#good angst needs good laughs for comparison and complexity

[ghosty-scribblings]

Okay I am just gonna throw something out because I got to thinking about and what is this blog for if not to yell into the void?

Danny gets hired as a janitor at the Daily Planet. It's just a job, something to make money and not clash schedules with his Metopolis Community College classes. But while working there he meets this reporter who is definitely also not fully human.

Does danny care? Nah. Not causing problems. None of his business. Not his circus not his monkeys.

But imagine the hijinks.

Clark? Initially confused but also glad at meeting someone so chill? One story about the ecto-weenies later and he has to know more. Let these two goobers bond over "what is my life" and "ya got a little not normal right there." This Danny guy is just a chill civilian friend he doesn't have to hide from.

And Danny? Staying-in-his-lane and sleep-deprived-college-studenting so hard he doesn't even realize his fellow not-baseline-human friend is Superman. Clark is just his friend who is also trying to be Normal.

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 1

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

| Next

Series Summary: He’s not sure how he got here, perhaps it’s the aching loneliness or the overwhelming stress. You’re there because it seems like easy money and you have a pushy friend. All in all, it’s a good deal — he gets the companionship he’s after, no strings, and you get your utility bills paid on time. It’s pretty simple, easy, until your arrangement bleeds into something a bit more…complicated.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: Me?? Coming off hiatus?? Bit nervous about this one, but I’m jumping right in lol not sure how long this’ll be. Struggled between making it a reader fic or making an oc, but here we are.

Takes place prior to The Pitt.

Word Count: 1.7k (they’ll likely be longer going forward — just needed to lay the groundwork)

Warnings: BIG age gap omg (roughly 18 years even after I aged Robby down a bit, ~44), foul language, ptsd mentions, mentions of sex work, descriptions of hospitals/patients and brief mentions of violence at said hospital, mild dubious consent later on (like barely), eventual sexual content (afab!reader), angst, mutual pining, mentions of difference in power dynamic, medical errors bc I am a simple bitch, Dr Robby lacking some emotional intelligence/bottled up feelings. (Also you go to school for accounting and have two named friends). Slowburn. Mature themes.

This is not a promotion of such gaps or sugar daddies in general — it was just an idea I had and I couldn’t get it out of my head. Dr Robby seems like a good man, so I doubt would actually seek out such a relationship, but I have no doubt that that man is lonely and stressed as hell lol and this is my fic soooo

not beta read

Michael Robinavitch really had no idea how he had ended up in this situation, sat in that little cafe miles away from his normal stomping grounds. There was the obvious — getting on the subway and physically walking into the building, but the events that led him there nearly made him stand and walk back out.

It had started with a patient he’d had several weeks prior; a man not much older than himself, who had no family, and money to burn. The pretty woman who had come to visit was out of his league, painfully so, but she had sat diligently by his bedside and comforted him while the residents ran all the necessary tests. When she had slipped out of the room to make a phone call, the man had boasted.

His once complicated relationship with Heather Collins aside, Dr. Robby usually found such age gaps problematic and messy; a man looking to take advantage of such a gap or a woman looking to gain monetarily, or both. In his experience, it was rarely pure intentions — but what the man had gone on to explain after a confused look of one of the residents, was they weren’t in a relationship. They weren’t even having sex. He was simply paying for a beautiful woman’s companionship. No complex relationship, no true illegal activity or prostitution; just a busy man and an uncomplicated solace.

“Not really even a sugar daddy,” the patient had explained to Dr. Robby and Perlah, doped up on pain meds, “though it’s a fine comparison.”

What two grown adults got up to in their free time was their own business, the patient’s voice rang in Robby’s head, and if a man likes to spoil his lover or his friend, then that’s not illegal.

His heart thumped anxiously in his chest. This was only going to be a distraction, one completely unconnected to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center and that would be a breath of fresh air. Besides, if this turned out to be a complete disaster, he could just go on with his life. No changes.

—

You took the long way to the cafe, anxiety eating at your insides. Why had you allowed Erin to convince you this was a good idea? It had seemed harmless at the start — laughing and joking with Erin while you downloaded the app, talking to a handful of guys looking to spoil you. Eventually settling on one particularly reserved man (which you found mildly endearing) and securing a “first date”. It had been thrilling. It had even been fun.

At least while it was all over the phone. Now it was real and you had such an urge to turn around and run for the hills.

University was expensive, and between clocking in as many hours at your office job and still staying on track with your classes, you still found that rent was hard to keep up with. Erin had found you in a state of distress over a bowl of cheap ramen, explaining quite plainly what she did to supplement her income. It seemed like it would be too easy. Erin told you she didn’t start out with anything sexual, mostly just spending time with lonely older men and keeping them company.

It turns sexual only if you want it to, but the pay can be better, was the only relief that echoed in your head. The control lies with you, and never let that change.

It only calmed you slightly — that, and the fact that if this date went terribly, or in a way that you became uncomfortable, you could call it all off. He didn’t have your number, or any personal information, only your first name. No arrangements had been made or agreed to, and you found comfort in it. You thought to go in and just get it over with, return back to your apartment and tell Erin: “It’s just not for me.”

Maybe you could pick up DoorDashing instead.

Before opening the door to the cafe, you quickly sent your location to Erin and sent a text to Marsi about coming by to study in a few hours.

You were instantly hit with the calming aroma of coffee once inside, though you felt too jittery to order any. You settled on decaf tea before turning to the tables on the far side of the cafe. You wondered if he was on time, or if you would instead pick the table. Maybe he won’t show.

You caught sight of him almost immediately and it made your heart jump with a renewed sense of anxiety. He was here. He was here.

His eyes were on his own cup, though you knew they were brown from his picture. His hairline was only slightly receding, with his hair thinning slightly atop his head, plenty of laugh lines adorning his face and a thick beard that held several grey hairs. His features seemed scrunched up in thought, dark brows pulled together. You would be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, part of the reason you had accepted his request in the first place. If you were going to do this, it wasn’t going to be with someone you could barely look at. You could fake a lot of things, but genuine interest was not one of them.

“Michael?” You asked softly, hand on the back of the chair opposite him.

He looked up and gave a stiff smile, before confirming your name.

You smiled back at him, nodding. You pulled the seat back and sat with slow, calculated movements. Feeling his eyes on you made you swallow thickly, nerves running a rampage through your insides.

Erin had coached you, explained good questions to ask to suss out the bad ones, plus her own advice as to what she looked for and what was a red flag. All the advice seemed to flow right out of your head.

“How are you?” You asked, thumb tracing over the lid of your tea.

He huffed a small laugh, “I’m…fine.” A pause. “Look, I’ve never done this and I don’t—”

Relief pooled through your insides, though the nerves held strong. “Well, at least that makes two of us.”

His brown eyes met yours, seemingly surprised. He swallowed.

Maybe he was looking for direction.

Your eyes flickered to your tea and back again. “So, can I ask what made you sign up in the first place?”

He leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah,” his expression suddenly turned uncomfortable, his left cheek scrunched up almost in a wince. “I’m just looking for some…companionship.”

Perhaps he was embarrassed.

You nodded, taking a slow sip of your hot tea. “Anything specific?”

His eyes flickered up to meet your gaze and he blinked. His eyebrows rose, “Nothing sexual,” he said, voice dropping into a whisper at the last word. “Just someone to listen, call and talk to, I suppose.”

Your heart stopped racing. “No interest in a girlfriend?”

“I’m too busy for that.” Though it seemed more like a deflection.

You watched him curiously, raising a brow, “Alright. Something like a friend, then?”

He considered it. “Someone unconnected to my life.”

—

He said unconnected, but he meant not worried about my wellbeing. He dealt with too many people asking how he was, too concerned with the past. He needed someone that let him breathe, someone he could reach out to on his own terms with no strings attached. Someone who wouldn’t pry, someone who would not be offended by his long silences and his avoidance of talking about his emotions. Someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m damaged.

“More like a companion.” He explained, elaborating, “I need someone who can give me more space than a friend would, who’s okay if we don’t talk for days at a time. Something easy and uncomplicated.”

“Ah, I understand.”

At least he didn’t sound insane. He had a few friends, but he frequently felt like he was putting on an “I’m okay” mask whenever he was around them. He didn’t want to wear that mask with just one person.

“Yeah,” he bit the inside of his cheek, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “What is it you’re looking for?”

You smiled, adding to the warmth of your face. You were beautiful, with pretty eyes and hair pulled out of your face. Far too out of his league, and young. Your profile showed an age that put you at nearly eighteen years apart. But, a corner of his mind whispered, it’ll be nice to have a beautiful woman’s attention.

“A bit of a distraction myself,” you told him, pursing your lips. “I’ve been quite stressed with school and it’ll be nice to not think about all that from time-to-time.” Then you smiled. “And maybe get some help paying my utility bill.”

He chuckled, soft and quiet, matching the grin on your face. “What do you go to school for?”

“Accounting,” you answered after a beat. “I’m working on my masters. What do you do for work?”

“I’m a doctor.” He said, careful to not elaborate much more. He was proud of his position, but he wanted whatever this was going to be to be completely separate from his professional life.

You seemed to understand, not asking any follow up questions that most people might have asked.

After only a handful more questions, you seemed satisfied. He asked about allowance, and your expectations, and found you would be a fine fit for each other. He felt a strange calmness overcome him as your conversation melded into small talk.

When you excused yourself to leave, you explained you wanted a day or two to sit on it. You expressed it wasn’t him, but the situation at hand that you wanted to think about. It brought comfort to him, knowing you were both a fish out of water in this situation.

Michael left the cafe feeling lighter than when he had entered, taking a long walk back home — silently deliberating. You were easy enough to talk to, and seemed to understand right away when to ask questions and when not to pry. You weren’t asking for anything outlandish in return, or even looking to make a living this way, only needing some help to finish school. He understood that, Pittsburgh wasn’t the most expensive city someone could live in, but add in school loans and he could see why you turned to supplemental income, as you had put it.

By nightfall, he’d received a message though the app hidden in a locked folder on his phone.

It was your number.

[ Next ]

[studiojeon]

bitterness in goodbye | jjk

this is part of my troubled outsiders series. sadly, you can't read this as a stand alone (meaning: feel free to check the previous parts ♡)

| summary | - You can’t help but feel a little sad when Jungkook doesn’t refrain from cuddling your arm after pleading to forgive him. You wish you could cuddle him instead, that he would lay his head on your chest as you play with his soft hair, but you recognize there are some things you just can’t have.

warnings: none (?) i mean chaeryeong insults jungkook which is an atrocity in itself but-

contents: we diving into the angst my friends. jungkook is an innocent, kind hearted soul, i promise. oc's got the feels (out oct. 1) for jk. idol!jungkook × student!reader.

author's note: I EDITTED THIS FROM MY PHONE DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW FUCKING ANNOYING THAT IS? also, thank u for the amount of support i've been receiving lately, i appreciate everyone lots. feel free to ask away or suggest anything btw, i would love to write for any prompts you guys come up with. 💞💗💖💘💓💕

words: 1.57k

playlist: honey by halsey

Four weeks later, the receptionist of your apartment complex hands you over a cardboard box with the hoodie Jungkook and you had talked about that day on the Han River. Jungkook kept pestering you to please please please send him your address for confidential purposes, which you knew had to do with his determination to literally provide anything that catches your eye right away. You assumed it was a sensitive topic for the boy whether people had purposefully taken advantage of his money before, so you didn’t dare to say anything when the man asked you for your size literally two hours after he dropped you off, scared to either reject his solidare intentions or piss him off for bringing unwanted memories back. In  your defense, your personality type keeps oscillating between INFP and INFJ so it’s only natural that you take extra care to make sure those around you have as much peace of mind as possible in your presence. 

As pretty and comfortable the piece of soft clothing is, an important factor is missing, something that you can’t recreate buying two of the same size and color, and that is Jungkook's escence and how good it looks on him in comparison to anyone else in the world. Meaning, you didn’t like it as much as you thought initially would. And it absolutely did not have to do with the fact that your short stature made you look like a toddler who stole their dad’s jacket.

Still, in order to show Jungkook how much you appreciate his gift, you bring it to work the next day, and the rest of the days after that, with the excuse that with winter rolling around you needed something to keep you warm in the office. Jungkook doesn’t miss the opportunity to confirm your assumptions regarding your appearance whenever he barges into your office randomly throughout the week, arguing that ”you look so adorable” and doesn’t stop for two weeks more, until he gets used to seeing you wearing something you shared with him. Which doesn’t help ease your growing romantic feelings for him whatsoever.

Because yeah, you liked Jeon Jungkook, just like every human being with eyes and sexual desires, except, you didn’t just like him in a superficial way, and that’s where the problem with him resides. Though you are sure everyone has fallen in love with the endearing boy at some point - especially the excluded and invalidated women of society - you can’t help but place some blame on you for allowing yourself to be swooned so goddamn easily. Your mom had said to you at some point to be wary of the way some men would talk to you when you grew up, their intention usually being getting inside your pants, which has happened to you more times than you'd like to admit. And with the argument that she knew you better than anyone, she claimed you would comply right the second someone talked sweet to you; you despised the fact that was the case with Jungkook (and Jungkook only), although he had never shown any sexual innuendos. What your feelings could do to your relationship with Jungkook and your rather chill lifestyle scared you to death, shiver me timbers and all that shit, having romantic feelings for someone else is embarrassing, especially when your chance with them has been scratched out the second you laid eyes on them.

Jungkook sits on your couch, legs spread on your thighs as you two pretend to watch some series on netflix. “I don’t buy for a second the act you’re putting on right now.” he speaks randomly after staring at your deep-in-thought state for a few minutes and laughs when you snap at him for not letting you overthink in peace. “What’s going on?”

Truth is, you don’t fucking know. A few hours before he arrived at your place (you had to pick him up at the dorm and sneak the both of you through the subterranean parking lot, because god forbid someone saw Jungkook arriving at some chick’s dorm on a saturday afternoon) you swore you would be able to conceal whatever emotional turmoil you had going inside of you without compromising your regular behaviour around the man, but when push comes to shove, it’s impossible to keep yourself from wondering how far you could go before that special someone found out what was going on inside of your head.

Jungkook’s phone rings in his pocket with some annoying tone he had downloaded illegally from youtube the same day the company had handed over the device as a gift for him (you still were a little bitter over how they neglected the rest of the staff but you also knew it was kind of impossible for the human kind to just gift a-thousand-dollar-phones to almost five hundred people out of solidarity). “Hyung?” he picks up, still wary of your unusual behaviour, concerned eyes looking at you. “No, uh- i’m with Yugyeom right now.” and your heart shatters into a million pieces.

You have been suspecting for a while that Jungkook is being hesitant to introduce you to his social circle. Although, you’ve tried your best not to take it personal, it is getting harder to resist the urge to ask him what the fuck is up with that. The fact that Jungkook had to lie about the person he was hanging out with broke your ego; he could’ve just said he was with a friend, right? You suddenly feel like you’re fifteen again, when the guy you liked would love you in the dark but pretend he didn’t know you in the light. 

Holding your tears back, you gently push him off and make your way towards the bathroom in the most nonchalant way you could. This is your fault for falling for the nice popular guy in the first place, you remind the reflection staring back at you. Still, as bad as it hurt, there was no way you were going to cry over a stupid boy, let alone when he was literally sat on the next room. He can go fuck himself if he thinks he can just toss this behind as if nothing ever happened.

You text Chaeryeong instead.

“chaery bom bom: i swear to god i gonna throw hands the next time i see the bitch.

chaery bom bom: like who the hell does he think he is? fucking squidward looking asshole.

chaery bom bom: he ain’t even that cute bub, you’ll get over him. i know jinyoung wouldn’t treat you like this”

You sigh. Chaeryeong has been enamored with the idea of you and his former company colleague from GOT7 since the day she met the guy (which was somewhere around ten years ago), and although he was all that, you didn’t like his quiet and cold aura, it intimidated the fuck out of you (Jungkook was the entire opposite of that).

You spray on some perfume just to have an excuse as to why you randomly ran to the bathroom when Jungkook’s inquiring eyes stare as you sit back on the couch, which is exactly what he does. “You done with your call?” you ask, bitter.

Jungkook frowns, a bit taken aback by the sudden question but still unaware of the way his words had made you feel, not even sensing the hostile change in your mood. “Yes, it was one of our managers. He was wondering if I could come back to reshoot some...-thing.”

Okay, now you kind of understand as to why he lied in the first place and to say you feel guilty is an understatement. “I supposed he backed down once you mentioned you were hanging out with Yugyeom.” playfulness makes its appearance on your tone and Jungkook rolls his eyes at you, tongue poking on the inside of his slightly red cheeks.

“Sorry for that” he moves closer and cuddles your arm, like a sad guilty puppy. “It’s just- I don’t want them asking questions''.

You understand. He is a very reserved and private person after all. It took you a bit to crack him open yourself. Plus, you kind of share that trait with him, you’d hate it too if people were constantly on your nerves for the people you decide to hang out with. 

And that’s all it takes to forgive him. Not very cash money of you.

“You better not pull that shit again, though” you shift in his hold and he looks up at you. One look into your eyes and he knows what you mean. “I’ll kick you out.”

After nodding, Jungkook resumes his concentration on the series you picked out for him. Due to your short attention span, you are very picky about what you invest your time in, especifically with audiovisual pieces of media, so Jungkook trusts you whenever you recommend something on very rare occasions. As a matter of fact, Jungkook was busy attacking your kitchen counters for snacks (which you didn’t have) when you mentioned Money Heist. “Munch on some grapes instead” you suggested to soothe his disappointment.

You can’t help but feel a little sad when Jungkook doesn’t refrain from cuddling your arm after pleading to forgive him. You wish you could cuddle him instead, that he would lay his head on your chest as you play with his soft hair, but you recognize there are some things you just can’t have.

[just-a-quirkless-loser]

The Days of Your Youth

Young Enji Todoroki x F! Reader

Hanahaki Trope + BNHA Universe

Words: 5.9k

Warnings: Angst, Enji is an asshole, sexual content, A bit of the redemption arc at the end, graphic descriptions of violence, Characters are 18+

Asagao flowers bloom so beautifully in Sakai; what a shame that Musutafu is four hours away from those gorgeous flowers. So, you knew whenever Enji came bearing the dark blue edged flowers with purple insides, that he had endured the voyage to get them. It was small things like this that made you fall in love with him. If only you didn’t, then maybe you'd still be alive.

The two of you met in your youth when you both attended U.A. High School, both of you having dreams of being the number one pro-hero for the next generation. You hated him at first, which is understandable seeing as he’s brash and cares for no one but himself. He always argues with you, he doesn’t hold back during training, and he has an unhealthy obsession with your childhood best friend Toshinori Yagi, known to the public as All Might.

Your quirk was strong, the ability to heal from any wound and regeneration of your limbs but, he made you feel trivial in comparison to him.

“You can take a bullet, great. How useless that would be in a battle with a villain? You can’t even inflict any damage,” his words stung. All your life, you’d been ridiculed as having a “rescue” quirk, always being told that you’d never have the chance to fight “real villains.” You wanted to prove them all wrong...although, you didn’t prove anything in the end.

Because of the nature of your quirk, you were often paired with Enji whenever it was time to spar. He’d hit you with his fire, blistering your skin with no mercy. He’d knock your teeth down your throat, making you cough blood at his feet. He’d choke you with your own support weapon, making you feel weaker than what you thought you were. He made your life a living hell. So, how did you fall in love with him?

Your love didn’t happen overnight. Actually, the relationship between the two of you changed drastically after that day. The day is clear in the archives of your mind, almost like you’re watching a movie through your own eyes.

“Are you sure you can handle Todoroki today?” you were walking to the training rooms with Toshinori Yagi. He loomed over you as he glanced anxiously at the man in question. Everyone knew about the obvious tension between the two young men however, that day was different. Something primal was lurking in Enji’s glance whenever he looked your way.

“Regeneration, remember? I’ll be fine,” you pat the large man on the back. “Plus, I don't think he could kill me even if he tried.”

“I’m just worried. He’s off today. More confrontational.”

“He’s like this every day, Toshi. He’s probably just on his man period or something.”

“...Y/N, you do now men don’t have menstrual cycles? Right?”

“Yes, Toshi, you’ve told me dozens of times. It’s just a metaphor...till I can get some proof,” he facepalms as you rub your hands together to mimic scheming hands. “He’ll have to take his clothes off eventually.”

“You’re a menace to society; I love it,” you lean against each other as you laugh, attracting the attention of your classmates. “But, seriously, I’m worried.”

“Toshi, I will be perfectly fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”

***

“More! Get up,” you were gripping the right pant leg of Enji’s training suit, trying to pull yourself up to face him again. You body begged you to stay down but your mind -your pride- forced you up. The right side of your face was scorched. One of your eyes was missing from its socket. The guns you normally wield for support were thrown elsewhere, leaving you vulnerable to his onslaught. “You’re pathetic. U.A. isn’t meant for the weak. You don’t belong here with us.”

“You don’t get to tell me where I belong,” you charge to attack, switching your technique at the last minute so you could throw a hard jab to his abdomen. He countered with raising both of his fists above his head in a gorilla fashion and slammed them down on your spine, once again taking you to the mat. But, this time you heard a crack from your spine.

“I don’t know why you waste my time. Sensei just needs to let Yagi and I fight,” you laid at his feet paralyzed. However, the inability to move doesn’t hinder your ability to speak.

“Awww, Todoroki, you miss your boyfriend? I knew you had a hard on for him,” and, while you felt there was nothing wrong with being homosexual, you knew Todoroki was a traditional man who wouldn’t want a rumor like that to be spread. You snicker at his silence. “Must be true if you haven’t denied it.”

Words are meaningless if he can show you with his actions. He wastes no time dropping to his knees so he can lean over you, pushing you into your back as he slaps your face from side to side.

“You,” smack. “Have,” smack. “Issues,” smack.

“ENJI,” you hear Yagi yell in the background as rushes in to save you from your beating. Toshinori’s strong hands pull Todoroki up by the scruff of his neck, looking at the bloody mess your body has come to be, checking to see the rise and fall of your chest before he deals with the man he’s holding. “You could have killed her!”

“She can’t die,” to prove his point, Enji encircles your form with a ring of Fire, the smoke clogging your lungs as your skin is barely holding its form. However, you don’t feel the familiar tingling sensation of your regeneration.

“It doesn’t matter if she can’t die. She’s still human!”

“I’m making her stronger.”

“You’re abusing her,” they both glance down to see that you’ve stopped twitching. You look like you’ve been hit by a land mine: body bloodied, bones exposed, missing limbs. The smoke has cover you in a fine layer of soot, the particles of your own flesh smothered in your nose. “Fuck, Y/N? Y/N?! ANSWER ME! PLEASE! SENSEI!”

There’s only a few things you can recollect clearly. You were rushed to the hospital and you could hear the urgency in Yagi’s voice. If you closed your eyes long enough, you could still see your Sensei’s face looming over yours as he tried to get your attention. The smell of Enji still invades your nose whenever you remember how he sat next to you in the ambulance. You think he felt guilty for letting his desire to measure up to Yagi blind him once again. It’s just a shame that you had to be beat close to death’s door for him to feel remorseful.

You awoke to an obnoxious beeping to your left, a throbbing pain in you head, and a nuisance fire wielder to your right (you had to do a double take to make sure he didn’t beat the sense out of you).

“You’re awake.”

“No thanks to you,” he winces.

“Let’s just be thankful you’re alive.”

“Unfortunately.”

“That wasn’t a funny joke.”

“Who said it was a joke?” you spot Asagao flowers on your bedside. “Who brought the flowers?”

“I did.”

You move to sit up but hiss and grab your side. “Welp, that’s new.”

“Take it easy,” Enji rises and gingerly presses you back into the bed.

“You expect me to believe you spent eight flowers just to bring me flowers?”

“Yagi told me they’re your favorite. I figured it’d be a good way to start amending for what I’ve done.”

“You almost killed me. All because you have a superiority complex that I’ve done nothing to fuel. And, you call yourself a future hero?” you snort. “Oh, wait, let me correct myself, you call yourself the future NUMBER ONE hero!?” you turn to face him so he can’t escape your eyes. “Everyone’s right about what they say about you. You’d do anything if it meant you’d have a chance at facing Toshinori. You don’t care how many people get hurt in the crossfire. As long as you win this competition Toshinori doesn’t even know he’s a part of,” you laugh at the irony.

“What part of ‘I'm sorry’ do you not understand?” Enji growls as he pushes your body into the hospital bed, face coming to stare you down.

“What part of ‘you almost killed me’ do you not understand?” you return his energy with a sneer. “You don’t intimidate me; I’m not some bitch that will tuck her tail and run just because you try to throw a hissy fit.”

“You’re playing with the wrong person, little girl,” he fingers caress the side of your cheek.

‘Once again, this dude has issues.’

“I’m definitely playing with the right person. You need someone to knock you down a few pegs,” and this was when the doctor came to check on your condition, catching Enji and yourself so close that your foreheads were touching. His hands were parted on the sides of you as he puffed out some smoke through his nose.

“Sorry, lovebirds. I should’ve knocked. I’m Doctor Sugo and I have a few questions,” you nod in comprehension.

“Fire them off,” you intentionally use those words to make Enji tense. After years of verbal, physical, and psychological abuse, this was your opportunity to exact your revenge.

“You came in with extensive burns, missing limbs, choking around your neck, blackened lungs, and, it looked as though you died from asphyxiation. Your sensei notified us of your quirk, however, your behavior was reckless and had unforeseen consequences. I doubt you burned yourself alive. Did someone try to kill you?” this was your chance to end Todoroki’s chance of being a hero and end this silly game he’s created in his mind. It would’ve been easy.

“No, we were sparring and it got intense. Enji wanted to stop but I’ve been pushing my quirk limits to the maximum with the coming of our graduation. He lost control of his quirk,” you’ve never been the type to do things the easy way. “I apologize for the trouble my actions have caused.”

“Are you sure this wasn’t a young-domestic abuse situation?” he eyes Enji’s burly frame.

“No, Enji would never hurt me,” to prove your point, you intertwine your fingers with his and kiss the back of his hand, maintaining eye-contact with him. He blew more puffs of smoke into your face.

“In that case, I’ll notify your Sensei of what happened. Just let me check your vitals and I’ll leave the two of you to talk,” the whole time the doctor was in the room, Enji kept blowing smoke. You figured it was something he did when he was uncomfortable but, you couldn't be sure this was the first time you witnessed something like that in person. You both waited a couple of seconds after the doctor left before you continued the actual conversation.

“What the fuck was that?”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss...Do it again,” he gives you a pointed look.

“Answer the question.”

“For someone that’s ranked at the top of your class, you’re pretty dense. It’s simple; I’m blackmailing you.”

“Why?”

“Because, you need to be held accountable for your actions and, selfishly, I want to make your life a living hell. It wouldn’t be practical to let a strong quirk like yours to be sent to prison for attempted murder; you’re useful to the world and there’s no way I can’t acknowledge that you’d be formidable if you chose to become a villain due to my inability to keep my emotions in check,” he just stares. You spot Toshinori in the door frame and wave. “Toshi! Come in. I was just explaining to Enji what’s going to happen to him from now on.”

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone. “Are you sure this is a good idea. He tried to kill you.”

“Shut it, Toshi. You’re too loud,” you roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. This is perfect.”

And, it was perfect. Graduating U.A. High felt unreal at times; it felt even more bizarre as you managed to become a pro-hero alongside your friend, Toshinori, and your personal butler, Enji. Yep, he became your butler as a way to repent for his actions (his words, not yours) and you actually found his company enjoyable when he wasn’t engrossed with beating Yagi. He’s dedicated to the tasks you give him, even if they’re demeaning like walking around with a collar (the press had a field day with that one) or task oriented (like making you fresh coffee whenever you please).

“ENJIIIIIIII,” you’ve taken to bothering him immensely. “Put on this skirt.”

“Y/N, I’m not putting on that skirt. It would tarnish my image.”

“Hm, guess I’ll have to call Sensei. He'd probably believe me if I said you attacked me again. I mean, I’m just an innocent woman. I could just say I was scared the first time,” and that’s how Enji Todoroki was seen wearing a skirt for training multiple times. In all fairness, he looked like a menacing kitten. And, you've grown to like him. Maybe, it was his guilt for almost murdering you but, he found himself showing you tenderness as well. He just couldn't hate you no matter what you did.

“You idiot. I told you not to jump in front of me,” he was carrying your limp body in his arms as though you were his bride. Holding close to his heart, he could feel the warmth of your breath on his chest.

“Why wouldn’t I? I can’t have you dying on me yet. I haven’t gotten you to dress in drag yet,” blood spills from your ears as you blank out of consciousness. There were plenty of times you protected Enji from a villains attack and each time you told yourself you did it because you wanted to continue to blackmail him to be by your side. But, you just wanted him to yourself.

As the years roll on, you find yourself getting closer and closer to him, just barely missing his flames. You became used to patrolling with him as the Pro-Hero ‘Zombie.’ You enjoy going to Sakai in search of the perfect flowers. You treasure being able to see him every day. But, it’s not all peaches and cream.

“Enji, get over it. Toshi worked hard to be first,” you’re arguing again. Two years after the incident and he still hasn’t let go of his yearning to be the best. While sometimes you want to admire his hard work, you can’t help but question his motives. He’s lost the very reason he wanted to become a hero.

“Toshi just leaves to go to America, didn’t tell you, comes back to climb the ranks of the hero charts, and you’re just okay with that? Meanwhile, you lose your mind on me after I don’t answer your call on the first few rings?” he’s sitting on your bed, his jogging pants hanging down dangerously low on his navel, a few red hairs peeking at you. You lick your lips.

“I’m not saying what he did was okay but, you’re blowing this out of proportion. You’re twenty years old. You need to let go of this foolish rivalry,” you throw your legs over his lap. “It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not having this argument with you again. You always take his side,” you slap his chest, gulping at the strong pecs. You wonder how’d they feel bearing down on your back as he-

“Y/N, are you listening?”

“Flamehead, you know I don’t listen to dumb shit,” he puffs out smoke in irritation. “But, I’m not taking his side. I just think we’re getting too old for this.”

“That’s what you always say,” and you laid there with him watching t.v. The conversation ends like it always does but, you can tell Enji isn’t upset with you. It’s the same routine you always follow whenever he wants to talk about Toshinori’s “false achievements.”

Somehow, you end up cuddled into his chest, head pressed firmly into his neck as you feel the warmness of his pulse move underneath you. His arms keep you against him, caging your legs around his hips (it takes a lot to keep your mind from wandering off).

His fingers play with the exposed skin of your back, leaving scorching trails around his fingertips.

“Are you hungry? I still can cook-” Enji’s phone goes off. He gets up and softly pushes you to the side, answering his phone as he absentmindedly rubs your hair. He’s soon getting up to get his things, pulling on his hoodie and ending the call, staring at the phone for a few seconds.

“Who has you up and in a hurry?” you’re kneeling at the edge of the bed, his jacket in your fist to keep him from leaving.

“My finacé’s family.”

‘Fiancé?’

“Fiancé? Who is she?”

“I don’t know yet. All I know is that her quirk is the perfect compliment to mine, which is the only thing that I need,” he’s pulling away. You’re speechless. Is-Is this jealousy? Is this bubbling fury jealousy? Is this small pain jealousy? Is this mind-numbing sensation jealousy? You can't be jealous. Not of some woman you don’t even know. “I have to go. I need to get ready to meet her?”

“B-But, you don’t even know her!”

“I know she’ll ensure that I beat All Might,” so, that's what this was about. Another last ditch effort to win something with no prize. You should’ve known those touches meant nothing but, how could you when they felt so tender? “Plus, you shouldn’t care. Soon, we’d both have to leave and start our own families; this would have had to happen eventually.”

“You don’t love her. You just want to beat him,” you slump down, your calves touching the back of your thighs as you feel a stirring in your chest. “I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret when you’re older.”

“That’s not your concern. I’ve got to go.”

You cough up an Asagao flower, staring at it with trepidation.

