#and that thin ass elastic headband | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bubmyg · 6 years ago

Text

game, set, love - jhs

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre/warnings: tennis!au, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst (w a hopeful ending), some humor because seokjin is in it, grumpy tennis instructor namjoon is here too, mentions of injuries, lots of tennis terminology (sorry)

word count: 13,466

summary: you like to be on the opposing side of the net from jung hoseok so when you drill a forehand volley through his teeth it can be considered kind of an accident or where seokjin just had to go and tear his ACL.

There’s a specific sound associated with that of a good, great, volley, the satisfying thwack of the thin fibers of the ball smacking against the spaces in your strings, rebounding off the surface and ricocheting into the thin space of the alley. It’s easy to imagine catching the angle instead, aiming the ball for the box just on the other side of the net, nearly impossible for the opponent to sprint to even if they catch the way your body angles.

It’s a more complex shot anyway, the angle and trajectory and the pronation of your wrist just right so the ball doesn’t catch on the frame of your racket and sail out. Cross court is the safer shot. It’s not even cross court, not really, not in the same way a forehand is from your partner. The safe shot is to aim at the other net player, their feet to be exact.

But Namjoon wouldn’t ever tell you to aim at another player and he definitely wouldn’t encourage your favorite net strategy.

Imagine every hanging ball at the net is Jung Hoseok’s face.

“Again,” There was a mechanical whir and the ball machine at the baseline rumbled to life at the hands of Namjoon. He’d emptied another basket of balls into the top, shifting them around with the head of his racket as he waited for the first one to spit back out. “Hit your target areas or I’ll put you on court five and make you do it throughout Seokjin’s session.”

You leaned into a backhand volley, making it spin when it landed. “Noted.”

Another basket of balls and Namjoon was satisfied enough to let you switch sides, nearly tripping into the ball machine cord as he rolled it aside. Your arm had just begun to ache on your third basket, neon yellow littered in a sea around your trainer’s feet, when the door to the courts of the complex slammed shut.

You were distracted by the wave of Namjoon’s arm as he began to nudge through balls toward your side of the net and the incoming ball caught on the neck of your racket, dribbling sadly down your side of the net. You hit the next one properly for the sake of Namjoon’s knowing glance at you, a single cocked eyebrow letting you know he was still watching even if he’d nearly rolled his ankle on your most recently hit ball. There was a flash of yellow in your peripheral, not a stray ball from one of the courts over the mesh nets that separated them, and you gaped as you lost your stance.

Hoseok was looking directly at you as he shrugged himself out of the massive bag perched over his shoulders, dropping it rather unceremoniously to the bench between courts. He was every shade of yellow, sweatbands, slick t-shirt, the stripe down the sides of his shorts, the laces on his white shoes, the headband peeling back faded blonde hair, like he’d just stepped out of an athletic magazine for pretentious assholes who thought the sport was all about the matching clothes. A smirk twitched at his lips as the clinking of rackets in his bag sent your water jug toppling to the ground.

Your racket clutched at your torso was the only thing keeping the next ball that fired out from smacking into your chest and you huffed, halfheartedly swinging to catch the next ball on your strings instead of on the handle.

“If you’re done, go turn it off and start picking up.”

You glared at Namjoon because why the fuck is Hoseok here? but that question didn’t come out, instead a sickly sweet, “Am I done?” as you jerked your racket to hit another sloppy but angry ball onto the other side of the net.

“You’re done. Pick up.”

You snatched an empty hopper en route to dodge another shot that barreled from the machine without someone on the other side of the net to intercept it. You only managed to collect three balls before you made it to the small black box, flicking it off and silencing the courts into the chatter of the two individuals on your court. A dent was barely made in the sea of balls surrounding the opposite end of the court but you only wanted enough out of the way to make a path for Namjoon and Hoseok, approaching with the half full hopper bouncing against your thigh and your racket tucked underneath your arm.

“What’s next, coach?” You pointedly dropped the hopper, crouching to snatch up your water jug from where it’d tumbled just in front of Hoseok’s shoe. He nudged it toward you and you resisted the urge to pop the lid and let ice water spill through into his socks.

“I’m going to have Hoseok take some serves for a little while…”

He had two crooked fingers in parted bangs, brushing them aside the elastic of his headband and he smirked when you quipped, “I meant for me seeing as this is my training session…”

“Relax,” Namjoon glanced between the two of you, “You’ve got twenty minutes to deal with being in the same general proximity. I think you can handle it.”

“Twenty minutes?” One of Hoseok’s dark eyebrows nudged underneath the seam of neon green on his forehead, “Tapping out early? I get it, conditioning has never been your forte—”

“Seokjin’s coming in,” You gritted, “Then we have a joint practice.”

“Ah,” He flicked the hair he’d just fixed, dropping his racket from his chest to properly grip in his hand, “Your better half.”

“Could kick your ass.”

“I don’t accept challenges from doubles players, sorry.”

“Enough.” Namjoon’s fingers brushed yours aside, taking the hopper from you to turn it in nimble fingers, effectively spilling all the balls you’d worked to pick up. When the bouncing had subsided for the most part, he stretched the wire basket back toward you. “I thought I told you to pick up. All balls. Every one you miss is a lap for Seokjin.”

“...as for you—”

Albeit satisfying, forcing the image of Hoseok to conjure on the surface of the ball hurtling at you over and over and over becomes not only frustrating, but mentally taxing with the bubble of discontent that burst in the pit of your stomach with even the ghosted hint of his stupidly swollen cheeks above tiny little dimples indented into his smirking lips. The real pleasure came when it was the real thing standing on the opposite end of you, way out of range from where your shots were meant to be landing but there, tangible and an easy target if you wanted to face the wrath of Namjoon after welting a bruise on the face of the tennis club’s star singles player.

Hoseok paused in between serves, as if expecting you to do the very thing your mind craved, shuffling on his feet as the ball bounced from the flick of his wrist to the surface of the court. Namjoon stood opposite of him, serve in his own hand with the stipulation that you had to get it back cross court regardless of it was out or not. No matter how out it was. You’d barely taken three off a low, slicing bounce on the corner of the box when Namjoon was holding up a single finger in your direction, crossing the center line to nudge a hand under Hoseok’s elbow when he raised his arm to serve.

There was a certain aura about Hoseok that made your blood boil, from the content nod he passed Namjoon, stepping out of his grasp and disrupting his serve routine but making it easily with barely applying the correction. It’d always been that way, skills coming easily to Hoseok that you’d kill or pay or both to acquire in a years time. He’d won a game before you on your first day of tennis camp, a tiny elementary student with the ball perfectly balanced on the end of his racket as he terrorized everyone near him with screams and flailing hands that made others go scrambling after their balls. He’d learned to slice before you, a tiny middle schooler with clunky running shoes on and a sleeve stretched over his elbow that he’d seen his basketball player friends wear, doing the shot to you two seconds later in a practice match that had you stumbling head first into the net in front of thirty thirteen year olds. He’d made the varsity team before you, taking the last unofficial but official spot because he beat you in a third set tiebreaker when you were still adjusting to ankle braces the trainer said you needed to wear and there was never time the rest of the season to challenge him again.

You’d joined the tennis club first, however, a youth instructor during college until Namjoon had found you taking serves after a group lesson and coaxed you into a pickup match and eventually to try out for the competitive team. As a manager of the club by the time Hoseok’s application came across your desk, you had half the mind to shred it, but your degree and your job position knew better. Hoseok was Namjoon’s friend. Park Jimin had just left a singles spot open on the competitive team.

You decided you could put up with him. If he stayed out of your way. He had since graduation.

But of course he couldn’t. Switching trainers to be with Namjoon. Taking the open locker next to yours when there were, at minimum, seventeen free ones. Wooing your middle school group lessons to the point where they asked for him to teach.

Standing in on your training sessions just weeks before the first of regional qualifier matches.

“Are you awake?” Your cheeks burned at Namjoon’s call and you glared at Hoseok just because you knew he’d be laughing. He was.

“What are you doing?” He continued to scold and you continued to flame, “Back up. And step toward the middle. You aren’t a twelve year old trying to protect your backhand anymore.”

You didn’t move, setting up to take the next serve directly down the line, a fiery ball that bounced lowly just in on the baseline before smacking Hoseok hard on the knee. You twirled your racket as you stood, eyes on your watch and Namjoon’s tight sigh helped with your curt exit.

“Go. Send Seokjin in.”

“Who let Hoseok spit in your lunch?”

You glared at your doubles partner and he giggled, leaning against the locker next to yours as you began to yank clothes out of it, sweatpants and a hoodie and the dangling fabric of your lanyard with your car and house keys attached.

“You joke—” You slammed the metal so hard you hoped it reverberated through the walls to the courts, “—but he’s out there. He was out there during half my training. He’ll probably still be out there for yours and for when I get back. Who knew going undefeated two seasons in a row earned ass kissing from your trainer.”

Seokjin quirked an eyebrow as you struggled with a leg of your sweatpants, cupping a gentle hand on your elbow. “Yeah. Who would have ever guessed. We should try it.”

“We’re regional runner up.”

“Runner up…”

“Look, fuck—”

“I’m aware you hate everyone today, don’t remind me of those who beat us last year,” He held onto your arm until you cinched the drawstrings around your waist, “...look I’m not trying to be an asshole. But when you go home, can you do something for me?”

You glared with the hoodie curled in your fists until Seokjin continued, deadpan, “Crawl into your bed. I know it’s not made because you had an early lesson this morning. Shut your eyes. Then roll over and get up on the other side. Then come back for our joint training.”

If you wouldn’t have got caught in the head of your hoodie, your fuck off would have been entirely more effective.

Seokjin held up two hands in solace anyway, his bag hiking higher on broad shoulders. “Just saying. I don’t need drilled in the back of the head with your serve. Again.”

“That’s only happened twice.”

“Four times,” He wiggled four fingers in front of your nose, “All Hoseok induced. It’s the I can’t stand Hoseok serve. Otherwise known as us losing a point immediately.”

“Whatever,” You stretched your lanyard around your neck, smacking his hand that continued to wave in front of your eyes in order to step around him, “I’ll be back.”

“Bring me an iced coffee from McDonald’s?”

“...you don’t want an apple or something?”

“Yeah, apple slices from a happy meal would be amazing—”

Fresh from your apartment, ankle braces shed in favor of your knee brace, and a happy meal with an iced coffee in hand, you shouldered your way back into the complex. It was silent in the middle of the afternoon, no one aside from the staff, competitive teams, and adult patrons milling around until the children showed up for their evening lessons.

Rather, it was normally silent. And the lobby area followed the same routine when you settled the brown paper bag onto the front desk, no one at the tiny row of bleachers set in front of the window for viewing, no clinging lockers or running shower heads in the locker room. Instead, through the window, figures rushed by. Back and forth. Up and down. A squinted glance and you registered the neon yellow blur to be Hoseok. Then Namjoon. Then one of the other tennis pros who had been on the far side of the complex. Namjoon again.

Namjoon catching your attention by means of wide eyes and frantic hands.

“What?” You didn’t know what you were running for but your slide on sandals weren’t a tripping hazard as you dashed after Namjoon, “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t turn over his shoulder but it was easy to make out his loud it’s Jin when you saw the crumpled heap of your doubles partner, shoulders slumped against the glass viewing window with his knee curled upward to his chest.

“What? What—” You ran out of your sandals, socked feet sliding into a crouched position, “—what happened?”

Seokjin’s ears were painted in red, not the same color as when members of an opposing team complimented the width of his shoulders on a changeover, but one that traveled upward from the pained purse of his lips, curling around the lids of shut eyes. A soft groan let some tension from his shoulders and he tried to roll them out when his eyes curled open to look at you.

“Took a fall,” He tried to smile more so for your benefit, “Thought I could get to a corner backhand. Didn’t have you at the net to cover me.”

“What hurts?”

Seokjin blinked, “Darling, it’s my knee.”

Namjoon was back, dangling fabric bandage in hand but Seokjin batted it away immediately. The trainer agreed with the sentiment, arm around Seokjin’s ribs as he fumbled to a crouched position, tugging. “Come on, let’s get you to the hospital.”

There was a muted shock that numbed at your stature as you watched your normally bright and bubbly double partner limb feebly at the grace of Namjoon off the court, racket forgotten at the far corner of the court, water bottle and bag untouched and forgotten. Three steps after them to the door and you remembered there was another individual who’d witnessed the incident, too.

“I’m coming with you.”

You glared at Hoseok, clammy hand slick on the screen door. “You’re not.”

“I wasn’t asking,” You bristled at his hand coming in contact with the small of your back, coaxing you through the door, “I’m driving. Also not up for debate.”

You didn’t have much energy to be disgruntled, ducking into his sports car without the top on and your first thought was that it’d probably rain because why wouldn’t it. It was a second before he jammed the keys into the ignition, a roar of an engine where you gladly wouldn’t be able to speak to him any longer.

“Is it bad?”

Hoseok squinted, not bothering to yank expensive sunglasses from the cupholder. Instead of verbally answering, he nodded.

The next question, quipped, “Did you do it?”

He sighed, wrist limp on the top of the steering wheel and his breath visibly stuttered in his chest.

“I can’t believe we’ve got to a point where think you need to ask me that.”

“So it’s torn?”

“Absolutely ripped to shreds.”

“And there’s no miracle of science that can heal you in a month?”

“The only miracle that powerful is—”

“Your face, yes, I’m aware,” You touched the back of Seokjin’s hand, IV’s covered in thick plastic bandages, “You couldn’t have just like, fractured it, huh?”

“That’s now how it works and—” He winked, “—I don’t do anything half-assed.”

Your fingers curled a bit tighter between the spaces in his own, letting your smile fall with your chin to your chest and a miniscule shake of your head. Seokjin watched you, steady gaze without falter when you looked at him again, tight lipped and with a shrug.

“Guess we won’t even have the chance at runner-up this year.”

He shrugged, equally as carefree laced in disappointment as you. There was barely a hesitation from that movement to the part of his lips.

Seokjin corrected, “I won’t have a chance, no. But you can still play.”

You scoffed, drawing your hand into your lap to pick at a stray piece of skin still clinging to your cuticle. “What, in a singles spot? Not a chance.”

“Surely you can find someone else to play with,” Seokjin’s eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead, “What are some options—”

“You got hurt less than six hours ago and you expect me to have thought about a new partner already?” You glared at him at his smile grew into the dimples in his cheeks, “Well I haven’t, Jin.”

“I would have. I want—”

You held a hand up, the other coming to scrunch your closed eyelids between the stretch of your fingers. “I don’t want to hear about your fantasy doubles partner.”

“Not even if it’s Venus Williams?”

“Fuck, is she an option? I would have traded you out yesterday.”

Seokjin beamed, “Seriously, darling. Ask Namjoon to find you a new partner, if he can. I’ll be the one at the finals waving two crutches around.”

“Can we attach streamers to them?”

“Obviously…”

“Sit.”

Your iced coffee sat first, cubes clicking dully against plastic, a ring of condensation immediately soaking into the chipped round table engulfing the majority of the conference room. The metal folding chair bumped against the wall with the proximity but you managed to squeeze onto the ripped upholstery, fingers trailing upward on the cup to twirl at the straw.

Namjoon, meanwhile, continued to shuffle stacks of paperwork from within an unbuckled orange binder, registration fees and scribbled rosters and a calendar with a poetic picture of a live tennis ball smacking into an ambiguous line, in no matter the circumstance. A neat pile turned messy when he shuffled the papers again, and finally he settled with three stacks, ends overlapping visibly so you could count the number in each pile.

“We have two options,” He fingered at the end of a piece of paper that hung over the edge of the table, effectively creasing the dull yellow sheet.

The ring of condensation expanded into more of a cylinder when you dragged the cup closer, noisely slurping from the straw as Namjoon sighed. “Mhmm?”

“We add an extra singles spot to the roster,” He fished out the piece of paper, pointing to the empty cell at the end of a complicated spreadsheet. “It wouldn’t be too much trouble. You’d just have to place in at least two of the four remaining qualifiers to make it to the regional. I haven’t researched the competition much but that wouldn’t be too much of a far fetched feat. Trying doesn’t hurt either, seeing as the club is currently paying for a spot that’s not being used anyway.”

You pretended to consider it for a moment and even if you wouldn’t admit it, tiniest part of your conscious seriously considered it. Instead, you nodded, straw still balanced in the center of your bottom lip as you hummed for him to continue.

“The other option is we find you a new partner,” Namjoon’s expression grew considerably greyer, reaching for a different stack of papers this time. His shoulders sagged as he shucked aside the top piece face down, “and of everyone in the club, only three players are currently eligible to take on such a role.”

“And of those three players…”

“One is Park Jimin who I, evidently, have yet to throw paperwork out for. I tried to call him, regardless, and his loyalties lie with his new club. Not that I blame him…”

“The next is Jeon Jeongguk,” Namjoon eyed you through annoyed eyelashes, another paper slapped onto the wobbly table, “...who has preexisting eSports obligations during two of the qualifying matches.”

