed to find it exhilarating that I would stand up to Henry the way I did and spent the rest of the day testing my patience.

Since that day, life has been notably bloodless between me and the human thorn in my side, with the occasional exception. I’ve come to notice that, when he is not wasting his time trying his best to get on my nerves, he passes as a truly handsome man. It might be something about the sheer size of him, or it could very well be the way he looks at me,his gaze permanently deeper than the ocean itself, as well as his hands, veiny and large, yet rarely rough in movements. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve spent far too many instants passing glimpses at his fingers, as they slide along the pages of books.

If I have to stand in front of a jury of Gods, though, and speak my naked truth - with no censors - I’d probably reveal that what is so fascinating about Henry is the way he is a bottomless well of knowledge about Ancient Greece. He is devoted to it, as he is devoted to Julian and in some sick twisted way I can’t help but find that veneration attractive.

Against my better judgment, I find myself missing our banter more than anything. The way he stared me down used to give me goosebumps, it still does when my eyelids close and I imagine it.

Summer comes faster than I imagine, faster than lightning striking the Earth, and in the blink of an eye I find myself at Francis’s aunt’s house. All of us fell into a comfortable rhythm while residing here, it was a breath of fresh air compared to our daily life. Playing the piano, reading in the vast library, excursions out to the lake, we kept ourselves busy, enjoying the countryside, keeping what -at the time- felt like the biggest secret of our lives from Richard.

At my awakening I was delighted in discovering everyone else was still deep in sleep. I took it as permission to make some breakfast. I had placed two cups of coffee on the table when he made his way into the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and not a single sight of his usual exhaustion on his face. Morning sunlight shines onto his skin, giving it a warm glow, he looks positively saintlike. An archangel descending from the heavens, waiting to be welcomed to my mass, just to notify me that the end is coming sooner than I expect. “I made coffee.” I said, setting a cup in front of him. He looked at it for a moment, just for a moment, before his doubt shrouded eyes met mine, “I have a feeling you’ve poisoned this.” As he was debating whether to accept my offer, Charles joined us. He accepted a cup without a moment’s hesitation, downed it while throwing his head back, then walked off to God knows where, not like I care much.

Henry took a sip only after witnessing that it was indeed safe to do so, I did as well. As the hot liquid met his taste buds I could see him regret he ever came into the kitchen. It was coffee, yes, although unlike my cup which had sugar at the bottom of it, the one he was drinking from had salt in it. A smile tugged at my lips, “Good morning,” I said watching his face scrunch up and force himself to not spit out what was in his mouth. A puzzled look possesses my face as he doesn’t look away from my eyes, not for one second, his eyebrows scrunch while he doesn’t spill a drop of salted coffee, it all slides down his throat. “Good morning.” He replies, coldly, tongue sliding over his bottom lip.

By the time everyone had come to have breakfast, whether it was a glass of wine, whiskey or any drink of their choice, Henry hadn’t moved. With him following my every move, it felt only natural to imagine he’d be scheming something, and my hypothesis would soon reveal itself to ring true, leaving me like a sailor at sea, in the middle of an impenetrable storm.

The sun burns high in the sky, then it slowly melts into the sea, showering the world in tones of red, gold and purple; we spent dawn-to-dark in nature, feeling the blades of grass under our feet, taking turns sitting on a boat floating down the lake and resting by the shadows of the trees with books in our lap, the seraphic nature of the day could have been immortalized in a painting by Michelangelo himself, but no amount of expertise with the brush would be able to capture the unmitigated calm that reigned.

Such a glorious day deserves to have an equally splendid ending, suggested Francis once we retired back to the house. Bottles were hastily opened, alcohol floating in glasses and finding a home between thirsty lips. Inebriation wasted no time in letting inhibitions be on the loose. One small insignificant disagreement accounted as an act of hypothetical insubordination broke into an altercation between me and my nemesis. It went on forever, such an interminable occasion that our friends abandoned us in the kitchen and went on to enjoy their drinks in the library.

“I don’t think you should be here,” His vicious words didn’t faze me at that point, the knowledge that in his idea of a perfect world I was nowhere to be found wasn’t lost on me, “You should get in your car and drive far, far away from where my eye can’t reach.” The first two buttons of his shirt were nonchalantly unbuttoned distracting me for just a moment, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with each sound caught my attention.

“Careful my friend,” I answered, fingers growing cold from the cool glass in my hand, being gripped with an unusual stability given the wine floating in my system, his face twitched at my name for him, “It almost sounds like my very existence bothers you more than one could imagine.”