‘Oh shit.’

The next time you see him is two weeks later. His hair is still styled upwards, his scowl has deepened making him look older than what he really is, his eyes darker than before. Both of you sit one a rooftop, starting over Musutafu. His body is curled in on itself, the flames of his suit keeping you warm in the brisk fall night. Part of his arm is slung over your shoulder, drawing you into his side.

“Have you ever been in love, Enji?” you see him puff out a few smoke clouds, a telltale sign that you've either made him embarrassed or uncomfortable. “Like, real love? The type of love that doesn’t go away no matter how much you try to kill it?”

“You know I don’t have time for sentiments like that,” he looks at your wistful expression, wondering to himself how you manage to look even more breathtaking than the last time he saw you.

“But, what if you could fall in love? What if things like time and being a hero didn’t matter? Wouldn't you want that?”

“No, there’s no girl good enough for me or my love,” such sweet lies sound true coming from him and that burns you more than his fire ever has.

“What about marriage? Kids?”

“You already know I have an arranged quirk marriage. I met her and she is adequate enough to give me a child fit to be the number one hero of the new generation.”

“Jeez, you sound like you’re quoting a business proposal.”

“It is business,” he sounds like he’s scolding you for not knowing this. You feel your stomach fill with more flowers and you feel some crawling up your throat. It’s suffocating you but, you chalk that up to your nerves bothering you. “I’m guessing you brought this up because you think you’re ‘in love.’ “

“I know I am,” you stop your sentence to cough into your arm, catching a few Asagao flowers in your elbow. So, this is how you’re going to die? Dying from a disease that even your regeneration can’t save you from? Choking on flowers because Enji can’t reciprocate your feelings? “As you can see, it’s one sided.”

“Leave them alone. Feelings go away,” but, they didn’t. It just got worse and worse and worse. Because, as much as you knew you should leave Enji, you just couldn’t. Your heart longed for him. Your heart belonged to him. And, Toshinori couldn't understand why.

“Y/N, please, I don’t understand why you'd die for someone that wants nothing to do with you,” Toshinori chided. “Get the surgery. They can take the feelings out. I’ll be right by your side to help you.”

“You’d never understand, Toshi. You'd never understand waking up every morning, wanting someone so bad you have no motivation to do anything but lay in your own tears. I’d rather die loving him than pretend I never felt these feelings at all.”

“But, why?”

“Because, he’s hurt me so much; this is my last ‘fuck you’ to him. Because, I know one day he’ll change. One day, he'll want to see me and I'll be dead. I want him to feel the same pain that I feel now. He needs to feel my rage, he needs to feel my abandon. HE NEEDS TO FEEL ME!”

“Y/N, I’ve already lost Nana. I can’t lose you too.”

“I love you, Toshinori Yagi. Be great for me,” and that’s the last thing you ever said to your childhood best friend.

***

When you opened the door, Enji wasn’t expecting to see you only in a long shirt, tuffets of a flower stuffed in your mouth.

“What the fuck, Y/N? You look like shit. You can’t open the door like that,” he comes in and you immediately cling to him.

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I’m in love with you Enji.”

“You can’t be.”

“But, I am,” you hold one of your saliva covered flowers to his heart. Your eyes are tired and barely stay open but you can't take your eyes off of him. “This is for you. All of them are for you. Loving you is killing me,” you laugh at the irony. Who would’ve thought Enji would end up killing you anyway?

“Then, stop,” Enji rips the flower from your fingers and throws it to the side. You dive for the flower, causing him to follow you down to your floor. “Let it go.”

“I can’t. It’s all I have right now,” you’re sobbing while retching up flowers. His arms encase you, almost like he’s trying to keep you from falling apart. “I can’t just let go. I can’t just stop loving you, Enji.”

He doesn’t really say anything to you. Maybe, he’s too stunned or maybe he’s too afraid he’ll say the wrong thing but, he finds that it’s better to just hold you.

“Enji, could you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Could you make love to me?” he can’t deny you your wish with how pitiful you look. So, he scoops you up in his arms and takes you to your bedroom, heart pumping hard at what he’s about to do. He’s getting married in a week yet, he’s here about to give his body to you.

Laying your body down on the bed, he watches as your covers fan around your head like a halo and, for a moment, he wonders if that’s what you would look like as an angel. Ethereal and tired. The air in the room is growing hotter as he sweats, nervous to strip you down. He’s no stranger to sex but, this is the first time he’s ever focused on someone else’s pleasure.

“Just, lay there.”

“What the fuck else am I going to do? Run off,” he chuckles. Leave it to you to find some comedy in your weakest moments. He starts with stripping you of your long shirt -actually, his shirt that had gone missing the last time he stayed at your house- and stares at your body, naked and exposed to the air.

He takes a few minutes to take in your beauty, ghosting over your skin as he watches you quiver in anticipation. Your eyes are blown and a petal is on your cheek, reminding him of what had happened to you. Your hands wrap around his forearm as you silently beg him to touch you.

“Always have been needy,” when he kisses you, it makes your toes curl from his smokey breath. Envisioning his taste held no comparison to what he really was. It’s like he was breathing his smoke into your lungs, making sweat bead on your skin.

His hand grasps your neck and you moan at the warmth that he gives you, toes curling at the pressure he puts on your throat. The flowers slide down your esophagus, allowing some of your essence to mix with his. He’s weighing you down into your mattress as he’s ripping off his shirt, buttons flying everywhere as he tries to shimmy out of his pants. His kisses trail down the column of your neck and he’s groaning at the way you whine. Your body reacts so wonderfully to his touch.

“You should have told me sooner; you could’ve had all of my cock before this,” you giggle at his attempt of dirty talk. It’s weird to have the proper and correct Enji speaking naughty in your ear. “Damnit, woman, will you stop laughing? I’m trying to be romantic.”

“I can’t help it. You're like Recovery Girl whenever she tries to be cool.”

“Why did you have to bring her up?” he drops his head on your navel. “Are you trying to kill my erection?”

You did a mouth zipping motion and laid your hands on his shoulders, looking down your body to catch him staring at you as he licked below your belly button. The sensation of his textured tongue against your smooth skin is almost enough to send you into your orgasm. He brings his arms up to grab your breasts in his hands as he continues to slide down to your slit. Your smaller body is completely open to him as he tongues your small clit, keeping your legs spread around your head.

“Enjiiiiii, please,” you beg for your release. The inner sadist inside of Enji preens as you beg, his mind thinking you look beautiful at his mercy with a few tears in your eyes. He plunges his tongue inside your hole, only shallowly fucking your tight hole. He brings one of his hands beside his mouth, which is an awkward position for his large frame, and pushes his finger inside your tightness till he’s met with some resistance. You’re met with wide eyes.

“You didn’t tell me you were a virgin.”

“You never asked.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. If I didn’t find out, were you just going to let me pound into you,” he smacks your thigh as a way to punish you.

“As long as it’s you, I’d let you use me like a doll,” the words incite a new type of fire in Enji’s body. He gets hotter as he enjoys the words of someone that’s completely submitted to his control.

“Then, I’ll use you till I can’t use you anymore,” he places one last kiss to your hole and slivers up your body. Everything about this moment is perfect for you; the man you love is hovering above you as he looks at you with adoration and desire.

“Are you ready?” His forehead is leaned on yours as he wavers on top of you, his cock kissing the entrance of your folds. You can’t speak due to the flowers that are lodged in your throat, so you nod as you stare into his eyes. For the first time, you can feel the love he has for you. If only this moment could last forever for you as it would for him.

The first few moments of him stretching you make you whimper in his ear, your nails cutting into his back as you try to ground yourself in the moment. He tries to push into you at a slow pace, bottoming out and sitting there for you to adjust. Your pussy clenches him like a vice, testing his self control as he wants to grab you by your waist and use you like a fuck doll.

It’s hard not to scream when he pulls back slightly and snaps his hips into your own. Both of you are breathing into each other's face as he fucks you with slow, deep thrusts, pulling your hips to meet his thrusts in an angle.

“Such a problematic woman. Couldn’t just tell me you loved me,” you whine as he sits up on his knees and begins to fuck you with fevor. His cock rubs against that spongy spot in your pussy, pushing you toward your first orgasm. “Such a bad girl. I didn’t tell you to cum yet.”

“Enjiiii please fuck please I’ll be good for you,” he smiled through the pleasure that rips through him and pulled out of you to lay on his side behind you. He wasted no time lifting one of your legs and pushed into your heat, fucking you deeper in this position. He could now see the way you try to push your hips against his, fucking you with a patronizing smile.

“Such a horny girl,” you moan into your hands as you try to hide yourself from his gaze but he rips your arms away from your face, forcing you to scream for him. He makes it a point to fuck you harder as he’s addicted to your beautiful voice. “Scream for me little girl.”

“Dadddyyy gonna cum again,” your tearing u again as he keeps brutalizing your pussy.

“Oh I’m daddy now,” he’s grunting as he feels you clench again. You give him no answer as you cum once again, this time pulling him into his orgasm as you feel him spurt deep in your womb. But, even though he cums, he doesn’t stop. He’s determined to fuck you into oblivion.

“I’m not done with you, keep cumming in my cock,” your toes keep curling as you try to push away from him. However, that makes him wrap his arms around your shoulders and slam you down on his cock, keeping your legs spread as he fucks you so hard some of his cum is dribbling down the side of his cock. You’re shaking hard as your pleasure blinds you, the pressure in your abdomen building in a different way.

“Fuuuuckkk Enjiii, I-I- love you,” clear liquid squirts from your pussy as he slows down his thrusts. You lay there in your juices with his cum splurging out of you once he pulls out of you completely. He leaves you there as he runs you a bath, leaving you to think about what just happened.

He didn’t say he loved you back but, you hoped he would. With gentle hands, he put you into your tub, softly rubbing your hair like he had done many times.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” you smiled over at him. His pants were pulled back on his hips but he couldn’t meet your eyes. “You know I care for you and you know I wouldn’t want to hurt you but, you need to get the surgery. I can’t just love you the way you love me and, I don’t want you to die because of that. I’ll pay for the surgery. I’ll pay for you a new apartment and everything. I’ll even-” you droned him out.

“You know,” you shiver in the warm water as you start to tear up. You hacked up flowers and continued with a shaky voice. “I thought that having sex with you and telling you would make it go away. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I meant more to you than what I thought. I’m such a dumbass. You’ll never love me; you’ll never love anyone but yourself. Why can’t you just be a man and tell me I’m nothing to you compared to whatever the fuck you have with Toshinori? IT’S BEEN YEARSSSS,” you croak out as you sob, your heart hurting. “AND, YOU HAVEN’T CHANGED AT ALL. You’re still the Enji Todoroki that tried to kill me. I just tricked myself into thinking that you were a different person.”

“Y/N-

“Get out,” you turn to the shower wall, too heartbroken to stomach the sight of him.

“Y/N, just listen to-”

“GET OUT,” he goes silent as he looks back at you from the door frame. He wants to say something but, the thought of ruining his future keeps him silent. He leaves with a look of pity for you.

“I’ll leave money for the surgery on the table by your bed,” he calls before he leaves, the door slamming pushing you to your last limit.

And, he left you there to you die in your bathtub alone, body worn from the sex you had with the man that you knew you couldn’t have emotionally. Your flowers soaked up the water as they kept falling, your eyes glued on one of the bruises he left on your leg. It’s too painful to try to move, so you lie there as your quirk does nothing against the disease. Getting the surgery would have saved you but, your body and mind would still remember the pain of your first and last love.

Per your request, Toshinori has your body cremated after they perform the autopsy. The young hero, grieving the loss of his best friend, doesn’t contact Enji to inform him of your timely death. He’s pained that he’ll never see you smile or hear your jokes or call your name and hear you respond. You're gone and part of him feels like he’s the blame. He can’t help but think that things would have turned out differently if he told Enji that he never cared about being the number one hero.

As for Enji, he doesn’t look back as he goes on to have his family. He goes on to marry his wife that he’d always compare to you (her hair wasn’t vibrant as yours, her voice wasn’t as smooth as yours, her eyes don’t set him ablaze like yours did). He goes on to have his kids and he wonders what they would look like if they came from your womb. He goes on to be the number one Pro-hero yet, he doesn’t feel like he’s won anything. He goes on to have a decent relationship with Toshinori yet, he feels as though he’s missing something -someone-.

“Toshinori, do you have Y/N’s number?” he called Toshinori one day, tired of letting his pride get the best of him. He’d grovel at your feet, stay by your side, sleep at your doorstep till you find it to forgive him.

“Enji, she’s dead.”

And, he sits in his house alone. His family has left him, their bonds slowly resurrecting from the dead but still fragile. His career being the only thing he has left, slowly showed him how truly unprofilling his life has been. His love for you, eating away at his heart. Why did he have to be better than Toshinori? Why couldn’t he tell you how much he loved you? Why did he let the both of you waste the days of your youth?

He coughs a single Asagao flower, the process of his unrequited love beginning. Because, let’s face it, how can you return his love if you’re dead?

——————————————————————————-

Tag List💕💕

@orokayagi @sakurashortstack @sinclairsamess

[crystal-snowing]

forbidden fruit | lee felix

synopsis: you were told to stay away by your parents and the rest of society, but that was nearly impossible when he just looks so goddamn irresistible.

genre: enemies to lovers!au, gang!au, college!au, angst, fluff

pairing: rich!reader x gangster!felix

word count: 15.9k 

warnings: slight violence, explicit language, mentions kidnapping

a/n: i’ve been thinking about writing a longer fic for quite some time now and i think i went a bit overboard on this one, but i hope you guys enjoy in nevertheless ! also special thanks to @crscendoforsung​, mwah soro ! 

one. 

If there was one thing that your parents warned you about, it was to stay away from Stray Kids, also known as the most prominent and dangerous gang in the city. This warning was drilled into your head ever since you were a young child, as you were told two things, to stay away from the south side of town and to never associate with known members of this gang. They were two simple rules to follow, and for the past nineteen years of your life, those were two simple rules to follow. And up until last year, you were proud to say that you have never seen or associated with one of those things. But that all changed in your senior year of high school. A new mayor was recently elected to govern the city and insisted on fixing the abnormal disparity between the extremely wealthy and the extremely poor, while this mostly included building new luxury apartment complexes and stores in the less fortunate side of town. However,  there was one policy that enraged your parents and the rest of those on the privileged side of town—that the next school year, the mayor was taking eight students from the other side of town and having them enroll in your prestigious school system for the remainder of their educational journey. 

No amount of protesting or defiance from your parents or the rest of the community could possibly persuade the mayor to change his mind, and just like that it was done, your entire world would be forever changed. 

It was your first semester at college, and on top of that, it was also the first semester of for the new students to be admitted onto your side of town. That day was vividly etched in your memory, your parents helping you pack your bags into the car, hugging you goodbye and giving you a final reminder to not cause any trouble while you’re there. They didn’t need to say it, but you knew that the words were on the tip of their tongue. The essence of that phrase surrounded you and practically swallowed you, it was in the way they squeezed just a little too tightly or the way their gaze lingered on you a little too long as the car finally pulled out of the driveway and you waved goodbye. 

This was your promise to them, and the only promise that you needed to keep—no matter the circumstances, you were not allowed to associate or be near any of those gang members. 

However, you had to admit that there was some alluring about them. They were the talk of the entire campus, even among the freshmen class, the campus was alive with their arrival. Of course, they stood out from every other student on campus, and when they were walking it was the parting of the Red Sea, every other student making space (either out of fear or shock) to allow them to pass through. Dressed in all black, hoods on and masks covering their entire face except their eyes—they were the epitome of a notorious gang. Even though they passed by you for only a second, they had already piqued your interest, but you had made a promise and you were not willing to let some scum destroy everything that you and your parents have worked so hard for. You were determined and nothing was going to stand in your way, after going through twelve years of schooling and enduring the countless tutors and towers of textbooks, you worked your ass to get to where you are today. And you would be damned if you allowed a few lowlifes to stand in your way, after all, no matter how educated they become they wouldn’t be able to change the fact that they were nothing but garbage from the other side of town—in the end, they would never be able to change who they truly are.

That incident was only a small one in comparison to the many that happened that day. You had almost forgotten to remind yourself that it was also your first day of college as well, and soon the memory of early this morning was soon forgotten in the sea of other memories and experiences that happened the rest of that morning. The orientation was brief, the dean’s speech ending with a round of applause as the entire freshman class was soon released to go to classes and begin to adjust to the campus lifestyle. It was kind of stuffy and crowded inside the auditorium and you were glad that all the boring formalities were over and done with, finally you were able to go to your classes and escape the large mass of people. You stood from the velour red chair and your way outside, where the sunlight and the fresh air felt good against your skin after spending nearly two hours in the dark auditorium. 

It was only when you made eye contact with one of them, did your heart really snap out of your dazed state. Your eyes were not fully adjusted to the bright sunlight and for a moment you could have been mistaken about who or what you could have seen, but you soon realized that there was no mistaking the all black clothes that he adorned or his slightly dyed strawberry blond hair. He was standing furthest from the group of three other boys that were also dressed from head-to-toe in the dark color, and while you could have chosen to make eye contact with any of the four boys, he stood out to you the most. And there it was again, this feeling of intrigue—attraction, as he stood less than seven feet away from you. 

The two of you couldn’t have been staring at each other for more than a few seconds, when one of his friends slapped on the head, calling out his name and making a joke that you couldn’t really make out from where you were standing. Just like that, the spell was broken and as you glanced at your phone for the time, you realized that you were running late for class. You watched as his friends bid him goodbye before walking off in the opposite direction, and before you could believe that everything that happened in the past few seconds was just a dream, his warm brown eyes once again made eye contact with your own [E/C] eyes. Clearing your throat, you whipped your head around and immediately began walking away from the mysterious boy and towards your first class of the day, the object that was supposed to capture more of your attention compared to this insignificant delinquent. And while it was possible to convince yourself that the awkward encounter that just took place between you and that strawberry blond boy was nothing out of the ordinary, the reddening of your cheeks definitely told a different story.

It had only been a few minutes since you arrived in the lecture hall, while you were not the first one to enter, you certainly weren’t late which was honestly all that mattered to you. Taking out your phone, you decided to scroll through some of your social media pages in order to pass the time, and you were barely a minute into your Instagram feed when you felt a presence sit down next to you. Glancing up from your screen, you were met with a wall of black clothing. Upon a closer inspection, you could see that he was wearing a black leather jacket, a white cotton t-shirt, black jeans, and a black mask covering half of his face. His skin was pale, but had an entire galaxy of freckles that decorated his nose and cheeks, and his eyes were a warm shade of espresso brown. 

“Excuse me?” 

Sparing you only a glance, he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen, before pulling out one of his airpods before looking at you again, only then did you have his full attention. There was honestly no way to approach this without sounding rude, but you had no other choice, and honestly he happened to be quite fortunate that it was you giving him this lecture instead of other students, who wouldn’t hesitate to rip him to shreds compared to you who was doing your best to try at least be semi-polite and give him some useful advice in order to survive in this new world. 

“There are tons of seats in this hall and I was wondering if you could maybe not sit next to me? Considering that we don’t know each other and how much I enjoy my personal space and I would appreciate it if you could maybe move a couple chairs down or maybe a whole another row—” your polite speech was interrupted by his low but hearty laugh, as he removed his face mask to reveal his plump pink lips.

“So let me get this straight, you want me to move my seat since you believe, and I quote, ‘am violating your personal space’?” he paused, cocking one of his eyebrows with a smirk sitting on his lips, “sweetheart, if it bothers you that much, how about you get up and move yourself?” 

You were absolutely flabbergasted to say the least, and couldn’t believe that someone like him had the audacity to even suggest something like that to someone like you. His attention had refocused back on the device in front of him, and it was clear that by his demeanor that he wasn’t going to be moving any time soon and you were stuck next to him for the remainder of class. This left you with two options, either move and give him the satisfaction of successfully bullying you into submission or stay exactly where you are and stand your ground against a brat like him. And with a small huff, you released your grip on your bag and the rest of your belongings before crossing your arms and focusing on your phone once again. There was no way in hell were you going to give this asshole the satisfaction of seeing you pissed off, instead you stood your ground and watched as the professor finally stood at the center of the room and quieted the class down in order to begin his introduction. 

And for the rest of the class out of the corner of your eyes, you couldn’t help but see that smirk envelop the lips of the boy sitting next to you, the very sight of it making your blood boil and your face flushed. Whoever this boy was you were certain of only one thing, he was nothing but an arrogant prick.

two. 

The cafe across the street from your dorm has become one of your favorite places on the entire campus, especially when you needed to study. Not only did they have the best drinks on campus, the pastries were to die for, and every time you walked through the doors you were reminded of that as the sweet smell of cinnamon and sugar filled your nose. Cafe 4419 was never too noisy nor was it ever too quiet, the lo-fi playlist and soft murmur from the patrons made it one of your favorite sanctuaries to stay apart from your dorm. 

While it was only a few weeks into college, half of the first semester has already flown by and you were practically swimming in essays, projects and studying for upcoming tests. Which is how you found yourself here, spending almost every waking second at the cafe with your favorite drink by your side and piles of textbooks and papers towered around you. Anybody passing by would have immediately assumed that it was finals season, instead of simply being just an ordinary test during the first semester. But you were serious about your academics and grades, and you were not about to let something ruin your concentration that you had going for you. 

This was the one place where you could also find an escape from those people. Everywhere else around campus that you seemed to find yourself, it was only a matter of minutes before you were humbly graced with their presence. They seemed to be everywhere and the only two places on campus where you seemed to be safe from them was your own dorm room and this cafe. In a way it sort of is your sanctuary, one of the few places where you didn’t have to see their depressing black clothing, scowling faces or even hear about their very being. Instead, it was just you, your textbooks, notes, and computer—the way it should be, and you were experiencing nothing but pure bliss. 

And that moment was completely shattered, when the screech of the stool across the wooden floors next to you and the slamming of an iced coffee of some sort onto the table. 

Glaring up at the perpetrator, you weren’t surprised to be faced with a wall of black clothing, including the infamous leather jacket. As your eyes traveled higher up, you were finally met with a pair of brown eyes and a cocky expression looking down on you. Him. The same boy who had the audacity to sit right next to you during your first lecture, currently has the audacity to interrupt your precious study time. His appearance was practically unchanged since the last time you saw him less than a week ago, his strawberry blond hair was a bit more faded than before but his irises still sparkled with that same mischievous and playful glint. 

“Fancy running into you here,” he smirked, moving to sit down next to you. His thigh was quick to press up against your own, as you flinched—moving your leg away as if you were being burned. He didn’t acknowledge your actions, instead his eyes seemed to be locked onto your own, scanning over your facial features as if he was studying and reading your every move and expression. 

“What do you want?” 

He put his hands in surrender attempting to show you that he means no harm and that he’s not a threat, but with that sparkle in his eyes and that sly expression never leaving his face. 

“I know we kind of started off on the wrong foot, but I was hoping that we could fix that” he paused, stretching out his hand, “I’m Lee Felix,” he introduced himself with a wink. It was nice to finally put a name to the face, but in all honesty, you didn’t really give a damn about what his name was or were you curious about what he wanted from you. Apparently, it was too much for you to ask him to leave you alone, either that or he was too dense to get the hint. 

“Alright, Felix, as much as I enjoyed resolving that little issue, I’m extremely busy. So, if you wouldn’t mind?” 

Shooting him one final glare, you assumed that this was the end of the conversation between the two of you, and all you needed to do was to wait for him to leave and refocus back on the mountains of papers in front of you. However, you were naive to think that this was the end of your conversation, and as far as you could tell with Lee Felix, he always needed to have the last word. 

‘You know, my feelings were deeply hurt the day we met, and I think it’s only fair for you to make it up to me,” something in his tone of voice shifted causing you to whip your head in his direction and away from the studyguide in front of you. This should have been a major red flag, a glaring neon sign starring right in front of you, but you would be lying if you didn’t say that he intrigued you. Perhaps it was your upbringing, or maybe it was the incessant warnings about people like him, you weren’t sure—the only thing you knew in that moment, for once in your life, he had your undivided attention. “My grades are kind of slipping and in order to keep this scholarship and stay at this ‘prestigious’ school they need to be a bit higher,” he paused before flashing you a blinding smile, “so I was thinking that you could tutor me and we could really spend some more time getting to know one another,” he finished before ending his proposal with a wink. 

You had to give it to him, the dirtbag had guts. 

The confidence and ego that seemed to ooze out of him was unbelievable and it was hard to believe that people like him still existed. And just like that, you were once again uninterested in the boy sitting in front of you. 

“Is that all? I think you already know my answer to that question, now if you could excuse me,” rolling your eyes, you wave him off with a dismissive flick of your wrist. Of course, you should have expected that this wasn’t all that he had planned, he wasn’t known for being a quitter especially when it came to people like you. The two of you were more similar than either of you cared to realize and unbeknownst to you, Lee Felix was determined not to walk out here without having your number in his back pocket and a promise that you were going to see him again. Instead, he did what he did best—completely disregard what he’s been told and follow his instincts. 

“Think about this for a moment, the infamous and obviously talented child of the [L/N] refusing to help a poor and unfortunate boy like me, surely that won’t make a great impression on the professors or even the media once they catch word of this,” he shrugged letting the weight of words sink in. You hated to admit it, but he was right. Your family was powerful, but in exchange for that power, every single thing that you did was scrutinized—your daily lives constantly under the microscope. While it was considerably bad press to be seen around people like him, especially with the amount of warnings that you received from your parents as well as other members in the community, there was no denying that it was perhaps even worse press for you to completely ignore and reject him. “It’s really up to you, princess/prince.” 

You had no choice, and he knew it. 

“Fine, I’ll tutor you,” you turned away from him for a second to grab a pen before scribbling your phone number on a piece before ripping it off and handing it to him. Before he could take it from your hand, you snatched the piece of paper from out of his reach. “Just letting you know, I’m not doing this for you. Meet me at the library on Friday and make sure you’re not late.”

Grabbing the slip of paper out your hand, and his drink in the other, he stood and made his way towards the door. You couldn’t help but watch him go, a frown present on your face. With a final wink, he was gone and out the door, and you could finally relax and relieve all the tension that was built up in your shoulders. Mentally scolding yourself, you wondered how the hell you even ended up in a situation like this, in a matter of only weeks you managed to break the only promise to your parents and somehow make acquaintances with one of the very people that you swore to hate. 

At this point it was useless to try and study, there was no way that you could possibly study after a distraction like that. Gathering your materials, before haphazardly shoving them into your bag, and grabbing your drink and walking out of the cafe door. The weather was transitioning between autumn and winter, the brisk air blew against your face as you walked, your mind replaying everything that happened within the span of a few minutes. 

Scoffing to yourself, you shook your head as you made your way back to your dorm. Fine, if Lee Felix wanted to make an enemy out of you, then so be it, and from this day forward you were determined to make his life a living hell.

three. 

After sitting in the library for almost half an hour, you were about a millimeter away from losing your shit. As usually the library was pretty quiet and the only noises that could be heard were the faint rustling of papers and the dull hum of the heater. You had threatened him not to be late, and you had even promised him that you would leave if he was even a minute late, but somehow you found yourself sitting at one of the many wooden tables in the gigantic library tapping your pencil impatiently. You should leave, that much was obvious, but there was some part of you that was holding onto hope that he was going to show. Standing up, you scolded yourself for being so foolish, you were smarter than this—you were smarter than him—but somehow you allowed yourself to end up in this situation, again. 

“Sorry I’m late, princess/prince, I got caught up with a few things.” 

You didn’t even hear him approach, but as you turned around you were met with his figure. It seemed like his entire wardrobe was composed of only dark clothing, his outfit pretty much the same as it was less than four days ago. The only difference was the gold chain that he adorned around his neck, which was a stark contrast compared to his black clothing. He noticed how your eyes seemed to be drawn to the flashy object, before he quickly placed the object underneath his shirt and cleared his throat. However, there was something different about his appearance than before, his hair was a bit messier and tousled than usual, his skin glistened and was a bit more flushed, and there were visible red or pink marks that littered his neck. 

Oh. 

That realization finally seemed to draw you from your daze, as you stared back at him, your steely [E/C] eyes met his mahogany ones. Under your gaze his eyes seemed to soften a bit and it wasn’t until he saw your arms crossed against your chest did he realize the gravity of his mistake. 

“You’re late,” you practically growled, “if you’re not going to take this seriously then fine, I told you not to waste my time and if you’re going to be a piece of—” 

Felix’s hard and once impenetrable exterior was suddenly cracked by the fierceness and fire that shone in your eyes, only then did he feel some sort of small pang inside his hair. This was an entirely foreign feeling to him, and even stranger was that you were the one causing him to feel this way. For his entire life he has been dealing with people like you, those that dripped with wealth and decadence, but he knew that there was a hidden evil within them. The facade was only a ploy to distract from the devil inside of them—they were malicious, unforgiving, monsters that from day one have done nothing but persecute people like him. People like him were rendered powerless against the people like them, kicked to the desolate part of town and condemned to live a life of misfortune and suffering. Felix knew exactly what to say that would make your blood boil, that would aggravate you till you wouldn’t be able to stand the mention of his name, he knew exactly what to do to make you despise him even more, and yet his mouth and words failed him. 

For once, he didn’t know what to say, so he instead slammed his books down on the table—the sound echoing in the almost silent library. A sound like that was bound to have repercussions, and the glares and disgusted looks you received was enough to force you into submission. You should have just walked out of the door, but going against your better judgement and rationale, you decided to stay. Sitting down, you pulled the textbooks and notebooks from your bag as Felix sat next to you taking out his own materials. Flipping the book to the first page, you pointed at the first problem. 

“Let’s start with this problem first and make sure you show all your work,” you gestured to the first of many problems in the workbook, “oh, and if you’re ever late again because of some dick appointment, I’ll make sure that every single person on this campus knows how small that four inch dick of yours really looks like.”

After that, the two of you seemed to fall into a comfortable rhythm. There was minimal talking between the two of you, coming to the mutual agreement that you were only here for one purpose and one purpose only. But, just because he stopped bickering with you for once didn’t necessarily make your job any easier. There wasn’t really any nice way to put it, but he was horrible at everything. It was expected of course, unlike the other students that attended the prestigious JYP University he didn’t need to pass the rigorous entrance exam nor did he need extremely high grades in high school. You had your work cut out for you, but you weren’t one to back down from a challenge. But that didn’t mean that Felix was going to make it easy on you. 

While you have tutored other students in the past before, you could safely say that none of them were quite like Lee Felix. Never have you met someone so unmotivated and lazy. He was the one who was practically begged for your help, and now he’s sitting here with his head resting against his arm absentmindedly doodling in the margins of the book. 

“Look, if you’re not going to take this seriously then what are we even doing here? You’re just wasting my time and your own,” you huffed, tapping your pen harshly against the workbook to stir the strawberry blond from his thoughts. “At least you could pretend to do the work that I’m assigning you, instead of blatantly ignoring everything I say.” 

That grabbed his attention, as he sat up straighter and stretched his arms over his head as he rolled his eyes. “That’s easy for you to say when you’ve had everything handed to you all of your life. I bet you don’t even understand what it’s like to have to work hard for something, princess/prince,” he scoffed. Your head snapped in his direction, his words echoing in your head. 

What the fuck did he just say to you?

“You think I’ve had it easy, well newsflash, princess/price, you’re not the only one whose had a hard life. Yes, privilege does exist but don’t you even think for a damn second that I haven’t worked in order to get here to this university. Just because you were admitted on a scholarship and without taking the entrance exam, doesn’t mean that it was the case for everybody,” you huffed as you stood up, causing an abrupt noise as the chair slid against the wooden floors. “My parents used their money to buy their way through life, but there is only so much money can buy. And if you really think that I bought my way into the school, then why did you even ask me to tutor you in the first place?” 

Your last outburst received the nastiest glares from the other students around the both of you, and if looks could kill you would have been dead over ten times over. But at the moment you couldn’t care less, this was your final farewell—your final “go-fuck-yourself” to Lee Felix so you could finally be rid of this parasite. With the last slam of your chair, you turned away from the male and made your hasty escape towards the exit of the library. 