“Which leaves us with one option—” He peeled the sheet away, nudging it toward you. It messily fluttered but you managed to drag it closer by only wetting the corner with the excess from your cup. A stat sheet with an invoice for lessons scrawled across the bottom, two things among other numbers you passed through in a rush to try to find the name but Namjoon spoke right as your eyes scanned the block printed characters.

“—Jung Hoseok.”

You slapped the paper down into the puddle created by your drink, drowning his name much to Namjoon’s audible dismay. “That’s fine. It was a good season while it lasted but I think I’ll just wait for Jin and the next circuit to begin. You can turn my Friday lessons back over to me early, if you like, since we won’t need to train any longer—”

Namjoon murmured your name, gentle like the way he pried Hoseok’s stat sheet out of your clutches in order not to tear it in the way the delicate width of it was soaked through with caramel water.

“You did used to play together, you know. Well, might I add.”

Hoseok was your first true doubles partner, put together by a student coach on your university’s club team who had no idea of your ever growing distaste for the loud, and then, brown headed man, seeing as Hoseok never left your side during practices, was seen walking you home, among a few things. You were good together, good enough to beat surrounding universities, at the very least. Good enough to stay out of each other’s way, lack the communication of normal doubles teams for the most part, win in silence and easy, truly a silent but deadly duo.

He was never openly cocky, never a keyword as his extreme humbleness seemed to further your not-so-maxed distaste for the man who’d now messily bleached his hair where bits of brown continued to poke out in reverse highlights. At least, not until you ran up against some sizable competition in the finals of the university club tennis championships, his first instinct to insert his vast knowledge in skill in place of your lack of communication while you responded with the same resistance that you always did, except now with a hint of I knew it.

You lost and Hoseok took his slip up as a confirmation of your horrible impression you not-so-subtly had of him. You took it as a confirmation of what you’d thought all along.

“There’s a reason we stopped.”

“A good one?”

You fumed, the water beneath your palm evaporating into steam that, quite literally, could be billowing from your ears if your cheeks heated anymore. You tried to stand, push the chair back, but it lodged against the wall and you stumbled on the leg.

“Good enough for me.”

Namjoon muttered your name again, once soft and again an octave firmer, waiting until you stopped flailing between the rungs of metal to order again, “Sit down.”

“Your already have your answer—”

“Sit down,” He seemed disinterested as he began to carelessly shove papers back into the open flap of the folder but you knew better as he added a quieter but insistent, “Please.”

The back of your knees knocked into the metal ring around the seat of the chair and you sighed upon impact.

“Can you do one thing for me?”

You blinked and your fingers were back to fiddling with the straw. “Depends.”

“Try,” Namjoon closed the folder once everything was tucked semi safely inside, letting his fingers fold into a neat fist on top, “Just try it. We’ll double training sessions so that you’re ready to play in that exhibition match next weekend. If it’s a disaster, I’ll pull your team. It won’t affect you next season and it won’t affect Hoseok’s singles bracket.”

“What do I get in return?”

“My undying appreciation,” Namjoon took your lack of immediate no as you folding, rising to his feet with the folder tucked to his chest, “and maybe I’ll buy you muffins for your morning sessions.”

“I have another question.”

“No, you can’t use Hoseok as a human volley target just because he’s your new partner—”

“First of all, I haven’t said yes yet—” You leaned back in your chair, water dribbling onto the front of your shirt as you brought the straw to poke between your two front teeth, “—secondly…”

“...have you asked Hoseok?”

“Absolutely not,” Hoseok’s watch clinked against the table when he placed both palms flat, shoulders tensing pre-stand, “Anything else?”

Namjoon was a bit firmer with Hoseok than he had been with you, pinning him to the spot with a glare and even you shivered when he hissed, “Sit down, Hoseok.”

The man in question let the tension sink from his shoulders all the way into his wrists, settling his cheek into one palm instead, ringed hand attached to his watched wrist pattering an off beat tune into the wood. After a second of Namjoon staring at him with a single raised eyebrow, he folded his fingers again, the sound of his jewelry rebounding off the wood making your eyes roll back in your head.

“Let me put it a little clearer—” He glanced at you, serious albeit the comical raise of both eyebrows, “—and I’m not in any way trying to hurt your feelings, but I don’t play doubles. I have the singles championship to worry about.”

“Who said you were going to win that,” You grumbled into the knuckles curled over your mouth.

Hoseok’s lips parted, hand flattening in your direction, “I never said I was going to win—”

“Listen to me,” Namjoon exchanged a pained glance between the two of you and you could see his hair greying at the roots.

He turned to you first, “I already know how you feel. I don’t need your input at the moment, not yet.”

Your face heated but you slumped in your chair nonetheless, trying to ignore Hoseok’s stare at the side of your face no matter the expression he had. Especially if that expression was one of sorrow or apology.

“As for you,” The shrug of Namjoon’s shoulders into his hands he began using to help him speak was exasperated, “I’m not trying to take anything away from your training for the singles championship. If anything, this will help. The extra training sessions. The ability to play high level doubles. Everyone should have to play at this level of doubles at least once, if you ask me.”

He jerked a thumb in your direction, “Season’s over if you choose not to play. Which is fine. I just think it’d be a waste of that position. A waste of potential grants for the facility. You know, we could use new quick start nets for the kids but—”

Hoseok groaned but there was a hint of laughter to his tone, “Oh, you’re going to guilt me with the children then, huh, Joon?”

“—but, most of all, it’d be a waste of potential,” Namjoon’s admission silenced even the annoyance brewing in the pit of your stomach, “There’s too much potential here to let an entire season’s worth of work go to waste just because of a little bad luck and two stubborn adults.”

There was an uncomfortable shifting between the two of your chairs and Namjoon took that shade of silence to continue, “Today is Saturday. You train every day twice a day with me until next Friday. We go down the street to the exhibition match. You—” Namjoon pointed the end of his pen in Hoseok’s direction, “—kick Park Jimin’s ass in the morning. Then the two of you kick whoever’s ass in the afternoon.”

“If you don’t do well, which I doubt, then we’ll call the whole thing off. Hobi can continue on to be king of the tri-state area in singles tennis and you can have your six to eight year olds back on Friday evenings,” He finished with a sigh, like he’d just rang seven consecutive laps around the perimeter of the complex, “Yes?”

There was a hesitation and it wasn’t a yes but a sure that grumbled past your lips, one that was mirrored by Hoseok when his chin met his shoulder and he spoke to the tattered shag carpet below.

“That has to be a yes,” Namjoon pointedly glared at you, “From both of you.”

“Sure,” Hoseok waved a dismissive hand under the watchful glower of his longtime friend, “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it.”

You saved the theatrics for glaring at your expression in your mirror. It’d be soft and unsure, just like the murmur that you spoke directly to Namjoon’s awaiting features.

“Yes. Let’s do it.”

“Again.”

You hadn’t sweat this much since it was a fall temperature, almost winter with the whip of the wind, in an early morning clinic in high school only to be summer, extremely so, by hour two and you hadn’t brought anything else to change into and had to suffer with bulky fabric curled around the entirety of your upper half.

You grunted into the forehand, force so much your body tumbled forward a full pace to where you’d been before. The ball sailed past Hoseok at the net, landing at a sharp angle where Namjoon sat in wait.

“Not deep enough,” Another ball was fished from his pocket, prepared to feed to you again, “Again.”

You hadn’t been this sore since you’d forgotten your proper shoes at your apartment and hadn’t had time to go back, taking a hundred serves in low top, completely flat converse that rubbed raw blisters into each pinky toe and made your knees hate you more than ever.

Your ball landed past the service line this time, past where Namjoon stood next to a full basket of balls. He considered it until it thumped against the back wall, rolling sadly to a stop upon impact.

Another ball snagged in the nylon of his shorts.

“Again.”

It was unintentional, a footwork error, the force in which you leaned into the swing of your racket just late enough to have the ball misshit, bad. If there hadn’t been a person in the way, it would have caught in the center of the net, collecting with a few others that had unfortunately met the same fate. But there was a human there, barely crouched like he should be, head hanging low with his racket poised up at his face.

The ball smacked into Hoseok’s waist, the sound audible and the force of the ball so great it shot off in the opposite trajectory as before.

Namjoon had barely turned to dig for more balls to fill his pockets, another again lingering on the tip of his tongue when Hoseok straightened.

“You did that on purpose.”

He was equally covered in sweat, dirty blonde sticking in uneven pleats down the side of his headband and you’d never seen his cheeks so pale and sunken in. His tank top was pasted to the defined planes of his torso, splotches coating his back similarly and it even shone down into the rivets of his bulging calves.

For once, “I didn’t.” Your racket drooped lazily to your side and you heaved in some much needed air, “I swear I didn’t.”

“See, I know you’re lying,” He dabbed the soaked sweatband on his wrist into his bangs, “That doesn’t just happen. Not to you.”

“But it did. It was an accident,” Your grip tightened on the sweat stained handle of your racket, “You’d know if it was on purpose.”

“Okay,” Hoseok kicked a ball, one of the ones displaced by a former shot of yours that had hit the net, “Do it correctly, then. Get it deep in that corner—”

“I know where it needs to go.”

“Then why haven’t you hit it one time yet? Forget your horrid topspin technique…”

“Who’s the coach here, Hoseok?”

There was a distinct sound of spilling tennis balls, ones from the cart Namjoon had carefully dumped over until each and every one of the hundreds of balls littered around his feet. He spoke coldly, knuckles anemic where he gripped his racket two his chest in two hands, “Don’t look at me. I’m done.”

Hoseok watched after Namjoon while you continued to stare at a droplet of sweat contouring the slope of Hoseok’s nose, your attention only diverting when your trainer paused in the doorway.

“Come tomorrow with a better attitude or don’t come at all.”

“And pick all of that up before you leave.”

“Are you ready?”

You glanced at your bare feet shoved in some slides, loose sweatpants rolled twice at the hip and stained university hoodie where it draped over your torso underneath your key lanyard. The next glare was directed at Seokjin, propped half on the row of lockers, half on one of his crutches.

“...to play?”

Seokjin rolled his eyes, “No. To go watch Hoseok—”

“Why are you in here, by the way?—”

Heart shaped lips bloomed into a drooping tulip, shuffling on one crutch. “Just because you replaced me doesn’t mean I’m not still part of the team.”

“I didn’t willingly replace you—”

“Are you coming or not?”

You resisted the urge to throw your keys directly at the tiny hole in the brace supporting his knee. “Coming where—”

Seokjin cocked an eyebrow and you smacked him with the wallet part hanging off your keys, letting him work his way through the weased laughter of amusement at himself before he finally shrugged.

“Don’t know I guess, darling. I’m going to watch Hoseok though, so if you’d like to sit here for another five hours, then be my guest.”

You paused as Seokjin shuffled, retrieving his other crutch and settling it underneath his arm. He was one swing toward the door when you sighed, “Is he playing Jimin?”

“Yes.”

“What color hair does Jimin have?”

“Does it really matter? He has those tight shorts on—”

“Oh fuck off. I’m coming, I’m coming, slow down, you’re faster on those things then with two good knees—”

You navigated into the fairly crowded set of bleachers outside the first court of the outdoor complex, taking a seat on the first row while Seokjin tried to balance his crutches against the fence with muted squeaks of protest. He finally went for flat on the ground by the time the players on the court were nearly halfway through the match with Hoseok in a comfortable lead.

But he didn’t show it, sweat pouring out from underneath the dark blue headband that contained the flattened part of his hair, white sweatbands pressed against his face between each point, groans of effort emitting off the surface of the court every time he had to strain for a corner shot from Jimin.

He made eye contact with you when he jogged to the fence to retrieve a loose ball, a serve way out by Jimin, tucking it into his pocket with blind eyes as he instead stared you down with parted lips. He nodded, barely, the smallest acknowledgement that shook the sweat stained ends of blonde hair, splattering more to the dark blue patches that made his shirt stick to his torso.

Seokjin nudged you, “His hair is pink right now, I guess.”

You tried to pretend you weren’t eyeing the peak of Hoseok’s thighs where his shorts rode up on his sticky skin, spluttering, “You think that’s pink?”

“Well it’s not blue.”

You managed to avert your gaze enough to notice that Seokjin wasn’t lying to get a rile out of you, it was pink, cotton candy in variety and fluffed in waves even if he seemed to be sweating as much if not worse than Hoseok. It was your mouth that betrayed you in the end, ranting, “Blue? Why would it be blue? Blue sucks really. Who would dye their hair blue—”

Seokjin watched the side of your face with a smirk pressed into his dimples and knuckles curled across his lips, “Maybe I should have warned you about Hoseok instead of Jimin—”

“Hey, will it hurt if I punch your scar right now?”

“Probably, why?”

“Good, turn toward me a little bit—”

You grew comfortable in your absent stare at the loop of Hoseok’s shoelaces, one through a whole tightened, repeat. They were a different pair than he’d worn in the morning, white now, with what appeared to be a strip of pastel purple shoved into a sleeve on the side of each shoe. The laces were similar, a soft hue that looked delicate in Hoseok’s nimble fingers, a woven melody that seemed to overlap Namjoon’s droning words in the back of your conscious.

“Are either of you listening to me?”

Your grip tightened on the straps of your bag as your gaze jerked away from comfort and it was the startled part of your mouth that gave you away before you could even try to lie.

Namjoon’s palms hit the bench he’d been perched on with renewed fervor, shaking his head as he stalked for the doorway. “I don’t even know why I try. All I ask is that you don’t kill each other out there. Otherwise, I’ll see you afterwards.”

Hoseok grunted as he straightened, joints cracking as he deliberately twisted his spine in time with hiking his foot up higher than necessary to push it off the elevation he’d been tying his shoe.

“Don’t need him anyway, right?” He teased.

“Since when do you not have to listen to your coaches?”

The sunshine curved upward into the apples of his cheeks immediately flattened, turning downward even as his chin curtly cocked.

“I didn’t see you listening to him either, princess,” Hoseok heaved his bag onto his shoulders, smile returned but anything less than inviting as it had been before.

Your features burned, “That’s not—”

“Whatever.”

You made every excuse possible to debunk that the expression on his face was not one of genuine pain.

You didn’t stop from the firm shake of hands with each member of the opposing team to the gravel around the trunk of your car where you, rather unceremoniously, dropped your bag from your shoulders to dig around for you keys. You’d just snagged the end of them, buried underneath a couple stray balls and a shock absorber shaped like a broken heart emoji, when scuffing feet passed by you.

You wished you hadn’t look up.

“Don’t look at me,” Namjoon ordered, hands up, palms wide on either side of his shoulders. He paused next to his own car, three down from your own but he didn’t climb inside, fishing out a binder as he took off back the way he came, “Figure it out on your own.”

“In fact, there’s two of you,” Namjoon tripped when he tried to walk backward and talk to you, clutching the binder to his chest as he faltered, “Figure it out with him.”

But you weren’t in the mood, not after the walking purple highlighter had spent the entire match scolding your technique under his breath and not bothering to communicate strategy with you once, not even when you won the first game on your serve and had them down forty love in the second game.

It’d gone south from there. Two-six, zero-six. Not in your favor.

You didn’t stop from the jam of your keys into the ignition, nearly reversing into a truck that was pulling out at the same time, until you navigated into a kind-of-but-not-really parking spot just on the edge of striped lines in the garage beside your building.

You’d figured it out on your side, not needing to consult Hoseok’s opinion because you’d already come to terms with your season ending while trying to convince Seokjin you couldn’t sneak him out to the nearest Chili’s (it’ll take thirty minutes, no one will even notice I’m gone). You dumped your tennis bag and keys in the foyer, tripping over them with your phone pressed to your nose as you spit out the nasty text message to the bleeding highlighter himself.

I think you know what I’m going to say. Best of luck for the remainder of the season.

You left your phone face up on the counter while you disappeared into face melting steam only the rest of the hot water in your building could produce.

A stress ordered pizza and half the pieces later, you passed by your phone with still dripping hair, droplets smearing onto the screen when you leaned over the device as it lit with a notification. A top notification of five. Three emails, one from Namjoon and business related which meant he wasn’t going to fire you from your manager position.

Two texts from Hoseok.

Thank you.

Dinner at my place tomorrow?

Your burp tasted of pepperoni as you clutched the phone to your chest, bouncing onto your couch with a dramatic hop. One leg propped up on the coffee table. A pillow tucked underneath your elbow.

Disinterested in the recording of a Wednesday night reality show, you tapped with one thumb busy.

Three bubbles appeared almost immediately and you almost puked in the rush to exit out of the application because, no, you hadn’t turned on read receipts just to send him a text.

Busy with what?

You gasped but he couldn’t hear you. Angrily now, with two thumbs I have work at the complex to finish.

An eye roll emoji in response. Followed by a smiling one but not the one with rosy cheeks. The one that looks slightly uncomfortable but also all-knowing.

We’re closed on Sundays.

I do comanage. I have keys.

...so you’ll be over at five?

You glared at your phone and, unfortunately, you could picture he triumphant smile filling up the entirety of your screen. The smallest part of your seasoned conscious said there he goes, cocky again. Your fingers worked before that thought fully traveled to the angel on your left shoulder, the devil on your right controlling your joints as you tapped on your phone.

What’s your address?