“It does. Bother me, it is. It bothers me greatly. I don’t think you should be here” He repeats. As magnanimous as I am, I am no martyr. My glass hits the table with a thud, bright red splashes onto the tablecloth as I raise my voice louder than I would like, “What the fuck is your problem?!” Never in my life had I met a human as frustrating as him, “I can’t imagine I’ve done much to you the first day I sat in that office, yet, you’ve been nothing but unkind towards me.”

“What is my problem?!” He pushes himself to his feet, his voice loud to match mine, “You are my problem! You’re always having something to prove, buzzing about like a working insect devoted to the queen bee, it’s exhausting to even have you sit next to me.” I’m tempted to spill my drink in his face, what a sight it would be: savory red drops slipping down his glasses and hair, wetting his cheeks and jaw until it reached his lip. Instead of that I just shove him, resulting in him stumbling a step backwards, clearly not expecting the mouse to fight back against the owl trying to catch it.

“Have you ever even glimpsed in a mirror?! You act as if you’re so all-mighty, like the rest of the world is merely ants under your shoe! It’s nerve wracking when you find someone you can’t step all over isn't it? How does it feel to have found the one person in the world that does not bow down to you?” He enrages me, in all truth. I can’t bring myself to understand why it is, that now of all times, he makes my blood boil, in more ways than one, “Does it turn your stomach upside down? Is it the only thing you can think about?”

His chest moved for just a single, shaky breath and by now I knew I was playing with fire. If I got burned by touching the sun, at the very least it means I flew high enough to touch it. My hands moved again, ready to push him once again however just a breath before my lips could part to berate him even more his hands caught my wrists.

“You’re a parasite.” He hisses, lowering his face close to mine, by my reflection in the lenses of his glasses it is plain to see his choice of words leaves a mark, not on my face as a slap would, but on my emotions, “You’re a tiny, disgusting, parasite. You’ve single handedly infiltrated yourself in my modus operandi and I am just waiting for the moment I can finally take a moment to breathe again. Since the day you’ve set foot in that office I have, not once, had a chance to relax.” My body reacts before I can allow it to do so, the red handprint forming on his right cheek and his glasses being askew -almost on the brink of falling- confirm that I did, indeed, strike him in a fit of rage. How I was able to free one of my limbs from his death grip I do not know, adrenaline does some wonderful miracles.

“If I’m a parasite,” My voice comes out in a low growl, “Then you best pay attention I don’t end up killing you.” The more I stand in his presence, in this kitchen, having our chests rising in synch with the slowest breaths we have ever taken, I recognize just how much we latch onto each other, how we’ve stitched our existence together with an obsidian thread the very first time we sat with our knees grazing.

“You’ll be the death of me.” He admits in a whisper I can barely hear. Had our faces not been as close as they are, I’d probably would have thought he’d been mouthing nonsense. One second he’s all I can see, with his monumental figure blocking everything else, the next he’s walking away from me, his glass of wine sits on the tablecloth, still full, untouched.

Now I know how Pandora felt as she unintentionally let the vase she was gifted almost grow empty, now I could describe in meticulous detail what a bee feels after its first and final sting.

I do not join my friends in their gathering. My chest aches with something unfamiliar, comfort certainly won’t be known for as long as I find myself anywhere near Henry Winter.

The moon has reached its place in the sky by barely an hour now, a pearl glistening onto a fabric of pure pitch-black, tiny crystals surrounding it, making sure it will never be alone forever and ever. I’ve never seen a tapestry as breathtaking as the one mirroring on the calm surface of the lake I’m strolling by to gather my thoughts. Henry is somewhat right, deep inside of me I can feel it, I’ll be the death of him one way or another. He’s the king, guiding his troops and his courtesans from the comfortable seat of an opulent throne and I’m an approaching invasion, inevitable and threatening destruction for the kingdom he has built from nothing, rooted in the deepest of sins: pride. Hubris seems to get the better of us both with each breath we take.

My anger had settled in the brief sixty minutes I’ve spent admiring the darkness, by myself. Some fireflies with their microscopic body attempt to irradiate the entire lakeside with light, oblivious to their size or the impossibility of their mission.

Tirelessly I recount my life at Hampden, every single moment I can recall gets forced under scrutiny: “You’ll fit right in,” Julian had told me, in his eyes there lived a conviction I’ve noticed only during his enthralling lessons. I’ve only ever known him to speak the holy truth, doubting feels like going against everything I’ve ever known. In my solitude I find contentment, time flows steadily, mimicking a river in which nymphs could find respite.