If you ever saw him again before the year was over, it would be too soon.

four.

This year was probably the year of firsts for Lee Felix, in addition to meeting you he was also beginning to experience these foreign emotions that came along with you. In no way shape or form was he a bully, instead he often had some certain choice words for those that exhibited egotistical and arrogant qualities—and in his defense, they were usually the ones who started it. He was known for his unforgiving nature, after all, there was no way he could live the lifestyle he did without being this way. This feeling of guilt and regret was new for him, in his opinion what he said to you wasn’t even the worst thing to make it past those lips, yet the look of fiery passion and hurt that was written across your features was enough to make him think twice. He felt apologetic, even though he practically spits poison every day to people like you, something about you attracted him, pulled him in and made you different. 

That being said, he was horrible at apologizing. 

Which was why when you could feel a presence next to you during the next lecture, you didn’t even bat an eyelash. Nor did you even dare to look at him as he slammed something down on your desk, before turning away and mumbling to himself. Upon further inspection, you found a Coke can sitting untouched and unopened with a note taped to the front with two simple words written on it. 

I’m sorry. 

Rolling your eyes, you glanced to the right where you knew he would be sitting with some of his other friends. They were always the ones making the most noise in the class, treating the lecture as a study hall instead of an opportunity for growth and maturation. You could spot three of them easily, their freshly dyed hair sticking out sorely in the sea of neutral colors. They were too far away for you to tell what they were talking about, but their gleeful expressions and smiles etched on their faces probably meant that they were up to no good. You could spot Felix immediately, he distanced himself from his group of friends. While he still engaged in the conversation, he was passive, his brown eyes dull as his mind seemed to be elsewhere. 

This was the first time that you have seen the fire extinguished from his eyes, and he looked so goddamn pitiful. As if he could sense your eyes, his face turned to meet yours, his eyes catching you red-handed. His expression was complex, to say the least. On the one hand, all traces of  remorse and regret seemed to disappear completely and was replaced with another emotion that you couldn’t read. Furiously you turned away from him, your cheeks dusted with a pink hue. Thankfully, before he could manage to approach you the professor entered at the front of the room and began the lecture, your thoughts now becoming full of Shakespeare’s prose and the impact of foil characters in Romeo and Juliet, leaving no room to worry about that imbecile. 

You had to admit, Lee Felix definitely did have some charms. If he didn’t have something at least, then there would be no reason why you found yourself sitting next to him in this empty lecture hall, the both of you sprawled over notebooks and countless works of Shakespeare at your disposal. You should be mad at him, furious even, he was nothing but a good-for-nothing gangster who had the audacity to insult you—but here you were, crawling back to him. But, even through his shitty apology you somehow found it hard to stay away. He was dangerous, the closest thing that you had to breaking the rules and to give him up would be bringing your life back to normalcy—uneventful, boring and you would be damned if you ever had to give him up and return to life before. As infuriating as he was, he came into your life like a whirlwind and while at times he made your life a living hell, you kind of enjoyed his presence. 

Of course you were wary about tutoring him again, but your fear was soon quelled by the fact  that his personality seemed to have done a complete flip from the day before. Not only was he attentive, but it just goes to show that if he would just sit down and put his ego in check for a second, then maybe he actually had a chance at succeeding at this school. With his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth nibbling softly on his lower lip as his hand moved quickly across the paper to solve the problem. His hair would continually fall in front of his eyes as he concentrated, and he kept swiping at it every so often. Your hand itches to reach away and brush away those stray locks, but you refrain yourself from doing so, instead opting to pick at your sleeve as you admired his expression. 

“It’s getting late,” your voice sounded foreign against the silence, those three words being the first thing you have said to him in the past few hours. “Maybe we should call it a night, and continue next week.” He nodded, prying his eyes away from the rows of words in front of him, helping you gather your materials into one place and pack them into your bag. Wordlessly, you both pushed in your chairs before exiting the lecture hall together. 

The walk outside was silent, while the previous argument didn’t necessarily still hang in the air, it’s presence was still made apparent due to the wall of tension between the two of you. The campus was softly being illuminated by the streetlights that littered the property, aided slightly by the moonlight that seemed to cast the entire scenery in a different light. There was something different about the university when the sun went down, while it certainly wasn’t a ghost town (the constant parties on campus made sure of that) it made the campus look almost softer and whimsical in a sense. The ancient buildings that were used as classrooms during the day time had transformed into castles, the streets practically shining when the moonlight sparkled on them and you—you felt as if you could rule it all. 

You both stopped in front of a sleek black Harley Davidson, the motorcycle in pristine condition and didn’t have a single scratch on it. There was no denying how expensive this was, and for once it looked as if he actually belonged at this school with a ride like that. You knew this was where the two of you were meant to part ways. For you, it was back to the dormitories—hopefully being able to sneak in before room check and for him, back to his other life, doing whatever misfits like him do best by causing mischief and mayhem in the dead of night.

This was your cue to leave, turn on your heels and rush back to your dorm room, but you couldn’t help but stand there and watch him. Felix looked absolutely ethereal in the moonlight, his tan skin glowing and eyes sparkling—and you were entranced, watching him unclip the helmet from the handlebars of his motorcycle and holding it in his hands There was this unknown tightening in your chest, this foreign hitch in your breath, your hands growing clammy as the seconds continued to pass on. 

“Here, put this on. I like to think that I’m a safe driver, but safety first,” his voice calls out to you, before the black helmet was tossed your way. Fumbling with the object for a few seconds, you finally caught it as your brain finished rebooting. As you looked down at the helmet, and back at him you were at a loss of words. “Well, are you coming or not? I don’t have all day, princess/prince.” 

His head was cocked to the side, and while his words had a bit of bite to them, his expression is playful. You were supposed to be the rational one in this situation, and the “correct” answer was clearly staring you right in the face. You were old enough to take care of yourself, and you certainly didn’t need a dollar-store version of a knight in shining armor to take you home. 

“I can make it back on my own, thanks for the offer—”

It took him two strides in order to make it over to you and a total of ten seconds to get you on the bike. Two seconds in order to yank the helmet out of your hands, three seconds to secure it on your head, three seconds to pull you onto the vehicle behind him and two seconds to wrap your arms loosely around his waist. 

“Hold on tight.” 

That was the last thing he uttered to you, before he revved the engine and the two of you sped off into the night. At this rate, it was too late to even think about getting off unless you wanted to seriously injure yourself. Instead, you opted for clinging onto his body and pressing yourself flat against his back as you held on for dear life. Immediately, you could feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach the moment the vehicle started, the wind practically making you deaf as the scenery of campus whipped around you in a blur. Yes, you were scared, after all you were riding around on a death trap with a boy that you barely know and who was currently in control of your life. Despite all of these factors, there was something exhilarating about riding with Felix. The feeling of your hair whipping around you, speeding through the empty streets of campus and the faint smell of sandalwood and lemon that emitted from him was intoxicating. And it was safe to say that you were drunk off this feeling. 

By the time Felix pulled in front of your dorm room, you were still buzzed and your senses were working over time trying to process everything around you. It wasn’t long before reality washed harshly over you, removing your arms from his toned waist and scrambling off the bike, the helmet still sitting lop-sided on your head. Your whole body was aflame, every place where you made contact with him was burning and your heart was beating painfully loud against your chest. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you muttered, clearing your throat, avoiding eye contact with him. He didn’t say anything in return, instead placing the break down on the motorcycle and walking over to you. His fingers brushed against your face as he unclipped the helmet, which sent a new wave of heat to rush to your cheeks, before he took the safety gear off you and tucked it under his arm. If you had blinked, you might have missed the way his eyes flitted over your lips, as he unconsciously licked his lips before turning on his heel and making his way back to his vehicle. 

The only evidence that this wasn’t a dream and was real life was the faint smell of gasoline and the roar of a motorcycle in the distance, signalling his departure. 

five.

Over the next few weeks, the two of you have met at the university’s cafe between eight and ten times for the purpose of studying. Granted, you both were studying (only because Felix knew you would have his head if he didn’t concentrate) but there was this underlying reason why you both kept coming back. His presence was like a drug, addicting and thrilling, and you couldn’t keep away. Both of you were chasing that high, the overwhelming feeling of euphoria and you were both relentless in reaching your goal. It started that night that he dropped you off at your dorm, and ever since then you’ve been hooked. His lips didn’t even manage to touch yours, and you were quite disappointed at this fact, but you weren’t going to let him go that easily, no if he wanted you to work for it, then so be it. And that’s how you found yourself, practically slaving away over textbooks all for him. 

It has become a ritual for the two of you to linger outside of his lecture hall on exam day. He would always pick you up from your dorm that morning and take you to his classroom, where you would both wait until the very last second before leaving his presence. Time with him was precious, it was fleeting and you always wanted to spend just a second longer with him. He looked gorgeous in the sunlight as it tangled itself up in his locks of hair, bouncing off his dewy tan skin before capturing his entire body in its rays. A cup of coffee always in his left hand, while his right held onto a packet of stapled papers, his messy scrawling decorated the pages and there were a few places where your neat handwriting made an appearance as he recited some facts off the sheets. 

“So, the whole point of having Fortinbras and just mentioning him in the play is to be a foil character for Hamlet?” 

“Sort of, remember Fortinbras was also trying to take over Denmark as revenge for Hamlet murdering his father,” you reminded him, shaking your finger gently in front of his face. There was a teasing expression written on your face, and he returned it with a sneer of his own. You both stopped a couple of feet in front of the entrance of the classroom as he took the stack of papers before smacking his forehead with them, a groan escaping his lips. 

“I give up, how about we ditch this exam and instead I’ll treat you to your favorite pastries at that bakery down the block,” he suggested, lifting the papers away from his face and giving you a dazzling smile. On any other person, by this point they would be putty in his hands and he would easily be able to have his way with them. But you knew better, and for the most part you would like to think that you were immune to his charms. 

“Are you trying to bribe me, Felix?” 

Your eyes narrowed at his choice of words with one eyebrow raised, but a teasing smirk was dancing across your lips. Rolling his eyes in your direction, he placed his hands up as if he was surrendering as a small chuckle escaped his lips. 

“Me? I would never!” Sarcasm dripped off every word that he spoke, turning away you as he refocused his attention back on the study guide in front of him as a look of disgust overcame his features. “I want to know, how likely is it that you’ll still associate with me even after I fail this test, because the odds are currently not in my favor.” 

There was something about his tone of voice that seemed to throw you off a little bit. Yes, he was still trying to keep the conversation with you as playful as possible, but you could hear the slight undertone of insecurity and doubt in his voice. He was genuinely worried about this test and it showed. It was quite an odd sight to witness, the boy who weeks before didn’t care about anything except annoying the crap out of you was worried about something as mundane as a test. 

“Hmm, well if you fail this exam then I’m not sure we can be friends anymore,” you slyly spoke, “you know, I don’t associate myself with losers.” 

The word “friends” caused something to bloom inside his chest, a warm feeling spreading throughout his entire body. Honestly, he’s never really thought to put a definition on your relationship, sure the two of you have spent a lot time together the past few weeks to study and cram for this exam, but everything wasn’t exactly business related. There were times during those sessions where you would both chuck erasers and pencils at each other, making fun of each other’s favorite foods and having conversations that were far from the original topic of the works of William Shakespeare. He enjoyed your presence, and liked having you around, and if being your friend meant that he could continue standing by your side then so be it. 

“I’m a loser? Says the one who literally spends all their time studying and didn’t know how to let loose until I showed you how—your definition of ‘fun’ was spending four hours isolated at the library reading about the influential aspects of Renaissance paintings in modern art,” Felix countered, thinking back fondly on the memory.

The two of you continued to playfully bicker even after entering the lecture hall, only managing to quiet down as soon as the professor began administering the test. You finished a lot quicker than he did, and you could see his pained expression as he continued to struggle with the assignment for the next hour. The class was silent, students either leaving after the examination was completed or were sitting quietly on their phones waiting for the rest of the class to finish the exam, and with everyone mostly distracted it gave you a good excuse to admire him from afar. His face was contorted with a whole bunch of different emotions running through his features, and while you were considering helping him on at least one problem, it would violate your code of ethics—not to mention that he was a big boy, and you were confident that he could manage by himself. 

It was another forty minutes before he finished, standing up with a visible frown on his face as he handed the test back to the professor before making his way back to you. Both of you walked out the classroom side-by-side and in silence, and as you exited the building you began to notice the worry that seemed to have etched itself into his face. Slapping him lightly on the bicep, you brought him out of his stupor and flashed him a smile that seemed to calm his racing heart for now. 

“Relax, let’s go to the cafe down the street to get your mind off this test. Remember, I accept bribes in the form of anything that has caffeine or is sugary and sweet,” you suggested, looping your arm with his and tugging him towards the building. 

And for about half an hour, that seemed to do the trick. The test was soon forgotten as he watched you devour a cinnamon bun, and drink at least two cups of coffee as you both chatted aimlessly about miscellaneous things. It wasn’t until he was walking you back to your dorm and he heard a ping! from his cellphone did the worrisome thoughts come flooding back in. 

“95, huh I knew the professor was going to drop that question,” you shrugged, glancing down at your phone, before pocketing it. As you looked back on his figure, you could see his face fall slightly behind the phone, and you knew this meant bad news. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.” 

Felix tugged the phone out of your reach, holding it over his head as you came closer and stood underneath him. The two of you were only a few inches apart, and you could practically hear his heart hammering in his chest, and the warmth from his breath as he towered over you. 

“Promise you won’t get mad,” a small but playful pout sat on his lips as he continued to hold the phone out of your reach. Rolling your eyes, you continued to jump and try to reach the phone, but since he was taller than you it was pretty much impossible for you to reach. “Hmm, an 80 isn’t that terrible for studying is it?” 

It was back, his signature cocky smirk that repulsed yet attracted you at the same time, flitting across his lips. With your mouth agape, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to be feeling at the moment. All you were aware of was the surge of undistinguishable emotions that flooded your body and before you could even begin to process what was going on, your arms somehow find their way around his waist with your head resting against his chest. His entire body stiffened up at your touch and you could feel his heart racing against your ear, your heart beating at the same speed. Only a few seconds seemed to pass, before you could feel his hands on your body, they were tentative at first, but soon held you with as much strength as you gripped his body. 

There it was again, a few seconds late and you would have missed it. Despite the redness in your cheeks and the overwhelming amount of embarrassment that radiated off of you, your eyes glanced up to meet his own, watching as they tentatively flitted over your lips. He seemed unsure of himself, deciding whether he really wanted to follow through with his actions, and in that split second he decided to risk it all, casually leaning in—hoping to close the already short space between your bodies. 

They are nothing but worthless nobodies and they will bring you nothing but trouble. Promise me, you’ll stay as far away as possible from them, please. 

In an instant, your body untangled itself from his, your breath ragged and your eyes darting everyone except his face. He stood there dumbfounded, he wanted to reach out to you, to ask what he did wrong—was he misinterpreting the signals, imagine the chemistry between the two of you, did he make a mistake? You barely had enough brain power to focus on him as you could feel your heart crumbling inside of your ribcage, your breath coming out in short spurts as you struggled to regain control over the situation at hand. You couldn’t recognize yourself anymore, the person that you have become after attending the university for a few measly months and you have already strayed so far from where you started. But this wasn’t the type of growth that you could be proud of, fraternizing with the enemy, the same enemy that you were warned countless times before to stay away from. 

This was wrong—everything was wrong. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, your life wasn’t supposed to come to this point as you stood here as living proof of everything that your parents despised. But, you weren’t that far from salvation. You had been delusional for months, and it was about time that you started making amends. Whatever thing that you had with him was now over, and it was about time that you began living the life that your parents wanted you to have, free from parasites and monstrosities like him. 

Muttering some sort of excuse, you backed away from him before taking off back to your dorm, leaving in your wake a bewildered heartbroken (although he would never admit it) Lee Felix in your wake. 

six. 

You have successfully managed to avoid him for three days, but you knew that was just luck. He knew your schedule like the back of his hand, you have told him a numerous amount of times where you were throughout the day and well, old habits die hard. Honestly, if he really wanted to find you he would have done it already, but he was being a gentleman and giving some personal space to let you calm down before the confrontation happened. You were grateful in a sense, you needed this time to reflect on what an utter disaster you have become. This has gone on for too long, what started off as bringing some joy and excitement to your dull life has spiraled out of control. You lost yourself in the process, fading to the background as this unrecognizable version has taken center stage. What would your parents say if they saw you like this, completely different from the child they raised you to become, fraternizing with the enemy and sympathizing with the same scum they told you to avoid for your entire life. 

Regret oozed through your entire being and you wished that you could take back everything that has happened. You should have turned him down that fateful day, rejected him cold-heartedly in the cafe, and let the rumors come about you and your family—the outcome would have probably been better than your current reality. While you couldn’t go back and change the past, you could instead work on mending the future, which is why you thrusted yourself back into your studies at full force. There was no place for distractions where you’re heading, and you assumed it would be easy to surround yourself with other intellectuals that shared your same passion and drive. 

This would prove more difficult than you originally assumed. The atmosphere on campus has changed completely, and to put it frankly, you were being avoided like the fucking plague. Every time you walked past a group of students, you could hear the hushed whispers and feel the glares being directed your way. Obviously, they were smart enough not to say their comments loud enough for you to hear or for you to catch them staring, as they looked away as soon as you even turned your head in their direction. Even some of your friends, the same ones that you’ve known perhaps your entire life would even spare a glance in your direction. You could even feel the glares from some of the members of Stray Kids, and while you were not necessarily on speaking terms with them, it didn’t give them an excuse to be rude with you.

You did your best to ignore the lingering looks and comments throughout the day, but as you strolled out of your last class of the day, you couldn’t stand it any longer. In particular, there was a group of girls that you have practically known all of your life, ever since elementary school, who had the audacity to mutter your name and laugh as you walked by—and that was your breaking point. You were usually a patient person and usually weren’t quick to rush to judgement, but this was the last straw. Rolling up your sleeves, you marched up to them with a scowl written across your face.. 

“If you have a problem with me you should say something to my face instead of talking shit behind my back, you fucking cowards,” you hissed, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you glared at them. Two of the girls mumbled something under their breath, tugging at the sleeves of the main girl in the center. But, she wasn’t intimidated by you, instead she took a step forward till your faces were only a couple inches apart. 

“[L/N] [Y/N], long time no see. Where’s that boyfriend of yours, is he off robbing some banks?” her voice was shrill as she hissed out that insult. Her behavior was typical, and while she appeared to act condescending and superior towards you, her true emotions were written as plain as day across her face—she was jealous. It was in the way her rhetorical question had that unnecessary sharpness curled at the end of words or the way the scowl on her face was a little more prominent than it needed to be. In all honesty, you couldn’t blame her. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, Lee Felix was quite an attractive person, but that was all besides the point. He wasn’t yours to begin with and whatever relationship the two of you had was now nonexistent, so it didn’t matter how pretty you find his face. 

“He’s not my boyfriend, so if you could kindly back the—” you huffed, readjusting the stack of papers and textbooks in your arms. 

“Whatever, look we don’t mean any harm, honestly we’re just worried about you, honey. I mean, you’ve heard the rumors about people like them, they’re dangerous and we’re just worried about you getting in harm's way,” you could see the way the glint in her eyes seemed to return after you confirmed that were in fact not dating Felix. The fake sincerity in her voice was piercing to your ears, and you wanted nothing more than to get rid of her and stop her from prying into your personal life. “Plus, what would you parents say if they see you hanging out with someone like him?” 

So that’s what this about, this was the entire underlying reason why, this is why she decided to pick a fight with you. Of course, everything was about power, it always is with someone like her and her family—the Moon family was always power-hungry gremlins. For many years your family has sort of allied itself with the Moons, not by choice, but just because of circumstances. You have known her your entire life, and up until this point you have always known her to be jealous of everything that you had. And now, it was no different, she always wanted what she couldn’t get her hands on, and everything in your life was currently on the menu.It was the typical story, she wanted to use him for what she did best, flirting with danger—like your parents, hers would practically disown her if they found out she was fooling around with someone with low status like him, but the thrill and the temptation was too great to pass up. It was all for the thrill, and some desire was too strong. 

Oh did you have some choice words for her, but it seemed like your voice failed you felt a warm hand envelop your wrist. Whipping around you were once again met with an eyeful of black clothing that obscured your vision. The heat radiating off of him was almost suffocating, and you struggled to catch your breath around him. With a final glare in the direction of the trio, he tugged your wrist and your body followed as he dragged you away from the trio of girls. The two of you rounded the corner to one of the Biology lecture halls, before you finally grasped control of yourself and shook off his hold from your body. 

You were your own independent person meaning that you could definitely handle yourself, and definitely didn’t need someone like him to save you. There was an unreadable expression written across his features, as you cradled your burning wrist  to your chest. Neither of you dared to speak a word, the awkward silence was deafening, both of your eyes were diverted towards the ground distracted by the concrete sidewalks. You needed to get out of there, as far away as you could manage and while you didn’t want to be the one to break the silence, you knew it was necessary unless you wanted to prolong your time spent in his presence. 

“Thanks for you know, everything that you did back there, but I was handling things on my own.”

You still couldn’t look him in the eyes, knowing that you would break if that ever happened. Instead, you opted to look straight ahead, finding some interesting looking trees that stood out behind him. His scoff startled you slightly, causing you to quickly look at his face before diverting your eyes once more. 

“Whatever you say, princess/prince. I’m sure you could have managed just fine on your own,” he rolled his eyes. That statement that ignited a fire within you, your face flushed and your palms growing sweaty as you balled them up into fists. 

“What do you mean by that?” you hissed, in an instant your eyes locked with his own—and your expression immediately softened. His demeanor also seemed to soften under your gaze, and he hesitantly approached your figure, till only a couple of inches stood between the two of you. But, you weren’t going to let him get away with it that easily. As you attempted to take a step back, his hand grabbed your wrist suddenly, stopping your body from moving away from him any further. “Hey, look, I’m serious, I’m not some damsel in distress that constantly needs saving. I can take care of myself and I don’t need you constantly babysitting me, like I’m some child because I—” 

With two steps the distance between the two of you closed, his face leaned and before you knew it, his lips were pressed against your own. He tasted like caramel with a bit of a smokey flavor, not quite like barbeque and not quite like cigarettes, perhaps something in between. His lips were slightly chapped against your own, but the kiss itself was gentle, his hands placed gingerly on your hips as he pulled you against his body. He was a fantastic kisser, by the way, every direction that his lips moved in and the way he was holding you made you practically putty in his hands as you melted into his touch. Soon, the need for oxygen was too great, the two of you breaking apart as the only sounds that could be heard were the pants from the both of you that stood out harshly against the quietness of the campus. 

“We, oh god, we shouldn’t have—” you paused, attempting to gather your thoughts, trying to quiet the thousands upon thousands scenarios and ideas that were running through your head at the moment. Your parents, god, if they ever found out about this you would be ruined. Everything that you have worked for over the years would be completely shattered, demolished and bulldozed by the boy that stood in front of you—and for some reason, when you looked into his warm brown eyes, you didn’t seem to care. You were never really a reckless person, but for him, you were willing to risk it all. At this point in time, what he meant to you was worth more than whatever punishment your parents were going to inflict on you once they found out. 

“You know I don’t care about what people think, and neither should you. Why is it any of their business what the two of us do with our lives? If I like you and you like me, then I don’t see the problem,” he pushed your body back a little bit, so he could look into your eyes. For once, there was no cockiness or arrogance in his voice, instead he looked at you passionately, with his hands holding yours and his thumb rubbing circles on the tops of your hands. There was so many unspoken words between the two of you, but just this once his touch and his presence was enough. 

And for once you could safely say that Lee Felix was right, in this moment it was quite honestly you and him against the world. 

seven. 

To say that things were weird between the two of you was definitely an understatement. Neither of you addressed what had happened a couple of nights ago, the kiss was almost a taboo subject and to mention it meant that you both had to address the change in your relationship with each other. Instead, it was easier to ignore everything that changed and instead pretend that everything was just fine between the two of you. In all honesty, you would be lying if you said that you never considered a relationship with him, and in reality, that is all you have been thinking about the last couple of days. You never thought that love could feel like this, every moment with him was as if you were floating, drifting endlessly on cloud nine with no intentions of stopping. Every stereotype and previous assumptions about him were completely thrown out the window. He was perhaps the kindest soul that you could ever meet, despite his rough exterior, and he treated you with the utmost kindness, his manners rivaling some of the more posh boys that you have dated in the past. He was a complete gentleman and never pushed you to do anything that you didn’t want to, respected his boundaries and of course, acted as the epitome of the perfect boyfriend. You knew that you should tread with caution, the honeymoon phase was still in full effect, but with him, you couldn’t help but dive straight in. With him you were loose and reckless, the complete opposite of everything that you were molded to be by your parents. 

And while you were unsure of where your relationship with him stands, you were first and foremost his tutor, you would be damned if you were the one who ultimately caused his grades to slip again. Which is why most of your dates the past few days have been focused on only studying, the two of you meeting up at cafes or the library in order to help him prepare for this upcoming final on Literature of the 20th Century. There was a slight tension between the two of you, understandable considering the circumstances, but you were adamant that there would be nothing to distract him from acing this exam, and this was evident in how you threatened him with everything under the sun if he even dared to try anything other than studying. 

Before both of you knew it the exam was quickly approaching, the last study date seemed to fly by in a matter of minutes, and you both found yourself walking the familiar path on the way to the lecture hall in time for the morning exam. As usual, Felix clutched the study guide in his hand as he walked, mumbling little facts about each work of literature that was present on the page. You couldn’t help but smile at his mannerisms, watching his face furrow as he was deep in thought made him appear almost cute, vastly different from his every day cool and cocky exterior. 

“So, what’s my prize this time for scoring well on the exam?” he asked you coolly, cocking one eyebrow in the air playfully, the study guide soon forgotten in his hands. 

“Bold of you to assume that there is a prize, I mean, studying hard and putting in the work and receiving the outcome you wanted sounds like enough of a reward to me,” you shrugged, giving him a wink. In response, he shot you a teasing glare shaking his head and rolling his eyes. 

“While that sounds very uh tempting I have another idea,” he paused slightly for dramatic effect before continuing, “if I get an A on this test, then I think you should promise me something.” Of course, he didn’t really go into details after that, citing that if he talked about it any longer than he will jinx himself and not only fluke this test, but he will also cheat himself out of this deal. 

Bidding you a quick farewell, he disappeared inside the lecture hall blowing you a kiss before vanishing behind the wooden doors. Even in a situation like this he seemed to find time to be flirty, ignoring the obvious tension and oddness between the two of you in favor of attempting to restore some sense of normalcy. He was different to say the least, and that’s probably what attracted you to him in the first place, and with a slight shake of your head, you turned away and walked towards your own classroom. 

And you couldn’t begin to hide the redness in your cheeks or the boisterous hammering of your heart beneath your ribcage, which confirmed what you had previously known already—that you were head-over-heels in love with this boy. 

As soon as Felix stepped foot outside of the lecture room, his eyes desperately scanned the campus grounds looking for your figure. He was ecstatic and couldn't wait to share the good news with you, but as his eyes moved around looking for any sign of you, he was disappointed to not see your figure in sight. This emotion was evident on his face, and it was hard for him to hide it, as he opted to shove his hands inside the pockets of his leather jacket. He wanted to boast to you, to shove his high grade in your face and smugly demand his prize—an official date with you. No, he wouldn’t accept anymore of this “study date” bullshit, while he did get to spend time with you (which he did very much enjoy) he wanted something that wasn’t underneath the guise of school. He wanted something that was real and concrete between the two of you, and this was the perfect opportunity to voice his true intentions. 

Felix was no idiot, the kiss that you both shared was something that doesn’t normally happen between a tutor and a student, let alone between friends. At the moment he wasn’t really sure where your relationship stood, the two had walked the very thin line between friends and lovers, and after the kiss, a boundary was crossed and it’s too late to go back now. Pulling out his phone, he decided to send you a quick text just in case you were running late from class. 

very annoying (but cute) boy: hey, where are you?? 

very annoying (but cute) boy: i think i would like to redeem my prize right now, and in order for me to do that i need you to be here 

Even after ten minutes there was no response from you, while it wasn’t that odd for you to go a bit radio silent when you’re busy studying, but he thought it was a bit strange of you to forget something as important as this. That was it, you must have become preoccupied with something else, and you’ll end up getting back to him when you find the time. Shrugging his shoulders, he pocketed his phone before taking off to find the rest of his friends, his thoughts lingering on you the whole way there. 

It’s only a few hours later when an announcement is made across the campus, alerting the entire student body of your disappearance. Of course the word “kidnapping” isn’t used in order to not alarm the rest of the student body, but the meaning behind your disappearance was evident across the campus. The first thing that he did once the news was broken to him was punch a wall, sure, not the most effective thing to do but at the moment he was unable to contain himself and his emotions. He was angry, in fact he was more than angry, and he honestly didn’t know what to do with himself. How could this have happened, especially under his watch? You were his responsibility, he was supposed to be able to protect you from everything, especially things like this, but he has failed you. 

Currently he was both a mess inside and out, his hand coming in contact with the coffee table that was situated in the center of the room. His eyes were ablaze, a storm brewing within them, as he glared at the taller male in front of him. The rest of his friends gathered around the two males, watching the scene unfold in front of them. 

“What do you mean we can’t go and save her? We’ve done recon missions like this all time, we will in and out before anything really happens,” Felix slammed his fist down on the coffee table, shaking the furniture in an attempt to prove his point to the male in front of him. However, Chan was more mature than that and would not be easily swayed by irrational persuasions. 

“I know you care about them and under different circumstances I wouldn’t be opposing you, but we can’t risk anything right now. The media’s attention is already fixated on us, and causing any more publicity like this would draw us even more into the spotlight, and right now we don't need everything we do to be a spectacle for the public to criticize." 

It was logical, every single word that ushered past his mouth and Felix knew that. But, he couldn’t help the fire that spread across his entire body, tingling from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers, urging him to do something, anything, calling him to action. He couldn’t take this bureaucracy anymore, following the rules in order to appease the ever critical public and for what? The outcome was always the same in the end, the public always demanding (and never satisfied) for a change, a way to exterminate the vermin that lived in the streets, and they always drew the short-end of the stick. Forced to retreat back into the outskirts of the town, hiding as if they were the ones who committed the sins, while the real demons hide among the general population. 

The door slammed closed behind him, the sound echoing slightly in the empty streets of the campus. In wake of your disappearance, it seemed like the student body and the school was taking extra precautions by instilling a mandatory curfew and for once, it seems that the student body was actually complying. Felix scoffed, shoving his hands into his pocket, before turning and taking off in a random direction. He couldn’t think straight, his brain too busy being clouded over by the sheer frustration and anger that he felt. In this moment, he truly understood what it meant to be helpless, and he could earnestly say that it was the worst feeling in the world. The fire inside was itching for him to do something—to take action, but as much as he wanted to, he was completely helpless to the situation at hand. 

And for the first time in his life, Lee Felix felt utterly defeated.

eight. 

It has been three days since you have gone missing, and he could swear that he was losing his mind. There was nothing, no clues, no witnesses, nothing—as if you had simply disappeared without a trace. By now the campus had returned to a version of normalcy, the streets were no longer empty, the classrooms and dorms repopulated, and the campus seemed to buzz with life once again, which only seemed to enrage the male. He couldn’t understand how everyone could simply pick up and move on, turn a blind eye to the fact that it hasn’t even been a week since your disappearance and suddenly, it was perfectly acceptable for everything to return to normal? No. He wouldn’t stand for this, he couldn’t. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to idly sit by and wait for news to come to him, instead he needed to be proactive—be out there searching and not resting until he brought you back safely. 