You tossed your phone aside as the next message lit up your phone immediately. The address. You acknowledged the text so you wouldn’t have to get the second notification, pulling your knees to your chest instead.

There was a second text because of course there was. A heart emoticon, this time with the blushing cheeks. And three tiny hearts. You sighed and you didn’t know why your singular heart fluttered a bit against your ribs.

Your knuckles had barely tapped against the door for a third time when Hoseok’s sharp voice flit through the sizable gap underneath the door, spilling light into the dim hallway. Shadows danced by the white, small, rounded at the end with little points.

The points explained the sound of scuffling from within, Hoseok’s cooing explained when the door was pulled open from the inside to him crouched on the floor, palm curved around the breast of a brown and white shitzhu. The dog didn’t bark, but it was clear he wanted to get to you, feet absently swimming underneath him as Hoseok rose with him in toe, eyeing the tongue that curled out of the puppy’s mouth with a tender fondness you’d never seen before.

“Hi,” Hoseok bounced the dog once in his arms. “Mickey was excited for you to get here.”

Frozen steps brought you through the threshold, fingers reaching gently for the dog. He seemed to melt under your touch, letting you rub behind and up and down his ears. It was unintentional the way you glanced up at Hoseok, through your eyelashes and with a smile tucked into your cheeks.

You weren’t surprised to see that his wardrobe wasn’t any less when outside of the confining lines of the tennis court. A baggy button up tucked into the waist of tight black jeans, sleeves hanging past his elbows and decked in brightly colored shapes pasted above and below vertical black lines stretched the length of the top. A bright gold watch strapped to his dainty wrist. What appeared to be clip-on matching earrings suffocating his lobes. A thin chain dipping below the first two buttons that were undone. His blonde hair was fluffier when not carefully parted with a sweatband, swept in a flattering bowl across his forehead, more of the brown roots tucked behind his ears.

Even his smile was different, crawling upward in pretty pink lips the longer you failed to break eye contact with him at the close proximity.

You broke the trance by speaking way too loud for the door still being open and for that part of your conscious seeming to forget that this man was your mortal enemy.

“Mickey, huh?”

Hoseok hummed in acknowledgement, wordlessly passing the dog to your arms as he reached around you to tug the door shut. You awed at the tiny creature as he tongued at the apex of your elbow, gently and almost methodical in nature before beaded brown eyes peered up at you.

“He keeps me company.”

You’d been too busy prodding at the dog’s nose to laugh when his tongue darted out to try to chase your affections to notice that Hoseok had already disappeared into the depths of the apartment. You exchanged a glance with the puppy, bundling him tighter to your chest as you trekked down the hall.

Hallway was a relative term, just a few feet of walls on either side before the room opened up into a kitchen, living room combination. Something played on the television, muted, but a program you didn’t recognize nonetheless, curved in by a thick black throw rug and a tattered, red leather couch. Dark grey walls paired with a monochromatic interior theme didn’t match the ratty white linoleum peeking out from corners of various colored rugs.

You were entranced in the most mundane aspects of the apartment, focused on a worn edge of matte black countertop when Hoseok’s gentle voice chided at you.

“You can put him down, you know.”

The dog hadn’t so much as made a noise in your aimless wandering and when you glanced down, you found his muzzle resting on your forearm, eyes fluttering with soft sighs. You cooed, gently rocking him as though he were a child. “But he’s napping.”

Plates knocked together as Hoseok spread them two across the bar, diligent in his work with cocked eyebrows and the beginnings of a smile. “He’s always napping,” He dove for the pots on the stove, a pronged utensil dipping into the depths before drawing out a stringy clump of pasta. The meal was deposited onto the first plate and he murmured, “Better not bring you around too much, he won’t want to walk anywhere.”

You relented when Mickey woke with a soft yawn, jostled by your conversation and the continued sound of dishes. He skidded across the floor with the softest delighted yip!, disappearing around the corner and you could tell by the way Hoseok chirped and glanced down that he was pestering his owner for attention now instead.

“I didn’t even ask,” Hoseok continued to plate the dishes, now spreading a sweet smelling sauce to the top, “Is spaghetti alright with you?”

You hummed, elbows knocking into the edge of the counter to peer at his creation. You lessened the severity of your tone in hopes that he would recognize you were kidding, “A gourmet meal…”

“Hey—” The glint in the wrinkles around his eyes let you know he too was kidding and the tension in your shoulders relaxed, “—it’s all I had here on such short notice.”

“You asked me to come. In fact, you didn’t give me much of a chance to say no…”

“I wanted you to be here,” His final dollop of sauce ended up half on the plate, half splattered on the counter, and he slid the clean plate across to you before ducking for a napkin. The mess was cleaned with scrunched features, a sigh falling from parted lips when he balled the paper and missed the trash bin on the very edge.

You watched Hoseok quietly from your perched position on one of two barstools as he collected his own plate, silverware in hand as he rounded the bar to you. “I think we have some things to talk through—” He tugged the empty chair back with the round of his foot, depositing the cutlery to the surface of the counter as he went, “—don’t you?”

“Without Namjoon?”

He shot you a pointed look, stabbing the end of his fork into the center of his pasta spiral, “Definitely without Namjoon.”

You quietly cut into the ends of the noodles, scooping up a sizeable bite, “Yesterday was clearly a disaster.”

“It wasn’t that bad. The score doesn’t always tell the whole story,” There was a fleck of garlic stuck to the corner of pouted lips when he glanced at you, “A little more practice can fix our chemistry issues.”

“Can it though?” You dumped the pieces of pasta you’d cut back to the plate, gently setting your fork down, “I don’t know that any amount of practice can make us like each other. Or even pretend—”

“Do you dislike me?”

“No,” You answered quickly and earnestly because you didn’t. For the most part. Not really. “I mean...no. No, I don’t.”

Hoseok nodded, quickly at first and then slower, more to himself as he began to stab around the pasta some more. Moving it back and forth, coating the clean parts of the plate in sticky red sauce and then finally he mumbled, “Good...that’s—that’s good to know.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know why it ever got to this point. Where we can’t even collaborate for a few days on the thing we both love.”

More pointed clicking of metal against glass. A noisy slurp of water from a plastic cup. More scooting and then, “Why can’t we though?”

“You saw how yesterday went. How all our training sessions have gone—”

“Forget about those,” He dropped his fork now too, rotating until his knees almost knocked into yours, “Seriously, forget about them.”

Hoseok inhaled, a deep sigh that had his gaze trailing over your head, “...look, I don’t know what you think about me. I try not to care. But let’s just...for the sake of right now, start over?”

A mental slideshow passed by in front of your eyes as you stared at the genuine plea pasted over Hoseok’s heart shaped features, all the moments your stomach had stirred with a fire and your tongue had lashed out those internal hardships but you suddenly couldn’t find the ignition, the accelerant that made the flames engulf your nerve endings to the very tips of your fingers non existent, smoking like doused with water (or store bought, jar made spaghetti sauce). A mirage, maybe, just like the limp noodle lodged between one of your back molars.

You extended your hand toward the figure across from you.

“Yeah, let’s start over—” You sucked in a sharp breath, setting your shoulders and the smile that spread to your lips was supposed to be faux but turned out light hearted anyway. You cheered your name, tilting your head toward your wiggling fingers, “—it’s a pleasure to be your doubles partner for an eighth of the season, sir.”

He touched your hand, loose in sliding his fingers across your palm to squeeze, not shake. His voice feathered out of twitching lips just like the stumble of your heart, wholy unsure but willing to try.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“No Namjoon?”

Seokjin was off his crutches now but still sporting what appeared to be the world’s largest brace, coated in metal gears that made you joke if he was starting his transition to immortality. He met you in the doorway of the locker room, holding a hand out for your water jug. You handed it over, expecting him to carry it for you as you brushed past but he flicked the lid and took the longest gulp, mashing a piece of ice between his teeth as he handed it back.

“No,” You popped the lid closed, smacking his bicep with the knowledge he couldn’t catch up to you if you took off running, “No, no Namjoon today. He’s here but not...here. Not trying to coach us yet.”

“Not after what happened last time,” Hoseok was fiddling with the velcro strap of a visor as he exited the opposite door. He sported the same light purple color scheme, something about reversing the bad luck of the exhibition match.

You’d changed up your outfit, just in case omens were real and the tennis gods hated red. Yellow was your color choice. You weren’t brave enough to match him yet, either.

He looked up when he secured it, jamming the hat down over his hair, eliminating the signature part that marked his quick dashes across the court. The bright smile stayed as he flanked your small posse, nudging you with the arm covered in two sweatbands and a skin colored arm sleeve.

“Are you two...like friends now?”

Seokjin’s loud inquiry heated your cheeks but Hoseok just shrugged, still looking at where his elbow had touched your stomach. “Partners, at the very least,” Hoseok provided, “Doubles partners. Ones who work together and don’t try to concuss each other with serves.”

Your mouth parted to deny that I’ve never done that but Seokin quipped, “Oh, she’s tried to do that to you for ages. It was one of her training strategies with me—”

“Where’s your off switch, Mr. Robot.”

“Don’t have one. Anyway, best of luck!”

When there was a sailing lob over Hoseok’s head, you were eager to call out to switch!, worn traction on the soles of your shoes allowing you to slide to catch the shot, lobbing it back cross court while Hoseok lay in wait at the net, seeking out the easy put away shot at the net that would eventually and did eventually come.

When there was an opportunity to play strategy on his serve, you did, each starting on the left side the second point into the game, allowing Hoseok to serve a hard, down the line ball to the opponent's backhand which, in turn, set you up for a sneaky and easy floater that you crammed in the center of the two players.

When there was a changeover in the first set, five games to love in your favor, your hand was there for Hoseok’s to smack, a high five he taunted a little bit above your head while you tried to balance your water bottle in one palm and seek out his hand in the other. It earned a smile when you spilled ice water down the front of your top and he had to hand you a hand towel from his bag while the opposing team watched impatiently from their positions.

When there was an opportunity in the second set for the opposing team to get a breakpoint, make it three to four rather than five to two, Namjoon called you over to the fence with only a sliver of the feeling of dread lingering in his posture. He eyed the pair of you as you approached, Hoseok shoved lightly on your arm as you went to plant but instead of an outraged screech from you, it just earned another push and a fit of mingling giggles, ones Namjoon nearly went into cardiac arrest over and he never thought he’d have to tell you and Jung Hoseok to stop laughing at each other so that he could speak.

There were still moments of tension, moments that made you inhale and dig your fingernails into the grip of your racket but instead of muttering obscenities under your breath and using his head as target practice for your spin serve, you smiled, real and genuine, and you leaned closer to his fiery explanations spoken as a similarly smiley octave, “What was it you wanted me to do?”

They were easy to navigate in the first round of the tournament, take you through the lunch of cold cut sandwiches Seokjin had laid out on a picnic table for you, the second round that drew a little bit closer in score but was still a win (both statistically and morally, especially when Namjoon walked you out to the court with instruction rather than hid in the safety of his car until it seemed like you wouldn’t try to slash Hosoek’s achilles with the frame of your racket). The third round brought more of the past to rear its ugly head, a dark storm cloud that reminded you in rain and miscommunication at the net that you were a human, not a miracle worker.

But you won, barely, in a tiebreaker that nearly killed your stamina for the championship but the taste to win was so fresh on the roof of your mouth, you grit your teeth to grind it up and swallow it. Second best wasn’t good enough, even if it would qualify you for the regional champions, if you were already qualified.

But you lost and you had to accept the bitter regurgitation of the victory you could taste, washing it away with your lukewarm water that had melted all the ice cubes onto your tongue throughout your fourth and final match of the day. Except it was just that, a learning experience, bitter but available to all the critiques Namjoon chattered in your ears as you trekked into the parking lot. You didn’t speed away, nearly destroy your ignition with your keys this time, instead leaned against your driver side door while Hoseok coaxed your bag from your shoulders and stuffed it into your trunk with your keys in his hand.

Namjoon’s fleeting expression at the action was the same when you entered the complex for a training session not nearly a week later, both from Hoseok’s car, your bag slung over one of his shoulders while you held up what appeared to be a strawberry smoothie for him to sip out of. The startled trainer explained the wrong drill four times and resorted to letting you do the wrong thing on the fifth try as he went about collecting barely there balls in a hopper while muttering to himself.

Thus is why you didn’t think the hotel conseguir was kidding when she handed you two keycards while asking, “Are you checking in for Jung Hoseok as well?”

“Oh, no. Why would I—”

“You’re each listed under this room,” Her grip tightened on the plastic cards when you pinched them, trying to pull them back, “Is that incorrect?”

Someone in the growing line behind you coughed and the quick glance behind you noted that his t-shirt advertised some sort of local tennis tournament. Similarly to the person approaching the desk in the opposite line from you with a spare racket tucked under their arm, one that must have spilled from the half open bag slopped at their ankles.

“I...no, that’s—”

“That’s how it was booked,” She continued to tug on the cards, freeing them from your grasp to flatten them on the desk in front of you as she began to click around on the monitor, “...and it appears we have no other rooms for the weekend, so—”

“Yes, I’m checking in for Jung Hoseok as well. He’s with me—” She glanced up at you through a stray hair that had escaped from behind her ear and you panicked, “—I didn’t know he booked it under his...other name.”

“Right…” A receipt printed with various pieces of information, one of which blurred the majority of the tennis club’s credit card number, a card held in Namjoon’s name. “Third floor, room forty. Enjoy your stay.”

You called Namjoon in the elevator, ranting at him before the dead spot could end as you stepped off on the third floor.

“Why’d you book us the same room?”

He yawned into the receiver and you briefly felt bad for waking him from his pre-connecting-flight-nap. Briefly. “Me and you?”

“No dumba—” You stopped yourself to fumble and jam one of the keycards into the slot of room forty, waiting until it clicked over. “—no, Namjoon. Hoseok and I.”

The edge of one of your rackets misplaced inside your bag, catching on the doorframe as you stumbled inside to find the worst part of the singular room. The singular bed.

“You couldn’t even book a room with two full beds?”

“I booked two rooms with one queen bed each.”

“No, you booked one room with a king bed—” You dropped the handle of your suitcase to swat at the towel folded like a swan at the edge of the bed.

“Well at least it’s a king.”

“Namjoon.”

“Did you just...ask for another room?”

“They’re booked for the weekend. Kind of a large tennis tournament going on at the attached event center. And some cooking ware convention, but I didn’t take the guy’s brochure…”

“...speaking of which, are you sure you booked yourself a room? Or did you just book the entire club one singular room—” You swatted the swan again to take a seat on the corner, “—because if so, we’re about to get real comfy for the weekend.”

“I’ll call here in a second but if they only mentioned you and Hoseok’s names in the room...then I think it’s just the two of you, love.”

You groaned to which Namjoon sighed, “Just try for me, okay?”

“I just tried to be his doubles partner, not—”

“And look where that got you,” You paused because Namjoon was right. You were a better team than either of you cared to admit. Than you cared to admit to yourself. And all it took was trying, sincerely, applying your passion for the game to the partnership with someone you would no longer regard as you mortal enemy.

Just your roommate for two days, apparently.

“...anyway, I need you to call Hoseok and explain what’s going on. That’s a phone call I don’t have time to make.”

“Namjoon—”

“Have a good night!”

You glared at your thumb for it’s seasoned ability to move to Hoseok’s contact but especially the ability to hit call and place it on speaker.

“Was just about to text you,” He sounded far away, out of breath, and faintly you heard the call of a boarding flight. “Just landed. Meeting my driver to the hotel now.”

“Room three-forty.”

“Do you want me to make a pit stop at a grocery store or something? Get some fruit and waters—wait what?”

“Room three-forty,” You repeated, glaring at the opposite wall to prevent yourself from calling Hoseok a dumbass out loud until you noticed in your reflection of the flat screen television that you still had your backpack on, “That’s where you’re staying.”

“...okay,” You heard him utter a thank you and then a door shut, “Are we neighbors or something?”

“Mhm, I suppose you could call it that.”

More silence. More muffled directions, and then he sighed, “Did Namjoon book us the same room?”

“Were you in on it?”

“So that’s a yes but, w-what? No, I—” Hoseok laughed and under normal circumstances you’d fume, “—sweetheart, he joked about it in practice like twenty times. He probably joked about it so many times that he did it without thinking.”

You paused and one of the twenty instances flooded back, when Namjoon had entered the complex to you leaned back in your desk chair while Hoseok wrapped new purple grip onto the handle of your racket.

“Maybe I should just book you the same room for the championships,” His voice had faded as he ducked into his own office, “Wouldn’t that be a treat!”

You’d snatched your racket back from Hoseok not without jamming the end into his stomach playfully. “Maybe you should not do that!”

“Oh,” You switched the phone between your palms as you finally shrugged out of your backpack, letting it sag limply against the neatly stacked pillows, “Oh yeah.”

“So do you want those snacks?”

“If you get something other than fruit.”

“Noted, you want junk food,” You could hear the smile in his voice, “Any other requests?”

You flopped backward onto the mattress, forearm over your eyes and you sighed into the immediate heat that spread across your skin.

“Yeah, hurry up. I’m lonely.”

“Just one bed too, huh?”