“So this is where you were hiding.” A deep voice rises among the chirping of crickets, “We couldn’t find you at the house.” And just like that the incantation I’d fashioned myself in dissolves in the cool night air, joining the fireflies in their dance to please the stars and the moon. I hear him before I see him. A colorless shadow approaches me, in an impossibly inky abyss of nature, it can only be him; out of all our friends he’s the only one that can tell what bizarre chemical reactions my brain produces, he’s the only one that can read my thoughts like they were the very first lines of the Iliad, because more often than not he’s thinking the exact same thing.

‘The wrath of Peleus' son, the direful spring Of all the Grecian woes, O Goddess, sing.’ I recite in my mind as the barely human shadow only gets closer and closer, ‘That wrath which hurled to Pluto's gloomy reign the souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain, whose limbs, unburied on the naked shore,’ his footsteps stop behind me, he wants to speak as do I, but neither dare utter a sound, ‘Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore: Since great Achilles and Atrides strove, such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove!’

Unconsciously I found more satisfaction in rehearsing the words out loud, “Declare, O Muse. In what ill-fated hour, sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power?” And of course, he continued them effortlessly: “Latona's son a dire contagion spread, and heaped the camp with mountains of the dead; The king of men his reverend priest defied, and, for the king's offence, the people died.” We will never stop trying to compete with each other, it is a losing battle: it’s asking the moon to stop being the unmatchable muse for romance poems, it’s asking the cosmos and all of its constellations to disappear.

“You’re not always honest,” I mumbled, disregarding if he’d consider me weak or frail, ignoring the way I could feel him burn a hole in the back of my head, “Tonight you were what I think is the most honest you’ve been in a long time.” He’s my tormentor just as much as I am his.

His knee grazes against mine in the instant he finds a seat on the grass, next to me. His lingering accidental touch takes a hold of me, it’s addictive. “You are a parasite.” He insists and for a moment I think we’re about to raise our voices at each other again, but then he continues with a softer voice, “You’ve latched into my mind, consuming every corner of my life and I am defenseless to it.”

“What do you mean?”

I can’t perfectly see his face in the moonlight, but if he is by any means like me as I know he is, I can consider correct the hypothesis of his pupils being dilated enough to swallow me whole. He drinks me in, like the salty cup of coffee I offered him, he doesn't leave anything behind, doesn’t waste a drop.

“You’re in possession of a great intellect. For a second in your life, put aside the countless feuds we were active participants in and figure it out. You’re hurling me into unwanted and unknown territory.” I know what he means. He could speak every language in the world and I’d still know what each word signifies, in its deepest meaning. It baffles me that he is able to discern my brilliance. He’d never lauded me so. There’s a first for everything, it seems.

“I am not a threat to your leadership, I’m not trying to be.”

He laughs at my words, to my surprise: dry and void of humor, “It’s not my leadership that’s compromised. It’s my heart and mind. While at first I found our game bothersome and quite frankly childish, I’ve unearthed a yearning for it, so influential on my being that I find myself hopelessly wishing you’d dismiss yourself from my life, with the result that I might go back to when you were not the only thing inhabiting my thoughts.”

“I won’t deny I’ve allowed myself to feel the same.” In the dim lighting we sit, I’m appreciative my confession will be the only truly limpid particle of me, I’m not ready for him to see me as I am, not yet, “I yearn for our arguments, for the furrow in your brow and your disapproving stare with each of our disagreements, most of all I yearn for your stimulating presence. Henry, you’re quite the character.”

“So are you. Impossibly infuriating, and delightfully of the essence for me.”

Our friends are waiting for us, I’m acutely aware of it, nonetheless I find myself giving into selfishness for tonight. It is a long way to go, for us two to build a bridge, but with one brick at a time perhaps it is not only a bridge we can erect, but a whole kingdom, with two thrones instead of a solitary one and no invasion to knock at its doors. If his hand slips on top of mine I pretend I do not notice, just like he doesn’t mention my head resting itself on his shoulder. The lake has never looked better, with a bright spotlight shining onto the calm surface, ripped out the pages of a fairytale. Maybe with enough time and effort the fireflies will be able to shine as bright as the moon.

#fleetingcalypso #calypsodaydreams #henry winter x reader #henry winter #the secret history #the secret history x reader #tsh donna tartt #dark academia #reader insert #writing

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