But, here lies the problem. Felix was floating in the same boat as the detectives, officers and everyone else looking for you, with absolutely no leads on who took you and why. All he could do was rely on his gut instincts, and thus far in life, there wasn’t a time where his gut has ever steered him wrong. Everything about this was pointing to their rival gang Neo Culture Technology, or what they liked to call themselves, NCT. Sure, it was only a hunch that he had, but everything seemed to fall into place around this theory. Exhibit A, they had the means to do it. Saying that they were extremely well funded was an understatement, in more simpler terms, they were loaded. Anything they wanted, they could have just by waving a stack of bills and it was done. Exhibit B, they had the motive to do it. The rivalry between the two gangs was no joking matter, even though they both seemed dominant now, any action was a small enough spark to set the whole rivalry ablaze once again. And he would damned if this wasn’t the signalling flare. Exhibit C, his gut was telling him that this was the answer. Now, there have been many things that Lee Felix has been wrong about in his life, his gut has always steered him in the right direction—and right now, it was practically screaming at him to follow this lead. 

However, there was a slight problem and that came in the form of someone named Bang Chan. Felix was explicitly told not to move a muscle, to not do anything that would draw attention to the gang, and rescuing you was bound to blow everything that they have worked so hard for—obliterated due to his selfish desire. But, he couldn’t help himself. What kind of person would he be if he had the chance to possibly save you and instead decided that the reputation of Stray Kids was more valuable. No, if he did that he would embody exactly what society deemed him: a monster. 

That’s how he found himself here, somewhere past two in the morning outside one of the many abandoned warehouses in the inner city. It was almost idiotic for him to be here, alone, with no backup and he was certainly a madman to try to even attempt to pull something off like this. The darkness provided a decent cover and gave him the slight element of surprise, but with no windows, it was impossible to actually see if he was walking into a trap. All he was running on was his gut instinct, and while it has never failed him before, there was always a first time for everything. 

Bracing himself, he kicked the doors open putting up his fists and readying his stance, prepared for a fight. But, it never came, his posture immediately relaxing as soon as he looked towards the center of the vast room. There you were, bound to a chair with rope and gagged, but otherwise unharmed staring at him with wide eyes. Navigating around the miscellaneous shipping containers and wooden boxes that plagued the room, he ran to you, undoing your gag and began working on the ropes that held your body to the chair. 

“I thought you would never find me,” you choked out, your voice hoarse and scratchy. The relief that flooded your body once you saw him almost had tears pooling in your eyes. Suddenly the frigid air of the warehouse didn’t feel that cold anymore, and it was as if all your prayers had finally been answered. Within the next minute, he had freed you from your binds, taking off his leather jacket and draping the article of clothing over your shoulders in an attempt to keep you warm, while wrapping one arm around you and pulling you into his body. Despite all the warmth that he was providing, you were still freezing, and you could barely feel your legs moving as he attempted to guide you out of the warehouse. 

You were vaguely aware of him talking, his lips were moving yet, at least to you, it seemed like there was no sound coming out. The blank expression on your features was enough to indicate this fact to him, as he instead tried to navigate you faster through the warehouse. It was obvious that he was worried, it was written all over his face—the way his eyebrows were furrowed, his arm wrapped just a bit too tightly around your shoulders, and the way his other hand kept hovering over his pocket as if he was going to pull a weapon out any minute now. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen your captures in a while, and that probably was not a good thing. It had slipped your mind, but as Felix led you out of the warehouse it seemed to be the only thing on the forefront of your mind. 

The feeling of anxiety seemed to crawl up your throat, the thought of being captured again causing a new wave of panic to wash over you. Never have you experienced a situation as horrible as these past few days, and you were not willing to relive this horrifying experience again. With these overwhelming new emotions everything seemed to be too much for you, added onto the sound of distant sounds of sirens and bright spotlights that seemed to dance in front of your field of vision, your body couldn’t hold on any longer as you suddenly collapsed—becoming limp in the arms of your savior. 

It took a second for Felix to adjust your newfound weight in his arms, grunting slightly as he picked you up and began carrying you through the open doors of the warehouse and was met with a swarm of police cars and officers with their guns drawn directly at him. 

Fuck, what did he manage to get himself into?

nine. 

Felix knew that he wasn’t supposed to be here, but then again, when has he ever followed directions? Hospitals were never his favorite place, and in all honesty, he tended to avoid them when he could, the sterile and cleanliness smell from them making him feel as if he was choking on a gallon of hand sanitizer. But, at the moment, he was here of his own free will—lurking around the corridors of the building for something specific. It was obvious that he stuck out like a sore thumb, his dark clothing standing out against the cleanliness white background, but for some reason no one seemed to pay him any attention. Instead, every nurse, doctor, and patient were too preoccupied with their own tasks, far too busy to pay him any mind. 

Rounding the corner with his hands tucked deep into his pockets, his eyes scanned the halls of the hospital before landing on a specific room, PATIENT ROOM 325. He glanced to the left, then to the right, and after making sure that no one was around, he pulled the handle of the door and opened it just enough to slip into the room. 

It was dark, and the only light came from the open windows in front of him, casting a soft glow. The full moon hung brightly in the sky and the stars were on full display tonight, and it would have been a beautiful sight if he wasn’t focused on something else. A couple of feet away from the window was a stereotypical hospital bed, or what he could assume was a hospital bed, with the curtains drawn around it. There was no other noise in the room besides the faint hum of a few machines by the bedside and the occasional sound of crickets from outside, which caused him to question if there was perhaps anybody in the room. 

Taking another step forward, he reached forward and grabbed one side of the curtain, prepared to see who (if anybody) was lying in the bed. However, a voice stopped him dead in his tracks. 

“You know we’re supposed to stay away from each other.” The voice was hoarse, but still recognizable, and his heart clenched at the sound. He stepped forward, grasping at the curtain in front of him, his knuckles turning white from how firmly he was gripping the material. There was an internal war raging inside of him, trying to decide if he could even bear to see you in your current state. However, he soon decided against his current judgement and before he could reason against himself, he yanked the curtains aside to reveal the sight of you before him. 

In all honesty, you could have fared worse from the whole ordeal, but you managed to only make it out with slight dehydration and some minor cuts and bruising. Nevertheless, Felix’s breath hitched at the sight of you as he slowly approached the side of your bed. Even with your hair a mess, the prominent bags underneath your eyes, and a small but tired smile, he couldn’t help but think that you were the most beautiful person that he has ever laid eyes on. 

“You’re doing it again,” you purse your lips, your eyes narrowing as you drink in his figure in the moonlight. 

“Doing what?” 

“Looking at me like I hung both the moon and the stars in the sky.” 

He was thankful for the dimness of the room to conceal the flush of his cheeks. Approaching your bedside, he sat at the very edge of the bed, almost afraid to get any closer, as if one slight movement would break you. The both of you soon fell into a comfortable silence, but there was a slight amount of awkward tension that hung in the air. You wanted to tell him so many things, spend the rest of your lifetime apologizing for dragging him into this mess, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say a word—everything you want to say sitting heavily on your tongue. Instead, you gingerly moved your hand to brush over his own and let it rest on top of his own as he interlocked your fingers together. There it was, a silent conversation exchanged between the two of you, and when you gave his hand a long squeeze, he gave you a small squeeze back. 

There were sounds coming from outside of your room, the sound of low chatter followed by the brisk footsteps was enough for Felix to recoil his hand abruptly and to stand suddenly. It was the cold wave of reality raining down on the both of you, that he shouldn’t be here and you shouldn’t be seeing someone like him. 

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right, all of this wasn’t your fault,” you muttered, choking back tears. You reached up to grab his hand once again, feeling his body slightly tense up at your touch. This was a cruel world and the two of you were simply living proof of that statement, unable to change your fate and the bad luck that came with it. Ultimately, the entire plot was an elaborate plan by Stray Kids’ rival gang in order to draw attention to them at that prestigious school and keep the gang in the limelight to distract from the nefarious activities executed by NCT. And for the most part, while it seemed like everything turned out alright in the end, there were consequences that needed to be paid. 

After spending some long hours in the police station, Felix was finally released after being found innocent of any involvement in your attack. Not only  did he earn a complete berating from Chan, but he was also banned from seeing you, and if he was caught well, the wrath of Chan was going to come raining down on him once more. But for you he was willing to risk it, you were different from every other risk that he has ever taken in his life, and if he was being completely honest, you were the best one. And he would like to think that he could one day reap the rewards. 

You on the other hand, were rushed to the hospital where you were met with your parents on the phone, demanding lawyers and the police enforcement catch whoever did this to their child. Immediately they blamed Felix, and would not listen to a single word you said defending him. Their minds were already made up, and in their minds he had tainted you—changed you from their perfect and lovely child, into someone just like them. 

“You can’t change my mind, sweetheart, my decision is final,” your mother declares, shuffling around the hospital room, rearranging your items that were haphazardly thrown around the room. Your dad stood in the corner with his arms folded across his chest, not uttering a word against your mother’s declaration. 

“You want me to move halfway across the world after I’ve gotten into the most prestigious university here, and you’re telling me not to be upset?” you throw up your hands in exasperation, sitting up in the bed. 

Your sudden outburst caused your mother to stop in her tracks, before taking three steps closer towards your bed, until she was only a few feet away. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, the look in her eyes was enough to send chills down your spine, and the snarl sitting on her lips let you know that you were about to be in a deep pile of shit. 

“[Y/N], I’m going to tell you once more and after that I don’t want to hear any more complaints from you anymore, understand? We are all moving to America and away from this wretched place and that’s final,” she spat at you, before turning away and resumed tidying the room, “you need a fresh start away from this tainted place, I mean, look at what you’ve become—infected by those vermin, and look what they turned you into! A fresh start will be good for all of us, and maybe finally getting away from those despicable people can you finally return to how you were.”

Your mother was never a woman who actively changed her mind once it was set on something, and her latest decision was no different. Everything was practically being finalized as you and Felix both, the entire house being condensed into cardboard boxes then placed on a plane to go to America, and you were going to join them in a few days. 

“You should probably get back soon,” your voice was barely above a whisper and if it was any quieter the strawberry blond would have missed everything that you had uttered. HIs jaw visibly clenched at your words, his face turned away from you so you couldn’t see the internal turmoil that was written across his features—eyebrows furrowed, a deep frown sitting on his lips and a storm brewing within his brown eyes. “I don’t want to get you into more trouble than I already have.” 

“And what if I don’t want to go?” 

He turned around to face you, his usually warm brown eyes now ablaze, and you could only describe the expression on his face as the most passionate that you have ever seen him. Reaching out for your hand, he grasped it, intertwining his fingers with your own and gripping onto you as if his life depended on it. 

“Please, don’t make this harder than it already is,” you turned your head away from him, feeling tears fighting to spill over. He didn’t need to see you like this and it would only make it harder to say goodbye. With one blink, the tears start falling, cascading down your cheeks before dribbling down onto the sterile hospital sheets below. 

Felix couldn’t help but feel his heart break at the sight, and instead opted to gingerly pull you into his arms. Your head rested against his chest, your tears soaking his shirt and sobs wracking your body as he patted your back soothingly. He wasn’t sure how long the two of you stayed there like it, but it was only until your sobs had turned into quiet sniffles and your tears had almost ceased. 

“I don’t know what the future will hold for the both of us, but I promise you, I will find you. I don’t care how long it will take, but someday I will make my way back to you,” his voice was soft, the softest that you have ever heard from him, but instead of feeling the usual comfort from his words, you couldn’t help but feel a cold sense of dread wash over you. 

“You shouldn’t make promises that you can’t keep,” you muttered. His body stiffened at your words, and it was as if the confusion was radiating off of him, and it was only when you pulled your body away could you really see his face. 

ten.

Bidding goodbye to some of your classmates, you readjusted your backpack before walking out of the cafe and into the busy street. America was certainly nothing like you could have ever imagined, in more ways than one it was similar to the city that you grew up, but completely different at the same time. In the six months that you have been here, you have adjusted to the best of your ability. Everything from the culture to the language, at first completely baffled you, but as you listened to the locals aimlessly chat amongst themselves as you walked down the sidewalk, you couldn’t help but feel as if you fit right in. 

The sun was high in the sky, the warm rays shining down on you, as you carefully slipped your sunglasses over your eyes and continued walking. In the distance, you faintly heard the sound of a motorcycle roaring in the distance. The revving of the engine continues to get louder, until you one zoom past you and continue on towards the highway. Not that it mattered, but you couldn’t make out the driver behind the tinted helmet, and for some reason that caused the ache in your heart to return. 

You paused for a second, just as the pedestrian signal turned green, allowing you to cross the street. Around you people moved forward, carrying on with their conversations, but you were frozen on one side of the street. And suddenly you were back in there all over again, the familiar feeling of his arm wrapped around your waist, the melodic sound of his laughter ringing in your ears, and the stupidly cute smile that always seemed to grace his lips whenever you were around. Every memory about him seemed to crash over you, until you were drowning in a sea of moments where you could never return. 

Your heart clenched at the thought, and briefly you allowed yourself to wonder about him. Over the months that you have spent here, you have repressed every thought about him. In the beginning everything reminded you of him, he was everywhere, and nowhere at the same time. However, as time went on, it became easier. You made new friends, went to new places, and slowly but surely you started to accept that this was the way that things were—and you were coming to terms with your newfound reality. But sometimes you days like these happen, and you’re suddenly crippled with the thought of him. 

However, you are instead learning how to swim, and managing to stay afloat in the ocean of memories. You were learning to breathe without him by your side. You exhaled, releasing a shaky breath, before refocusing on the crosswalk in front of you. Looking both ways and making sure that the light was green, you continued walking—one foot in front of the other. 

You were grateful that he walked into your life. He taught you lessons that you could have never learned on your own, and gave you memories that you would never trade for the world. In the end, while it was never meant to be, you would never forget the taste of the fruit that you were never meant to have—the irresistible sweetness of a boy named Lee Felix.

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 2: Training Day

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 7.2K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

Training began the following morning at 10am, although when you woke for breakfast at 8 Namjoon was nowhere to be found in your living quarters. Finnick informed you that Namjoon had left to begin early as you elected for a bowl of cereal instead of the array of foods presented on the dining table. To anyone else the spread of pancakes, syrup, pastries, bagels, bacon, eggs, sausages and other delicacies you weren’t even familiar with would have appeared mouth watering. But in your state it all just looked like cardboard. You didn’t trust yourself to be able to keep anything down but knew you had to at least eat something so you wouldn’t pass out later.

You tried to make the most of the one on one time with Finnick, listening as he talked about the range of stations that would be inside the gym. For the most part he seemed to suggest being a shadow to the rest of the careers, “play along and act dumb so they think you trust them and are too stupid to make plans for yourself”. Your best bet of survival relied entirely on them underestimating you and you being able to correctly time when to stab them in the back (literally) before they disposed of you.

Once you finished barely eating, you dressed in the capitol provided athletic wear; a fitted black T shirt with decorative panels of silver and gold along the sides and the number 4 emblazoned on your sleeves, along with a pair of just-below-knee-length black leggings that also featured the same silver and gold design as a strip on the sides. After tightly lacing up your sneakers, and tying your hair into a high ponytail, you took the elevator from the floor of your living quarter down to the basement where the gym was located.

You had no idea what you were expecting, perhaps something similar to the warehouse gym back in 4, but the spacious room that you arrived in was definitely not it. To start with, despite being under ground beneath an apartment complex, it looked like it could easily fit at least five warehouses inside the space. There were so many stations set up you wondered how it would be humanly possible to even attempt all of them within your three-day time limit. There were more weapons here than you had ever seen in your entire life combined; what appeared to be a parkour racing course, a rope climb, fire making equipment, a knotting station, something that looked like a paint set up, a tablet with symbols (what use that was supposed to bring you had no idea) and many other things you weren’t sure of. A large digital clock was mounted in the middle of the wall at the back, near a rock climbing wall, displaying the time as 9:45AM. You tried to swallow down your nerves as you scanned across the room looking for Namjoon. You found him easily at the weight section, bench pressing a large barbell you didn’t care enough to read the weight on. It seemed like a pretty basic scare tactic of trying to intimidate the other districts with his strength, but it didn’t have any impact on you because you were already aware.

“What’s muscles over there trying to prove?” a sudden voice at your side caused you to start, whipping your head to see Krystal next to you. She didn’t quite smile but there was an amused look to her eyes and a little quirk to the corner of her mouth.

“Holy shit please don’t sneak up on me like that in the arena, I will literally die of a heart attack” you exhaled with an awkward laugh at the end.

“Wouldn’t be the most painful way to die in there,” Krystal retorted with a shrug. She looked different compared to last night, but you supposed you could say the same for everyone if you compared them in an elaborate costumer to their gym wear. Her sleek black hair had been braided into two French plaits down the back of her head and secured into twin buns on the bottom.

“Touché,” you agreed but quickly moved to shift the topic away from you dying. “To answer your question Namjoon’s probably trying to intimidate some kids into thinking he’s going to bench press them to death.”

Krystal gave an amused hum before gesturing towards her fellow district mate Yoongi who was lazily sitting against the wall nearby. Training hadn’t even started yet and he looked like he’d much rather be asleep. It was hard to think of him as the confidently spoken cape wearing tribute from yesterday when he was now slumped against a wall. If anything he looked quite adorable.

“We just got here, have you seen 2?”

“No, I just got here myself, Namjoon came early to get extra training in”

You looked around the warehouse again trying to spot a familiar head of copper hair or Athena’s cropped blonde pixie cut but couldn’t see either of them for now.

“If he wants to wear himself out before we even get into the arena that’s his business, but if he pulls a muscle or drops a barbell on his head, I’m not carrying him,” Krystal muttered as Namjoon grunted lifting his weights up a final time before slamming them back on the rack.

“Agreed.” You murmured whilst Namjoon finally spotted you were here and nodded towards you and District 1 in recognition, before walking over. Krystal and yourself both gave half hearted waves in reply, Yoongi looked like he had actually fallen asleep and didn’t do anything.

“Hey,” Namjoon greeted wiping his forehead on his shirt sleeve and taking a drink from his water bottle. As much as you had made light of his workout before the fact he was barely out of breath after lifting more than twice your body weight was pretty intimidating. “Have you seen 2 yet?” You were about to tell him what you had just told Krystal when a raspy voice spoke from behind you

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

Turning around you saw Hoseok and Athena walking out from where the elevators were nearby. Athena looked almost unrecognizable in comparison to her warrior outfit and smoky make up from the night before. Her short hair was pushed back with a headband and her face much rounder. She was definitely shorter without her heeled shoes and her body type much curvier than what her costume showed. Whilst Athena, Yoongi and Krystal all looked softer without their costumes and make up Hoseok somehow still managed to radiate the same aura from the tribute parade. His form fitting T-shirt and pants (in the same design as everyone else’s) accentuate his lithe build. The tights he wore showcase the definition of his calves and thighs, along with how long his legs were. The definition of his abs could be seen through the black shirt and his biceps were on display. It appeared he didn’t need any bronzing powder or contouring make-up to sharpen his facial features; his high nose and cheekbones were still just as prominent and his jawline just as sharp. He ran a hand through his hair, which was disheveled from not being styled, but somehow still managed to look good anyway.

When you make the mistake of looking into his eyes you can see that there was definitely no make up involved in the intensity of his stare from yesterday, it’s still just as unnerving this morning. The corner of his lip pulls up into a smirk as he sees you assessing his appearance and he has no shame running his eyes over your body.

“Nice of you to show up,” Namjoon grunted, clearly not impressed with the way Hoseok was staring at you again.

“Relax we’ve still got five minutes until we’re officially mean to start” Athena said as she stops beside Namjoon. She strikes up a conversation to try and distract him like Hoseok had told her to do. Why exactly she was following his instructions she didn’t really know, but she didn’t particularly care to upset him at this point so she simply played along. Namjoon was easy enough to engage, all she did was ask him what he had been doing to work up a sweat and he immediately leapt into a description of the circuit he had been training.

Hoseok moved to take the spot between Athena and yourself.

“Morning love,” he whispered under his breath, touching your elbow gently and leaning down slightly in a way that’s only intended for you to hear. You shudder at the feeling of his warm breath ghosting against the shell of your ear and curse your body for it’s unconscious reaction.

He pulls his hand away just as quickly, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention, but wishes he could maintain some form of physical contact. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for that in the arena,’ Hoseok assures himself watching as your cheeks flush that same rose color they did last night. He can’t explain why, but something so simple as your blush makes him feel ecstatic. Oh the things he would do to you to see what else makes you flush that pretty color for him again.

“Hey,” you reply, trying not to break the eye contact out of fear it could be taken as a sign of weakness. He’s tall so you need to look up, but you’re not that short either so it’s not a high angle. You’d estimate the top of your head reaching around his nose if you had to guess.

“I’ve been dying to ask this since seeing you yesterday, but what is an angel like you doing at these games?” his voice is still low, but not as quiet as before, as Namjoon continues to elaborate on his morning work out whilst Athena pretends to care.

“Uh same reason nearly everyone else here is, my name got pulled out the bowl,” you tried to casually respond with a shrug but knew the devastation would have been showing in your eyes. There were some things you just weren’t capable of hiding, and your fear at your situation and imminent death was one of those things. “And you?”

Hoseok frowns and you wonder if you somehow said something wrong but then he softly shakes his head.

“Volunteer,” he states and you swallow with a nod, unconsciously shifting backwards a little. His very appearance is lethal so it really shouldn’t be a surprise at all that he’s signed himself up to slaughter people like you, just the same way Namjoon had.

“Right, I mean you’re a career,” you shrug again looking across at Krystal, Athena, and Yoongi, wondering if they were volunteers too.

“Hey,” his hand was back on your elbow again, he didn’t give a shit if the others saw him. The feelings he was already experiencing towards you had just been intensified immeasurably by the fact you were innocent in these games. He didn’t know how to possibly describe it; all he knew was that from all the words that existed, in all of the languages in the history of mankind, there would never be a way to explain it.

He saw the tremble in your body whenever he looked at you, the shudder earlier when his breath met your ear, surely you had to feel something towards him too. There was no possible way that these emotions he was experiencing could be contained in just one body, you had to be sharing this experience. Was this a ‘soulmate’ that he had only read of before in passing regarding outdated literature? He had never been the kind to believe in fate before, as far as he had trained his whole life to believe, his only destiny was to win the games and bring honor to his family. But as you stood before him, for only the second time in his life, he just knew that you had been preordained for him.

At his age of eighteen he had experienced love in some capacity before, his parents, his sister, a few close friends and a couple of girlfriends here and there but none of those emotional connections compared to you. Surely you would feel the same way about him too, but of course as the poor reaped tribute that you were, you were too afraid to be able to focus on him right now. He was furious you were even here, how dare none of the other female trainees from 4 volunteer to save your precious existence. How cruel the forces of the universe were, for gifting him with an angel only for her to be so close yet still so out of reach. These intense emotions were far too much for one person to ever experience alone, so somehow he must be possessing part of your emotions for him, because you weren’t capable of focusing on anything more than survival right now. His poor defenseless angel, how much you needed him right now.

That must be it. A trial from beyond these games where he would have to earn not just this victory but a way to make you experience your love. There had to be a reason why you were here, it’s because it was for him to prove himself worthy of you. Oh how he wishes you could have met outside, after his victory tour when he went to 4 and he could just pick you from the crowd and make you his. But that would’ve been too simple. Yes, a love like this only came once in a lifetime, he was certain, and he would need to move heaven and earth to somehow save himself and you. But there had to be a reason that the universe had put you together right at this very moment. There had to be a way for him to save you both, and he knew he would kill anyone and everyone who got in his way.

“I promised you last night, I won’t hurt you, and I meant it,” he said, squeezing your elbow – not tight enough to hurt – as if trying to implore you to believe him. His hand felt warm and his hold was firm, shooting a tingling sensation down your spine. You tried to suppress the physical affect his touch was having on you, knowing nothing good could possibly come out of any attraction. You hated just how strongly your body was reacting to him, wondering why the hell he was trying to flirt before he would inevitably try to kill you, and why your body was liking it. But even though you were a tribute, ultimately you were still only human.

“Hoseok, you literally volunteered to kill me, it’s fine,” you began as a small voice internally added ‘well it’s not fine really but that’s besides the point’. A look you couldn’t read flashed in Hoseok’s eyes and he opened his mouth to say something, but you continued on before he could speak.

“I’ve seen enough of these games to know how the career pack works. I’ll help you guys and when it comes down to the end I’ll just try as hard as I can. There’s only one winner and look at you,” your eyes were on his torso because you couldn’t bring yourself to maintain the eye contact as you spoke. The outline of his pectorals and abs that were visible through the fabric of his shirt, compared to your barely toned figure in comparison, did all the speaking in that regard anyway. Looking down at his grip on your elbow, you could see how the fingers on his large hand nearly wrapped all the way around your arm. His own biceps would easily be twice the size of yours.

“Look at Namjoon,” you subtly gestured to your much larger district-mate, “and then look at me.” You weren’t exactly unfit, all the years of physical labor from working on your family’s boat had helped give you some muscle definition, but it was nothing compared to a trained killer.

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lyi-”

Hoseok’s objection was cut off by an announcement coming from the other side of the room. It was now 10 am and everyone had to attend a briefing in regards to how training worked. Hoseok scowled at the interruption before quickly dropping your arm to avoid suspicion from the others.

“This isn’t over,” he whispered, as you followed with the others to where a dark skinned woman stood in the center of the room. She introduced herself as Atala and ran through the basics of how the next three days would work. Her commentary about dehydration and infection being as much of a danger in the arena as the weapons was particularly interesting to, you wondered if Namjoon had spent as much time on his survival skills as he did on his fighting in the old warehouse back at 4. You doubted it. You also noticed a window on the wall that your back had been facing when you entered the room, where a room of mostly men in suits with eccentric beards and wild colored hair styles were sitting on lounges. Atala introduced them as the game makers who were here to observe, sending a shiver of disgust throughout your body.

Before being allowed to focus on the stations of your choice there was a tribute wide assessment on four of the obstacles: Monkey bars, a fire making station, a memory game (which explained what that strange tablet thing was) and a one on one physical combat match with a Capital trainer. The monkey bars were first and tributes were to perform in the order of their district numbers. You were mildly surprised by how Yoongi went from appearing lethargic to swinging across the bars with ease, but as a career it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Krystal and Athena both had no trouble and Hoseok flew across the rungs twice as fast as the others. You swallowed a nervous lump in your throat when your turn came, feeling the pressure of being in a career district and having all eyes focused on you. Upper body strength had never been your strong point, and you knew the furthest you would probably be able to get was around the half way mark. The girl from 3 had struggled and fallen off nearly immediately but you still didn’t want to fail, especially not with Namjoon breathing down your neck behind you. Back at home you had needed to climb around the boat before in order to make repairs, which suddenly gave you an idea.

Jumping up to reach the bar, you used the momentum to swing your legs through and up onto the next bar in front. Hooking your ankles under you pulled your legs through the gap until you were hanging by your knees. With your weight now more evenly distributed you were able to pull yourself up and awkwardly climb over so you were then on top of the bars. From there you tried not to look down at the long fall onto the thin mat below and crawled your way to the other end before lowering yourself back down when you reached the other side.

“Unconventional, but effective” the person who was responsible for measuring the times and taking notes muttered as they scribbled down something on their clipboard.

“Not bad, spaghetti arms” Athena nodded her approval, her own arm muscles were probably close to the same size as Yoongi’s.

“Gotta know your own strengths and weaknesses,” you smiled back with a shrug. Your time was much slower than the others – Namjoon racing across the other side in a speed to rival Hoseok, right after you were done – but it was still better than not even being able to complete the course at all.

The other assessments were pretty much non eventful with predictable results. You performed decently in comparison to other reaped tributes but were definitely lacking compared to the rest of the careers. You could also detect a bit of rivalry beginning to brew between Namjoon and Hoseok as they tried to one up the other. Hoseok was the faster of the two to light a fire but Namjoon was quicker in being able to solve the memory puzzle. Both of them landed ‘lethal blow’ scores against the capital trainer in their sparring match (you had managed to land a simulated hit of the heel of your hand to the capital trainer’s nose which had counted as an ‘incapacitated blow’ – not a bad score).

With the mandatory grading over you were then given individual feedback along with suggestions on recommended training stations before breaking for lunch. After all the exercise you couldn’t help but feel much hungrier than you had before during breakfast, and helped yourself to a sandwich, along with an apple and a bottle of water from the provided catering. The feedback had been handed out on a card, in order of the district number, before you were dismissed for lunch, and you didn’t pay attention to where 1 and 2 had walked off to. Wanting to be alone anyway you walked around a corridor into an empty hallway and took a seat on the floor against the wall. Leaning back, you raised your knees and rested your elbows on your legs as you scanned across your feedback card. You noted there weren’t any grades or scores, but merely recordings of the time it took for you to complete the activity and a short written assessment next to each. At the bottom were the suggestions for which areas to focus on over the remaining days.

Your evaluation had described you as ‘a dark horse’. The Capital had picked up on the career’s alliance and noted that you were the physically weakest of the six members, however they gave you commendation for unconventional problem solving during the monkey bars. The primary suggestion was focusing on weapons based training in order to stand a chance of survival when the time came for the careers to turn against one another. There was also a suggestion to train more on agility based exercises that played to your existing skills, rather that bothering with weights or physical strength stations that would be impossible to build in such a short time.

“How did you go?”

The sudden voice and presence at your side, whilst you were intently focused on reading your card, caused you to jump and nearly swallow your last mouthful of sandwich down the wrong way. You managed to just catch it with an awkward choke, reaching for your bottle of water to swallow it down properly. To your absolute humiliation, you looked up to see Hoseok standing above you with an amused look on his face.

“Uh, fine I guess,” you muttered, fiddling with the card in your hand as he sat down beside you. “You?”

“As expected,” was all he replied with. You nodded awkwardly. You had seen him perform before you in all of the tasks and sail through each of them with ease. ‘As expected,’ meant nothing less than perfection for him. You couldn’t help but wonder if your death was going to be by his hand, and if that would just be ‘as expected’ for him as well.

“Let me see your card.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words were caught in your throat (much like your previous mouthful of sandwich) as Hoseok easily pinched your card out from your fingertips and passed you his along the carpet in return. Frowning, you picked his up, to at least pretend it was a mutual exchange.

“Did you swap cards with the others?” you asked, wondering why he was interested in your report. You skim read across his, finding commentary about Hoseok’s speed, skill and lethality, along with a note stating him as a lead contender, nothing that you weren’t already aware of.

“Nope,” Hoseok dismissed, lips pursed as he read your card much slower.

You frowned at this, passing his card across the floor and reaching over to try and grab yours back, only for Hoseok to lazily lean to the side away from you, with a hint of an amused smile. You let an annoyed huff of air out.

“So why are you reading mine then?”

At this Hoseok paused to raise an eyebrow and make eye contact with you over the top of your card in his hands.

“Because I don’t care about the others.”

He found the stunned look of confusion on your face to be absolutely adorable.

“But…” you paused, not even knowing what to say. Shouldn’t he at least care for his own district mate? Granted you didn’t care much for Namjoon but you were at least somewhat going along with him for the sake of presenting a cohesive alliance. And if he didn’t care about the alliance then what was he doing here with you? The implication of his statement was quite clear that he somehow cared about you, so what had you possibly done to warrant his apparent attention.

“Why?” was all you could eventually ask.

He lowered your card to the floor and slid it back towards you, leaning across with it. You predictably reached to pick your card back up and he instantly took the opportunity to put his hand over yours. You flinched and attempted to pull back, but his grip only tightened, forcing your hand to remain below his much larger one.

Your pulse began to rapidly accelerate. You knew he couldn’t harm you, not until you were in the arena. But to be alone and so easily caught and toyed with, by someone much more powerful than you, was frightening. You looked up from his hand to his handsome face, trying not to tremble as Hoseok stared back with a lazy smirk in place. The thumb on his hand over yours was softly stroking the skin around your wrist and you could swear your heart was pounding so fast he had to be able to feel your erratic pulse.

“Because I need you to be with me at the end.” His husky voice was a low murmur, as he leaned in closer again. Your hand remained clasped tightly below his 

“So you can have an easy kill, because I’m weaker than the others?” you frown, knowing your assessment would have told him as much. But Hoseok was quick with a denial.