Hoseok rubbed at his eyes, skin coated in a thin sheen underneath the lowlights of the room where he’d just lathered two layers of a fresh smelling skin cream. A loose pajama shirt hung cockeyed over his torso and he fiddled with the top button, not done up in the same way the two below it weren’t either, knee bending to sink into the spot on the mattress across from you.

“Yeah,” You rolled where you’d already cocooned yourself in the duvet. You pitched your voice to match Namjoon’s, exaggerated and drawn out, “but at least it’s a king.”

He hesitated in peeling back the sheets, waiting until you glanced curiously at him to soften, “Is this...okay?”

“What?”

“I can sleep on the floor,” The bracelets still attached to his wrist tinkled together as he gestured to the lumps on lumps of white sprawled across the massive bed, “I think there’s enough here to make some decent padding—”

“And give you stiff joints before the first two rounds tomorrow?” You rolled your eyes, patting the space next to you, “Get in here. Namjoon was partially right. This is a massive king bed.”

Hoseok was hesitant in the entrance albeit confident in the way he sprawled, nearly intruding on what you’d deemed “your side” with a vertical pillow that prevented you from seeing his face when he finally settled his cheek to his hand. But you could tell he was facing you from the slide of his foot underneath the sheets and you held your breath that it wouldn’t brush the bend of your knees until something else drew your attention, a hand slapping over the pillow in the middle and gently pushing it down until you could see shower fresh blonde hair and crinkled brown irises.

“There you are,” His voice trilled at the end of the last syllable and you tucked the blankets tighter to you as if they would shield the sound of your heart in your ears.

Lamely, muffled by the blankets you nodded, “I’m here!”

His smile shifted to where his fingers drummed against the pillow still placed between you. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, first round shouldn’t be too difficult but either opponent we’d face in the second round will be the real challenge. They’re both from different complexes in the north that are known for being pretty competitive so...I heard Namjoon say you got one of the best draws in your singles bracket though so that’s—”

“Yeah,” Hoseok’s fingers stopped their movements on the pillow, “I mean, like are you...are you actually, you know, ready?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged, still avoiding your gaze and his fingernails went to picking at loose fibers in the pillowcase, “I know you wanted to get back to this spot with Seokjin. And instead it’s with me, so I can understand why you wouldn’t…”

“Where is all this coming from?”

“You know I never…” Hoseok’s wandering eyes stared directly at you now, dark and dilated and shining with the city lights that sheared through the curtains, “I’ve never hated you. I want you to know that.”

“...and I never wanted you to hate me. I don’t pretend to be anything I’m not but I will apologize for whatever I’ve done to give you this horrible impression of me.”

You burned with a sickening realization that only grew worse the longer he talked to the sheets.

“You intrigued me, so I thought, you know, you were an obstacle to conquer, especially when it seemed like you vehemently hated me. And then I realized you did actually not like me, and I wasn’t really sure what to do.”

“Remember the day Seokjin got hurt?”

You didn’t trust your numb chords to vocalize so you swallowed and nodded.

“You asked me if I’d done it. If I’d sabotaged you for virtually no reason,” He blinked, eyes closed for a little longer than necessary and your breath felt heavy in your lungs, “I could live with you thinking I’m a little cocky because sometimes, I am. I’m confident in my abilities and I won’t apologize for that.”

“But for you to think I’d purposely injure your doubles partner, injure someone else so you...what? Couldn’t share the notoriety of winning a championship like I had? I began to, you know, question it.”

“And I thought it was all in my head, that maybe it was just a fit of passion that made you ask me that, and everything would continue per normal. Less than friendly insults. You using the image of my face as serve target practice.”

“After that first exhibition match is when I kind of knew that it wasn’t in my head, you know,” Hoseok shrugged, sadly again and the last bit of your heart crumbled, “I wanted to fix it. Because I never wanted you to hate me. I’ve always admired you too much for that.”

You shed the pillow barrier to scoot closer, rushing, “I was jealous of you, you know that? I always have been. It’s ridiculous. Sorry doesn’t cut it, but I am. So sorry.”

He laughed and you touched his face to lessen it, scooting another space closer. “I know you were. It’s okay.”

“It’s not though, I shouldn’t have been. I had no reason to be other than my stupid petty personal vendettas,” Your palm fully cupped his cheek, thumbing at the passion induced liquid that had leaked underneath that set of eyelashes, “I’ve been an asshole to you.”

“I’m not exactly innocent.”

“No, but I’m not going to play a game of who's the bigger asshole,” You didn’t startle when he touched your hand, holding onto the cling of his gaze, “I’m sorry for this giant misunderstand. I am.”

“A years upon years long misunderstanding.”

You laughed, soft and dry on a tiny cough that racked through your body. “Yeah...that.”

“I’m sorry. Too,” Hoseok’s hand threaded underneath your own, holding up a hopeful pinky and the remaining tears glittered at his irises, “Truce?”

You linked your pinkies, letting him tug you close enough to ghost his lips to your forehead.

“Truce.”

You woke with his limbs tangled around your torso, lips in your hair telling you to stay asleep as he sleepily shuffled for his suitcase still laying limply at the edge of the bed. But you didn’t listen, you alarm going off after he’d disappeared into the shower with his uniform in hand, bright yellow this time and matching of yours with the team name scrawled across the front. You were happy it said Game, Set, Match Tennis HQ instead of Namjoon’s proposed Namjoon’s Ball Kids.

(“We’re the same age.” “You’re still my kid.” “No.”)

“Did I wake you?” He hushed into the room as if you weren’t half dressed with the room light on.

“I’m coming with you?”

“Why? Our call time for warm up isn’t until at least after one o’clock and—”

“I’m coming to watch you—” You paused with an arm half in a sweatshirt and you pumped it cheesily, “—you know. Cheer you on.”

“Ah,” He fluffed deft fingers into partially damp hair, sweatband twirled around his arm, “My good luck charm?”

You were enough luck for him to finish in plenty of time for you to get a nap in before your first round draw. Enough luck for you to catch dinner with an arriving Seokjin just before your second round match. Enough luck for you to go two and O on the day while Hoseok belted four wins between his two positions.

Not enough luck for the matching trophy to the one cased in glass at the complex, instead earning Hoseok a third place plaque on the second day that he displayed in the center of your hotel room bed.

“Would rather win with you, anyway,” He muttered into your ear before the championship, popping out one of your earbuds mid calf stretch. You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way his lips brushed down your neck as he pulled away into his own stretch, shrugging bulky headphones back across his head.

Frustration pricked early at your conscious, Hoseok’s quip not under his breath but directly to your face while you sucked down water on a changeover, informing you to fix your grip on the backhands and seal the line on the deuce side of the net. It was the flex of his palm toward the fire in your eyes that quieted you though, the silent assurance that he was just trying to help and he didn’t so much as flinch when you pointed out the forehand player on the opposing team was eating him alive at the net. He just shrugged, holding his racket up for you to click together and agreed.

“You’re right. I’ll play double back for a game.”

He played double back while you switched to a flat shot on your backhand and you won the game, tying the first set at three-three until you won on your serve from a similar strategy of capitalizing on Hoseok’s quickness at the baseline, giving you the opportunity to charge for putaways.

It was a communicated strategy that you tweaked between games but otherwise allowed you to sail through the first set with only one more dropped game, six-four, and two games into the second set until your grip started to drift again, sending three backhands in a row sailing out of bounds.

“C’mon now,” A simple enough encouragement, spoken at a slightly irritated tone that forced Hoseok’s next shot to sail into the center of the net.

You cut in front of him on the third shot of the next game, ball meeting a similar feat where the net and the ground met and Hoseok threw up his hands in frustration. Namjoon spoke freely now, a single yell from the side that said settle down and although it was meant for both of you, you took it personally and fumbled through two double faults on your next serve opportunity, putting you down two-three.

“I don’t care if you win or lose, frankly,” Namjoon said when you met him at the fence, “but we will not play a third set.”

Hoseok didn’t wait until Namjoon shuffled away to his spot on the bleachers to chide, “Let me get the next few shots. Stop trying to cheat at the net.”

...which led you to cheat at the net four more times, only two of which were successful. Five-three, Hoseok’s serve, his reluctance of fine, go for it when you’d gone up four-three and a simple nod when you’d tossed him the extra balls for the beginning of his serve for, potentially, the entire match.

You let him get the fifteen point, then the thirty point. They fumbled his serve on the forty point.

It was an all or nothing shot up the line, fired at an angle and you knew it was coming from the way your opponent set up with open feet, an audible grunt ringing down the other courts as the ball raced off the strings. It was down the line, a beautiful shot in any other circumstance, and your reflexes forgot your years of training, footwork, drills.

Instead, you stood up and stuck your racket out.

The ball caught the corner of your frame, barely brushing the worn and tattered black edges, applying just enough spin to fall in over the net, dying upon impact and winning.

Six-four, six-three, championship.

You turned, dropping your racket as you spread your arms and through a loud, unabashed laugh did you call, “I thought you told me to stop going for them?”

A steady pair of arms engulfed your waist, lifting your feet from the ground and you lost count of how many circles you’d actually spun but you tallied at least seven when your heels were planted back to the court and a warm pair of lips pressed between the seam of your own.

“We won!” You cheered into Hoseok’s face and he just blinked happily, smile permanent, each of you shocked to the previous kiss but not to the next when you threaded tight fingers into the sweat stained blonde, effectively knocking his headband off to where it bounced between the connection of your mouths.

“Told you I would rather win with you.”

You hummed, kissing his chin, “Saving it for me?”

You shivered with the way he nosed down your cheek, “Always, sweetheart.”

There was an audible pout in Seokjin’s voice even when you weren’t looking at him.

“What about me?”

Hoseok chuckled from where he was craned behind you to inspect the trophy, palm rubbing gentle circles into the small of your back. “Don’t worry, buddy. I prefer singles, anyway.”

“...but not when our doubles champion here is single, yeah?” You finally glanced up at Seokjin as he traded a curled fist between you and Hoseok’s stomach. “Yeah? Yeah!?”

“Oh come on. You don’t think the entire audience didn’t see that kiss?”

“Get out of here, Jin.”

“Pinky promise not to ditch me next season.”

“I pinky promise.”

“You have to do the thing.”

You held up a limp pinky just to sate him but he clucked his tongue. “No. The thing.”

Hoseok’s hand stiffened on your spine as he watched you wet your smallest finger, lathing your tongue over it for good measure before sticking it out for Seokjin. The older man popped his from his cheek, twisting your fingers together before scampering off. Or at least, you thought.

“Does anyone want to go drinking tonight? My treat!”

“For the record, he’s right,” Hoseok brushed hair off your neck to press soft lips there, “I’d prefer you not be single.”

“Oh, yeah?” You hugged the trophy to your chest to turn to him, “And what would you prefer I be?”

“Mine.”

Your lips rounded into a perfect circle, one droning syllable leaving as you reached up to pat his cheek, “See, that kind of cocky is attractive.”

“M’not cocky,” There was a pout to Hoseok’s heart shaped mouth but a seriousness behind his statement that made you heat with more than sunburn.

“You’re not at all,” You turned in the slot of his arm, stretching to peck his jaw. “I would prefer to be yours, too. If it’s any consolation.”

He pretended to think, shadows falling over one side of his face as the sun began to set and reflect off the gold plated award clutched in your arms.

“Want to try it?” Hoseok grinned finally, dropping his chin to look at you, “Just see how it goes?”

You placed the trophy aside, down on the bottom row of bleacher closest to you to wrap both arms around his neck. “Yeah, let’s try it.”

#bts reactions #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts x reader #hoseok imagines #hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #bts fluff #hoseok imagine #hoseok scenario #hoseok scenarios #fic: game set love

552 notes · View notes

loveforpreserumsteve · 5 years ago

Text

Those Who Fall: “APTF” Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)

Eleven:

Gently, Steve pressed a kiss to Ethan's temple. Usually he was able to tuck the little boy in, and briefly, he worried that Ethan would retreat into himself for Steve skipping it tonight. Steve hoped he wouldn't, but he had no say in if he did. After everything the little boy had been through in his short life, he was surprised he even managed to love as fiercely as he did. But he also knew that if his feelings were hurt, he retreated. He shut down. Just like he had earlier.

For good measure, Steve gave him another kiss.

Making sure that the night-light was on, Steve closed the door until it was cracked. Then, he quietly entered Jonas and Luke's room. On the top bunk, Luke was sound asleep. His mouth slightly open as quiet snores escaped. Steve reached up and covered Luke's exposed foot with the blue plaid comforter. When he spotted the thin, faded green baby blanket stretched along his chest and clutched in his hand, Steve smiled.

Although Luke was growing up, he would always be Steve's little man. And Steve could only find comfort in that. Sure, there was always that little voice in the back of his head that worried that once Luke could, he'd leave and never turn back. But Steve had to have faith. After all, Jonas and Katie didn't run off as soon as they could. Hell, they seemed to text Steve more now that they were living in dorms than they ever did living under his roof.

Noticing the abandoned clothes on the floor, Steve shook his head and picked them up. He didn't do it often, always wanting them to pick up after themselves, but his kids had a long, challenging day. So, Steve picked up the boxers, t-shirt, sweatshirt, and jeans. Going through the pockets on his way out of the room, Steve paused.

Grasping a folded up piece of paper, Steve removed it from the pocket. His curiosity getting the best of him, he flipped it open. Biting back his grin as he saw that it was a phone number. A Cassie's phone number. Steve wondered if that was the girl who had been driving.

Before he could leave with the note, he folded it back up and placed it on the desk. For a moment just looking over the room, making sure that there wasn't anything to trip over. Then, he exited the room and closed the door. Bundling the clothes into a ball, he carried them with him into Sophia's -- and now Wanda's -- room.

Heading for the laundry chute, he dumped the clothes while Bucky assured the teen, "If you need us, you come get us, okay? And if you can't make it downstairs, just go next door and say something into the baby monitor."

"Okay," Wanda tiredly sighed, resting her hands on her abdomen.

Bucky fixed the damp rag on her forehead and turned to leave the bedroom. Steve stepped up beside Sophia's bed, but took a moment to roll his eyes when Bucky winked at him.

Affectionately, Steve caressed the side of Sophia's face and leaned over to kiss her temple. Tiredly, her eyelids fluttered open and she glanced up at Steve. Sleep slurring her speech as she said, "Night, night, papa. Love you."

"I love you, too, sweetie," Steve said, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her one more kiss.

Loosely tucking her comforter around her baby-chubby frame, Steve double checked that she had her bear. Not that she would've fallen asleep to begin with if she didn't, but Steve still liked to check.

On his way over to Wanda's bed, he pulled the average dish sponge from his back pocket and got down to his hands and knees. Sure enough, Barbie dozed on Luke's sponge. Steve shook his head, exasperated as he exchanged them. Using the empty middle bed to help push himself off the floor.

Finally reaching Wanda, he glanced at the bucket on the end table beside her bed and reminded her, "Don't be afraid if you need something, alright? Even if you just need to know how to work the TV."

Weakly, Wanda giggled and confirmed that she understood. Steve nodded at that and held back from giving her a kiss, like he did to his other kids. Giving her one more small smile, he turned and quietly left the room.

Joining Bucky in Holly's room, he found Bucky just watching her for a moment. Sitting on Katie's bed and just gazing adoringly at the ten month old. It made Steve's chest clench from being filled with so much love. It was moments with Ethan that afternoon, moments with Wanda, and moments like these, that reminded Steve how lucky he was. Reminded him why he wanted to do this to begin with.

Reaching into the crib, Steve caressed the round cheek and the red curls. Loving that baby so much that sometimes it hurt not having her right there with him. He tried to cherish every moment he could with her. Especially with him knowing just how fast kids grew.

Bucky stood from Katie's bed and wrapped his arms around Steve's waist. Pulling him flush to his front, Bucky pressed a sweet kiss to Steve's neck. Whispering, "C'mon. Let's go to bed."

Steve nodded and let Bucky lead him.

Once in their bedroom, the pair started stripping down to their boxers. Although Steve was exhausted from the day, he still dragged himself into the bathroom to go through his nightly routine. Bucky followed, and the pair settled in front of the double vanity.

Slipping the three rings on his left finger off, Steve placed them in the small ceramic pumpkin dish that Bucky made. As Steve grabbed his toothbrush, he watched Bucky's reflection as he pulled the circle pendant necklace over his neck. Their children's birthstones clinking around in the jostle. Easily visible as the colorful gems moved inside of the clear circle.

Brushing his teeth, he watched Bucky remove the black floral engraved wedding band from his finger and set both items of jewelry in the pumpkin. Grabbing his toothbrush, he took the toothpaste between the sinks and got to it. Occasionally, Bucky winked at Steve's reflection, and Steve rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the grin that was fighting to be seen despite him brushing his teeth.

After brushing his teeth, Steve grabbed the high school colors tie-dyed headband he permanently borrowed from Katie. Stretching the white, gray, and navy-blue elastic band around his head, he pulled it up so it pushed his hair off his face. Between the his and his sinks, Steve grabbed the cleanser for oily skin. Wetting his face, he rubbed the cream between his hands before bringing them up and lathering it on his face.

Sweetly, Bucky leaned over to press a kiss to the side of Steve's head before grabbing a headband himself to hold his own tousled hair back. As he grabbed the cleanser for sensitive skin, Steve asked, "How was work?"

Bucky sighed, focusing on washing his face, "Arnim has been riding my ass."

"Hot," Steve deadpanned, his reflection smirking when Bucky's looked over at him.

"He wants me to edit nine documents by Monday," Bucky sighed again, the corners of his lips tugging downward in a frown.

Bumping his hip along his husband's, Steve teased a smirk from him. But it wasn't enough. Steve hated when Bucky was stressed. The brunet deserved to always be smiling and filled with so much love that it came pouring out in sweet laughter. Not glaring at his reflection as he finished his nightly routine.

After rinsing and drying, and removing their headbands, the pair exited their bathroom. Pulling down the pastel-blue comforter, they climbed in with Bucky on the right and Steve to the left. Steve curled onto his side, facing the closet and bathroom. Behind him, Bucky leaned over and smothered the side of Steve's face with kisses until Steve laughed and pushed him off.

Luckily, Bucky didn't go too far because Steve pulled him back in for a loving kiss to his mouth. Around his lips, he told his husband, "I love you."

"Love you more," Bucky replied, giving him one more kiss before pulling back and laying on his side facing the curtained windows.

Getting comfortable, Steve laid there for a moment. Bucky's back was pressed against his, and Steve loved the warmth. But he couldn't fall asleep. Not with this heavy on his heart.

Worrying his lower lip, Steve quietly asked, "Buck?"

"Hmm," he tiredly hummed.

"Are you happy?"

"What?" Bucky rolled completely over to face Steve. Steve looked over his shoulder at his husband, and Bucky confirmed, "Of course, I'm happy. I've got the most caring and endearing and beaut--"

"I wasn't asking about if you're happy with me and the kids," Steve fondly rolled his eyes. Pushing himself up so he could press another kiss to Bucky's lips. Bucky's brows were furrowed and Steve clarified, "I meant, with your job. Are you happy with your career?"

Bucky shrugged, "When Arnim isn't such a pompous ass, I like it."

"And you're happy with it? You're happy being a specific writer --"

"Specifications writer," Bucky corrected.

"Whatever," Steve playfully rolled his eyes as he rolled onto his back. Bucky boxed Steve's head with his forearms and Steve stroked his hands down Bucky's naked sides, "But you're happy? Because I don't want you to feel like you have to work there? Me, the kids, we want you happy. And if that means going back to tutoring people and us moving into a studio apartment, we will."

"Oh geez," Bucky rolled his eyes at that, but dropped his forehead to Steve's. Making sure their gazes were locked, Bucky reassured, "I'm happy. I'm a very lucky man, and I couldn't be happier."

"Good," Steve smirked, "Now roll over, so I can cuddle you."

"So demanding," Bucky teased but climbed off Steve and laid down on his side. Steve didn't mind the joke though. Instead, he simply saddled up behind his husband and let the taller man be the little spoon. When they were settled, Bucky laced their hands together by their fingers, allowing them both to happily fall asleep.

#a place to fall #jump then fall #those who fall #bonus #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #marvel #fanfic #wattpad #ao3 #modern au #domestic life #fluff #smut #otp

5 notes · View notes

danthectoman · 6 years ago

Text

Home for the Holidays

This is my Christmas Truce 2019 gift for @enmitypark ! I had tons of fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy!!!

Read it on AO3!

The Fenton family has just arrived at Vlad’s Colorado retreat by RV at Jack’s insistence and had already hauled their belongings for the week-long trip into their rooms. Gathered in the living room, Vlad passes out four large gift baskets, each emblazoned with the person’s name on an oversized tag in his loopy script. Danny notices that his name has a green tint to it, and gives Vlad an inquisitive look, which is returned with a mischievous wink.

“Alright everyone, open your baskets!” Vlad said with a smile.

“Vlad it’s not Christmas yet!” Maddie argued before being shut down.

“My dear, what is in there will be needed for the rest of their stay. There is no need to object.”

Inside each basket was an assortment of gloves and hats in various styles to match each person’s taste, mixes for each person’s favorite hot drink, mugs, and ski goggles.

Danny's mug is black on the bottom half and white on the top, with a green-tinted NASA logo on both sides. "The logo glows in the dark, by the way," Vlad added. There’s hot cocoa and apple cider mixes tucked inside the mug. His goggles are white around the eyes with a black elastic band. The gloves and a hat are both black with green horizontal stripes down the center. Jazz’s items were all turquoise with black accents in a similar configuration to Danny's. Jack’s gifts held a black and orange color scheme, matching his signature jumpsuit. Maddie’s items were aquamarine, dotted with accents of black.

Everyone gave Vlad a hearty thank you for the gifts and Jack, of course, envelopes Vlad in a bone-crushing hug, lifting the smaller man off the ground. Before, Vlad would have yelled at him for such an act, but after making up with the family and being allowed to be a real godfather to the children, he's come to enjoy Jack's affection. After being placed back on the ground, Vlad lead his guests to the sitting room, the fireplace lit and the undecorated evergreen tree already on a stand in the corner.

“Where are the ornaments? And the decorations? I figured you’d have this whole place decorated to the nines already.” Jazz asks with a questioning look on her face.

“Well, I figured it would be fun if we all decorated the house together. This is Christmas after all, and simply hiring someone to do the decorating feels too impersonal for such an occasion." Vlad said with a genuine smile on his face. He's been smiling quite a lot lately. It was something new and entirely welcome.

“That’s right! So, let’s get a move on and start decorating already!! So, where’s the ghostly garland and tinsel?” Jack was so excited he could hardly wait. This time of the year always meant cookies and fudge, and he couldn’t get enough of those.

“Ah, ghostly garland? Do I even want to know what that is?” Vlad asked, an admonished look on his face.

“Sure ya do, Vladdie! It’s just like normal holiday garland, but dipped in ectoplasm! That way, it glows in the dark!” Jack explained with a smile on his face. If the man thought any of what he just described violated the millions of lab safety rules he learned in college, he didn’t show it.

“….Oh, no, that’s not part of the decorations. I have more… traditional decorations than that.” Vlad replied, wondering just what kind of Christmases the children had had. Perhaps this was a splendid idea after all.

“Oh darn. What about,” Jack began, hurriedly cut off by Maddie, a somewhat exasperated look on her face.

“Jack! Be patient, we just got here! At least let us all catch up and enjoy some time outside of the RV before we start working.” Maddie chided her excited husband. She may love the man, but he sure did like to act like a child when it came to Christmas.

Vlad stepped back and motioned to the large sitting area around the fire. Since the last time Danny and Maddie were here, two couches had been added, creating a semicircle around the fireplace. “Excellent idea, my dear. What would everyone like to drink?”

Everyone gave their drink orders and Vlad went to the kitchen to grab them. Everyone finds their spots on a couch; Maddie and Jack taking one couch, Jazz sitting on the other, and Danny taking a chair, assuming Vlad would take the one next to him. Vlad returned with everyone’s mugs balanced on a wooden serving tray and made a loop around the room, everyone grabbing their drinks. After returning the tray to its place, he sat down in the chair next to Danny. As the conversation picked up between the three adults, Danny couldn’t help but think back on how much the other halfa had changed since they met.

The two had formed an almost loving relationship in the past few months since the Pariah incident. Danny supposed that was just the kick in the ass the old fruitloop needed, since almost immediately after the horrible schemes to kill his father and seduce his mother stopped. He didn’t see hide nor hair of Vlad until Danny came home one day to find the man sitting on the couch with his parents, explaining almost everything and working through some of the misunderstandings the three had had for the last twenty years. It had been odd, to say the least, to see Vlad not only without his signature suit but without the bravado the man had exuded from their first meeting. It suited him, this vulnerable look, every expression genuine.

Shortly after that night, Vlad began visiting more often, at least two nights a week sometimes, just to visit and see what was going on in the family’s lives. At first, Danny was against the visits, still caught up in the way Vlad had treated him and thinking the two were still rivals. Then while Danny was on patrol one night, Skulker surprised him and hit him with a shock strong enough to knock him out. When Danny came to, he was laying on Vlad’s couch with a thin blanket over him, the man himself looking quite concerned over the boy. That night, the two had an actual, honest, and open conversation about everything. After that, Danny was more comfortable around the man and even allowed the older halfa to be his mentor.

Danny was pulled out of his thoughts as his father laughed particularly hard at a joke, probably told by Vlad. As everyone finished their drinks, Danny went around and collected the mugs, cleaning them quickly in the kitchen. When he returned, the boxes of decorations were being brought into the sitting room by Jack and Vlad as Jazz and Maddie took items out of the boxes and set knickknacks around the room. Danny jumped in with his sister and mother to set up a mini Christmas tree on a side table by the entrance to the room, delicately unboxing the tree and fluffing its green plastic branches.

Jazz began to decorate the large pine tree while Jack hammered nails into the mantle and hung the stockings, all of which were embroidered in each person’s name. Maddie was next to him on a stool setting up a village of ceramic snowmen, complete with little ceramic buildings and animals, on top of the mantle. Vlad set to work on untangling a new strand of Christmas lights that, despite just coming out of the box, managed to tangle themselves into a nest of wires. Vlad looked as if he has given up on humanity as a whole for creating those lights.

And so the night went on in peace, the family going from room to room decorating the cottage in Christmas cheer. One box from the pile had different types of holiday hats, including 5 Santa hats in varying sizes. Maddie grabbed the elf hat for herself, Jack simply took a Santa hat at his wife’s insistence, and Jazz took a headband with felt reindeer antlers on it. Danny rooted through the box and found the absolute perfect thing for Vlad; a pair of candy canes attached to a headband to look like antlers, bells attached to the curved ends so they jingled with every movement. Danny thought about taking a stereotypical Santa hat, but decided against it, going instead for a headband with foil presents attached to springs, also with bells on the end.

Vlad was currently rooting through a box in an attempt to find the tree topper he’d picked out for this occasion. Danny crept up behind Vlad as quietly as he could with several bells bouncing about at each movement and placed the candy cane headband on his head with a wild grin on his face. Vlad rolled his eyes and looked up at Danny, giving him an amused look through the hair now messily spread over his eyes. Falling back onto his haunches from his earlier position on his knees, Vlad gave a small laugh and commented, “Thank you, Little Badger, but I believe a headband is supposed to move the hair OUT of your eyes, not further into them.” An adjustment of his hairband so he could see later, Vlad resumed the search for the tree topper, a smile on his lips.

“Ah, here it is!” Vlad cheered as he finally found the topper, proudly displayed in its box. It was a giant silver snowflake, with what Danny sincerely hoped were large ruby rhinestones embedded in the center and emeralds embedded in each arm of the snowflake.

“Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful!” Maddie exclaimed, with a slight sparkle in her eyes. She had always loved Christmas so much when her father was alive and was ready to have a traditional Christmas this year.

“Jack, would you do the honors? After all, you are a guest here.” Vlad asked while standing up and removing the topper from its box.

“Aw, sure! Plus, I think I’m the only one who can reach the top without a ladder anyways!” Jack said with excitement laced in his voice and a shine in his eyes.

Jack reached up with both arms and attached the snowflake to the top of the nearly seven-foot-tall tree as carefully as the large man could. After the snowflake was secured and plugged into the light strands, Jack stepped back to admire everyone’s work. Vlad had tucked in the lights, Jazz added the garland, Maddie had strategically hooked the ornaments on the branches, and Danny had added the tinsel. The whole tree was gorgeous, even without the lights lit.

“Daniel, would you like to do the honors?” Vlad asked, raising the plugin for the lights in Danny’s direction.

“Sure thing, Uncle Vlad," Danny said with a soft smile thrown the man's way as he approached and took the wire from his outstretched hand. Sure, that looked sappy and showed he had feelings, but it was the holidays! Danny was allowed to show some feelings.

Danny bent down in front of the electrical socket and plugged the cord in, the tree casting an atmospheric kaleidoscope of colors across the room. He stood back up and joined the others in staring at the magnificent tree they had put together, a sense of accomplishment filling the room. Jack threw an arm over Maddie’s shoulder and looked down at her as if she was an angel and brought her into his side. Maddie shifted to wrap an arm around his waist and place a hand on his chest. Jazz placed her left arm over her brother’s shoulder and rested her right hand on his other shoulder, placing her forehead on the side of his head in the kind of hug only siblings can give.

Vlad sat back and watched the family interact with each other, showing affection earnestly, and was still not entirely sure where he fits in in this dynamic. This was the first Christmas he had spent with people that were not related to his business, after all. Before he could get too deep into this line of thinking, there was a pair of arms wrapped around his midsection and a head of fluffy black hair pressed against his chest. A longer pair of arms, a little above the first set, joined them. A taller set wrapped around his arms and chest, gluing his arms to his sides. Finally, a pair of arms came from above and lifted the group into the air, laughter escaping everyone as they had the life squeezed out of them in a loving embrace.

The group stayed locked in a hug for a long time, simply enjoying the moment, antlers and hats and springs lightly bumping into each other as the soft jingles of bells wafted through the air. As everyone separated, they were filled with love. The feeling floated through the air and mingled with the light scent of cinnamon coming from some pinecones sitting in a glass bowl on the coffee table.

This moment is what Christmas was supposed to be for the Fenton family, which now included one billionaire with a reformed heart of gold. Not the fighting over theories of Santa that usually come about this time of year, or the hyper-focus on ghostly happenings, or any of the other things the two parents dis that detracted from the holiday cheer for their children. A moment of unrestrained happiness for everyone in the room.

“This has been fun and all, Vladdy, but what’s for dinner?” Jack asked with a sheepish look.

With a laugh, Vlad answered, “There’s a stew in the Crockpot that I prepared before you all arrived. It should be ready by now.”

“Great! Let’s get a move on! All this holiday cheer has me starving!” Jack yelled, already charging for the kitchen and the gold and green Packers crockpot sitting on the granite countertop.

Maddie followed her husband into the kitchen with a soft and loving smile, leaving Vlad and the children standing next to the tree. With a gesture of his arm towards the kitchen, Vlad told the children, “Go on, I have to go last anyways since I'm the chef.”

“Thanks for all this, Vlad. This is just what we needed.” Jazz said with a laugh and a hug. “I better go before dad eats it all.” She entered the kitchen and took a bowl from her mother.

Vlad smirked down at Danny and nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Better hurry, Little Badger. You’ve had a long day.” The two entered the kitchen as everyone else filed out and grabbed their bowls of stew.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, with everyone piled around the fireplace in their pajamas. Holiday movies played on the television on a lower volume, stories of snowmen and reindeer and Santa interspersed with advertisements. Outside the window, snow fell lightly and piled into small drifts in the pale moonlight. An owl hooted in the distance. The stars above twinkled unobserved, and the night was calm.

The next morning, Christmas morning, Vlad awoke to the smell of coffee wafting into his room. He simply laid in bed for a few more minutes, knowing he was going to have a long day and wanting this moment to last forever. Brilliant white light reflected through the red curtains, showing there was a good snowfall last night. Vlad had hoped that would happen so there would be fresh powder on the slopes of the hills around the cabin for everyone to enjoy.

With a long stretch and a yawn, Vlad carded his hands through his long silver locks, straightening some of the crimped hair around his crown. He should probably brush it out before he leaves his room, but he’s sure it won’t hurt if he just threw his hair into a quick bun. Vlad rose from his bed and stretched once more, made his bed, and slipped a pair of house shoes on as he prepared to face the day. Straightening his shirt and pants, he follows the rich aroma of coffee to the kitchen, where Maddie, Jack, and Jazz were already fixing their cups with sugar and creamer.

A chorus of ‘morning’s’ met him at the doorway, which he returned. Out the kitchen window, his suspicions of snow were confirmed. It looked like there may have been six inches or so of snow, based on the covering, perfect for a good day of skiing and snowboarding. Grabbing his mug out of the cupboard, Vlad began making his coffee as the others went to the sitting area. Jazz set her cup down and walked to the tree, plugging it in and opening the curtains on a set of windows to give a full view of the surrounding landscape.

The entire scene was comforting to Vlad, who was so used to this cabin being empty save for himself and Maddie, his cat. Setting himself down in the chair he sat in last night, he couldn’t help but try to memorize every sensation he felt in this moment, focusing on the fuzziness and softness rising from his chest. Vlad was glad he was a better man than he was a year ago, but he also knew just how slippery of a slope he was on. One wrong move and all this comfort would be lost.

“So, what’s on the agenda today, Vladdy? Got something big planned for us, aside from opening presents and making dinner?” Jack asked with a yawn behind his coffee cup.

“Well, I was thinking we could all go skiing this morning. That’s why I placed a pair of goggles in each of your bags, after all. It would give us a chance to go outside for a while, and the fresh snow will make for some amazing skiing. Next, we could make up the ham in the fridge and some sides, then open the presents” Vlad explained as he cradled the warm cup in his hands.

“Oh, that sounds great! That doesn’t give us very much time to get everything done, though. Maybe we could push the skiing back a day, just to make extra time for cooking. After all, Christmas dinner is the last big meal of the year.” Jack said.

“Besides, we don’t even have skis.” Maddie pointed out.