“No.”

“Then why?” You pushed, growing frustrated with his indirect answers and your hand still trapped in his. Hoseok only tilted his head to the side and released a sigh, looking highly amused.

“Don’t you trust me? You know I’ve promised not to hurt you darling,” his low voice grew quieter still, barely above a whisper, causing you to lean in so you could hear him better.

“Darling?” You balked at the endearment. Whatever answer you could possibly imagine coming out of Hoseok, it definitely wasn’t that. “Hoseok I don’t know what kind of game your playi-”

“You’re not a game to me.” He cut you off before you could even finish your sentence. Undeterred you rushed to speak again.

“But we’re literally in The Hunger Games and one of us is going to have to kill the other. And you and I both know how much easier it would be for you to kill me, than the other way around.”

“Oh so you find the thought of killing me unbearable?”

He quirked his eyebrow with a smirk and again you tried to yank your hand back in annoyance, but he only moved his grip further up to clasp tightly around your wrist. His long fingers easily wrapped all the way around, as he then pulled your arm back towards him, causing your upper body to lean further forward. Unconsciously you let out a breathless whimper in shock, your faces now so close you could feel his breath fanning across the side of your cheek.

“I… I don’t even know how I can kill anybody. You’re the volunteer here and clearly the better fighter between us so you would easily kill me in a final two,” you whispered, trying to turn your head away from his, only for the side of your face to press against the wall.

“Oh but darling you’re wrong, to kill you would be to kill myself.”

The hand that wasn’t pinning your wrist to the ground moved to cradle the side of your face, his fingers threading into your hair and thumb running along the top of your cheekbone.

“Hoseok, stop.” You raised your free hand to push against his chest, but he was solid as a rock and didn’t even budge. Instead he only curled his torso in towards you, pinning you in place against his body and the wall. You whimpered in fear, eyes scanning the hallway trying to find a way out, only for Hoseok to press his nose against your temple and lips to the shell of your ear.

“You may not even know it yourself but I can feel it in your pulse how your heart calls for me. Every beat I feel beneath my fingertip sings to my own, that already belongs to you. If you were to die, my heart would have no need to beat without the one it beats for.”

His deep voice was a seductive purr as his breath against your ear sent a shiver throughout your entire body. His hold on your face forced you to look back into his eyes once more, which held the same intense passion you had seen in them last night.

“How c-can you even say something like that, it hasn’t even been a day s-since we met?” you choked as you felt tears beginning to sting in your eyes.

“Because I felt it the second I laid my eyes on you, and seeing you again this morning only made me feel a hundred times stronger.

“Please stop, I’m going to be dead in a week so can you please just not turn my life into some sick joke,” it was all you could do to beg as the first tear spilled from the corner of your eye, his thumb below easily wiping it away.

“I’m. Not. Joking,” he hissed, each word punctuated by his fingers burying into your hair and clenching tightly at the roots, causing you to gasp as more tears spilled out.

“You’re hurting me,” you whimpered, the hand on his chest reaching up to try and pull at his hand that was holding onto a fist full of your hair. His grip instantly released, his hand moving to grab onto yours and thread his fingers in between your own, before squeezing tightly.

“Not as much as you hurt me whenever you try to deny me,” he retorted, pulling your hand to his lips to place a kiss upon the back.

“What do I possibly gain from a game perspective to choose you as my final partner? You said it yourself that you’re the weakest so that means I’ll need to protect you from the other four when the alliance turns. And believe me princess, I will. I’ll slaughter every one of them in cold blood. I’ll snap the neck of anyone who so much as harms a single hair upon your head. I’m going to kill them all for you baby, and I’ll make you watch so you can see just far how far I’ll go for you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” you whispered brokenly, tears spilling freely from your eyes now.

“Because,” Hoseok dropped your hand to grab ahold of your chin as his lips moved in closer. When he spoke you could feel them brushing against yours “you’re mine.”

But before Hoseok could firmly press his lips to yours in the kiss he longed for, a sudden shout broke the atmosphere he had worked so hard to build.

“YN!”

You never thought you’d be relieved to hear the sound of Namjoon’s angry voice barking in your direction, but his appearance around the corner and into the hallway caused you to exhale a long breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“What are you both doing here?” Namjoon growled, angrily striding towards you as Yoongi, Krystal, and Athena followed behind him.

Hoseok, who had his back turned to their direction, scowled in anger at the disruption, before quickly masking his face to a neutral expression. The sudden change in demeanour causing you to flinch.

“I found this one here having a bit of a breakdown over her report card,” Hoseok said, lazily getting to his feet and shooting you a wink as your jaw dropped in shock at his smooth and blatant lie.

“No! I- I…” You immediately went to protest only for the words to be caught in your throat. It would just be Hoseok’s word against your own. And who would believe you? His words were so insane you could barely even believe what he had just been saying.

“It’s ok YN,” he purred, as the others walked over towards you. You angrily got to your feet wiping your eyes, not wanting to be a crying mess on the floor in front of the whole group. “I was just telling her there’s no need to worry. First day freak outs can happen to the best of us.”

“I’m fine,” you scowled, crossing your arms and glaring at the floor and seeing the damned report card laying on the carpet.

“I just wanted some time to myself and if anything having someone around only made it worse” you bit back.

“Very well then,” Hoseok smirked raising his arms in a mock surrender gesture and waving his hands theatrically. “Excuse me for trying to be a good teammate.”

“I didn-” before you could rip into him, you were interrupted by another.

“Can you all give me one minute to talk to my district partner,” Namjoon grunted at the others. He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, grabbing a hold of the top of your arm and dragging you further back up the hallway. You didn’t know what was worse between him bossing you around since the train ride or Hoseok’s crazy confession, but what you did know was that if anyone else tried to manhandle you again you were going to take your chances on your own in the arena. It had only been one day and you were rapidly growing sick of this alliance. You’d rather die with dignity on your own than be dragged around like a dog’s chew toy.

“Let me go,” you hissed, when you were far away enough not to be overheard, grabbing his hand and ripping it off your arm. Namjoon just rolled his eyes before staring down at you from his tall height.

“What the fuck was that about?” he asked.

For a moment you breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to convince Athena or District 1 about Hoseok losing his mind would be one thing, but Namjoon was your own team mate. You vaguely knew each other from growing up in the same town. Maybe he might actually believe you. Glancing back to the others you saw them chatting amongst themselves, Krystal was now holding your report card and Yoongi gave a dismissive shrug to something Athena had just said. As if sensing your gaze, Hoseok glanced across to make eye contact. The corner of his lip curled up and he cocked his eyebrow smugly as if to say ‘go on and tell him, see if he believes you’. You scowled at him before turning back to Namjoon and grabbing a hold of his arm (missing the way Hoseok’s nose twitched in annoyance at you initiating the physical contact with another man).

“Namjoon, please, you have to believe me,” you began, instantly lowering your voice as you squeezed his bicep imploringly – your hand didn’t even wrap halfway around the much stronger boy’s arm.

“What happened?” he asked bluntly, eyebrows narrowing into a frown.

So you told him. Speaking as quietly as possible and trying to rush through the details as fast as you could, you hurriedly told him about how Hoseok had found you alone and stolen your card, before pinning you against the wall, claiming you were his, and threatening to kill all the others. You finished by telling him how it was only through the rest of the group showing up when they did, that had stopped Hoseok from kissing you.

“It was humiliating,” you hissed out, trying to choke down the lump in your throat that had built up as you were recalling what happened.

“I don’t want to be in the career pack anymore, I can’t do it, not with him.”

You looked up at Namjoon, begging him with your eyes to believe what you had just said.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

You dropped his arm and visibly recoiled as if his words had physically hit you. As far as you were concerned he may as well have.

“Some pretty boy spouts some Romeo and Juliet bullshit so you want to leave the best chance either of us have for surviving this thing? How can you actually be that stupid?!”

You were fuming. How dare he just dismiss what had happened to you like that. You had taken a leap of faith, hoping that as your own team mate he would believe you, and instead he had virtually spat in your face as a response.

“I’m not stupid Namjoon!” You sneered. “The one year my name gets called out is the one year no girls volunteer because they knew that you were going to. If the girls who have spent their whole lives training know they can’t beat you, how the fuck do you think I feel right now? Maybe it’s easier for you because you’ve actually got a chance in these games, but I’m going to die. And none of this is my choice, you actually chose to be here! You were the one who said on the train that you wanted us to join the career pack, so I did! And now I’m the one being harassed, not you! Stop treating me like a child because I’m not just a pawn you can tell what to do until you decide to kill me.”

“If you don’t want to be treated like a child then stop acting like a pathetic fool over the first boy to give you some attention. Do you think your pretty little face is somehow special enough for Hoseok to actually fall in love with at first sight?”

“Of course not!”

“You should be thanking me for pulling your head back in from whatever deluded little fantasy he’s trying to spin. Are you that stupid you can’t tell he’s just trying to divide us so you want to work with him instead of me by the time we get to the end game? At the very least you and I know each other and I guarantee you, in that arena it’s better the devil you know”

You wanted to point out how you were the one to tell him about Hoseok, and clearly were trying to work with Namjoon instead, only for him to berate you, but logic was out the window by this stage.

“Is it? Cause it sounds to me like you’re just keeping me around until you decide to break my neck when it’s convenient for you,” you snapped instead.

“That’s how alliances work sweetheart. You watch my back in the pack to make sure 1 or 2 don’t just slit my throat in my sleep. I drag your ungrateful ass around and make sure you aren’t taken out by some amateur who wouldn’t know the difference between a liver and an intestine. Is that how you want to die? Bleeding out for hours after being stabbed by an untrained idiot and spending your final moments in agony? Would you rather die by someone beating your head in with a rock because that’s the only weapon they know how to use? Let’s see how beautiful you are with your skull smashed in huh. Or do you want to go from starvation or hypothermia because you’re lost and all alone?”

You were absolutely stunned. He was expecting you to just follow him around the arena like a little puppy, where the only incentive for doing so would be his definition of a merciful death? Before you could tell him where he could shove his alliance, your argument was cut off by the approaching voice of Athena.

“I don’t know what kind of little lover’s quarrel you two have got going on here” you could swear you heard a warning growl from Hoseok “but get your shit together. We can’t have infighting in the alliance, especially before we even get into the arena. You,” a point at Namjoon, “stop treating her like shit. And you,” a point at you, “Stop looking like you’re about to cry. You’re a career for fuck sake, a cold blooded killer. Even though you’re obviously not, you at least need to look like one to scare off the other tributes otherwise you’re going to be the lowest hanging fruit they try and pick off first.”

You stared blankly back as Athena kept talking. The other tributes. You had been so preoccupied thinking about Hoseok and Namjoon’s cruelty, you hadn’t even considered your position without them. By now you were established as a career in the eyes of 18 other tributes, regardless of if you wanted to be one or not. From the past years of the games you knew that the other districts would take any opportunity they could to eliminate a career that somehow wound up on their own.

You were completely and utterly ruined no matter what direction you chose to go.

“Hoseok, Namjoon, you two are coming with me to the obstacle course run for a few hours. We need to do some teamwork after you two had your little dick measuring contest before in the graded courses. You two need to do something to make it look like you’re unified because right now because that’s something other tributes can exploit. Krystal, YN, and Yoongi will go to the rope tying station so YN can help us with knots and show off that she’s actually needed in our alliance to the others”

Namjoon nodded curtly whilst Hoseok clearly looked more annoyed at the idea of being split from you and having to work with the Namjoon. However, he quickly covered his expression and nodded as well. Athena gave each of them a shove on the shoulder to get them moving and they walked off out the hallway and back into the training compound.

You took a deep breath, grateful to have a break from either of their presence before looking between Yoongi and Krystal. They didn’t seem particularly interested in you, their sharp eyes and beautiful features were relaxed into a neutral expression that only suggested boredom. That was perfectly fine with you. As a fisherman’s daughter you were indeed well versed in knots and grateful for the reprise which would allow you to spend some time on something you were actually confident with.

“Alright, show me where the knotting station is”

Note: This story was originally a one shot in my mind and has now reached a planned 6 chapters. Aha. I suck.

Ideally I wanted the 'before the games' section to just be one chapter, but found it was starting to get too long after this reached over 7000 words and I still have the other training days, final assessment/grade out of 12 and the interviews with Caesar to cover (those will be in the next chapter, with the games starting in the update after)

The concept of the assessment came from the 1st movie where Atala (the woman who does that ‘in 2 weeks most of you will be dead’ speech in the training centre) mentions a mandatory assessment, so I just worked with an idea from that.

This chapter hopefully showcases more of Hoseok's Yandere nature along with establishing just how much or a horrible character Namjoon is (I swear I'll do a better fic of Namjoon as the lead soon).

[prettywordsyouleft]

Inferior

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: angst / self-growth / established relationship au / fluff

Warnings: an argument / inferior complex and self-sabotaging mentioned

A/N: So Jinyoung and I had a fight… in my dreams haha. And I was surprisingly really affected by it so I had to write it out to get it out of my head. Of course, I should have left this completely angst due to how much he annoys me, but I wanted to be cheered up so it has a fluffy ending. Sigh. If he could stop infiltrating my dreams now, that’d be good thanks. Special thanks to Zili and Nim for letting me use them in this story.

Word count: 3645

“Are you really going to let it end here?” your friend Zili asked incredulously, your eyes unable to lift from the mug you held within your hands. “Y/N, you love him.”

“I really do.”

“Then why aren’t you racing to Jinyoung’s office right now and letting him know?”

“Because love can’t save everything,” you announced sadly, smiling weakly at your beverage instead of your friend. Even the warmth radiating into your hands couldn’t take the chill away from your soul.

The fight, although frustratingly stemming from something mindless, had shown you the truths you hadn’t wanted to admit all along.

You could love Jinyoung with every breath you took but if you couldn’t love yourself first, the problem between you would continue until he finally did what you worried so often about – leave you.

It would be best if you called it quits now.

“You need to at least resolve the fight, Y/N,” Zili urged and you nodded, blinking back the tears. “He must be feeling lost right now too.”

“I hurt him.”

“He hurt you too,” she reminded, and you sighed, leaning back in the chair and closing your eyes, a tear finally slipping down your cheek.

“I couldn’t get any closer to you if I tried,” you proclaimed as you threw your leg over Jinyoung for good measures. You grinned when his laughter reverberated against the cheek you placed over his chest, your eyes closing in content. Even if you were a tangled mess with your boyfriend, you were already comfortable.

Sleep wouldn’t take long to arrive.

“Am I your pillow?” Jinyoung wondered and you nodded repeatedly. “But what if I don’t want to be?”

Reluctantly lifting your head up to pout at him, he chuckled and leaned in to kiss you. “Love you even if you give me a dead arm.”

“Love you even if you complain before I give you one,” you retorted, nestling back down and kissing his warm chest. “It’s been a long day.”

“What do you have to do tomorrow?”

“I’m going out for lunch with Zili,” you mentioned, imagining your good friend and her infectious smile. “We’re going shopping for her engagement party outfit.”

“It weirds me out to think my junior will beat me down the aisle.”

“It’s not a race,” you told him but when you glanced up at Jinyoung, he seemed unconvinced. You laughed. “You need a ring in order to propose to someone, Jinyoung.”

“Who says I don’t have one already?”

Propping yourself up onto your elbow, you nudged your boyfriend as you stared at him with wide eyes. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Can’t do that if I’m not,” Jinyoung replied with a smug smile, leaning in to nuzzle you with his nose. “Zili and Yugyeom might beat us but we’ll have the better wedding.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ll be marrying you,” he announced proudly and you melted back to your previous position over his chest.

“You and your words,” you mumbled, trying not to get too far ahead of yourself. You couldn’t wait to tell Zili about this over lunch tomorrow.

You yawned, and Jinyoung patted you gently on your back. “Time to sleep, hm?”

“But I want to talk more about this ring.”

Jinyoung laughed heartily. “No, you need to rest.”

“Why?”

“You need your beauty sleep,” he answered and you smiled.

“Beauty sleep?”

“Mm, if you’re going to be hanging out with a glowing bride to be, you need to sleep peacefully tonight.”

Giggling, you poked Jinyoung in the chest. “Then you don’t need any sleep.”

“Hey, I need some, I have work tomorrow!”

“I mean beauty sleep. You’re too handsome; it would be unfair if you got even more ridiculously good looking. But just one night isn’t enough for me. I’d need weeks of beauty sleep in comparison.”

It was meant as a joke, the humour evident in your voice and lit up expression. However, even with the dim lighting in the bedroom, you could see the way Jinyoung’s eyes grew harder, the smile now long lost from his tightly pressed lips. It confused you.

“Why did you say that?” he asked, shifting back from you, the warmth you were experiencing leaving with his retreating body.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you have to say that about us? About yourself?”

“Jinyoung, it was a joke!” you attempted but his eyes were now dark obsidian, and you recoiled from the intensity.

“I don’t find it funny. I didn’t find it funny the first time you did it, and I certainly don’t find it humorous now.”

“Why are you taking it so seriously? I honestly meant no harm by it!”

“You know, if this was the first time, maybe I’d be okay about it. I’d tell you to stop being so silly because to me you’re gorgeous. But how many times do I have to do that? Even if you don’t intend to, it hurts to hear you degrade yourself.”

“I was just telling the truth!”

“Well your truth and the way you see us is painful for me.”

Sitting up as you willed the rising tears not to spill out of your eyes, you let out an exasperated laugh. “Jinyoung, come on, this is ridiculous to fight over.”

“What’s ridiculous is even after two years together I still have to hear you put yourself down physically. You’re the woman I love and I wouldn’t love you if I didn’t find you amazing inside and out.”

“Okay so I’m sorry I said the wrong thing,” you announced, your nostrils flaring with how heavy your breathing was. You didn’t like confrontation and even if Jinyoung meant well, his words carried a sting that felt as if they were lashing right down to your soul.

You knew you suffered from an inferior complex. And you had in the beginning of your relationship confessed to feeling out of your depth dating him. You hadn’t expected someone like Jinyoung to even look in your direction, let alone find something captivating about you. Although you had battled through it, those insecurities remained and caught you out even when you weren’t consciously aware of them.

But… you had been genuinely joking. You couldn’t believe how serious he was being right now, his cold demeanour making you shiver, your arms wrapping around yourself, seeking out comfort.

“Will you ever see us as equals?” he questioned, swallowing visibly. “Will you ever let it go and realise what we have together is what I see a future with? Or will you keep doing this because of some incessant need to point out I’m handsome and you’re, what, just average? Ugly even?”

You didn’t answer, ashamed that he felt the need to scold you like this. You could hear the frustration and pain in his voice, the strain in the latter half of his statement causing you to bite at your trembling lip. You didn’t want to hurt him.

You didn’t want to be hurt yourself, either.

“Please, just let it go.”

“Why, for it to come up another time in the near future? Y/N, we need to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to okay! It’s my problem and-”

“You can’t even open up about it anymore?”

“It’s not that I can’t, I just don’t want to. As you said, I’m the one who thinks I’m inferior to you!”

“And I’m asking you if there’s a way we can move past this!” Rubbing his face, Jinyoung then sighed. “Why be with me?”

“Wh-what? How can you ask a question like that?”

Jinyoung stared at you. “I was just talking about marrying you before but if you can’t see us on an equal playing field as a couple, why would you say yes?”

“Because I love you!”

“I’m flawed too. I have insecurities also.”

“And I accept them,” you assured, Jinyoung shaking his head at your answer.

“I can’t accept you constantly putting yourself down at my side though. Could you if I did the same?”

“It’s hardly the case-”

“Can’t you see how hard it is for me to hear you like this?! What more do I need to do to show you that you’re the one for me? I couldn’t love someone more than I do you!”

“We’re getting nowhere apart from more upset,” you managed to say, closing your eyes. “Let’s just drop it and go to sleep.”

“And avoid it? Should I just swallow back the feeling each time you feel the need to bring it up? Just let you have your moment and let it slide even if my heart is breaking from hearing you talk like that?”

It was too much, and the tears now streamed down your face. “Please Jinyoung, just stop.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. But sometimes I wonder why you are with me if you can keep pointing out reasons why we don’t match.”

You lowered your head, your hand clutching at your damp nightshirt. You wondered if this was how it was meant to go. Over the time together, you had suffered from moments where you were painfully aware of how your relationship could end. Your self-sabotaging ways were always right behind you, waiting for a moment just like this. You knew all couples fought, and you and Jinyoung weren’t immune to them. However, when it was on this topic, you could feel a defence mechanism kicking in.

You’d had a good run together, and the end was always somewhere around the corner waiting for you both.

“Why be with me?” Jinyoung breathed, his emotions getting the better of him and he roughly wiped at his face.

There was no comforting answer that you could give him or yourself right now. Nothing stood out in the middle of the night to assist you. The love you felt so deeply for him was crippled by your inner critic, telling you what more did you expect.

It was all so unfair, so heartbreaking.

“You need to sleep for work tomorrow,” you told him in a detached tone, reaching for your pillow.

Jinyoung was faster, yanking his own up and throwing the blankets back. “Don’t bother, I’ll leave first.”

As Jinyoung got up and retreated to the couch in the living room, you clung to the blankets you drew up around your chilled body, shaking as the tears and pain consumed you.

Jinyoung didn’t come home until late the next evening and you had already gotten into bed without him. You listened to the sounds around the apartment, hearing him heating up the meal you had left for him, the low hum of the television as he ate. The shower turned on and off, and the sink ran for brushing his teeth.

Still, when all was done, he never came into the bedroom.

You fell asleep waiting for Jinyoung and when you opened your eyes again, it was just after four in the morning. Slowly, you padded out into the living room, expecting to find Jinyoung asleep on the couch. It was vacant, the blanket he had folded up from last night untouched at the end of it. You went into every room of the apartment, finding it devoid of the man you loved. Dropping to hug your knees by the front entrance, the sobs racked through you, sending an indescribable pain throughout you.

With Jinyoung lost from your world, you hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Didn’t believe you would feel this empty so fast. You hadn’t comprehended just how the man had grown into every part to you, depleting your lungs of oxygen, your heart of blood to pump and your mind of any logic.

The end you had often worried about now felt too real, and it frightened you entirely.

The sun rose and yet you were still stuck in the same position by the door, waiting for Jinyoung’s return. You didn’t even know what the time was when you heard your phone ringing from the other room, your limbs protesting when you stood up and went to answer it.

You noticed it was Namra who had called and you sighed, not having the energy to try and converse with anyone aside from Jinyoung. However, you knew her persistent nature all too well and your phone began to ring again, her name flashing up on the screen. You connected the call and lifted the device to your ear.

“You know, if you hadn’t answered, I would have come and found you, right?”

“I’m amazed you’re not at my front door already,” you admitted with a sigh, climbing onto the bed. “Did Zili tell you?”

“Jinyoung himself,” Namra confirmed. “He stayed at ours last night. He didn’t say much but he’s a wreck, Y/N. I’ve known Jinyoung for almost as long as I’ve known Mark and I’ve never seen him cry before. He couldn’t stop.”

Looking up at the ceiling, you willed yourself not to cry for the umpteenth time, wondering where the tears even came from with how many you had used up already. “It’s so stupid, Nim,” you mentioned, clasping the blanket at your side to anchor yourself against another wave of crippling emotion. Composing yourself, you tried to laugh but it sounded like a choked on gurgle. “It came from something so dumb and yet, I get why he reacted how he did.”

You really did. Even if you were so frustrated that a joke had ended up being the reason for the fight, you could understand his frustrations. Sitting at the front door waiting for him had lent you enough time to process it all.

“Still, everyone knows how much you love that man like no other,” Namra pointed out. “You’re the couple that even if you’re saying contradictory statements at one another, are madly into one another.”

“Well, we’ve derailed now,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. “I … I have a problem with how I see myself, don’t I?”

“When it comes to anyone else, you accept compliments well enough. Why do you always have to make it harder for yourself when it comes to Jinyoung?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“I didn’t expect to love him like this,” you whispered, cheeks wet with the tears streaming down your face. “I think he has a ring somewhere and I want to wear it. Yet that’s off the cards now if he’s going to leave me.”

“You and I both know if there’s a ring, Park Jinyoung won’t leave you.”

“He asked why I’m with him. I said because I love him but when he asked again, I couldn’t answer him with anything else. My mind was blank. Ever since he asked that, I’ve been looking for the right answer.”

“Have you found it?”

“Only a bunch of reasons why I don’t want to be without him.”

“One time I didn’t realise I had made Mark feel insecure about us, and when I finally found out, I figured the only way to fix it was to tell him how I felt about him. Sounds to me, Jinyoung might have reacted as big as he did because he’s feeling insecure himself.”

You pondered the idea. Whilst your boyfriend maintained an image of being in control of himself and his feelings, you knew that he was just as indecisive and troubled as you could be. Smiling softly, you got to your feet.

“Nim, I have to go.”

“To your man?” she guessed and you nodded determinedly despite her being unable to see you.

“I have to let him know right now how I feel.”

You knew that during this time of the day that Jinyoung would only be at the office. It didn’t take you long to change into clothes and dash out of the apartment, taking the quickest route you could to him.

You had expected to be nervous. You were never the best at approaching a situation first, even if you had all the opinions in the world about it. You always waited for someone to open the floor first, ensuring that you didn’t speak out of turn or cause any harm to yourself and what others viewed you as.

But right now, you didn’t care for any of that. You walked through the lobby of the company he and Mark ran together, not stopping at the reception as you usually would to ask if now was the right time.

There would never be a time dedicated to speaking how you truly felt scheduled into a workday.

You barely greeted those who recognised you as you walked down the hallway, hitting the elevator button at the end. When the doors opened, you stopped momentarily, Mark appearing from behind them. His eyes widened but he didn’t say anything to throw you off. Nor did he step out of the elevator and so you climbed inside, hitting the floor number he had no doubt just come from.

“This is unexpected.”

“Is it really?”

Mark grinned. “I can’t say I’m not grateful. He’s been an asshole to deal with all day.”

“When he’s moody he’s insufferable,” you agreed, however you smiled, adding another reason to your list.

When the doors opened again, you stepped out with a wave to your friend, your eyes now firmly attached to the office door ahead. You saw their secretary from her desk pick up the phone to call in your arrival but you shook your head to deny the announcement, going right up to his door, twisting the handle and entering quickly.

“Mark, I said that I didn’t want lunch,” a monotonous voice stated, and you continued to move across the room until Jinyoung swung his chair around. He was surprised, hitting his knee against the desk and yelped in response. He then stood up rapidly, hitting his thigh this time.

You couldn’t help but giggle. “I thought I was the clumsy one.”

“Y/N,” he breathed in disbelief, blinking constantly to wash away his stunned expression. “What are you… I mean… and you’re-”

“I’m here,” you stated, stepping over to the frazzled man, taking his hand. It shook in your grip and you squeezed it. “I’m here for you.”

“But I was such an asshole and I haven’t apologised yet,” he mentioned, looking away from you as the guilt surfaced in his eyes.

Your fingertips brushed over the side of his jaw as you slid your hand up to guide him back to looking at you, smiling encouragingly when you saw the hesitance in his eyes. He blinked slowly. “You’re not mad at me?”

“I think we both overreacted in the heat of the moment and took things to the extreme, but no, I was never mad with you.”

“But you went to bed before me yesterday.”

You nodded. “I had no energy to wait up for you. I’m not here to pick at what happened. I just want to answer your question.”

“My question?” he echoed, his forehead creasing with thought. “What question?”

“Why I am with you.”

“Y/N, you don’t-”

You held up a hand to silence him. “I need to tell you this. At the time, I couldn’t believe why you asked me that. It was obvious to me, at least, why I am. Because I love you. That’s what I told you. And yet, there’s so much more to it. I’m with you because even if I thought I was always ready for an end, I don’t ever want there to be one. When I came out and found you gone last night, I was faced with the reality that you and I could actually end. And the idea of you not being in my life was the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“I’m sorry, I should have left you a note or something for where I was.”

You shook your head. “I’m grateful because even though I was struggling to breathe, it made me realise all the reasons why I can’t leave you. The list is endless, you know.”

“It is?” You could tell Jinyoung was beginning to relax, his thumb over your hand now tracing circles over your skin. He even smiled. “You could continue to think of reasons why you need me?”

“Even Mark helped me just before,” you confirmed with a laugh. “How could I possibly manage going a day without your insufferable ways?”

“Hey! I’m not that bad.”

“I love you, Jinyoung,” you confessed, shifting closer. “I love you even when I want to kill you.”

“A passionate demise.”

“See, how could I go without your witty comebacks?”

“Is there something else you’re forgetting to point out?” he wondered airily, pursing his lips together and jutting them out.

You nodded in agreement. “How would I go back to sleeping on just a pillow instead of your arm?!”

“Y/N!” he whined despite laughing, pulling you into him with one arm whilst using his other to brush the hair away from your face. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll try harder to not feel low about myself but when I do, I’ll tell you upfront.”

“And I’ll try my best to accept a joke when you make one.”

“I’m sure you want to kiss me now,” you pointed out and he nodded happily, lowering his mouth to yours, sweetly encompassing you with his love. When the kiss ended, you sighed in content. “I couldn’t go without that either.”

“There’s a whole lot about you that I can’t give up too.”

“We’re stuck with one another even if we have our insecure moments, huh?”

Jinyoung smiled, nodding softly. “Thank you for coming here. I was struggling with knowing how to fix things.”

“It’s not all on you to do that. I can do it too. We are more balanced than we thought.”

Jinyoung kissed you again before resting his forehead on yours. “You know what? We really are.”

_________________

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[GOT7 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

[anntoldst0ries]

Diagnosis

I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you who read my previous fic and left such kind comments. You can’t imagine how much I appreciate this!

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Vicky Valentine)

Word Count: 2,911

Summary: Dr Ramsey attempts to diagnose the most difficult case in his career...his own.

Warnings: None! A lot of introspection again and hints of angst :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ethan Ramsey considered himself a brave man.

He always had the courage to say whatever he wanted to say or what had to be said - be that a terminal diagnosis, savaging someone’s speech at a medical conference (only if the speaker was talking nonsense, that is), scolding an intern - you name it. 

With years of experience under his belt, Dr Ramsey excelled at the “art” of saying the most horrible, unpleasant and inconvenient things. It was a process he took to pieces and mastered every tiniest part.

He knew exactly what they were whispering behind his back in the hospital corridors. Dr Ramsey is a bully. A ruthless cynic. No one survived more than 3 minutes of his tirades without bursting into tears. Or, as some of the interns so lovingly put it, he was “the only survivor of a heart transplant”. The last remark had been conveyed to him by Baz, who found it hilarious…and so did Naveen. It took one deadly look to silence Baz forever, however Naveen used every occasion to remind his protégé of hospital’s favourite joke:

‘How’s your heart, Ethan?’

‘Good, why are you as—‘ Ethan didn’t have a chance to finish answering the question, interrupted by Dr Banerji who was in convulsions.

‘God, Naveen, for such a bright mind and one of the best doctors in the world, I still find it hard to believe that you have a sense of humour of a 5 year old’

‘There is nothing wrong with some joy, Ethan. You should try it sometimes, it may do you good.’

Similar conversations took place on a regular basis, but they always ended with Ethan rolling his eyes and Naveen sighing. Younger doctor would never, ever tell his mentor off, he respected him too much. So Ethan let Dr Banerji have some fun at his expense from time to time.

But, truth be told, he kept his emotions at a leash and he was good at it, because there wasn’t a thing in Ethan’s life that he wasn’t good at. Regardless of what it was - saving people’s lives or emotional self-deprivation.

That’s why reminiscing past 2 years was so hard for accomplished diagnostician. He couldn’t help but think that he’s lived more during this time than he’s lived during his whole life. His existence wasn’t a boring one, he loved his job and the cases that the team had to crack were mostly complex and thus exciting. There was also a sense of fulfilment and servitude to a greater cause.