Vlad waved his hand and explained, “Firstly, that does sound a bit better. I honestly forget how long it takes to cook a full dinner. Secondly, don’t worry about the ski situation. I’ve already bought everyone both a pair of skis and a snowboard. Everyone can choose what they want to use.” The one drawback to having a kitchen crew is that when you're without them you forget that cooking could take a long time.

"That's very kind, Vlad. Where will we be skiing? Do you own a resort around here or something?” Jazz asked in earnest. She just knew she was going to tear it up on a snowboard.

Vlad barked out a chuckle and replied, “No, I do not. Though, I suppose since I own a large expanse of the woods around here and have certain hills outfitted with miniature ski lifts, I may as well own a ski resort. There’s also a large pond not far from one such hill. If you would like to ice skate, it is open to you all. It should be fully frozen by now.”

“Oh, that should be fun! I’ve never ice skated before!” Jazz exclaimed. “I just hope I can keep my balance.” Jazz said with a nervous laugh.

“I’m sure ol’ Vlad could teach you! He was an amazing ice skater back in college! Practically had the ladies in line to learn from him!” Jack boomed with a hearty wink in the direction of his old college friend.

“Jack, you know just as well as I do that you’re exaggerating. Rest assured, we were unpopular enough that nobody waited in line for us, or even thought to make a line, for that matter.” Vlad said in a voice that sounded too much like his college whine for comfort. “Sure, I was pretty good, but it HAS been twenty years. I highly doubt that I have enough leg strength to successfully do what I did back then.” Vlad explained with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, I know you can do it, Uncle Vlad! Please, could you teach me? It’d mean a lot!” Jazz asked, making puppy dog eyes at the man in hopes he would buy it. She didn’t think she would do good. At all. But she has always wanted to try, so why not?

With a sigh, Vlad answered “Alright, fine, I’ll do it. It looks like I’ll have to hunt out my pair of skates, though. I haven’t seen them in years, so I have no idea what kind of condition they’re even in.” The next day was going to be full too, it seemed.

“Thank you so much!” Jazz exclaimed as she rose from her seated position on the couch. “Would you like any more coffee?” she asked Vlad as she held a hand out for his mug.

“No, but thank you for the offer, Jasmine. I want to make sure Daniel can have as much as he wants as well.” Vlad answered as he handed the mug over.

While Jazz is in the kitchen putting the mugs down, she threw a good morning in Danny’s direction. The boy’s hair looked as if he had just woken up and ran his hands through it, sticking up at odd angles. He still had some dark bags under his eyes, but they seemed lighter today since he was finally getting some sleep on this vacation from Amity Park. No ghosts had messed with him so far, and he almost wanted to live here with the billionaire on that fact alone. He contemplated this as he picked out his black and white mug from the drainboard and shoveled in an obscene amount of sugar, followed by a flood of peppermint-scented caffeine.

Walking into the living room, Danny curled up in his chair and yawned, still not awake. “Good morning, Daniel. You look well-rested. Finally have a good night’s sleep, I assume?” Vlad asks with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. For once the boy didn’t look half dead, and Vlad was overjoyed to see his godson look that content.

“Mornin’ Fruitloop. I slept almost as good as a dead man, honestly.” Danny replied, a small and tired smile on his face. The only reply Danny received from the billionaire was a deadpan expression of earnest disbelief at his antics.

“Guess what, son? Today we’re all going to pile into the kitchen and cook, just like a real family!” Jack exclaimed, a smile on his face.

“Really? What’re we having? We don’t usually cook on Christmas, aside from warming up some ham and making those bagged potatoes.” Danny was almost scared. His mom wasn’t the most amazing cook, and don’t even get him STARTED on dad. It took Jazz pulling dad aside to make him realize that boiling frozen crinkle-cut French fries and mashing them wasn’t the same thing as mashed potatoes. Just the memory sent a shiver down the boy’s spine.

“Oh, we’ll be having a honey-baked ham, sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole, and some desserts. All of which we’ll be preparing today.” Vlad explained, mentally taking stock of what needed to go into the oven at what time, the ham being the first dish since it took so long to cook. “Dinner should be done around four or five, depending on cooking times.”

“And we already made up the Fenton Fudge this morning while the coffee was making. I probably should have prepared it last night, but it slipped my mind. It should be hardened enough by tonight, though.” Maddie explained as she rose. “So, should we get this cooking show on the road? We’re burning daylight just sitting here talking about making dinner.”

“I suppose we should. I did get a fairly large ham this year, and it may take a while to cook. Thankfully, it shouldn’t take long to prepare.” Vlad said as he rose from his seat, Jack copying his movements.

“That’s great! While you all do that, I’ll bring the rest of the presents inside from the RV and wrap a few more. Jazz, honey, want to help? Then Danny-boy can take the time to wake up.” Jack asked his daughter with a smile on his face.

“Coming dad! I still have a few I need to wrap up too!” Jazz said as she stood and followed her dad upstairs to get her coat.

Vlad and Maddie walked into the kitchen, chatting about their favorite holiday recipes while Danny took his time drinking his coffee, knowing today was going to be a great day, despite his previous dislike of the holiday.

The rest of the day past in a blur for the family of five as dinner was cooked, gifts were wrapped, and Christmas tunes gently echoed through the house. Occasionally, the radio would belt out a crowd favorite and everyone would sing, Danny’s voice cracking horribly as he tried to hit the high notes of “All I Want for Christmas is You.” Another time, Danny and Vlad teamed up to echo the lyrics of “Deck the Halls,” followed by Jack and Maddie performing a heartfelt duet of “Silver Bells” while they mashed the sweet potatoes and covered them in marshmallows. Jazz, not one to sing in front of others, even found the confidence to sing along with Wham! to “Last Christmas” for an impressive solo act, complete with a can opener microphone.

As the last of the dishes were finished and placed on the dinner table, the group sighed in relief. After hours, and a few burns, the meal was complete. The ham had a perfect brown glaze and delicious pink meat, perfectly moist. The marshmallows were a golden brown, and the mashed potatoes were white and fluffy. The smells that rose from the table were divine, and nobody could wait to dig in.

“What are we waiting on, let’s eat! I’m starved!” Jack exclaimed as he reached for a serving of mashed potatoes.

“You just read my mind, dad.” Danny laughed as he picked a piece of ham from his place on Vlad’s left. Maddie and Jack sat on the other side of the table, and Jazz was seated on her mother’s left side.

With that, everyone dug in, passing dishes around the rectangular dining table and eating their fill. Stories of family holidays were exchanged among the three adults as the children sat back and listened, laughing at times and giving their input at the end of each story.

Vlad shared stories of his childhood, of days spent playing on the family farm chasing chickens and running through cornfields without a care in the world. Danny never pinned Vlad as a farm kid from southern Wisconsin, but clearly, looks can be deceiving, especially those from a man who painstakingly crafted his professional appearance out of spite. Jack shared similar stories of caring for his parents’ cows on the dairy farm he grew up at. It was all the same stories that everyone at the table had heard a hundred times over the years, but each time was said just a bit differently. Maddie loved to talk about her and Alicia’s childhood as well, rambling about roaming the dirt roads in their home town on cool fall nights.

After dinner and a quick interlude to clean up and put the leftovers in the icebox, the family gathered in the family room once again. This time, Maddie and Jack sat on one couch, while Jazz and Danny occupied the other. Vlad moved one of the armchairs to Jack’s side of the couch and placed the other against a wall, which was immediately filled by Maddie the Cat. As was tradition, Danny and Jazz, being the youngest, handed presents out, each person’s piles stacked high with colorful boxes, bags, and misshapen lumps that definitely held clothing.

“3…2…1… Have at it!” Maddie shouted, throwing her hands into the air.

After a moment’s hesitation, Danny and Jack tore into the presents in unison with little regard to saving the shiny gift wrap. Danny received the telescope he’s been wanting for months, a Meade Polaris 130 EQ Reflector Telescope, and a tapestry that listed the different constellations with each individual star meticulously labeled. Those two alone were the best gifts he could have asked for. He also got the expected shirts, pants, and socks, along with a few new journals with stars on the covers.

Jack received items that mainly revolved around ghost hunting and science, like the pajama set printed with a cartoon version of Slimer from Ghostbusters. Since he worked almost constantly on the engineering side of their business, he was given a new set of wrenches and pliers, having lost many of them in the portal. He unwrapped a few sets of socks and a new jumpsuit, too.

Maddie, contrary to the boys’ style of unwrapping, carefully removed the tape off each metallic fold in her gift wrap and refolded the paper to use again. Her boxes contained a peppermint and cinnamon bath set and a beginner’s crochet set intended to help her achieve her goal of relaxing more in the new year. There was a colorful box of glitter pens and a journal wrapped in ribbons in her pile, as well as a new jumpsuit from her husband.

Jazz wasn’t as careful in her unwrapping as her mother, but she took her time opening each present. One package contained a large empty scrapbook with white paper, and another had a sticker set, colorful pens, and other little additions one would need to start scrapbooking. There were also two psychology-related books that Vlad had helped Jack pick out, one full of thought experiments and the other a textbook on teen and young adult mindsets for therapists-in-training. There were also a few new scarves, sweaters, and jeans.

Last but not least, Vlad opened his gifts slowly, treasuring the feeling of community and love he felt with his new family. He received a new red tie and handkerchief with some square cufflinks. In a bag was a collection of classic horror novels, which Vlad considered his guilty pleasure. He also received a box filled with yellow, wrinkled pages that held the writings of his old D&D campaign from back in college. Jack and Maddie seemed eager to start a new campaign with him, as they missed playing, and Vlad agreed immediately.

Finally, in a big square box, labeled from Danny, there was a black square scrapbook with an embossed gold Green Bay Packers logo on the front. Vlad didn’t even know the boy knew how to scrapbook. Upon opening the front cover, Vlad found a selfie Danny took the first time they had a real outing together. The two had gone out for coffee and had ended up going to the local observatory to watch one of their star tours. They had walked through the museum, and come to a replica cockpit for the Apollo 11 space shuttle. Somehow, Daniel convinced him to climb into the small seat with him and had taken a few photos, the last of which Vlad had finally smiled in, knees shoved into his chest and a raised eyebrow looking into the lens. Vlad decided to look through that later, almost afraid of what might be in there.

After all the presents were opened, Maddie collected the shredded paper and piled it into trash bags. As the night wound down, everyone looked through their presents and removed them from their packing, then changed into their new pajamas.

Jazz settled in with a book and Maddie began to write about the day in her new journal. Danny sketched some animals into a journal with the NASA logo on the front in metallic ink. Jack looked at his new tools and started planning new gadgets, making small sketches in his idea book. Vlad was focused on sorting out all the old papers from their many college campaigns and organizing them based on the time they happened.

The house was calm and warm, and all was as it should be on Christmas day.

#Holiday Truce 2019 #enmitypark #danny phantom #my fic #cas speaks #danny #vlad #jazz #jack #maddie #I haven't written a fic in 5 years oh my god #This was so much more stressful than I was ready for #but at the same time it was so fun #hope you enjoy man!!!!#I read through your fic just to see what you liked first lol #I feel like everyone is ooc but..... yaknow how it goes #christmas

43 notes · View notes

myaekingheart · 6 years ago

Text

44. Tsukuyomi

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3

index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

“Do you feel sorry for your old village?” a voice asked. Two cloaked figures stood at the edge of Konoha’s borders, harbingers of disaster. His companion hesitated a moment, tilting his head skyward toward Hokage Rock. A churning took hold of his stomach, recollections of the past. And then, after a moment, an eventual answer.

“No.”

Rei strapped her sandals on and fixed her hair up into a ponytail as she sat on the edge of Kakashi’s bed. Her lips were drawn taut, her eyes staring ahead with laser focus. The door creaked open. “You’re up early” Kakashi said as he stepped inside. His hair was still wet from a morning shower, and he had yet to put on a shirt. The clock read 5:45am.

“You say that as if I’m incapable of getting up before noon” she replied sharply. “Besides, I have a lot of shit to do today.”

“Oh?” Kakashi asked, sitting beside her. He ruffled his hair, shaking droplets of water onto Rei’s forearm. “What kinds of shit?”

Rei rose from her spot and checked herself in the nearby mirror. “Naru insisted on having a girl’s day, so she’s dragging us to the hot springs. I’d rather not, but she insisted we needed some quality spa time and wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Something shook inside Kakashi at the thought. He and Rei had been growing mildly distant, but the image of her in the springs triggered something that had since been neglected. He tried to get his mind off of it. He didn’t want her to see the vulnerability of his imagination.

He stood up and quickly slipped his shirt on over his head, then zipped his vest up and pulled his mask over his face. “Wait a minute, don’t leave just yet” he said as he tied his headband to his forehead. Rei glanced back at him expectantly, hand hovering over the doorknob. “I’ll walk you there.”

Despite how much she hated the way he seemed to loom over her as they went, a strange feelng began to take root that made her glad he was beside her. Per usual, they displayed no public affection that coul reeal the true nature of their relationship, and yet somehow she felt as if his fingers were invisibly intertwined with hers. There was a sense of protection deep within the looming that both comforted and terrified her.

They were halfway to the hot springs when something finally snapped. A chill ran down Kakashi’s spine, and the faintest ringing of a bell struck his ears. He looked back over his shoulder and caught one quick flash of black and red, the faintest glimpse of a crimson eye. When he turned back to Rei, she was staring at him with widened eyes. Perhaps she had felt it, too.

“Let me know when you make it home” he said quietly, ducking behind a pillar so that no one could see them before they parted ways.

“I will” she said softly. That feeling, that fleeting anxiety, left her paranoid and unhinged. She recognized it as if from some distant dream. It didn’t make any sense, but when she thought too long about it, she was reminded of someone terrifying. Soemone who made her feel so inexplicably nauseous. Itachi.

Kakashi rested a hand on Rei’s shoulder, looking at her with a deep, intense sincerity. “Stay safe. Please” he said. She nodded once, and then he leaned down and tugged his mask down to slowly plant a kiss on her lips.

A sense of warmth enveloped her entire body, momentarily easing her worries. He lingered for a moment longer afterwards, and she looked in his eyes and whispered “You, too.” Her heart pounded as she watched him leave, her arms going numb, as if she could feel the elastic bond between them stretching too thin and ultimately snapping. She spaced out for a moment, caught up in her thoughts, only realizing after snapping back to reality that perhaps he had not alleviated her fears so much as added to them. An unshakable sense of doom crept over her, and she suddenly felt as if the entire world was destined to implode in a matter of hours.

“Looks like someone kissed and made up” a voice then spoke, startling Rei. She turned to find Sekkachi smirking at her, a towel slung over her forearm. Rei stammereda moment, face turning red, before socking her friend in the arm and stomping through the gates as she mumbled something along the lines of Shut the fuck up.

Kakashi stood outside the dango shop with book in hand, but truthfully he couldn’t concentrate. He searched for Sasuke, whose presence he requested and hoped would oblige. Inside, two cloaked figures brooded over their tea. Kakashi wasn’t sure what was to come of this, but he had be prepared for the absolute worst.

Asuma and Kurenai were a welcome distraction, smugly smiling behind his mask as he watched them approach. “You two seem to be getting along” he commented. The kunoichi’s face went bright red, stammering out a half-assed excuse. Deep down, Kakashi took great pride in poking fun at them. As if everyone didn’t already know of their secret romance. He hoped he and Rei weren’t nearly as obvious.

“What are you doing here, aside from catching up on your reading?” Asuma asked. “I thought you didn’t like the sweet stuff.”

“I need to buy something for a grave” Kakashi replied. It was clear through his tone and body language that something was going on; the couple before him exchanged suspicious glances. “Plus, I’m meeting someone here.”

Asuma hollered and slapped Kakashi hard on the back. “Finally got a girlfriend, huh?”

Kakashi looked back at him, unamused. “No” he said. “I’m just waiting on Sasuke.”

“It’s unlike you to be the early one” Asuma commented.

“So, what did you need to pick up for this grave?” Kurenai asked. “Is it for Obito?”

Kakashi clenched his fist at his side. “Yeah…kind of” he replied. His eyes trailed back to the cloaked figures, their bodies tense. Asuman and Kurenai followed his gaze just as Sasuke arrived, looking as agitated as ever.

“It’s not like you to show up early” the by spat. “What’s gives?”

“Well, sometimes things are just too important to run late for” Kakashi replied. A strange feeling echoed through the air, and Sasuke peered inside the shop. The table once occupied now sat empty, nealy full cups of tea still piping hot.

Sasuke huffed. “Let’s eat somewhere else. I’m not really in the mood for sweets.” Asuma and Kurenai met Kakashi’s gaze and knew immediately what must be done. They nodded once, then disappeared. The young Uchiha pursed his lips. “Alright, what’s going on?”

Naru leapt out of the spring grinning, grabbing a towel on her way to tightly hug Rei. “I’m so glad you were able to make it!” she exclaimed. Rei peered over her friend’s shoulder to catch sight of the others already relaxing: Yugao, Tenshi, and Mikazuki.

“I wish you would’ve told me this was an ANBU thing” Sekkachi scoffed, flanking Rei. “Or else I never would’ve come.”

Naru shook her head as she embraced her comrade. “But we want you here, too, Sekkachi! I want you here!”

All the blood drained from Sekkachi’s face and she quickly shoved Naru off of her. “Alright, yeah, whatever” she said, ripping her towel off and wading into the water. She refused to look Naru in the eyes, or any other part of her body for that matter.

“So I wonder who the new hokage is going to be” Mikazuki said, smoothing her dark hair back to reveal her third eye.

“Do they really have to pick so soon?” Naru asked. “Lord Third only just died, like, a week ago.”

“Konoha needs leadership” Sekkachi said bluntly. “Without a hokage, we’re gonna shit the bed. Especially after the hellfest that was the chunin exams.”

“I overheard in a meeting yesterday something about one of the legendary sannin” Yugao replied. “Apparently the elders had a long discussion about it.”

“Yeah, probably because it takes them fifity years to get out a sentence” Sekkachi said. Naru rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know much about politics” the blonde chimed in, “but I think whoever assumes the position should know what he’s getting into. Lord Third was a great man, this new guy will have some pretty big shoes to fill.”

As they prattled on about current affairs, Rei couldn’t help but feel mildly awkward around so many people. Not to mention the fact that she was naked in front of them. It didn’t matter if they shared a common anatomy. She felt exposed and vulnerable.

“Is it just me” Tenshi then spoke, “Or does anyone else here have the weirdest feeling like you’re being watched?” The girls looked to each other for reassurance, quickly realizing that they felt it, too.

Jiraiya fixed his telescope firmly against his eye and chuckled to himself filthily. “You’ve gotta love the Leaf village!” he shouted from atop a nearby building. He fixed his gaze on a brunette clouded in steam, sultry eyes and curvaceous figure. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she fell straight from the heavens. “The girls here are off the charts!”

“Jiraiya” a firm voice then called. “You’re still playing the buffoon, I see…”

Kakashi squeezed his eyes shut and tried to deal with the pain. Another blade sliced into his abdomen, warm blood pouring down his body. Itachi smirked. “I wonder how much of this someone without the kekkei genkai can take.” That damn word kept pulsing through Kakashi’s head with every thumping heartbeat in his ears. Tsukuyomi. Tsukuyomi. Tsukuyomi.

No amount of downplaying it as “just genjutsu” could dull the pain. Another blade, and everything slowly went black.

Naru sighed happily and rested her head back against the edge of the springs. “I don’t think I ever want to get out” she breathed. “I’ve never felt so relaxed in my entire life.”

The caw of a bird echoed overhead. Yugao pursed her lips. “Well, sorry to cut your relaxation short, but it looks like we’re needed.” She pointed up at the sky, a warning sign circling overhead. A summon for the ANBU black ops and by the looks of it, things weren’t good.

Rei’s heart leapt into her throat. She jumped out of the spring so quickly she scraped her knee on the rocky ledge. A voice told her to be careful, but by then the damage was already done. No matter. It wasn’t important. Her mind leapt back to that feeling from earlier, the paranoia and the sense of impeding doom. She saw it. Kakashi saw it. Something was extremely wrong. She raced inside the bath house, got dressed as quickly as possible, and made a run for it.

Tenshi lifted herself out of the springs with all the finesse of a film star, shaking the water from her hair and sighing. “Clearly grace isn’t her strong suit” she said condescendingly as she watched Rei disappear.

Naru grimaced as she climbed out herself. “Not everyone can be Yukie Fujikaze” she commented, then turned and met eyes with Sekkachi. “Sorry to have cut things so short!” she apologized. “You’re more than welcome to stay if you’d like.”

Face pale and hands shaky, Sekkachi shook her head and began wading toward the bath house. “No use stewing alone. Besides, I’m not feeling so great” she said. Naru extended a hand to help her friend up, but Sekkachi refused to take it. She wrapped her towel around her body quickly and shuffled inside.

Naru watched her quizzically. I wonder what’s gotten into her.

Deep breaths. In…and out. This can’t be happening. Rei stepped foot in the hospital dizzy and disoriented. Three jonin turned toward her, fully aware that this wasn’t going to end well. Hiretsuna, the ditsy receptionist, bounded forward with a clipboard clutched to her chest.

“Hello!” she greeted. “What can I help you with today?”

Rei shoved her out of the way, staggering toward the others. “What’s happened? Where is he?” she asked. Her eyes were wide and unyielding, her hands trembling at her sides. Kurenai and Asuma exchanged confused looks, but it was Guy who stepped forward to apprehend their visitor.

“They’re checking him out right now” he said, placing his hands firmly on Rei’s shoulders. “But I want you to know that he didn’t go down without a fight.”

“Oh…oh god…” Rei whispered. The room swayed back and forth, and then she fell to her knees. Her stomach was doing somersaults, and she buried her face in her hands to hide the hot tears pouring down her cheeks. Guy knelt down beside her and rubbed her back in comfort.

After a few moments, Kurenai crept forward and whispered, “Guy, what exactly is going on here?”

Guy simply swatted her away and whispered back, “I’ll explain later.” As she recoiled, she watched Guy lift Rei to her feet, one arm around her for support, and walk her to a chair nearest the hall of triage rooms where Kakashi had been taken. He sat her down gently, then took the seat beside her, and continued to sit there with her until they received word of their friend’s condition.

Rei’s entire body was shaking. She was drowning in a sea of terrible thoughts. What if Kakashi didn’t make it? What if Itachi had killed him? She nearly vomited at the thought. Guy heard her gag and reminded her to breathe. She thought she had been. “I’ll kill him…” she whispered furiously. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands if I have to…I’ll slaughter Itachi.”

Overhearing, Kurenai and Asuma exchanged glances with one another, and then with Guy, who simply shook his head and averted his eyes. She was filled with so much rage, so much desperation. Her love for Kakashi was truly a wildfire. Just then, the door to one of the triage rooms slid open and a nurse stepped out. Rei leapt to her feet.

“What’s going on? Where is he? I need to see him” the redhead insisted.

The nurse was taken aback a moment, calming only when Guy came up behind Rei and placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’re just concerned is all” he reassured. The nurse nodded and a soft smile flickered on her lips.

“He’s stable” she said, but there was a looming sense of exception in her tone. Rei knew not to get her hopes up too high yet. “However, the effects of the genjutsu that was used on him have rendered him completely comatose and I’m afraid there’s nothing more we at this hospital can do. We will need the help of an expert medical specialist in order for a full recovery.”

The woman’s words lingered in Rei’s brain, swirling around and taunting her. Full recovery. Comatose. Nothing more we can do. Nothing more…

“You son of a--!” Rei erupted, reaching for the nurse. The woman gasped and jumped backward just as Guy lurched forward to hold Rei down. “You’re lying! I know exactly how this shit works!” Rei screamed, tears streaming down her face. “He’s going to be fine, I know he is! He has to be! You’re just not trying hard enough!”

“Rei” Guy shouted sternly, trying to restrain her. It was no use. She squirmed in his arms and wailed maniacally, trying to elbow her way out of Guy’s grasp. People in the waiting room were beginning to stare and grow uncomfortable. Asuma and Kurenai ducked into the hallway to avoid the association. After a solid five minutes of fighting, Rei finally broke down. She fell limp in Guy’s arms and wept pathetically, pounding her fist against the ground. Once he knew she was done being destructive, he loosened his hold and rubbed her back, trying to tell her “Alright, Rei, just try to calm down. Everything is going to be fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. Kakashi was comatose. What if he never woke up? She couldn’t handle it. Konoha police officers arrived ready to respond to the commotion, but Rei refused to move.

“Ma’am, we can do this the easy way or the hard way” one officer said. “Come with us willingly and there won’t be any issues.”

She shook her head. “No…please, just…just let me see him” she whispered. The nurse glanced to the officers and then back to the hysterical girl on the floor, and then to Guy who looked up at her with an expression that said she shouldn’t dare refuse. With a sigh, the nurse dismissed the officers and slid the triage door open.

Rei shuffled inside slowly, fearfully. Guy stayed right behind her, a reassuring presence in an otherwise hellish escapade. And then she saw him. He looked so peaceful, so blank. She squeaked and clapped her hand over her mouth, averting her eyes. “D-do you��do you think he’ll ever wake up?” she asked. She inched nearer, almost terrified as if he was a corpse, and rested her hand against his warm cheek. A part of her expected his eyes to creak open and for him to smile up at her, as if her touch alone was some magic antidote like in childhood fairytales, but she received no response. He was out cold.

The nurse bit her lip and replied in false cheer “Well, there’s always hope!”

Hope, my ass, Rei thought to herself. She didn’t want hope, she wanted answers. Or really, if she was wanting things, she wanted Kakashi to be okay. Conscious. Unaffected. She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. Then, turning to Guy, asked, “Can you do me a favor?”

Kakashi’s apartment felt stuffy, suffocating. Guy rummaged around for the clothing and books Rei had requested she bring, Asuma and Kurenai’s eyes on him all the while.

“Guy, do you care to explain what exactly happened in the hospital?” Kurenai asked.

Guy paused a moment, knowing he wasn’t really at the liberty to divulge such information, but then decided that this was a special circumstance and they had the right to know. “That woman who showed up today and caused a scene was Rei Natsuki. She’s in the ANBU black ops and has known Kakashi her entire life. And she’s his girlfriend.”

There was silence as the two jonin tried to process this. “He never said anything” Kurenai said thoughtfully. “I wonder why not.” Guy looked back at her then with an expression on his face as if to say Maybe for the same reason you two don’t, and the kunoichi immediately shut up.

As Guy peered into Kakashi’s closet, something glinting in the sunlight caught his attention. He moved the clothing out of the way to find tucked away in a box was a tiny gold ring. He understood what was going on immediately, and was overcome with equal parts excitement and terror. Kakashi had big plans, but there was no way for him to fulfill them if he never pulled through.

Just then, the door creaked open and suddenly a voice boomed through the room. “What the hell is going on here?” Sasuke insisted. It was clear something was definitely off. There was no reason for three jonin to be rooting around Kakashi’s apartment.

Guy poked his head out of the closet with a grin pasted on his face. “Not much, really!” he lied. And then their plan faltered.

The streetlights flickered on outside as the sky gradually darkened, but Rei refused to let her eye shut. She couldn’t risk falling asleep should Kakashi wake up. Deep down, however, she knew he wasn’t going to. She tugged back the blankets so she could reach under and lace her fingers with his, desperate for just a spark of response.

How could someone be so cold? So heartless? Sure, Itachi didn’t kill him but the damage was already done. In a way, this was even worse. At least with death, it was definite and quick. There was no uncertainty to it. You’re just gone. But this…this waiting was torture. It hadn’t even been a full 24 hours yet and Rei already felt as if she was going to lose her damn mind. And worse than that, what if all of her waiting was for nothing? No matter how much she tried to shove away the negative thoughts, they always weaseled their way back in. If he was to go, she swore she would have nothing left to live for. She couldn’t stand the thought of going on without him. She would take her own life if it came to that, she was sure of it.

Still, there were so many things they had yet to do. So much life ahead of them. Was this really where their future was meant to end? “Please don’t do this” she whispered, despite knowing he likely couldn’t hear. “Whatever you do…do not leave me this.” She lowered her voice to a growl, begging him to wake up, then punched the floor. It was no use.

As she drifted off, all she could think about was how petty she had been the past few weeks. The hokage’s death had stirred something in her, an anxiety about human mortality and a desperation to defeat death. She had felt so helpless, and she fought every instinct in her body to dwell on it but couldn’t bring herself to stop. She remembered how harsh she had been to Naru, insisting that there’s no use focusing on the past because there was nothing more that could be done. More than anything, however, she remembered her argument with Kakashi. Why was she so damn angry about his daily visits to the cemetery? Perhaps there was something understandable hiding in there, some sort of healthy coping mechanism, but the more she thought about it sitting there beside her unconscious love, the more she realized how stupid she had been. Realistically, she knew she was just projecting. She, too, was shackled to the past with no way of escaping. And now it all would cost them their future together.

In her sleep, she found herself in a pastel paradise, surrounded by clouds and stardust. Where am I? she thought, reaching out toward the abyss. It stretched on and on; she could look but could not touch. And then there was a voice calling her name. She recognized it immediately. She whipped around to find Kakashi approaching her, smiling, maskless, but something was wrong. What’s going on? Where are we? She asked. This is death, he replied. This is the nothingness. She reached out to take his hand but he, too, was unreachable. From the mist then approached Rin and Obito, each taking one of Kakashi’s hands in theirs. They were taking him away from her. This was the end of everything. In an act of desperation, she ripped the kanzashi from the base of her ponytail and made a vertical slice all the way up her forearm. The blood trickled down to the floor, creating a neat little puddle at her feet. Take me with you. I belong to death now. Rin and Obito shook their heads in disdain, beginning to fade away along with Kakashi. No…this isn’t right. Don’t leave me…you can’t leave me! She fell to her knees, covered in her own blood, wailing. Don’t leave me….don’t leave me, Kakashi…don’t leave…

She snapped awake to a figure looming overhead, her face blocked out by the sunshine backlight. Immediately on the defensive, Rei leapt to her feet and whipped her kanzashi out only to be met with the startled gaze of a nurse. “W-what time is it?” Rei gasped, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“It’s 6 in the morning. I’m just here to check his vitals” the nurse explained meekly. She should’ve clocked into work an hour ago but quite frankly, she didn’t give a fuck anymore. She alid her head back down on the edge of the bed and sighed, watching Kakashi’s chest rise and fall slowly.

That afternoon, Guy arrived with Asuma and Kurenai to see how their friend was doing. Kurenai looked around the room with great concern, daring to ask, “Have you been here this entire time?” Rei only nodded. Then, “Have you left his side at all?” Rei shook her head. The saddest look then crossed Kurenai’s face as she turned to Asuma, a silent call that something had to be done.

“Is there anything we can do?” Guy asked, standing beside the redhead. He hated seeing Kakashi like this, almost as much as Rei did. If only there was some way he could snap his fingers and will Kakashi back to life, but he didn’t have that power in him. He could only do the same as Rei: sit and wait.

“No, I-I’m alright, but thank you, Guy” Rei muttered. She reached out and patted his forearm, and in that ation they all saw the way her hand shook. Between that and the pallor of her face, a sudden realization struck Kurenai.

“Rei, have you eaten anything in the past two days?” she asked. The redhead averted her eyes. She didn’t want to answer for fear of facing shame in the truth. Her silence, however, was answer enough. Kurenai drew her hand to her mouth and sighed. She tugged Asuma’s sleeve and then said, “We’ll be back in a little while.” Rei already knew exactly what she was doing, but she didn’t have the energy to protest. She supposed that if Kurenai was willing to go out of her way to bring her food, it would be nothing short of disrespectful not to eat it.

And then they were alone, just Guy and Rei and an unconscious Kakashi. They sat in silence for a long while, the bushy-browed ninja studying his rival’s girlfriend. He watched the way she sat, how her back was arched and her eyes heavy from exhaustion. He doubte she had been sleeping very well, if at all. He admired her dedication, however. A small smile tugged at his lips as he patted her on the back. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you, Rei, but even when he’s unconscious I’m sure Kakashi knows what a great job you’re doing keeping him company!”

For a moment, he was met with no response. And then, slowly, Rei turned to look up at him with teary eyes. “Thank you, Guy…” she whispered hoarsely before finally breaking down. She didn’t want to cry, especially after the scene she caused yesterday, but she couldn’t help herself. She was weak and this was all far too much for her to handle.

Kurenai and Asuma returned a few hours later with a to-go carton of Ichiraku and some gyoza, which Rei happily scarfed down. The three of them stayed a little while longer, but one by one as the streetlights outside flickered on, they left and once again she was all alone.

In the darkness, she took solace in the fact that no one was watching her. Her back ached from sitting up for days on end, and her eyelids were growing heavier. With a sharp inhale, she tugged the covers back and carefully climbed into the hospital bed, curling up beside her boyfriend. She cupped his cheek and stroked the hair out of his face, studied the contours of his body, and held his hand tight against her chest. “I don’t know if you can hear me” she whispered, “but it’s getting pretty lonely here. I-I know you’re right here next to me, but…I miss you. I miss you being awake. I wish…I wish you would just come back to me. Please…please come back to me.” She watched him for a moment longer, resting her head on his chest, until finally she couldn’t restrain herself any longer. Her eyes drooped shut and she fell fast asleep.

Weeks passed with no change. Rei could hear the murmurs of nurses in the hallway, as if they were betting on how much longer she was going to hold out. Joke’s on them, she thought to herself. The only way I’m leaving without Kakashi is on a gurney to the morgue.

“I’m really beginning to worry about you” Naru said one afternoon when she stopped by. “The whole world hasn’t stopped turning just for you, you know. Life is still going on out there.”

Rei rolled her eyes. “I don’t care about any of it” she spat. “Doesn’t mean a thing unless Kakashi is okay.”

Naru pursed her lips, then sighed. “You know, they threatened to remove you from the black ops if you don’t come back to work soon.” She knew Sekkachi had threatened her if she so much as dared to tell Rei what the elders had said, but Naru thought she had a right to know. She needed to know.