As a kid, Ethan wanted to be a detective. It all started with Alan buying his son one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s books. There was no hidden intention in this choice - Alan simply ran out of book ideas, Ethan was literally gobbling up the books at his disposal and was thirsty for more. Therefore, Mr Ramsey picked picked one of the thickest positions available in the book shop, with hopes it will keep Ethan occupied for at least a couple of weeks. Oh, how wrong he was - 5 days later his son was already begging for more.

Sherlock Holmes and Hercules Poirot quickly took the top spot on the list of Ethan’s childhood heroes. He was obsessed with their investigative methods, their sharp minds that captured even the tiniest of details and how missing those nuances would make solving a mystery a lot harder, if not impossible. 

That’s why he became obsessed with details. He analysed, compared, observed and noted down everything around him with deliberation. After a while, Ethan realised that these skills come handy in various areas of life. He could read people and to a degree foresee what their next move was going to be. If he wanted to, he could probably try and influence their decisions too. If it wasn’t for Alan’s upbringing, this particular skill might have taken his life onto a dark track, but fortunately he utilised it for greater good.

Having this sort of insight made him very self-conscious and he never turned away from reliving his own decisions and behaviours, which helped him become a better doctor, every single day. But he never wallowed in the mud of emotions, instead always operating on facts.

But for the past couple of months, this process became a pure torture. 

You know what they say, the devil is in the detail. And the devil it was indeed. 

The devil that would be the death of Ethan was 5’4, had raven hair, plumped lips, mesmerising eyes and a captivating laugh. 

Suddenly, he heard the devil’s voice in his head.

‘Are you pinching the bridge of your nose right now?’ 

He was.

‘God dammit!’ - shouted Ethan, so loud that he startled poor Jenner, who resigned from occupying the sofa and ran straight to his bed. Even the retriever, in his doggy wisdom, knew that when his master was upset, it was best to stay out of his sight and wait for the storm to pass.

Whenever Dr Ramsey had a serious dilemma, he would subtly join his thumb and index finger to pinch the gentle skin between eyes. She knew of this somewhat subconscious habit and teased him about it countless times. 

With most people, the whole observing and reading process was a one-sided game. For majority of mortals, Ethan was a closed book and they had no idea how to open, let alone read it. But not Rookie. She saw right through him. Ethan considered himself a riveting mystery thriller before, if we’re talking comparisons, but right now he was probably a cheap Harlequin. How did he sink so low in practically no time?

The answer came before he was even able to finish the question.

He was hopelessly, utterly and irreversibly in love with Dr Vicky Valentine.

“Victoria….” he whispered. He knew her full name, he’s read her bloody application and her employee file many, many times. More than he’d ever care to admit. Neither him nor anyone else addressed her by her full name. She always introduced herself as Vicky and even mentioned to him, June & Baz one time that she considered herself too young to be a bearer of such gracious name. But when the name fell out of his lips, it made perfect sense. Victoria. Victory. After a long, tough and heartbreaking battle, she’s won all of him. And man, wasn’t she fighting fiercely. 

She was so much like him, and yet so different. Patients loved her, and for a good reason - not only was she amazing at her job, but also so genuinely caring about every patient she met. Somehow, she was able to see past people weary of their conditions, instead she always noticed the human beings with their unique stories. Thanks to her, patients never felt like sickness became their identity, but merely a stage in their life that shall soon pass. 

Hospital staff adored her as well, she had time and a huge smile for everyone; her bright aura lit up every room she walked into and was a pleasure to be around. 

Those who knew Ethan a bit better or worked with him were aware of the insanely high standards he was holding himself to. And it would have been fine if they only applied to him, but he held everyone else to the same standard too. It was his buffer. Most gave up without even trying, it was humanly impossible to live up to such expectations. And that was the goal. Dr Ramsey wanted no distractions and if anyone wanted so much as approach him, they had a giant wall to jump over first.

But the young intern wasn’t bothered in the slightest. Dozens of people before her stood in front of the wall and tried to figure out how to get in. And she… she just found a tiny gap and squeezed right through. Before Ethan realised what’s going on, it was already too late. And she wasn’t even fully aware of what she’s done.

Like air, she’s entered his life imperceptibly, filling every space until there was nothing else. She was in every reflection he saw, every smile, every freaking thing a reminder of her, one way or another.

He was completely under her spell, enchanted, drunk in the thought of her.

The most ironic part was that if he went by his unreasonable standards, she’d never stand a chance.

She was messy, she was a klutz, she laughed too loud and rounded her eyes like a child when something seriously excited her.

And yet, something about her made him break all of his rules, lower his guard and re-think everything he’s ever thought he knew and believed in. 

Obviously, he wouldn’t be himself if the occupational quirk did not kick in at some point. Whatever the cause, Dr Ramsey had to get to the bottom of it, no matter how many tests did he have to run on his mind and heart. He needed the diagnosis so he could start the treatment. But his sharp diagnostic skills which made him a famous man, suddenly decided to go on unplanned vacation and it looks like they were not coming back anytime soon.

Ambivalence became Ethan’s newest companion. Some days, he thought he was going to blow his brains out, the others he was strangely content and did not want to analyse anything, things were good just as they were.

For the first time in his life, he felt truly lost. He felt like Jon Snow, he knew nothing. It wasn’t a result of one event, rather a chain reaction. Starting with Naveen getting sick, the inability to figure out what was wrong with his mentor made Ethan seriously doubt his capabilities as a doctor. Then, Louise Ramsey made a surprise reappearance after having walked out on him and his dad 25 years earlier. When he was little, his dad use to say that wherever Louise goes, trouble follows and it wasn’t any different this time. She brought company - insecurity, sorrow, resentment - to name just a few. Ethan felt like someone ripped a band aid from his heart and painfully reminded him that all the wounds are still alive and never really healed. 

And finally, Edenbrook. The place that others saw as walls, glass, beds, people in white coats, sickness, illness, death. To him, it was much, much more. The hospital had almost a transcendental dimension. It was here that Ethan’s transition had been completed. He shed his old skin and became Dr Ramsey, the person he was always meant to be.

That’s why Edenbrook closing hit him so hard - a part of him was about to die and be buried beneath years of sweat, tears and effort. It was probably the hardest thing to come to terms with in the 37 years that he’s been walking on the surface of the Earth.

And throughout all these events, she was with him.

She never gave up on Naveen and Ethan knew that there was more to it than just saving Edenbrook’s most prominent doctor. He believed, he wanted to believe that she did this for him too. 

The memory brought shame that drained off him like unpleasant wave of cold water. Ethan never really forgave himself for just laying in his bed like a drunk bag of potatoes, whilst she was busting her gut to solve the case, even though she had ethics hearing to prepare for. A hearing that could make or break her whole career, before she even had a chance to start.

Dr Ramsey would like to think they were alike. But as a matter of fact, she was a much better person than him.

Then, with his mother in the picture, she never told him what to do. Even though he asked, many times. He hoped someone can actually make the decision for him, because it hurt so much to even think about this, let alone decide what to do next. But she never did. She was just there and by simply being, she empowered him to make his own, informed decision. 

She was there, like no one else was in his entire life. Not to take anything from Naveen, who had tremendous effect on Ethan’s life - but this was completely different.

She penetrated his soul.

She made him feel.

Love.

It was the first time he used this word in a long, long time. 

And maybe, quite possibly, for the first time in his life he used it with intention. 

He thought he felt it once before. 

When he was a student at Johns Hopkins, Ethan met Camille. She was a year older than him, with angelic voice and looks, the cascade of blond locks surrounding her gentle facial features like a halo. 

What impressed him was that she kept hitting up on him, not the other way round. He’s had his mind set on graduating as a top student in his class and then getting the best residency there was - in Edenbrook hospital in Boston. It was either him or someone else. University romances were of no interest to him, or so he thought. After all, he’s just gone past his teenage years and was relatively new to the world of intimate human desires. As much as he tried to push them away, he had needs and his hormones were still a giant part of his decision-making process, doesn’t matter how hard he tried denying it.

Also, there was something motherly about her and she reminded him of the woman who left him when he was just a boy. It was completely fucked-up, he hated his mother and yet a memory of her and how he’d once do anything for her was tattooed in the insides of his brain.

Ethan and Camille shared a passion for medicine, music and opera. A few times, he was close to bringing her down to Providence, to introduce her to Alan, his father. But there was this weird voice in his head stopping him. 

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t overly surprised when one day he walked on Camille. In his bed. Screaming and making other explicit sounds…except, he wasn’t the igniter. It was none other than his best friend at the time, Tobias. Ethan would never forget the jealous glance he shot him with when he first brought Camille to one of the student parties. And then things got worse. Ethan and Tobias always competed and for a long time it was a fuel that kept them both going. But when someone wins, someone has to lose. Neither of them was good at losing or accepting the failure. 

Ethan was doing better than his best friend. Not significantly better, the difference between them had usually been slight, but it was there. Tobias couldn’t swallow this. Not only was Ethan doing better than him, he also had one of the most beautiful students at Hopkins by his side. Jealousy started to spread inside him like a wildfire and since his attempts to beat Ethan at school were futile, he decided to make use of his other skills. Tobias was a born flirter and charmer. He often used to say that no woman can resist his spell and that “where there’s a woman - there’s a way.”

Dr Ramsey never told anyone, but having found out that his girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend was sort of relief. Call it sixth sense, an intuition… subconsciously he sort of felt that she wasn’t a girl for him. As for Tobias, he was tired of the fight….of Tobias fighting with him, that is. Ethan wasn’t fighting, he was just a better student and was going to be a better doctor. He was tired of petty competition and how the toxin poisoned their relationship.

So they actually made him a favour and helped him killed 2 birds with 1 stone - he was saved from having an awkward break-up conversation that he’s never went through before and he now had every right to hate Tobias. He didn’t really, as such feelings were a waste of energy, but a week later Tobias moved out of their shared apartment and they never really spoke again.

After Camille, he was only in a brief relationship once. With Harper. He deeply admired and respected her, but when things started getting too serious (from her side), he distanced himself. And so, for a couple of years to follow, they were on the off and on again terms. They went through countless friends with benefits stages, but he genuinely enjoyed her company. They just never wanted the same things, which became more and more evident as she was getting older. And he respected her too much to mess her around.

Ethan’s career was everything to him and he accepted the fact that falling in love and having a family is just not in the cards for him.

Or so he thought.  

Dr Valentine entered his life one September morning and hasn’t left ever since. And, hell, hasn’t he tried to erase her. To make her hate him. To draw a line between work and personal life. He could honestly say that he tried everything.

For the love of God, he ran to fucking Amazon! He tried to hide from all things Dr Valentine, like a fool who forgot one of the most basic rules of life: there is no running away from yourself. 

Tag list (please let me know if you wish to be removed): @terrm9 @openheart12 @openheartthot @rookie-ramsey @alwaysmychoices @brooks-eden @drethanramslay @starrystarrytrouble @justanotherrookie @caseyvalentineramsey@incorrectopenheart @heauxplesslydevoted @perriewinklenerdie @mercury84choices @archxxronrookie @renasalek-blog @maurine07 @whippedforethanfreakingramsey @lemonmiddleton @tsrookie @choicesfan10 @dr-colossal-pita @queencarb @gryffindordaughterofathena @qrkowna @aarisa-frost @choicesficwriterscreations

[even-after-a-millennia]

New Fic: A tavola non si invecchia

A tavola non si invecchia is an Italian proverb that means, "At the table with good friends and family you do not become old." Nicky makes supper and Joe makes dessert and together, they dance. There is laughter and good food and momentary angst, but mostly just love.

This fic is for @marwankensari with thanks :)

Read it below or on ao3 here.

It was Nile’s turn to choose what they listened to, so the small house was full of music from the latest century.  Nile had many playlists, some for different artists, others for different moods.  Earlier tonight, the team had successfully completed their latest mission with no deaths amongst them, so the songs were bright and happy.

Nicky was making them supper because, as Booker had said, “you know Nicky...”  As he thought of his friend, Nicky had a pang of emotion too complex to unpack before dinner and pushed it away so he could focus on the stove.

“Pardon me, habibi,” Joe said, putting a hand on Nicky’s hip as he leaned around him to get the sugar off the counter.

Nicky’s mouth quirked as he glanced at Joe.  Even as he pulled away, Joe left the heat of his palm pressed into Nicky’s skin.

While Nicky was working on supper, Joe was in charge of dessert.

They moved about the kitchen with the same practiced ease of the battlefield, passing each other ingredients and utensils before the other even needed to finish asking for them.  The movements were littered with brushing touches and brief kisses.

The music faded and Nicky heard the beginning instrumental and humming of Thurston Harris’ “Little Bitty Pretty One” begin.  With just the first few notes, he had a smile at the corners of his lips and he saw Joe smile and glance at him from his place at the counter.  They both started dancing side to side where they stood.

Finally, Nicky broke away from the stove and held out a hand to the man who held his heart.  

“May I?” he asked.

Joe’s answering smile put sunshine to shame.  

“Of course, ya hayati,” Joe replied, placing his hand in Nicky’s.

The corner of Nicky’s mouth quirked and then he pulled Joe towards him and they were off.  They danced around the kitchen, going from doing the Charleston to jiving to swing dancing.  Their hands rarely left one another as they moved but if they did, they were touching each other somewhere else.  A brush of a hand on the back of Joe’s neck.  A hand pressed into the middle of Nicky’s chest.  A light touch of lips to Joe’s temple when Nicky pulled him close.

Nile’s laughter and applause echoed in the air as the song faded.

They turned and bowed to her, laughing a bit themselves.

“I should check the stove,” Nicky said, bringing Joe’s hand up to his lips and giving his knuckles a kiss before letting him go.

“You are definitely going to have to teach me how to dance like that,” Nile said.

Joe grinned at her.  “And in return, you must teach us how the youth dance nowadays,” he said, teasing her.

“Ugh,” she said, laughing.  “That’s a mental image I didn’t need.  I’m gonna go wash that image out of my brain.”

“Set the table when you go and let Andy know the food will be ready soon,” Nicky said as she walked down the hall.

“Roger that.”

“I guess I should keep going with dessert, then,” Joe said, looking at the ingredients on the counter, just waiting to be put together.

“Or...” Nicky said, glancing over at him.  “Well.  The stove keeps my front warm.  But my back is cold in comparison.”

Joe came behind him and put his arms around Nicky’s waist, melting into his back.  “We cannot have that.”

“No.  No, we cannot.”

They stood there together, Joe pressed into Nicky’s back, his cheek resting against Nicky’s neck, until Nicky sighed and said regretfully, “If we are to have dessert tonight, you will have to leave me now.”

Joe kissed the back of Nicky’s neck, just below his hairline.  “I will only be leaving you physically.  My heart will still be right here with you.”

“You’re going across the kitchen, Joe, not the other side of the world,” Andy’s voice rang out from behind them.

Neither of them jumped, far too used to each others’ presences to do so.  Well, that, and they were used to Andy’s loving but derisive interjections.

“What are you making?” she asked Joe.

“Nile wanted to have my lemon, olive oil, and semolina cake again.  After how well she did this mission, who am I to refuse?” Joe asked, beginning to mix the ingredients together.

“Sucker,” Andy said, her eyes smiling even as her mouth didn’t.

Joe shrugged.  

How lucky were the people who Joe loved, Nicky marveled silently.  How lucky that he was one of them.

“Nicky,” Andy said, drawing his attention away from his husband.  “Thank you for making supper.”

“Naturalmente,” he replied.

Andy huffed out a little laugh, then her mouth turned down.  In that moment, Nicky was sure that they were both thinking of Booker and of “you know Nicky…” and of countless suppers before with drinks and bets and laughter.  Of betrayal.  

Then Andy blinked, and the moment passed.  Nicky let the residual feeling of pain and anger roll off him.

He turned to the stove and announced, “Food is ready.”

“And,” Joe gently hip-checked Nicky out of the way of the oven and put his cake in, “dessert is underway.”

Dinner was a joyous affair, complete with a toast to the success of their mission, a delicious meal, and a decadent, sticky dessert.  

Andy and Nile put themselves in charge of cleaning up, as they hadn’t made the food, and went to the kitchen to start washing up.  After a few moments, Nicky and Joe heard a splash, and exclamation of “Hey!” and a bark of laughter that had to be Andy’s.  Another splash and Nile’s long laugh echoed down the hall towards them.  

Nicky and Joe smiled at each other, the lines around Joe’s eyes crinkling as he did so.  They both got up and pushed in their seats, ignoring the chair that had remained empty throughout the meal.  Those emotions and memories had no place with the joy of the day.

They joined hands and went to keep the rest of their family company.

And well… if they joined in the water splashing battle and revelled in the laughter and happiness on the faces of those they loved, who could blame them?

[messrprcngs]

AN ABUNDANCE OF PINING.

SUMMARY : bucky accidentally comes across fanfiction you wrote about him on tumblr. instead of being freaked out, he’s actually quite flattered, and asks to see more of your writing. he finds that there’s a common theme with almost everything you’ve written about him, but he’s too dense to realize why that is. PAIRING : bucky barnes x reader ( implied female, kind of ? ) WARNINGS : lots of pining, as that is a given. not really angst. FLUFF ! WORD COUNT : 5.2k. this now holds the title of ‘longest fic sophie’s written’ A/N : my first bucky barnes fic !! i hope you guys like it ! inifinity war and endgame ? never saw them, didn’t happen. the avengers are all happily alive and living in the complex together (but steve is retired so sam is still the new cap) and that’s final.

"bucky, can you grab my phone from my room?” you called out from the kitchen. “i need to check my texts again to make sure i didn’t ruin this first batch of muffins!”

"sure thing, doll!” he called back from the living room. you shivered at the nickname, which you scolded yourself for immediately after. he used it all the time; you should have been used to it by now. you weren’t.

you paused your stirring, listening for the squeak of leather that indicated that bucky had pushed himself up off the couch to go retrieve your phone for you. you heard it, followed by the so-faint-it-was-barely-audible padding of his feet on the hardwood, and went back to whipping up more batter for the next batch.

you were pretty certain that you hadn’t, in fact, completely ruined your first batch of muffins. you were a better baker than that! but the new recipe you’d just gotten for killer chocolate chip muffins came straight from your aunt, a downright marvelous baker, and you didn’t want to mess anything up; they had to be perfect.

which was precisely why your first batch, which you’d popped into the oven almost twenty minutes ago, consisted of only six muffins.

you hadn’t wanted to risk wasting all your ingredients only to find out that you’d forgotten one of the tips your aunt had given you and subsequently made your muffins taste subpar in comparison to hers.

you hummed to yourself as you stirred in more chocolate chips and waited for bucky to come back. your humming stretched on for what felt like forever, and yet still no bucky.

looking up at the timer above the stove, you found that it’d already been three minutes since you’d sent bucky to get your phone, which was strange. he knew where your room was because you lived on the same floor, which was only two floors above where you were now; it wasn’t like it was hard to get there and back. besides, he had super long legs and didn’t run out of breath quickly. what the hell was taking him so long?

you took the rubber spatula you were using to smooth the batter out and set it on top of the bowl before peaking your head out into the living room from the kitchen. what you found surprised you: bucky, standing in the middle of the room, scrolling through your phone and staring down at whatever he was doing intently.

it wasn’t the simple act of him going through your phone that surprised - and confused - you. you were best friends (a title he’d been quick to assure you had more than enough room for both you and steve), after all; he knew your passcode by heart, and you his, though you generally didn’t fiddle with his phone, seeing as he still wasn’t very familiar with modern day technology and wouldn’t know how to undo anything you changed. no, you were surprised because he hadn’t come into the kitchen to make sure you checked what you needed to before stealing your phone away from you. he always made sure you checked your phone before stealing it away from you. something about this didn’t add up. 

“bucky?” you asked, and his head snapped up so quickly it gave you the impression that you’d startled him. “whatchya doin’? i need my phone to check the recipe.”

he rolled his eyes. “please, doll, i’m sure you got the recipe right. when have you not gotten a recipe right?”

you chose not to bring up the time you’d made oatmeal cookies for the team. no one needed to relive that experience.

“my phone, buck,” you whined instead, walking out into the living room.

“well, you see,” he started, and you raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going. it was never good when bucky barnes started off a sentence with ‘well, you see’. “i actually found something pretty interesting on your phone when i opened it, y/n.”

“oh?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, even as your lungs fell into your stomach and your heart jumped up into your throat. you hoped he wasn’t talking about what you thought he was talking about. you tried to think back to what app you’d been using before coming down to bake, if you’d closed it, if you’d clicked out of it at all or not. you didn’t remember closing it or clicking out of it, but you sure did remember what app you’d been on: tumblr.

bucky hummed in affirmation. “yep. you were open to some wonderful writing, doll.”

you gulped. oh god, he found it. “really?”

bucky tried to suppress a smile as he said, “mhm. really wonderful writing. about me.” you wanted to die. he knew. god, this was a mess. “and i know i don’t really know anythin’ about the internet, but i know enough to’ve figured out that the account it was on is yours, huh, doll?”

you knew that you weren’t really bright red right now, but you definitely felt bright red. your face was burning, and your fingers were throbbing with the force of the heat rolling down your neck and into your arms. this was a mess. bucky had found the fanfiction you’d written about him. he probably figured out that you were in love with him just from reading it, too, and was bringing it up with you now to tell you that he was both utterly creeped out and didn’t love you the way he’d discovered you desperately wanted him to.

“i, i, uh - erm -” you stammered, blinking up at him rapidly to keep the tears that were pricking at the backs of your eyes at bay. “i . . . i’m really sorry, bucky.”

you lowered your head and cast your eyes downward, feeling like a child who had just been severely scolded - except this was worse, because bucky, your best friend and the man you were in love with, had just found the one thing you never wanted him to find.

“why’re you sorry, doll? the writing’s good!” you snapped your head up immediately at that, wincing from the force of the movement.

“it’s what?” you asked, incredulous.

“it’s good, doll,” he repeated. he seemed sincere. “though i don’t remember secretly pining over anyone named ‘whyenn’.”

despite the horrifying situation you were in, you couldn’t help but laugh at how he pronounced ‘y/n’. bucky let a grin slowly take over his face at the sound of your laughter.

“that’s because it’s fanfiction, buck. nothing i wrote about in whatever piece of mine you read actually happened,” you told him. you knew he knew what fanfiction was because of the time he’d caught you crying over a deamus fic and you’d had to explain what it was to him. you’d never told him anything about reader insert fanfiction, though - for a very good reason. that reason being, of course, because it was the kind of fanfiction you wrote.

“i figured,” he said. “but i had no idea that anyone would want to write fanfiction about me. or that you were such a great writer, y/n.”

the panic that was tearing at the inside of your chest subsided a bit, both because of his compliment and because he was taking this whole thing very well considering he clearly knew how you felt about him now and clearly didn’t feel the same way.

“a lot of people want to write fanfiction about you, bucky,” you told him. “you’re kind of a big thing on sites that are popular for fanfiction. so’s the rest of the team.” why were you telling him this? oh, that’s right: because you just never knew when to shut up.

both of bucky’s eyebrow’s raised at that. “oh really?” he was still grinning. “do you write stuff about the rest of the team, too?”

you looked away. “sometimes, yeah. but you can’t tell them!” you conveniently failed to mention that it was generally only when your readers sent in requests for something with another member of the team that you wrote for them.

“i mostly write stuff about you, though,” you added, before you could stop yourself. god, how you wanted the floor to tear open and swallow you whole right then.

“yeah?” the amusement was plain in bucky’s voice. “i won’t tell them, but am i your favorite member of the team, doll?”

you moved your eyes back to his before saying earnestly, “you are, bucky. really. it’s easiest to write things about you. because you’re my best friend,” you added quickly. maybe if you said it enough, you could distract him from the fact he’d discovered that you saw him as much, much more than just a best friend.

“easier to write about me?” he echoed, cocking his head to right like an adorable puppy.

“well, yeah,” you said, avoiding his eyes again. “i know you. i know how you talk and how you react to things and how sweet and caring and lovable you are. i know how much time it took for you to get to where you are now, to be in a place where you’re not constantly sad and . . . and terrified. i know everything about you, buck. it’s easy to translate that into writing.”

your eyes met again as you finished, and for a terribly drawn out moment, it appeared as if you’d rendered him speechless.

“wow, doll,” he breathed finally, his eyes soft. “i don’t know what to say other than i love you.”

now it was your turn to be left speechless. “i, you - what? do you really?” you tried not to get your hopes up, but it was hard when bucky was standing in front of you, looking so at ease and so, so breathtakingly beautiful.

for a second you thought you’d seen bucky’s eyes widen ever so slightly, but you blinked and they were normally sized once again, and bucky’s brow had furrowed. “well yeah,” he said. “you’re my best friend - of course i love you.”

you swallowed all that hope and let it sink miserably down to the pit of your stomach. of course. of course that was what he meant. you knew that you’d just said the same thing, but how could he say that he loved you when he clearly knew how you felt. unless . . .

no. you couldn’t entertain the thought that maybe he hadn’t realized just how much you loved him. it was glaringly obvious in everything you wrote about him. bucky was smart; there was no way he hadn’t figured it out.

you opened your mouth as if to speak, though you had no idea what to say. luckily, though, bucky cut in before it could become obvious to him that you weren’t, in fact, going to say anything. “do you mind if i read some more?”

“you - if you . . . what?”

“read more, doll,” he said again, smiling. “your writing’s good! i want to read more of it.”

“you want to read more . . . of my fanfiction . . . about you?” you asked, disbelieving. he laughed at the look on your face.

“yes, doll. that’s exactly what i want.”

you shifted your weight from one leg to the other uneasily. did you really want to let him read more of your writing? you knew if you said no, he’d respect your decision and leave it alone. but where was the harm, really? he’d already read one piece of yours, a one shot, probably. bucky was always sweet and kind, and thankfully hadn’t mentioned the painfully obvious: that you were very, incredibly, wholeheartedly in love with him. what else did you have to lose?

“sure, buck,” you said hesitantly. you couldn’t believe you were agreeing to this. “you can read more of what i wrote.”

bucky gave a cheerful shout, and you couldn’t help but smile; his happiness was contagious, even in the most minute of ways.

“BUT,” you added, matching his volume momentarily before taking it back down. “i need my phone back to check on this recipe first.”

bucky rolled his eyes, but handed you your phone anyway. “fine,” he said, a mock pout gracing his lips.

you unlocked your phone and quickly clicked out of tumblr before you could rethink your decision. you opened your texts as you turned around and made your way back to the kitchen, bucky following close behind. you scrolled through the conversation with your aunt to find the tips she’d given you, and mentally checked off the ones you’d done as you went down the list.

when you were finished, all the tips had been mentally checked off, and you smiled, pleased with yourself. you turned to face bucky, who was already looking at you expectantly, and handed him back your phone.

though he looked like he wanted to run off right then and there with the device, he stayed a moment to ask, “so? did you do everything right?”

you nodded, the little proud smile still on your face. he grinned at you. “see, what’d i tell you, doll?” he said. “now if you’ll excuse me, i’ll be in the living room, reading.” he turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the kitchen.

you sighed and let yourself lean against the counter. hopefully this wouldn’t blow up in your face.

twenty minutes later and your first batch of muffins were cooling on top of the stove as you popped two more full sheets into the oven.

when you were finished, you wiped your hands on a dish towel and inhaled a deep, deep breath, before letting the air out in a heavy sigh. your next batch of muffins wouldn’t be done for another 40 minutes, and there was no need to make more batter, because you already had plenty ready for the third batch (because lord knows the team wouldn’t be satisfied with just twenty-four chocolate chip muffins).

your only other option was to go out into the living room and face bucky.

setting the dish towel down and steeling yourself, you walked out into the living room, where you found bucky sitting on one of the couches, fully engrossed in whatever he was reading on your phone (or rather, which of your fanfictions he was reading on your phone, you reminded yourself).

as you drew closer, you were able to make out fading tear tracks on bucky’s cheeks, and you nearly choked on your own spit. had he found the rest of your writing so horrible that he’d cried over it?

bucky tore his eyes away from the screen like it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do and looked up at you, his wide eyes full of a peculiar mix of heartbreak and wonder, with a dash of something you couldn’t quite place.

“how could you kill her, y/n?” was the first thing he said to you, his voice very close to a whimper. he looked absolutely devastated.

while you knew he had to be talking about something you’d written, you couldn’t help but say, “what?” in response.

“you killed her,” bucky said, as if that cleared everything up. “you killed her when i’d just gotten her back and, and - and i promised to marry her, y/n! marry her! and you still killed her! how could you do this to me, y/n?”

you blinked. “bucky,” you said, very slowly, “are you talking about 'good grief’?”

“‘am i talking about ‘good grief’’,” bucky mimicked. “of course i’m talking about ‘good grief’! what else would i be talking about?”

‘good grief’ was a series you were in the middle of working on, with a central plot point - and the series title - coming from bastille’s song of the same name. it was an au in which bucky hadn’t been taken by hydra, and it was one of your best-written pieces in your own opinion. it appeared that bucky thought so, too, if he was getting this worked up about the reader insert’s apparent death.

“so i take it you like it, then?”

bucky straightened up. “like it?” he asked. “no, i don’t like it. i absolutely hate it!”

hearing that immediately made you feel sick. god, how stupid to were you to think that bucky would actually like what you’d written, whether he thought whatever he’d read first had been good or not. before you could say anything, bucky continued.

“my heart is broken! utterly and entirely shattered, doll. how could you do this to me? your writing is so, so, so . . .” he appeared as if he were struggling to find the right words. “gut-wrenchingly beautiful and my heart is real fuckin’ hurt, doll.”

you were startled by his outburst. “i - what? you think my writing’s beautiful?”

bucky rolled his eyes, suddenly exasperated. “yes, doll, i think your writing’s beautiful. it’s wonderful. how many times do i have to tell you that?”

“as many times as you’d like,” you said before you could stop yourself. you were rewarded by the quirking down of the corners of bucky’s lips that indicated he was trying to suppress a smile.

“then i’ll tell you all the time, y/n/n.”

“how . . . how much did you read?” you asked fiddling with your fingers as an excuse to not make eye contact.

“everything,” he said immediately, and you looked up, shocked. you hadn’t expected him to want to read your writing that much.

“er, everything about me,” he clarified. somehow, that was infinitely worse.

“oh,” was all you said as you went back to avoiding eye contact.

“actually, i had a question about your writing, doll.”

you looked up at that. “oh?” you gulped, preparing for the worst.

“yeah,” bucky said. “why is everything you write about me full of longing?”

you were stunned. “i - what?”

“well it’s just,” bucky continued, “that while i was reading, i noticed that the topic of pining is really prevalent in what you write about me. even when it’s not central to the plot, like in those - what are they called? ‘one shots’? yeah - one shots, you always mention pining and longing.”

you didn’t know what to say. you knew bucky, and you knew when he was genuinely asking a question he didn’t know the answer to (he wasn’t a very good actor). which was why you knew that his question was sincere, that he really had no idea why you included near-excessive pining in everything you wrote about him. had no idea that you included it because you were pining after him just as hopelessly as your reader inserts were.

and that meant . . . that meant that he really didn’t know that you were in love with him. he hadn’t been avoiding bringing it up to spare you the embarrassment; he hadn’t realized in the first place!

a huge wave of relief built up inside you, washing away the panic that was still tucked into your chest, but with it came an equally sized wave of disappointment. part of you, you supposed, had hoped that bucky would take you in his arms after reading the rest of your fanfiction and kiss you senseless before telling you that he’d always loved you just the same way you loved him. that he’d always been in love with you.

but of course, that was just a fantasy, too much like fanfiction to ever have a hope of becoming a reality.

you didn’t know what to say, but there bucky was, blinking up at you oh so innocently from his seat on the couch as he patiently waited for an answer, and so you said the only thing you could say: the truth.

“there’s so much . . . pining and longing because . . . i have a lot of experience with pining.”

well, as much of the truth as you could bear to reveal to him, anyway.