Shaking her head, Rei replied, “What’s the point? There’s no hokage to take orders from. Let the village elders die mad about it. They’re old enough, it probably wouldn’t take very long.”

“Rei!” Naru’s face turned bright red. She crossed her arms and approached the doorway. “I know this is a rough time for you but you have to keep your head on your shoulders. I think staying here for weeks on end has screwed with your head. You need to go home and get some rest. At least for tonight. Shower, get some clean clothes. Sleep in an actual bed.”

Rei shook her head. “No” she insisted. “No, the minute I leave will be when he finally wakes up and I can’t…I can’t risk that.”

No matter how much she protested, Naru assured her that Kakashi was well taken care of and Rei had no room to protest. If anything should happen, the hospital would surely notify her, right? She was the closest thing he had to family anyway, even if they weren’t related by blood or marriage. She was still responsible for him in a way. After all, she still held true to the mission Lord Third had assigned to her two years prior. Recent events meant nothing for her duty to Kakashi. The thing that finally convinced her to go, however, was Naru’s insistence that it would be what Kakashi wanted.

“Can you imagine how bothered he would be to find you neglecting your own self care for him?” she asked. “I’m sure he would appreciate you staying by his side all this time, but not at the expense of your own wellbeing. He would want you to go home, to get some rest, and then you can come back when you’re fresh and clean, alright?”

That logic was hard to argue with, and Rei almost resented Naru for pulling such a dirty trick. She notified the nurse at the station that she would be going home for the night, and that she would return early the next morning, and then went on her way feeling guilty all the while.

So long as she kept herself busy, it wasn’t so bad. She took her time showering, scrubbing her skin hard until it shined red and shampooing once, twice, three times over. She dug through her dresser and tried on five different outfits before landing on the right one. And then, when there was nothing else for her to do, she picked up a book. She knew it wouldn’t be much help, and that books always ended up serving as vehicles for a wandering mind, but at least it was something.

Settling into her desk chair, she cracked open a novel she had only started years ago but never read past page 25. As she did so, the bookmark she had placed in there years earlier slipped out and fluttered into one of her drawers. She paused, staring despondently at where it fell, then propped her book open with her forearm as she rummaged around to find it. It was a simple scrap of paper, it didn’t need to be this difficult, and yet as she searched, her fingers found something quite different. She pressed her hand against the cold steel and a shiver ran down her spine. She let her book slap shut, instead devoting all of her attention now to this long lost gem. Rei slowly removed it from the drawer, turning it over in her hands. It was the kakute she had received when she was six, the present she was going to give Kakashi for making jonin. She never did muster enough courage to give it to him. Now she was kicking herself for even forgetting about it. Grandma Teiko would be genuinely disappointed.

As she stared at it, she wondered if it would be well-received. She wondered what Kakashi would think of it, and if he would be more accepting of it now than when he was eight. She thought perhaps so. He was more mature now than he was back then. He had faced far more adversity, and so she assumed he would likely place a higher value in things of sentiment than before. The longer she looked at it, the more an energy began to swell inside of her. She never did officially congratulate him on becoming a jonin at all. What a terrible friend, nonetheless girlfriend. They had been absent for so many moments in one another’s lives, filled with so many missed opportunities. Well, no more. Rising from her seat, Rei tucked the ring into the pouch on her backside and made a firm decision. If and when Kakashi was to wake up, no matter what, she would give him that ring. No more forgetting. No more waiting. It was now or never.

As she made her way to the hospital the next day, she took the long route for no reason in particular. Her anxiety about Kakashi had made it hard to sleep the previous night, and she was eager to get back to him, but at the same time had no idea when he would wake up and she missed the fresh air. Besides, she hadn’t seen her family since before the chaos of the chunin exams and she had heard Kaminoki got hit hard. It was only fair that she make sure everyone was okay.

Grandma Teiko immediately noticed something strange in Rei’s eyes and pulled her aside for a private conversation. “Something’s going on, I can tell. What’s on your mind, girl?” she asked. Rei didn’t exactly want to go through the entire spiel but knew Grandma Teiko of all people deserved an explanation. She sucked in a deep breath and bravely tried her best to explain the situation without crying. She failed and was in tears by the time she explained Kakashi was comatose. Teiko wrapped an arm around her granddaughter and cooed at her softly as if she was a child who had scraped their knee. “Everything will turn out fine” she reassured.

“But how do you know?” Rei asked. On one hand, she understood that Grandma Teiko was trustworthy and, in a way, somewhat clairvoyant, but at the same time a part of her found it hard to feel confident in a happy ending. Kakashi had been out of it for three weeks with no signs of improvement.

“I just know these things. What? Have you stopped trusting the words of an old woman?” Teiko replied.

“No, I just—” Rei started, but her grandmother interrupted.

“Besides” she started, “I’ve heard rumors that they’ve finally found the fifth hokage.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Rei asked. Not that she was ungrateful for the news, of course. Konoha had gone far longer than it needed to without a proper leader, and she hoped that whoever had been appointed would fulfill the position well. But that meant nothing for the fate of Kakashi. Or so she thought.

“Maybe if you didn’t speak so soon, you’d let me finish telling you!” Grandma Teiko snapped. Rei blushed and muttered an apology. “I’ve heard rumors that the new hokage is the sannin herself, Tsunade, who, if you don’t already know, is an expert medic ninja. She can fix Kakashi right up in no time!”

Rei’s heart swelled up into her throat. Was it really that easy? All she needed to do was track down Tsunade and her problems would be solved? This was too much. There was no way it all was that simple. But if it was… It was a chance she just had to take. She bid Grandma Teiko a fond farewell, hugging her tightly and thanking her for the intel, before rushing off to see what else she could find about this Tsunade. She skirted around corners and eavesdropped behind storefronts in hopes of overhearing something—anything—but nobody seemed to have any solid information. At least nothing like Grandma Teiko provided. After roughly an hour of running and searching, she had grown incredibly weary and was almost about to give up when she ran into none other than Might Guy. Perhaps he would know something.

“Tsunade?” he asked. “Naruto’s been off searching for her with Jiraiya these past few weeks and turns out they found her. She’s a legendary medic ninja, and I’m going to ask her to see if she can fix Rock Lee!” It took Rei only a couple seconds to remember who, exactly, Rock Lee was but then memories of the chunin exams flashed in her mind. Perhaps Guy had taken the idea of a protégé a little too far, but no matter. She remembered at least overhearing of the damage the young ninja had sustained in the fight, and she truly hoped he would be alright.

“Do you think she can heal Kakashi, too?” Rei asked. She tried not to let her hope bubble up too high.

“I don’t see why not!” Guy enthused. “If I’m not mistaken, I’m sure Naruto had already insisted she work her magic on him already.” Before he could say another word, Rei leapt up to hug Guy tightly and thanked him over and over again, then rushed off to the hospital with newfound purpose. She didn’t want to think of what may happen if Tsunade was unable to fulfill her promise and fix him. If she was as good as everyone said she was, she would have no excuse to fail in the first place. Rei greeted the nurse on duty in a flash as she raced into the room to find Kakashi laying exactly as he had been all that time. It was eight in the morning, and she wondered when Tsunade would arrive. No matter, she was willing to wait as long as it took.

She seated herself beside Kakashi’s bed and kissed him on the cheek, before pulling the kakute from her pocket and looking it over. She knew logically that he was totally unconscious and that there was no way for him to know what she was doing but still, removing it in front of him even now felt forbidden and like ruining an anticipated surprise. Soon, she thought to herself, then rested her head on the bedside and involuntarily passed out.

When she came to, she heard an unfamiliar voice overhead. “And who is this one?” a woman asked, and Rei knew immediately she was speaking of her.

“This is Rei Natsuki, Kakashi’s girlfriend” the nurse explained. “She’s been here by his side the entire time he’s been in the hospital. She refused to leave him.”

“I see…” the woman said. Rei blinked awake and watched as this strange woman skirted around the hospital bed and began looking Kakashi over.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get away from him!” Rei shouted, rising from her seat.

“Excuse me?” the woman asked, gritting her teeth. She was, admittedly, beautiful. And also, erm…well-endowed. “Well, it’s nice to see you’re finally awake” the woman scoffed.

The nurse rested a gentle hand on Rei’s shoulder in an attempt to ease her, whispering, “This is Lady Tsuande, the one you’ve been waiting for.” The moment her name rolled off the nurse’s lips, Rei’s face went bright red. She sank back down into her seat and apologized quietly. The last thing she needed was to ruin Kakashi’s chances of ever waking up solely because she had a short fuse and was quick to judge.

Rei watched with wide eyes as Tsunade smirked and then rested a hand over Kakashi’s forehead. A pale green light pulsated from beneath her palm, healing chakra. And then came the one thing Rei had been waiting for all this time. Kakashi furrowed his brows, flexed his fist. A soft groan escaped his lips, and then his eyes creaked open.

“There he is” Tsunade said triumphantly.

“Huh…? W-what’s going on?” Kakashi slurred, rubbing his head as he sat up. He looked to Tsunade, then her assistant Shizune, and then finally to Rei at his bedside. She stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly ajar, on the verge of tears. “Rei…”

“Kakashi!” she shrieked, then lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him tightly. He could feel her hot tears spilling down her cheeks and onto his back.

“How long have I been out of it?” Kakashi asked, wrapping an arm around Rei as she wept into his shoulder.

“About three weeks!” the nurse chirped. Kakashi’s face went pale. No wonder Rei is so excited to see me. She probably thought I was dead.

As Rei pulled away, Kakashi’s eyes instantly darted to her balled up fist. Her hand was covered in blood. “Rei, what happened?” he asked, gently taking her hand in his. Her cheeks blushed, and she averted her eyes, remembering the kakute.

“I must’ve fallen asleep holding onto something” she replied sheepishly.

“Like what? Broken glass?” Tsunade asked, taking Rei’s hand from Kakashi. She pried her fist open to find the little steel ring in her palm, the spikes having stabbed Rei in her sleep. The sannin arched a brow before instructing Shizune to take Rei to get her hand cleaned up and bandaged. As the brunette carted her to the other end of the room, footsteps pounded down the hall and in burst Naruto Uzumaki.

“So were you able to do it?” Naruto asked. “Did you fix Kakashi-sensei?”

“Well” Tsunade started, “Physically, yes, but I doubt his pride is anywhere near perfect.” Rei’s ears perked up, honing in on the conversation as Shizune cleaned her wound. Tsunade shook her head and placed her hands firmly on her hips. “Disgraceful” she sighed. “To be taken out of the game by two low-life punks like that. I thought you were supposed to be the best.”

Rei gritted her teeth, clenching her fist. Shizune cleared her throat to attract attention back to her. “Um, Miss Natsuki…? You’re making it difficult for me to bandage you up…” she said. Rei relaxed her hand and muttered a half-hearted sorry. Who did this Tsunade think she was? Belitting Kakashi’s abilities like that. Kakashi was the best. Itachi was likely just manipulative and strong. Clearly this woman had no idea what Kakashi was up against.

“Sorry to…disappoint you” Kakashi said, voice low, and it was clear that he was feeling like shit about himself. Rei’s heart ached.

In the meantime, Might Guy had barged into the room with a look of sheer anticipation on his face. He could hardly contain himself. Triumphantly, Naruto raised a fist in the air and shouted, “Alright, that’s Kakashi-sensei! Now one more and you’re all done!”

How many people has this kid been dragging her around to heal? Rei thought to herself. Shizune finished bandaging her hand and smiled softly at the redhead. “Alright, that should do it” she said. She then reached over and lifted the kakute off the counter, looking it over quizzically. “You might want to wash this off with peroxide just to make sure you get all the blood off” she suggested. “There should be some right under here.” Rei watched as she leand down and began rummaging through the cabinet. Before she could find the bottle, however, Tsunade approached the door with her entourage and called for Shizune to join them. The brunette smiled back at Rei apologetically and then ran off. Well, at least her assistant is nice, Rei thought to herself as she watched them disappear, and then Rei and Kakashi were all alone.

A veil of silence draped over the couple in that hospital room. Now that this was all said and done, she almost feared what would happen next. Of course she was more than happy that he was awake and alright, but still. Where were they supposed to go from here?

“Three weeks, huh?” Kakashi then sighed, leaning back in bed. Rei nodded slowly, turning toward him.

“Yeah…” she said, toying with the kakute in her hands. “Three long weeks.”

“Is it true you stayed by my side the entire time?” he asked.

“Well, I mean…not the entire time” Rei said sheepishly. “Naru insisted I go home for some clean clothes and to sleep in an actual bed, but it didn’t really do much good.”

“I see” Kakashi said. He watched as Rei wrapped her bandaged hand gently around the ring and then waded closer, hesitantly sitting on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t have to do that, you know” he then said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Stay here with me” Kakashi replied. “There wasn’t really any reason for you to.”

“That’s not true” Rei said. “If you were to finally wake up while I was gone…or worse…”

It was the or worse that really caught Kakashi’s attention. Did she really think he was going to die? Of course, he assumed that had he been in her position, he would’ve feared the same. At least she had kept her cool the entire time, as far as he knew. “Thank you, then” he said, reaching out and resting a hand lightly atop hers. “I’m glad you cared enough to stay.”

“Of fucking course!” Rei exclaimed. “You mean the world to me, I wasn’t about to leave you behind in a fucking coma.”

Kakashi chuckled and smiled at her, and Rei’s heart raced. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes and willed herself not to cry. No, not this time. She had already cried enough the past few weeks. And still, after all that time, she had been so terrified that she may never see that masked smile ever again. It was only natural she would get a little choked up, she assumed. Regardless, she refused to let her tears ruin a happy moment.

Kakashi let them revel in each other’s quiet company for a moment longer before his eyes drifted down to her bandaged hand, and his smile quickly faded. “Is your hand alright?” he asked. Rei chewed her bottom lip and nodded vigorously. “How did you hurt it, anyway? What stabbed you?”

Rei considered lying for a moment. In all her confident fanfare from earlier, she hadn’t considered how scary actually giving him the kakute would be. Perhaps a part of her assumed it was highly possible for him to stay asleep forever and she could simply cling to it with a strong sense of remorse for not being braver. But now here he was, wide awake and questioning. She didn’t want to damage their trust, and so she had no choice. Sucking in a deep breath, she replied, “I have something for you. I must have been stressed while I was asleep and squeezed my hand around it too tight. You don’t have to like it, I mean, you can give it back if you don’t want it but I mean…I’ve been holding onto it for a long time, and I was going to give it to you ages ago but never had the guts to, so, uh…yeah.” Kakashi eyed her expectantly. She huffed her bangs out of her face and then slowly unclenched her fist to reveal the ring in her hand, still stained with her blood. Kakashi blinked a few times, then reached out and picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

“Where did you get something like this?” he asked. She truly wasn’t sure if he meant that in a positive or negative connotation. Her anxiety raged.

“It was from Grandma Teiko’s arsenal of weird old stuff” she replied. “I was trying to find a good present for you a long time ago and thought this might be fitting but I don’t know, you don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to” Kakashi replied quickly, smiling at her in reassurance. “I want to” he repeated. She watched as he reached over to tug a tissue out of the box near his bed and begin wiping the blood off of it, then slid it onto his left middle finger. He poked the spikes at the end, apparently satisfied with their sharpness. “This could really do some damage.”

“I would hope so” Rei replied. “I mean, that’s what it was made for.”

Kakashi nodded once, then slid the ring off and placed it on the nightstand. “So, you said you’ve held onto this for a long time. How long, exactly?” he asked. That was a loaded question. Did she really want to reveal her original intention? She averted her eyes and began picking at the dirt beneath her fingernail.

“A while…” she replied slowly. She glanced over to find her boyfriend arching a brow. So he wanted a real answer. Alright. She would have to be totally honest. “I was six. You had just been promoted to jonin. I wanted to give you something special to celebrate—I knew everyone else would—but I couldn’t figure out what, so of course I asked Grandma Teiko for advice and she suggested this.”

“What took you so long?” Kakashi then asked, laughing under his breath.

The weight of their broken past lingered on her shoulders. Then, finally, she murmured, “I was scared. Things changed. We…drifted. It didn’t feel appropriate anymore.”

“Oh…” Kakashi said, lowering his gaze. He turned to look at the ring once again, now suddenly catching the inscription on the front. The kanji for love. He hated to think that his child self would’ve likely written it off as a useless gift, shoving it into a drawer someplace and never touching it again. But now he was more mature. Now this gift had meaning. His mind flickered back to the ring he had hidden away in his closet, to his plans for the future. Even as he snuck off to the silversmith to get the ring crafted, he had been so uncertain of whether he was making the wrong decision, if he was moving too fast, if he was out of touch with what Rei wanted. This kakute, however, was a confirmation. A never-ending circle with love written right on the front of it. He reached across the bed and laced his fingers with hers, that smile returning to his face. She looked at him quizzically, uncertainly, as he pulled her closer and pressed his forehead against hers. Her eyes darted down to his lips for a split second, a silent wish, and he obliged. He tugged his mask down and kissed her gently, as if it was the first time, then whispered, “I think this was perfect timing.”

#kakashi hatake #rei natsuki #the scarecrow and the bell #naruto #naruto oc #fanfiction

3 notes · View notes