“but um, unlike . . . in my writing, the person i’m pining after doesn’t love me back.”

maybe it was a trick of the light, but you could have sworn something dark and hurting passed over bucky’s eyes when you said that, but a second later the look was gone. instead, bucky was cocking his head to the side as his brow furrowed. “what do you mean, doll?”

you sighed. “i mean,” you started as you sat down next to him on the couch, “exactly what i said. i love someone, but they don’t love me back.” you paused and thought for a moment before continuing. “well, i shouldn’t say that. i know he loves me. but just . . . not the way i want him to.”

when you’d sat down, your eyes had focused themselves on the edge of the accent rug that lay in front of the couch, and as you lifted them to meet bucky’s after your pseudo-confession, you found his whole body turned towards you.

bucky was still sporting that confused look on his face when he said, “how could anyone not love you like that?” so soft and breathless, as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all. his eyes searched your face as if he were looking for an answer to his question and all you could do was stare at him, silent and frozen.

god, if he kept this stuff up, you were going to explode from all the yearning that was building up inside of you.

bucky’s gaze connected with yours again, and it was as if something in your eyes had snapped him out of whatever haze he’d been in, because a millisecond later he was looking away and clearing his throat.

“so that’s why -” he said, as if whatever had just happened hadn’t happened, “- you write in so much pining when you’re writing about me?”

god, he was so clueless. and as much as you wanted to tell him that the person you were in love with was him, that it would always be him because he was strong and brave and kind and so, so breathtakingly beautiful, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. you didn’t think you could stand to be in the same room with him ever again if you told him and he smiled that pretty smile at you, all soft and sweet and pitiful, right before letting you down gently and saying that he’d always want you as his best friend no matter what happened. which really fucking sucked, because you didn’t know what you’d do without bucky.

“yeah,” you said. “like i said, it’s just . . . so much easier to write things when they’re about you. easier to . . . transfer my feelings to someone else when that someone else is . . . you.” you winced at the lie, but if bucky noticed, he didn’t mention it.

in fact, he was quiet for what felt like a long, long time before looking up at you and saying, “well, doll, whoever this guy is, he’s an idiot for not loving you. for not being in love with you.”

you gave him a soft smile that was tinged with melancholy. “thanks, buck.”

he nodded. “who is he?”

“what?” you hadn’t expected that. you probably should have, though, given how much bucky cared about your life and your feelings, but the extent to which he cared still surprised you sometimes; you didn’t really think you deserved it.

“who is he?” bucky repeated, eyes alight with curiosity and that other emotion you still couldn’t name. “i want to know who the guy is that’s got my best friend all hopelessly in love.”

“i . . . don’t know, buck . . .”

“you don’t want to tell me?”

“it’s not that i . . . don’t want to tell you, i just . . .” you were lost, searching for anything to say that would get bucky to lay off. “i don’t like thinking about it, is all.”

for some reason, that seemed to anger bucky. “oh, so you can think about it when you use it for writing inspiration all you want, but when your best friend wants to know, you suddenly can’t bring yourself to think about it? is that it?” he asked, eyes suddenly cold.

“no, that’s not it,” you tried to assure him, though you knew that that was exactly what you were implying. “bucky, it’s alright. it’s just a friend. you don’t know him.”

this just angered him all the more.

“i know all your friends, though, y/n. are you telling me you’re hiding this fella away from me, doll?” he asked with furrowed eyebrows and that cold, hard stare. “too afraid he won’t like me? or too afraid he won’t like you when he finds out just how well you really know me?”

you were shocked by bucky’s questions. where had this come from?

“what? absolutely not. i’m not ashamed of you, bucky.”

“oh, aren’t you?” he snapped.

you stared at him from where you were on the edge of the couch, incredulous. how could he think that you were ashamed of him?

“no, i’m NOT, bucky. and besides, it’s none of your business! you don’t have to know all of my friends!”

“as your best friend, it is my business! but haha, right, i can’t really be your best friend if you’re ashamed of me!”

“bucky barnes, i AM NOT ASHAMED OF YOU! how could i ever be ashamed of you? i love you!” you were barely containing yourself then, and had to force your voice down after it’d gotten far louder than you’d wanted it to.

bucky, though, it seemed, either didn’t have the same control that you did or simply didn’t care, because the next thing you knew he was shouting, “then TELL ME WHO HE IS!”

“LEAVE IT ALONE, BUCKY,” you yelled back, propelling yourself off the couch so you could match his volume.

a second later and bucky was on his own feet, too, right in front of you. “NO! I WANT TO KNOW!”

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE IT ALONE, JAMES?”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” he roared.

as quickly as it had come, your anger vanished. and suddenly, as if it had been the only thing keeping you up, your whole body sagged. all of the anger that had been overflowing inside of you had left you thoroughly exhausted, and your outrage at bucky’s own outrage was quickly replaced by a growing sense of disbelief. he’d told you he loved you before, of course - he’d said it near the beginning of your conversation! - but there was something in his voice, something in the way he said it, that made you think he meant it differently this time. that he meant it the way you did.

“wha - what?”

“i love you. i’m in love with you.”

there were tears stinging the backs of your eyes as you said, in a voice barely above a whisper, “don’t play with me, bucky.” you were looking up at him, eyes wide and equal parts hopeful and horrified.

“i’m not playing with you,” came bucky’s reply, his own voice soft. “i would never play with you like that, doll.”

you searched his eyes, which were glossed over with unshed tears the same way you knew yours were, and found only sincerity in his intense stare. sincerity, and that something else you’d seen before, which you were recognizing now as . . . adoration. still, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“but, bucky, i’m . . .”

“in love with someone else? i know. i figured as much when i read everything you wrote.” he looked away and stepped back.

“you what?” it seemed that all you’d been asking today was ‘what?’

“knew you were in love with someone else when i was reading all that stuff you wrote about me. there’s no way you would’ve been writing all that yearning crap with me originally in mind, doll. i know that. and yet, i . . . i couldn’t stop thinking about that whyenn character being you.”

you stared at him. and stared, and stared, and stared. you felt the tears dripping down your face, but didn’t move to wipe them away. instead, you continued to stare, until finally bucky looked up at you, looking as devastated as you’d ever seen him.

“you’re so dense, bucky. oblivious. a moron. an absolute imbecile,” you whispered.

for a moment, anger flashed across bucky’s face as his eyebrows furrowed, before being replaced by an even deeper hurt. “god, doll, i know you don’t feel that way about me, but you don’t have to -”

“i lied,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “i lied. it’s not someone you don’t know. i’m not in love with someone you don’t know, buck.”

bucky blinked. “listen, doll, i really don’t want to hear about how you’re actually in love with steve or sam and just wrote stuff about me in case they -”

“jesus, bucky, i’m talking about you!” you cried. “i’m in love with you!”

bucky’s mouth dropped open, and all he could do is stare at you. “i - you - what?”

“i’m in love with you, and i have been for so, so long. else c’mon, buck. why else would i write all that ‘yearning crap' about you?”

bucky, still gaping like a fish, said, “i don’t . . . i mean, it never occurred to me that you could . . . actually think of me like that . . .”

“and i thought you knew! i thought you’d figured it out the second i realized what you were reading! it was so obvious!”

bucky huffed. “clearly not obvious enough.”

a huffed laugh spilled past your lips. “you’re so oblivious.”

bucky gave you a small, sweet smile as he took a step closer to you. “so you’ve said, doll.”

you stood there, silently staring into each others eyes until: “can i kiss you, doll?” bucky’s voice was cautious and impossibly soft, and positively it made you melt.

“of course,” you whispered, and as soon as the words had left your lips he was there, his lips on yours as his hands came up to cradle your face gently. your eyes slid closed, and you moved your hands up to get a grip his shirt and pull him closer. you could hardly think straight because of how good finally getting to kiss bucky felt, but one thought kept running through your head as if on loop: his lips felt absolutely perfect on yours. like he was made for you.

the two of you broke away for air, and as your eyes fluttered open and met his, something else was clear in your jumbled brain: bucky barnes had effectively ruined you for anyone else.

the spell that you were under was broken, though, when bucky wrapped his arms around your waist and said, “all those feelings you wrote into your fanfiction were about me. that sure is a lot of pining and longing for one person, doll.”

“oh, shut up!”

[chaoticneutralwriter]

Twice Fallen

I implore thy loving kindness,

that even as thou didst stand beside thy dear Son as He hung upon the Cross,

so wilt thou also stand by me,

a poor sinner?

guardian demon! Jimin x reader

word count: 6.2k (the longest 6.2k of my life)

genre: angst, romance, comedy, supernatural, drama, slow-burn

Related Works: See Masterlist under Guardian Demon!Jimin

A/N: There’s a lot of Catholicism and religious things going on because well... Angels and demons LOL This is all a work of fiction inspired from real places so that’s my disclaimer here. Also it’s like...half edited xD Other than that....NAE PI TTAM NUNMUL

As the days went on, you become more riddled with an anxiousness that had overtaken every nerve in your body as a multitude of thoughts swirl around your head like an endless whirlpool. First and foremost of course, was the fact that you had exactly five days before you and your friend were due to fly out to attend the BTS concert. That alone was enough to put you in a loop, it had made you so restless that you had gone out of your way to ask co-workers if they could cover your shift — a needless attempt; you knew you were only trying to trick yourself into thinking those were your only first world problems. You shouldn’t have been as surprised when Emily had told you she had already agreed to take your shift once you came around to asking her.

“You asked me that like last week.” She had laughed good-naturedly, patting you on the shoulder in a sympathetic way. “Now I really think you need those days off if you’re starting to lose your memory like this.”

You really don’t have any memory of this though.

But it wasn’t hard to recall Jimin’s words of him promising you that he would make this trip work, no matter what. Not that you had doubted his abilities, but it’s never like you to leave everything up to one person (supernatural or not); you blame the many botched group projects in college you’ve been through for that. More so, you have come to realize, is that a small part of you had done it in hopes of being able to do something for Jimin that would repay even a fraction of what he’s doing for you. This was probably a small, insignificant thing in comparison but it was something you had some semblance of control over that didn’t necessarily require any otherworldly intervention. You should’ve known it was a losing battle from the start.

With that being said, any thoughts of the aforementioned guardian demon these days automatically leads you back to the conversation you had with Jungkook. It hasn’t faded since those three days ago, merely sitting on the back of your mind and only growing in size. You catch yourself spacing out a few times just thinking about all sorts of things that involve him.

Like maybe —  actually — giving up your soul to him.

….Yeah that was quite the conclusion you came to but you can almost pin point the exact moment when you did. It came to you when you had spilled your guts about Jimin to Jungkook on that rooftop garden; never having been able to put into words your honest thoughts about him until the other demon had practically cornered you into doing it. Despite the embarrassment threatening to consume you whole, it was eye opening for you in which you’ve accepted that the only way you can come close to repaying Jimin was to give up your life to him or at least promise it in due time and… you’re okay with that idea.

Weird and concerning, rightfully so but it’s like the half of you that thinks this is utterly mad and the other, more nihilistic side of you had come into terms with one another in the form of one sole agreement that if it had to be any demon, better it be him right?

As they say, you’re only here for a good time, not a long time.

You exhale through your nose in a quiet huff of laughter, subtle enough that the lady passing by behind you doesn’t pay you any notice as you’re restocking the jewellery racks. Today is one of those rare moments that you’re given a task out on the floor away from cash for once and though you’re elated at being able to do something else for a change, your thoughts don’t revolve around whether or not you can fit just one more pair of earrings on this already overstuffed looking hook.

Even if you had settled on the idea of giving your soul to Jimin, the most important question is how? Theoretically, it seems simple enough, at least what you’re picturing in your head — you tell him you want to do it, he says yes and then gets you to sign it away in agreement in whatever form the contract is (maybe something similar to your contract with him now but altered? Who knows). Or maybe in your complete lack of knowledge in demonology, it’s way more complex than that. You could technically ask Jungkook…

Would that even be a good idea? You’re not sure, especially not after the talk you had with him — keeping that ‘good’ head of yours in tact and whatnot. But then again, you’re not entirely sure what he meant by it anyways. You pause your train of thought until a heaving sigh escapes past your lips, your shoulder deflating as your lips purse into a thin line when you realize; you don’t even have any means to contact Jungkook. He’s more of an entity who comes and goes with nothing to tether him to this world, so he’s expressed he’s never had the need for things like a mobile device.

Which means your other option for getting any type of information on this would be from the main demon himself; Jimin.

Except for two things.

One: how does one broach the topic of forfeiting their own soul over to their guardian demon? You suppose it’s not exactly an ‘over dinner’ sort of conversation. The closest thing to a timing you had in mind would be after the concert; fitting in a way where you get your wish fulfilled and now you must pay the price owed.

However, that leads you to two; you don’t have a single clue where the guardian demon in question had gone off to. The last you saw of him was when he had walked you home those nights ago and from then, you haven’t heard from him since. You’ve tried shooting another text and hell, even pushed aside your anxiety and pride to call him for the first time ever, only to receive no response for either occasion; just radio silence. And it’s not even on the matter of telling him you’re willing to give your soul up for him — he still hasn’t told you what your flight, where your tickets or your hotel is!

You force yourself to breathe in deeply before exhaling slowly. Relax, you still technically have time, you try to reassure yourself. Not as much as you want for not knowing some important travel details, but enough that you’d still be able to set off without a hitch.

You trust Jimin.

He hasn’t let you down yet, nor do you think he will any time soon.

You’re confident.

-

Rome, Vatican City

A sigh involuntarily escapes the demon’s lips as he takes in the view in front of him, having not imagined that he would be here, of all places after so many years. The city is alive even if it is late into the night, the piazza lit up to cast a romantic glow on the cobble streets as crowds of people continue to stroll around in leisure. It should be no surprise though; the mild spring weather is well under way here, so much that Jimin thinks it might even be above seasonal. That doesn’t stop him from wearing the long, black overcoat over his airy chiffon button down shirt and the way it billows out behind him as he strides down this Italian street has people turning heads thinking he should be in Milan rather than here, much less how warm he must be feeling underneath it.

It pulls a small smile from him, a small distraction from his purpose here and a last ditch effort to put himself in a better mood before he has to put on a cloaking spell, hiding him from any mortal eyes. Before long, Jimin is upon the entrance to the grand circular plaza. In the centre of it, he spots the unmistakable shape of the Egyptian obelisk, the tall monument sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the Roman-Catholic structures surrounding it. Strangely enough, the more he stared at it, the more Jimin begins to feel in-like with the structure — a nameless fixture in history that eventually had its roots erased, “christianized” and erected by some old fart named Pope Sixtus V to celebrate the triumph of the Church over paganism.

Ugh.

At least it was a witness to St. Peter’s crucification (or so it was apparently said).

Jimin rolls his neck, a twitch in the muscle that had it stiffen uncomfortably before he exhales loudly through his nose.

Right.

He reminds himself to be mindful of where he is, of what he’s about to do. He may have a get out of jail free card but it won’t be nearly enough credentials to win any favours here. So Jimin steels himself, squaring his shoulders and with much more effort than he wants to admit, he begins to make his way across the plaza into a demon’s lion den. He takes care in keeping pace, steps unfaltering and gaze hardened in resolution. Jimin maneuvers inconspicuously through the lingering crowds of tourist and locals alike with the grace of a seasoned dancer but no matter how much he ducks and weaves, he cannot escape the burning sensation of being watched like an ant under a magnifying glass by the figures that seem to close in on him with every step he takes to the basilica.

All 140 of them.

And they all seem to whisper in their harrowing voices, the same obtrusive word in his ear.

Demon.

Jimin is clenching his jaw and fists by the time he reaches the grandiose staircase, his nails digging into his clammy palms until they leave deep crescent indents. A ragged exhales passes his lips, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until now and it makes him chastise himself. He passed the Apostolic Palace just fine, not even a single sign of getting smote. If he’s breaking out into a cold sweat from a little bit of verbal intimidation here, then what good is he by the time he has to go inside?

Jimin’s eyes slide up to take in the building that has become one of the most symbolic landmark in the religious world and the reason for his odd visit to a place he should be avoiding at all cost.

The Papal Basilica of St. Peter in the Vatican, or otherwise simply known as St. Peter’s Basilica.

Its dome shape roof looms above him, an imposing shadow even if it is lit by a multitude of beams of spotlights along its base and all around the facade — the lights only adding to its size. Doesn’t help that at either ends of the steps are the statues of St. Paul with his golden sword and St. Peter, the man himself, as if they’re there to personally greet all those who enter this holy space; whether with open arms or a strike of sword in His name, Jimin is not sure.

The basilica is closed to the public, the hours of which it is open has long since passed but despite that, Jimin waits, fixed in his spot as he simply stares unseeingly, a myriad of events all leading up to this very moment passing before his eyes.

-

“I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen.” Jungkook states sternly after he knocks back his drink. He places his glass down on the sleek black marble bar top a little too roughly. For once, Jimin refrains from commenting, not wanting to anger the young demon who no doubt, has zero tolerance for banter right now. As they say, let sleeping tigers lie. So Jimin straightens more in his seat, giving Jungkook his full attention.

“First, you must seek the one who has been given the keys of the kingdom of heaven by His Holiness — the gatekeeper, St. Peter, at the place where he is buried. He will be your witness and judge.”

-

With a deep inhale, Jimin lets the cloaking spell encase him like a thin, dark veil and after releasing his breath, he finally takes his first steps upwards towards the basilica. The closer he gets, the heavier his feet seems to feel as if a weight is pushing down on him but he persists until he reaches the tall iron gate of the entrance. If he cranes his neck, he can just make out the relief of St. Peter being handed the keys by Jesus carved into the stone, below the central window where no doubt the pope had made his appearance to the masses. For the first time in his life, Jimin feels immensely smaller as he stands in-between the columns, their height seemingly never-ending as if they are reaching heaven itself.

He vehemently tears his gaze away, teeth chewing at his bottom lip as he works to loosen his muscles that have gone tense. It’s like his own body has developed a mind of its own and is screaming at him to leave, get away. But he pushes those warnings aside and within a few strides, he finds himself passing the threshold and into the atrium. Even though it’s only the entrance hall, he can already feel the grandeur of the basilica from its high dome ceilings and archways. Within this singular space, it embodies the old and new in its walls as ancient inscriptions and plaques commemorating popes who had seen the construction of this holy building and in the fine marble floor as coat of arms. To the right at the end of the portico, is the statue of Emperor Constantine and to the left is Charlemagne, both on noble steeds carved out of white marble that seem like they’ll come to life at any moment.

Jimin’s jaw clench and unclenches, a nervous tick as he surveys his surroundings and with a sweep of his dark eyes, they land on a pair of bronze double doors.

-

“When you enter the atrium, you will find five bronze doors; The Door of Death, The Door of Good and Evil, The Door of the Sacraments, The Central Door, and The Holy Door. You must past through ‘The Holy Door’ to evoke the passage from sin to grace — to show your willingness to make peace with God, restore what has been damaged in yourself and reshape your heart.”

-

It’s not hard to figure out which door Jungkook was referring to. As he stops just before them, Jimin can see the pictures in each panel along the length of it, depicting various scenes of man’s sin and his redemption through God’s mercy. His eyes trail from the infamous disobedience of Adam and Eve to Christ’s Baptism in the Jordan. They linger on The Need for Forgiveness for a while longer than he intended.

Just how forgiving can God be? Jimin wonders.

For all the times he’s heard angels preach about His benevolence, can God extend that mercy to even a demon?

Well, Jimin huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, God had forgiven man after all and he thinks that’s a bit of a stretch.

The door is normally bricked up, opened once every twenty-five years to celebrate the Holy Year but it will prove to be no issue for Jimin. It’s not a matter of how he’s going to pass through the doorway, more so it’s what will happen when he does.

-

Jimin sees Jungkook’s lips quirk up in the slightest and he gets the feeling that the grimace he’s trying to hold back still showed on his face.

“I’m telling you now brother, this is the easiest part of the process and even then, I can’t tell you what will happen when you pass through those doors.”

“So am I supposed to feel enlightened then?”

“More like I actually don’t know. When you’re a blank slate being indoctrinated into this, you don’t feel anything other than the feeling of having your soul bared. But you,” Jungkook pauses to point an almost accusing finger in Jimin’s direction, “you’re a demon, so it’s either going to tickle or you’ll have your soul ripped to shreds.”

-

All he knows is that he’s willing, and that has to count for something. At least, that’s what he hopes. His thoughts unconsciously drift to you briefly, finding himself holding onto the image like a beacon of light in the darkness and with a swallow, he steps forward. Jimin doesn’t get a face full of metal, in fact, not even so much as a shockwave of resistance like he expected that for a split second, he’s bemused at how easily he passes through.

But then he feels it.

Something spears right through him, an invisible force so strong that it leaves him winded, knees nearly buckling and he all but finds himself stumbling through to the other side, right into the central nave. He forgets where he is for a moment, trying to gather his wits as he takes in deep breaths, trying to calm his thundering heart but it seems almost futile. True to Jungkook’s words, the moment he passed through those doors, something had torn away not just the cloaking spell he had placed on himself, but almost everything about his being — the glamour that he wore, the face that he stole, his magic, everything. He’s never felt so exposed but as he raises a trembling hand to his eyes, it seems nothing about him has changed.

Jimin balls his hand into a fist, hoping to lessen the tremors but when they don’t stop, he kisses his teeth, slightly perturbed. He shouldn’t complain, rather he should be thankful that he’s still in one piece. After all, he only just crossed the first hurdle. Without wanting to dawdle or waste time, he boldly begins to make his way.

The nave is a sight to behold, the space so high and open with its coloured marbles, gold trimmings and ornate detailing of heavenly imagery. No doubt in the day, the place would be filled with people from all around the world wanting to be able to bask in the awe of the architecture, built by the hands of arguably some of the greatest artists the world has ever known, that embodies all of the majesty, strength and beauty of God.

But now, devoid of any life, it is enveloped in an eerie silence that the soft footsteps of his loafers on the marble floors seem magnified, his only source of light was the moon streaming through pockets in the high domes, casting a cool blue haze on everything, making it seem all the more like Jimin had entered into a spiritual realm.

He passes by pillars with their niches filled with statues of saints who had founded religious orders and along the perimeter of the transept and above the arches, are the twenty eight figures of the Christian and human virtues, staring down at him, watching as he makes his way further into the the nave towards the place he must go. Jimin keeps to averting his gaze downward, determined to push away the incessant itch that has begun to crawl along his skin, heart still pounding like he’s ran a marathon rather than walk at a brisk pace like he is now and he fears that it will give him away in this quiet atmosphere, the sound so much more defeaning to his ears.

Sweat begins to form along his hairline and soon he finds himself short of breath. It makes him slow to almost a stop, light-headedness washing over him and he has to blink away the dark spots that appear in his vision, feeling sick to his stomach. When he looks next, it seems like the long hallway ahead of him had elongated but when he looks up, he’s actually only a few metres away from being directly under the impressive Baroque Canopy. No wonder his skin felt like it was burning from the inside while he’s getting chills at the same time.

Running a hand through his hair, he hastens once again.

-

“If, by some miracle, you find yourself inside, make your way to the end of the nave, pass the Canopy and St. Peter’s tomb, until you reach the top of the cruciform. There you will find ‘The Chapel of the Cathedra’ where you will kneel before his throne.”

“Why not his tomb?” Jimin couldn’t help but to ask. It made more sense to go see the man directly where he was supposedly buried.

“It’s symbolic because it’s a place where St. Peter had always sat, teaching and instructing the faithful of Rome. It’s only appropriate that is where you will ‘learn’ about those teachings with the guidance of the Holy Spirit.”

-

The altar, for lack of better words, is grandiose — it’s structure solely created to enclose the wooden throne of St. Peter, displaying it in a manner to show the significance and worship of the holy relic. The chair is a combination of the original acacia wood and gilded bronze done by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. It’s richly ornate with bas-relief, the base which it sat upon is made of black and white marble with four gigantic bronze statues, making the chair look as if it was suspended in golden clouds. On either sides, there are statues of saints from the Latin and Greek Church. At the crown are the gilt and stucco of Gloria with a host of angels among the rays of light and billowing clouds.

And right at the centre is a window of Bohemian glass, divided into twelve sections, representing the Twelve Apostles with a single dove against it — the symbol of the Holy Spirit, the soul of the Church.

Jimin stood, stuck at the very borders where the pews begin, overwhelmed with apprehension but shockingly, entranced as well. He would imagine the two windows situated on either side of the apse would let in brilliant streams of warm, golden light from the afternoon sun, giving the place an even more mystical look that would easily ensnare anyone into becoming a believer. Now though, with the light of the moon, it appears just as ghostly as the rest of the basilica — sombre yet still hauntingly beautiful. Jimin swallows once, running his tongue along his dry lips before he summons the strength to force his legs into motion.

They were by far the hardest steps he’d ever taken, his feet feeling like lead as he drags them one excruciating step at a time until he all but collapses onto his knees once he reaches the dark wooden prayer bench. His skin feels like it’s breaking out into hives, the itch becoming so unbearable at this point that he thinks he’ll go mad and resort to ripping away his skin himself. Every muscle in him is tense, any small movements causing them to twitch and spasm painfully and when he finally cranes his neck to look up at the altar, he hears his bones crack.

The fog in his head threatens to overwhelm him, stun him into a stupor until he can do nothing but slowly wither away into ashes. He fights to stay alert and with much effort, tries to remember Jungkook’s next words.

-

“From here, it’s pretty simple… If you can call it that.” Jungkook says a little too off-handedly, as if he was discussing how to change the battery to a remote. “You take Him into your heart and say His prayer.”

“….There are a lot of ‘prayers’.” Jimin deadpans. He may be a demon, but all demons are aware of the ridiculous amounts of prayers said in His name or in any of the other holiness, whether from being hissed out in angry fury by crossing paths with angels or in more unlucky cases, through exorcising.

Jimin’s only familiar with the sign of the cross, uttered to him by a man who couldn’t have picked a worser day to piss him off (he almost felt bad for the police who had to find him the following morning).

Jungkook flips his pretty raven locks out of his face, lazily reaching to pour himself another glass as he reclines back into his seat.

“You’ll know the one.”

-

The younger demon said he would know the prayer once he’s here but his mind is drawing blanks, unable to even begin searching for any hints. Through his hazy vision, the dove appears to have a halo of light surrounding it, pulsating as if it had life. He stares, fixated on that one point, waiting for who knows what. Just when the silence became too stifling, he hears a sound. It’s so soft that he can’t decipher it, much less if it was real or something he hallucinated in his delirious mind. It sounded like a whisper but he can’t make out any words, at least, not ones he recognizes.

It comes and goes, flowing like it’s being carried by an invisible breeze and before him, the dove seems to glow even brighter. It compels him to close his eyes and past a dry throat, he takes in a breath and from his lips, the first lines spills forth.

“Deus meus

ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum…”

The words burn like a hot poker being pricked along his skin, a poison pouring from his own mouth as every line was another stabbing pain. Jimin speaks until his knuckles turn white from gripping the bench so tightly, nails digging into the wood and causing small cracks to form in the grain but still through gritted teeth, he continues the prayer faithfully.

“…. Ideo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia Tua,

de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum.”

As he reaches the final verse, his once porcelain face is drained of any colour, marred by fissures and cracks, the flesh burnt at the edges like paper caught on fire with spidery veins snaking along the surface, revealing him for what he truly is underneath. His body shakes uncontrollably and with one last sharp inhale, he utters.

“Amen.”

-

“So I say the ‘prayer,’” Jimin reaffirms, resisting the urge to use air quotations. “And then that’s it? Done?”

Jungkook throws his head back with a laugh, his bunny teeth flashing as he tries to reel himself back in. He shakes his head, almost out of pity. Jimin doesn’t miss that, nor does he like it and his narrowing eyes prompts the younger demon to elaborate.

“You can very well be ‘done’ right on the spot, granted if you even make it that far — I’d honestly be very impressed if you do.”  Jungkook pauses to take a sip of his drink, smacking his lips a little when he swallows the dark liquid. “What’s more important is what comes after you say the prayer; if your will has yet to be broken, it will appear.”

“What will?”

“The Chalice.”

-

Jimin’s eyes, which had been shut tightly, snaps open with trepidation as they wildly scan before him. He tries to collect himself but only just as a gold shape catches his eyes. A hoarse chuckle escapes him unintentionally, the sound a mixture between disbelief and immense relief.

The chalice sits unassumingly on the ornate communion table a few steps in front of him, as if it had been there the entire time. It doesn’t shine with lustre nor is it bejewelled with any precious gems, Jimin was surprised that he had noticed it at all. But nevertheless, he’s relieved to see it there; the fruit of his labour thus far. He takes a moment to just breathe, inhaling and exhaling deeply, damp forehead pressing into the wooden prayer bench. His legs feel like stone, as if anchored down on the spot but he knows he has to eventually get up.

He’s so close.

Jimin grunts, hauling himself up on shaky arms by using the bench as leverage. He leans back heavily on it, limbs protesting as his eyes lock on the gold cup that was still there, beckoning him. He takes another minute to steady himself, running his tongue over his dry, cracked lips and once he’s sure he’s stable enough, he begins to make his way. He nearly falls over from that one step alone, arms flying back to catch himself on the prayer bench just in time. Shutting his eyes, it takes everything in him not to curse aloud, given where he is right now so Jimin settles in letting out a frustrated growl instead. Once the feeling passes, he clenches his teeth and tries again.

This time, Jimin manages, keeping his steps to a minimal with one arm clutching around his midsection as if to hold himself upright. It’s a slow process, feeling like he’s travelling at a snail’s pace but eventually, he limps his way there. When the table is within reach, his hands slams down onto the surface to brace himself, a loud bang reverberating throughout the basilica. The force of it disturbs the chalice slightly, causing it to slosh the liquid inside and spill over on the white tablecloth. Jimin recoils on instinct at the sight.

Up close, he can see the finer details of the cup; how dull and worn it actually looks as if it had been used for over centuries but despite the scratches and scuffs, it had withstood time.

But that’s not where the focus of his attention is.

-

Jungkook’s taken on a more morose demeanour, now only fiddling his half empty glass lost in his own thoughts —  or perhaps reminiscing, Jimin’s not sure. Suddenly, he breaks out into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as his gaze flits to meet Jimin’s.

“The Chalice will appear to only those who are deemed worthy. It is the final act you must do in order to prove your faith and commitment, to cleanse your soul and begin anew.”

A beat passes, wherein Jimin sits in turmoil with his own emotions. This entire ordeal was a lot to take in, the things Jungkook had told him sounding crazier than the last. Everything could go wrong so easily and so quickly that at some point, he questioned the validity of Jungkook’s method but shoot those doubts down when he reminds himself that not just anyone would know the particulars of this in such great detail.

“So do I baptize myself in the holy water? Get a new name and everything?” Jimin asks jokingly in an attempt to break the tension but even he hears the uncertainty straining his voice.

“You’re not going to anoint yourself with it.” Jungkook sighs, taking his glass in his hand if only to scrutinize it against the light. Then, he gestures it towards Jimin.


“You’re going to drink it.”

-

He stares unblinkingly into the pool of water inside the chalice, watching it as if at any second, he’ll see a vision within its depths. But all he sees is the faint glow of his irises reflected back at him —  two crimson drops that threaten to transform the pure water into blood.

Jungkook’s words continue to echo around in Jimin’s head, the audacity of it all never leaving.

Drink it, he says.

Of all the crazy things Jungkook had told him that night, that one takes the cake. It’s no myth that holy water to a demon is like arsenic to a human; a drop of it would greatly weaken even the strongest of demons, burning skin and bone like acid, anything more and you’ll be nothing but ashes.

So to go as far as to consume it.

A bead of sweat rolls down Jimin’s clenched jaw, a million thoughts running through his mind. A part of him admits he’s terrified of what will become of him should he choose to drink the holy water, this being the closest he’s ever been to staring death in the face. He’s lived without fear of anything for so long because he was the to be feared and even death didn’t scare him because he had nothing to lose.

Now, that’s all changed. Now, he has everything to lose.

The memories, the sounds, the scent, the warmth….

He doesn’t want to lose you.

Jimin draws in a shuddering breath, eyes slipping shut if only to escape to those feelings for a moment of reprieve. It brings a strange sense of comfort to him, a balm to his aching muscles and a moment of clarity to his hazy mind. He longs to go back to your little home, to catch just even a glimpse of your face but he’s here, a million miles away, battered, vulnerable and probably looking like every bit of vermin angels think demons are.

Yet by some miracle, he’s alive.

He’s alive when he should’ve been dead from the moment he walked through those doors.

Which means he has a chance.

Slowly, Jimin opens his eyes again, takes in his final moments and tentatively, he reaches for the cup.

-

“It’s supposed to be a painless process, which is why it’s foolproof — angels being ‘ethical’ and all that. But you’re a demon so if you die, you can’t blame me.” Jungkook disclaims, shooting back his drink and immediately begins to fill it up again. The younger had long opted to just have the bottle beside him rather than needing to wave the bartender down to ask for a refill every time. Jimin doesn’t complain as he too needed to refill constantly; he’s lost track of how many glasses he’s downed in order to swallow this hard pill the younger demon had just given him. They’re about halfway done with their second one.

“But now that you know, do you still want to go through with it?”

Jungkook’s pinned him with a hard stare, more serious than Jimin’s ever seen him but it’s with very good reasons.

He’d basically been told he has a fifty-fifty chance of killing himself in the process on three different occasions, willingly.

A humourless laugh passes through his full lips, wondering briefly if he should’ve taken his chances on the fellow he cancelled on. Then again, Jungkook’s someone he knows and trusts, so he thinks the odds are better, if only slightly. Jimin leans over and takes the bottle, pouring more liquor into his glass until it was about half full before placing it down on the bar counter.

Lifting his glass, he swirls it once and then holds it out towards Jungkook to toast.

“Then can I get an ‘amen’?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, mouth dropping a little, completely appalled and Jimin is prepared to catch the other’s glass should it slip from his loosen grip. Thankfully, the younger demon snaps out of his shock before that happens, resting the crystal glass on the tops of his muscular thigh. Then, as Jimin’s words finally sink into him, Jungkook cocks his head, looks him dead in the eyes and says.

“You’re a crazy son of a bitch.”

Jimin can only laugh in response because he can’t disagree there before he brings the glass to his lips.

-

There’s a strong metallic taste that reaches his tongue first, one he can probably attribute to the old cup, but then comes the first sip.

The effect is immediate.

Jimin begins to choke violently, gasping and retching so hard that he doesn’t realize he’s dropped the chalice until he hears a resounding clang of metal hitting marble. The rest of its contents spews out, soaking the floor and table but he doesn’t have the mind to think if he was meant to drink everything because all he feels is the burning.

A white hot pain racks through every nerve in his body as if he’s being incinerated from the inside out. It makes him keel over, clawing at his throat until they leave deep red marks in their wake and a guttural, agonizing scream finally tears past his clenched teeth. Jimin writhes and convulses, eyes screwing shut and trying desperately to drown out this torture but his limbs feel like they’re being torn apart and his head is about to split open. He’s so out of his mind that above his own sounds of torment, the ringing in his ears begin to sound more like the notes of an organ being played.

He doesn't know how long he lays there, slowly suffocating to death but he can’t stand this any longer. With wild abandon, Jimin’s eyes shoot open, searching for something, anything, anyone, only to meet the serene gazes of the numerous saints and heavenly hosts painted into the stucco ceiling.

Please. He cries, pleads, begs.

Make it stop.

He feels his body seize before all strength leaves him, his hands falling limp to his side and his vision blurs until they can no longer see past the inky black tears that begin to stream from his eyes.

Everything falls silent.

And then he feels nothing.

[cinnbar-bun]

Nifl + Muspell+ Hel Sumemer

A/n: @pokemagines I’m sorry I keep doing this, and I even added a little bonus Sumemer to the mix!!!

Warning: SPOILERS AND ANGST!!!

Nifl!Sumemer

They have NO clue how they got there, and they were out for blood SOOOOOO quick. 

“WHO KIDNAPPED ME I WAS TRYING TO NAP!!!” 

Nifl Sumemer is rather hot-headed (heh) and takes no crap from anyone

Until they see Gunnthra and with her sheer disappointed mother glare, they submitted. 

Gunnthra is PLEASED

Because of the timeline, Nifl Sumemer never actually met Hrid. They just hear stories of how wonderful their brother is, but they have no idea of how he looks like. They know the siblings are worried about him, and it actually makes them kinda sad (not that they’d admit it) and they get angry they can’t do much

As is tradition for every Sumemer, they fall in love with the oldest child. 

Nifl Sumemer is no different and quickly falls for Gunnthra, who stayed patient with them while getting accustomed to Nifl. 

Gunnthra is very caring of the Nifl Sumemer, but they tend to feel jealous of the Askr Sumemer since she made a ‘connection’ with them. They get angry that no matter what they do, she will consider their Askran counterpart more important. 

They act really cold to them when they first meet, and Askr sumemer cries about it

They are a protective older sibling to the two youngest girls, and they absolutely LOVE to play with them

Fjorm has wonderful discussions with them and even trained them to use a weapon. 

I’d go out on a limb here and say that Nifl Sumemer is the most competent sumemer when it comes to weapons and could actually fight with them

Take that Askran Sumemer!

Ylgr has been adopted by the Nifl Sumemer and is basically Helbindi lite. 

They really get kinda nervous of caring for someone, because they don’t think they deserve to be treated nicely. 

They make sure Ylgr eats right, and Ylgr always thanks them for cooking 

“What? I don’t cook.” (LIES)

Ylgr likes to play with Nifl Sumemer’s hair and tie cute bows in it or something. She even does this when they’re sleeping because Fjorm dared her to. 

After Gunnthra...did the thing...the sumemer was DESTROYED. It was bad enough feeling like they didn’t do much for her alive, but then when that happened, they blamed themselves for her death. 

Fjorm and Ylgr were grieving, but also knew how much the sumemer loved Gunnthra. They tried to get them to cheer up. 

They all huddled one day together and sobbed. 

When Ylgr was kidnapped too they got incredibly cold and protective of Fjorm. They didn’t want her to lose another one of her siblings. 

When they meet Hrid the first thing they do is slap him. He gets incredibly caught off-guard but then the sumemer hugs them and sobs how they are so sorry. They failed the princesses and they beg him to stay close with Fjorm. 

He grows quite close with them and understands how awful losing Gunnthra must have felt. 

Although, after Hrid started becoming friendly with the Askran sumemer, they got a bit pissed off again. 

Despite being one of the most volatile, Nifl Sumemer is quite good at their job. They tend to make pretty okay plans, but they sometimes throw them away in order to protect the royal siblings. 

Hrid had to order them to stop trying to jump in front of them because he was afraid of them getting hurt. 

Nifl Sumemer doesn’t care and thinks that if they do that, it’ll make up for them being a bad person when the siblings were there. 

After Surtr is defeated, they are so lost. The emotions they felt were all about killing Surtr, but now that he was gone, they didn’t know what to do. 

Hrid offered them a spot on the council, to be his prime tactician, and Fjorm and Ylgr smiled and said they could be their ‘babysitter’ or something. 

They cried for a long time and thanked them for existing. 

Don’t even get started on what happens when they summon Gunnthra or NY!Gunnthra. All they do is cry and cry, and they wish they could love them like they did with their Gunnthra, but the problem is, they’re from different timelines. 

They are the Gunnthra they knew, and it kills them slowly. 

The Gunnthra’s do try to comfort them and encourage them to find new love and explore themselves. 

Overall, they are extremely protective of the royal siblings, and while quick to react, they are a kind person deep inside. They just need to understand that they are valuable too, and that they are loved. 

Muspell! Sumemer

Muspell Sumemer is very chill and laid-back, almost like the ‘bro’ pal. 

They are always calm and have a stupid grin on their face, even in the worst situations. 

Unlike the other Sumemers, who couldn’t be smooth to save their life (the Askran version PALES in comparison), Muspell Sumemer is quite suave and has a way with words. 

Especially to Laegjarn, who they kinda-sorta have a crush on. 

When Laegjarn is feeling stressed, they go up to her and like to show a ‘magic trick’. She is like ‘but we have magic’ and Sumemer is like ‘no no no! you’ve not seen THIS magic!!’ 

It usually involves her getting a penny or a small flower at the end of it. She gets insanely happy and sentimental looking at them, and keeps her ‘lucky penny’ by her when she’s off to battle. 

Laevatein doesn’t know why, but she’s also drawn to the Sumemer’s behavior. She muses to Laegjarn about how they don’t tell her to fight and even cooked some treats she might enjoy. 

Laegjarn gets a heart attack because she could’ve sworn she saw Laevatein smile. 

They hate Surtr. They make fun of him behind his back and mock him with Laegjarn (and she can’t help but laugh but also feels kinda guilty because like...it is her dad). They hate him a lot though and have made him the most STUPIDEST plans so that way he can get hurt. 

He doesn’t and they try to work even harder to MAKE HIM GET HIS OLD MAN KNEECAPS KICKED. 

They like Helbindi even though Helbindi pretends to hate them. 

“YO! Helbindi what’s poppin?”

“Don’t freakin talk to me didn’t I tell you that last time? 

They are both secret bros who hold infinite respect for each other. 

A lot of people really like them because they’re so friendly and calm, and they instantly feel safe with them. They usually get tons of compliments and gifts from Muspellians who think they’re just so good and easy to talk to. 

They still don’t know what they’re doing though??? They just.... exist? 

A lot of people underestimate Muspell Sumemer though. When they first hear they’re from Muspell, a bad image forms in their head. They also can sound/act kinda dumb, but are really perceptive and will come up with answers to complex problems, things no one has ever thought of. 

They tend to underestimate them and think they’re some ‘fire-brained idiot’ who just likes fighting. False, they actually hate it. But because they were brought into Muspell, Surtr didn’t want them to be ‘weak and defenseless’ so he ordered Laegjarn to teach them how to fight. 

They’re the best at fighting besides the Nifl Sumemer. 

Hardly will ever use those skills, but they keep a dagger and lance in case it’s ever needed. 

They once nearly cut Askran sumemer because they jumped out of nowhere and screamed at them. 

Despite being lax and carefree, they can get deadly serious when the time calls for it. Muspell sumemer is full of many facets and surprises. 

Laegjarn was an important figure in their life, mostly because it seemed she was one of the few sane people who didn’t want senseless fighting. Her kindness was one of the few things helping Muspell Sumemer, and when they saw that Laevatein wasn’t really mean, just unsure of how to go about feelings, they grew closer to both of them. 

They really love Laegjarn a lot and were hoping to end the war so they can treat her to a real relationship where she isn’t pressured. And because they basically adopted Laevatein as their younger sister, they also wanted to give her a childhood she never got. 

When Laegjarn sacrificed herself, they were beyond furious with Surtr for making her come to that. She didn’t need to die! She was his daughter for god’s sake! 

They didn’t show it, but they were heartbroken. When Laevatein attempted to do the same, they were one of the few who could get her to stop. They didn’t want to lose her too. 

After Surtr’s death, Muspell Sumemer stuck around to take care of Laevatein. She knew how they felt about Laegjarn and was really grateful they were helping her, even if she was not used to free-will and choice. 

She learns magic tricks to surprise them, but what makes it funnier is that she’s very stiff and monotone about it, so she’s like “is this your card...” and stares back at them, and even though it isn’t they nod. 

Muspell Sumemer is very calm after everything, and they visit a Laegjarn’s grave sometimes and just fill her in. When they summon her, they realize this wasn’t the one they knew, but it was still nice to see her smiling, in any timeline. They’re grateful to have known her. 

Hel Sumemer

Hel Sumemer isn’t exactly the classic definition of a ‘sumemer’ tbh. They were a previous Askran summoner, who Hel decided to keep around for her army. 

Being in the void made them forget their previous traits, and sometimes they even forget who they were before. All they remember was strategizing and....a man named Lif. 

Being brought up in the battlefield once more is exceptionally tiring for the poor summoner, and they feel something...weird...Like they shouldn’t be doing this? Why does this place look so familiar anyhow? And why does the prince look similar to that man? 

If they are summoned by the Askran sumemer, they are a bit more free and out of Hel’s control. They can remember bits and pieces of their past and some of their personality comes back as well. 

Alfonse is very important to them, since they served the prince when they were summoned, and the fact that he looks like a near splitting image of Lif doesn’t help. 

After being in Askr for a while, they definitely become a lot more of a joker. Not as much as the Askran sumemer, but a good amount. Askran sumemer thinks of them like a role model, and has complimented them on their use of black and THAT EYELINER GAME THO!! 

Askran sumemer kinda wishes they had their outfit but you didn’t hear that from me

Alfonse likes to ask questions about the past, and what Hel Sumemer can remember, they tell him. 

He also gets curious if they are his ancestor, but they admit that as much as they loved Lif, they did not end up with him. They can’t remember if they even married someone afterwards, and Alfonse gets a bit sad. 

Sharena tries to get them to see the future, showing them different styles of clothing and new foods that they might like to try. They have a blast with her. 

Their dedication to Lif still hasn’t waned, since they were summoned to help him, but they also realize how dire the situation is in Askr and wants to help. That being said, if they had to fight Lif, they wouldn’t. They’d surrender almost immediately. 

Lif cannot remember them, so he doesn’t really think of them as something worth befriending or getting close to. In a strange turn of events though, he can feel a sort of pang in his cold, dead, chest that tells him to not hurt you. But it’s rare for him to actually listen to that. 

If Hel Sumemer has stayed in Askr for a long time, they become back to their old self. They still wear the edgy armor because, like Askran Sumemer, they are WEAK to black clothes, but overall, they’ve become a lot happier and more goofy. 

Their strategies though, can range from god-tier to drunk messes. No one knows what they’re gonna get that day, but as long as they don’t have to fight against Hel with nothing but a three star Odin, they’re fine. 

One of the coolest old people you’ll ever meet. They still look young, but since they were from generations back, they know a lot of cool things. How to make an owl speak ancient Askran (NO ONE KNOWS HOW THEY DO IT) and how to cook a feast using nothing but three bones and some mushrooms (also questionable but very useful)

A/n: tbh I know these weren’t exactly like ‘funny’ and it was kinda angsty but I just feel like they’d have a much harder time dealing than say Askran or Emblian sumemer. That’s just my opinion tho and I’m so sorry for making it angsty

[gffa]

Scattered Star Wars novels/games thoughts: - As of this writing, I have only an hour left of the Maul: Lockdown audiobook and pretty much everything I said in the previous post holds true--this book just really isn’t meant for me and so a lot of my reactions to it should be taken in that vein as well as it’s based on the audio version and that has a fair amount of my focus. This is a book with a lot of violence and gore, which admittedly has never meshed well with Star Wars for me, largely because I’ve seen one too many fans tout it as more mature and better than anything for kids--which often are the same people who absolutely loathe the prequels, who hate The Clone Wars (and Rebels and Resistance) because it’s just for kids, rather than them.  It’s the people who often think that gratuitous violence or rape belong in Star Wars as a matter of course. If it were just people who enjoyed a darker take on Star Wars, that’d be fine!  I like things that Star Wars doesn’t really have a lot of--see all the NSFW fic I read, for example!--but it’s the idea that this is better than something hopeful and simple and fairy-tale-like?  Nah, I’ll pass on that. It doesn’t help that I feel like it also really misses the point of Maul (a character who a little bit of him goes a long way for me) in that he’s pure badass here, there’s nothing tragic or pathetic about him, but instead he’s practically cool.  Like the dark side really did make him more powerful.  There’s nothing of how much he suffers for being so full of hate, there’s nothing of how he doesn’t have anything in his life.  Honestly, it’s barely even about Maul as a person, you could have changed his name to any other Sith Lord’s name and the story would have worked just as well.  Oh, honestly, it doesn’t even have to be a Sith Lord, it could have been a bounty hunter, because the Force is never used. (Ironically, in the last hour of the book, Komari Vosa shows up and the dark side is agonizing to her, in a way that shows how awful the dark side actually is, but nothing of that is ever given to Maul during the story.) Which makes it harder for me to take people’s fear and intimidation of Maul all that seriously, he’s not that scary looking!  It’s only when you realize that he has the Force and he’s batshit off his rocker that you realize, oh, shit, that guy is bad news.  And, like, what’s the point of a book about Maul if you’re not going to get into the dark side of the Force? Again, the writing isn’t bad and clearly this book’s aims were not for me, as well as it’s a Legends book, even though it came out in 2014, so Maul’s backstory should have been present.  But the lack of that makes it much less satisfying for me, on top of how it feels like ~the dark side is cool~.  And yet I get why it went there--this is a horror book and while I think the use of Maul in a horror book has potential, it’s more badass horror than heartbreaking, creepy horror. I think I made this comparison before, but it still holds true--there was a post going around before about how a constant stream of angst makes the reader adjust to it, get used to it and so they’re no longer affected by it, like your eyes adjusting to the dark.  You need good times to keep them invested and keep the dark from being adjusted to--and this book could really have used that advice.  It’s nothing but violence, rage, and gore, to the point that it just washed off me because I got used to it. There’s no personality to Maul beyond that he’s a Sith Lord and even then he wasn’t particularly angry, he never lost control, the most I could say is that he was tempted to use the Force sometimes, but then remembered that Sidious told him not to.  There are brief scenes of Sidious and Darth Plagueis and Jabba the Hutt in the story, but given that I care very little about them, it was hard to feel much for the connections to the bigger world. The book is basically one long story about Maul in a shapeshifting space prison where they have fights to the death that they have high-paying gamblers for and it’s all way more complex (and ridiculous) than it needs to be and by the time I got to the end and the reveal of the major villain being a Chiss, I actually had to laugh.  It’s just so over the top in a long line of over the top things, that it honestly surprised me that this was a book from 2014, it felt like it was written in 2000, back when all we had was The Phantom Menace. Ultimately, it’s a story that I feel like really didn’t necessarily care about this character or the space fantasy opera, that it wanted to do its own thing and that thing isn’t necessarily bad!  I certainly zipped right on through the story because there was a certain smoothness to it in the way that it just rolled along, while so many other books have left me feeling like it’s actively a slog to get through them.  (This is where I give a lot of kudos to Jonathan Davis, though.  As much as I’m not really fond of the Southern accents he tends to give characters, I REALLY enjoy his reading, especially his female characters not trying too hard to raise the pitch and wind up distracting instead.) I’m not at all sorry I listened to this book, I think there’s an audience for it out there that would enjoy it more, especially if you’re REALLY into Maul and might be willing to pick up on the minor things in it, the way I would for an Obi-Wan book or I did for Anakin with Thrawn: Alliances.  And someday I actually do want to try out Death Troopers, I feel like that might work out better for me than this one. Man, I’m probably going to end up just c&p’ing this into a novels reviews post because I pretty much wrote a review, didn’t I?  orz

[bugheadfamily]

Bughead Family Discord Member Spotlight

This Halloween week the spotlight is on our spooky admin, Tori ( @tory-b  )! Click the read more link below to get to know our member!

Spotlight by Mila, @jughead-jones | Graphic by Katie, @betty-cooper

Tori | @tory-b

Name: Tory or Tori

Age: 21 (but only for a few more months!)

Location: Western US

Any other languages aside from English people can contact you in?: I can read basic Japanese and German. I won’t be able to communicate well but I have like some understanding. (I’m just really bad at languages I’m sorry universe, i want to be good at them)

Favourite Riverdale characters and ships?: BUGHEAD! Jughead Jone is my son, I love that boy. But I’m also a big Archie girl you know? Like just in the ‘he is my big dumb son and he just needs to be protected at all costs.’ I’d probably kill for a Jarchie person.

Favourite moments from S1 & S2?: There are so many it makes it hard to choose from you know? But S1: the iconic “hey there, Juliet, nurse off duty” is just like…so cheesy and soft it makes it hard to not just be utterly in love with that big dork. S2: When Archie cuts Jughead’s chains in front of the building, and they have that shot where the chains are falling away and he looks just like a fucking mythical fallen angel. That moment is so powerful between the boys, but it’s also just such a beautiful image on screen. Like Riverdale’s cinematography is eh on the best of days but in that moment like wow just absolutely WOW

What are your hopes for S3?: All my hopes and dreams look like they’re coming true and I could cry. Betty has a therapist! Bughead is investigating! Josie is getting more SCREEN TIME. I really do want more Cheryl/Betty friendship moments but I’m not sure if we’ll get them. I’d also love a Jug/Cheryl friendship moment. Also if we could get our Jarchie kiss.

Other fandoms you’re into?: I was in the Miraculous Ladybug fandom for a little while, and the Voltron fandom for some time after that. I just kind of commit to like one fandom or I’ll be dead.

What are some of your favourite movies/TV?: My other go-to show right now (I’ve been rewatching) is RuPaul’s Drag Race because I’m Reality TV Trash. My favorite movie is tricky. I always tell my mom that I don’t watch many movies because I like that TV can show longer more complex plots than movies.

Favourite books?: Fever 1793 was my favorite growing up and sometimes I’ll still read through and cry like a fucking baby even though I know how it goes. I love historical fiction. BUT my absolute FAVORITE book is Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky.

Favourite bands/musicians?: It is I, your friendly admin hipster who has a lot of vinyl, and my fave bands are Panic! At the Disco, Walk the Moon, and the 1975. Also I listen to an absurd amount of broadway musicals because I’m a theatre nerd through and through.

If you could live in any fictional world which one would you choose and why?: I was gonna say Riverdale but I don’t want to chances of me getting murdered to jump up to an absurd amount. I’m small and meek I’d die like Midge. Maybe the Miraculous Ladybug’s Paris because it’s soft and even if I get turned into a bad guy no one hates me and I get a cool costume.

Favourite food?: Strawberries! Specifically Strawberry Shortcake but anything with strawberries on it.

Favourite season?: Winter or Fall! Spring is amazing but it makes me sneeze because allergies.

Favourite plant?: Sunflowers!

Favourite scent?: Lime! It’s clean and fresh.

Favourite colour?: Pastels. Pink, blue, yellow!

Favourite animal?: Doggos! (I’d say cats but i’m terribly allergic to cats even though I love them).

Are you a night owl, an early bird, or a vampire?: My sleep schedule is garbage. I am a night owl who works early morning shifts and is forced to be an early bird.

Place you want to visit?: I want to visit more of europe, specifically France, see more of England, and very much Japan!

Do you have pets? If you do, tell us a little about them: I do have pets! I’ve got my sweet little Poppy. She’s a rescue mutt who I got on my 13th birthday. She’s probably 11-12 right now but none of us have an idea. She’s so soft and beautiful but she is absolutely a little bitch. I go to college so whenever I come home for holidays, she stares at me like I’ve just utterly offended her and turns away. She’s a Princess who is utterly spoiled.

Tell us a little about yourself?: Oh gosh. I’m not sure what to say in this really. I’m graduating a semester early with a double major in Psychology and Anthropology, which I think is really cool, even though I have no idea what I’m going to do with that frankly. I moved a lot growing up because my mom can’t stay still. I’ve got this skin condition called vitiligo so lots of my body doesn’t have pigment!

Fun or weird fact about you?: I can’t properly scowl. Like bring my eyebrows together. I have no idea why.

Asks for fanfic authors:

How long have you been writing?: Oh gosh. So I’ve been writing in notebooks since I was like 5, but I posted my first ever fanfiction (did you mean that Harry Potter fic I posted that I like to ignore?) when I was 10 or 11? I quit writing publicly from about 12 until…I was like 20?

Which is your favourite of the fics you’ve written?: One Last Chance. It was 12k of really just emotional catharsis. I cried while writing it and it just felt so good to write it. Whenever I read it I just smile because I think ‘wow i can’t believe I’m the person who wrote this’.

Favourite fic/chapter/plot-point/character you’ve ever written?: The plot points in What Happened on Elm Street are my favorite because they’re so twisty and turny!

Which was the hardest to write, and why?: What Happened on Elm Street is very difficult to write for me. It’s super complex and I can only give away a little at a time to keep some of the mystery in it. So I have to think a lot for each word I write.

How do you come up with the ideas for you fic(s)? (examples: Do you draw inspiration from real life? Listen to music? Get inspired by TV/movies?) Do you have an process to your writing?: It’s a combination of everything! It’s real life in some ways, like my college experiences, or with songs, like my oneshot I Hate Love Songs! It all depends. Sometimes it just comes to me, like I’ll be watching a movie and I go ‘yes!’.

Idea that you always wanted to write?: A Zombie Apocalypse AU. SO BADLY. But I don’t think it would be very popular, so I always sort of hang back and don’t write it even though I kind of have the first chapter of a WIP written for it. I just love that kind of angst and fear.

Favourite character to write?: Cheryl fucking Blossom. She is just…I love writing all her wittiness! Also apparently Jughead? Since all of my writing has been through Jughead’s POV lately.

Best comment/review you’ve ever received?: So I received a comment on the first chapter of 101 Ways and it was just “DOGGIES” which made me laugh out loud> I also had someone (her name is Cat, she’s an admin, not sure if you’ve heard of her) tell me she cried into her Taco Bell reading One Last Chance. That was iconic.

Best and worst parts of being a writer?: Best parts are absolutely getting to stretch my creativity. I have a lot of ideas and writing is just such a cathartic thing for me. Writing makes me feel unburdened and free and that means a lot to me. I use my writing to cope with some of my anxiety and depression, because I feel good about words and how well I can manipulate them. Worst: That fear. That constant fear of not being enough. Of not being as good. Of comparison. It comes with fandom culture I think, this need to compare yourself to other people. I don’t ever mean to do it, but I can feel it happening sometimes. I love being able to learn from other writers by reading things and being encouraged to experiment, but perhaps it’s just who I am but I do have a problem with comparison.

Do you have any advice to offer?: Experiment experiment experiment! If you like something in another person’s writing, like a certain style, how they use metaphors, etc, there’s nothing wrong with adopting things you like and evolving you're writing based on what you like to read. It’s so important to keep changing and evolving and the only way you can do that is by trying new things!

.

.

This is the fifteenth instalment of Bughead Family’s Member Spotlight series. Each week, a member’s url is selected through a randomizer and they will be featured in a spotlight post. In order to participate, please join the Bughead Discord (more information found here). Thank you.

[sugaxjpg]

the consolations of philosophy

⤷ “It doesn’t make you vulnerable to allow someone else to love you, to be kind to you. Most of the time, we are not kind to ourselves, anyways.”

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | ChildhoodFriends!AU and College!AU

✓ Filed under: angst, fluff, implied smut, friends to lovers 

✓ Words: 21,546

Author’s note: Truly one of the most personal-driven and overly emotional stories I have written in a while. Title from this piece.

Also, WRITTEN IN THIRD PERSON! Tell me if you like this format, or if you’d rather for me to stick to second person. All feedback is welcome (also, excuse my extra vocabulary, I promise it lightens up quickly lmao) 

Days passed by monotonously.

At times, they passed in a homogeneous nebula of empty resolutions, a haziness of venomous smoke that permeated her lungs and suffocated her from the inside out. Consolidated, it could be comparable to the vapor that performed slow-motion pirouettes in her bathroom after a shower; the same foretelling of looming storms neighboring the obfuscous skyline. It was the deprivation of vivacity; the apathy for each and every aspect of her mundane chores, those being repeated again and again—a broken record, as she would contemplate, a vexatious rasping noise in the background of her every action, a recurring routine that leisurely strangled her with its hyperborean hands. Again: the outburst of opaque grey that came from cigars on the street; the licking of conflagrant flames that illuminated nocturnal alleyways. At least it was positive for some.

Other instances, it would be detected in the viscous hollowness that dwelled in her chest. We are all born with emptiness inside of us, her mother once verbalized. That pathless sentence was one of those fragments of ruptured dialogues that lived amongst her memories, reverberating and emerging when she least expected it too—yet, when she most necessitated. Some people, the woman speculated, decided to congest such lacuna with carnal desires: sex, drugs, food, alcohol; others preferred to spend hours upon hours haunted by the immersive universes of a good book, a movie, or frequent social interactions. Most, come what may, attempted to fill it up alternatively to properly learning how to endure the feeling. Lack of feeling. Whatever could describe it more properly.  

Not solely monotonously: days passed lethargically, apathetically. Wintery, even—denuded of saturation and warmness. They came and went like self-perpetuating waves to the sands of a godforsaken beachside: crashing, cleaning, wiping away all traces that could have been left there aforetime. Undertow, drought, tormentous tides, and currents that led to the eclipsed oblivion. Comparisons aside, tracing parallels did not make those interminable hours any better; the ocean was still there, just as stupendous and immeasurable. Just as empty.

But of course, those were not all of her days. Some of them, Jungkook was there to keep her company.

Every instance his image effloresced amongst her thoughts, breaking the lifeless circle of her routine, the bliss of his memory induced for her absent-minded thoughts to describe the peculiar set of emotions that took the place of her boredom: nostalgia and longing; but also the euphoria of their shared adventures. Moreover, if the girl permitted herself to dive into those wisdomful recollections, she would discover that she was unable to elucidate someone as complex as Jeon Jungkook, finding herself lacking the proper terms to do so—that is, if there were any. After so many years by his side, traits became quite nebulous when compared to the memories they shared, but also volatile and unexpected, for they were no longer the same kids that wandered, unguarded, around their neighborhood.

There were hollow spaces in her heart only he could fill, that was for sure. Her best friend—companion; partner in crime—made her feel the happiest she would ever be; caused for several laughs to drip in between her smiley lips every instance a silly comment fell from his own. With all her heart, she could not characterize the boy with a mere enumeration of adjectives, since words could never describe the endless universe that opened in between them every time they encountered one another somewhere in the cold, desolated campus.

Yet, no rose is devoid of thorns, and hers was the kind that punctured layers much, much deeper than the barriers of carnality. There was an indiscernible element beyond the caresses of the vermillion petals, an aspect of her sentiment that did not match the ones she felt aforetime.

Pieces of the puzzle had been switched, but they had also fell into a flawless combination, a rearrangement of feelings that caused for her heart to hang by a threat: she had fallen in love with her best friend.

There was not an epiphanic moment like she once imagined it would occur. The genesis of such affection remained as a progressive, accumulative notion that had germinated within her chest without her cognizance and gradually made their way up her reason, blocking it from cutting it short when she was still able to. Before she could ever discern what had outstretched within her chest, the girl had already fallen for his laugh, such symphonious, lighthearted harmony that defeated the rhythm of the mumbling summer breeze. She had fallen for his enthusiastic gaze, grown weak under the aerial, sanctified lineaments of his diaphanous features. Heavens, she was in love with him. So profoundly, breathlessly, euphorically in love with her best friend.

What a fucking cosmical joke.

Truth was: there were more negatives than positives when it came to situations like that. Alternatively to every aspect she had expected, the very second the unwelcome realization fell upon her perception, there was more panic than there was adoration; more denial than acceptance. It was unignorable, threatening; it broke her faith into pieces and caused her throat to grow tight every instance they met. Disconsonant with her pulsating infatuation, she was aware that she could not tell him everything that haunted the walls of her heart, for she felt it bordered on unrealistic to do so. One should not tear a butterfly's wings apart just to keep its beauty, nor she should attempt to keep her best friend to herself in such egotistical manner. Jungkook was not hers, and most likely would never be. Unilateral: she knew it was all unilateral.

No: it was much, much more complicated than that simple-minded decision. It was not so easy to focus on the stars of logic when she had entire constellations of infatuation dancing and forming pulchritudinous images before her; to turn her gaze away from the phantasmal, ivory-like glow of the moon as it entwined every cell of her figure, resonating within her soul the poetic verses of the universe.

The mere act of longing for his presence was so common that it had already turned into a habit, a part of her routine that she could not simply throw away. How could she feel so lonely even when he was right there by her side? His text messages were still there, even if they held the words of cancelled plans or messy excuses. Sweet, the aroma of his perfume still impregnated her clothes, still danced over the cloud-white sheets of her unmade bed. Jungkook was still there—just at the margins of her reach, ridiculing the fact that she would never be fully able to place fill up the empty spaces between his fingers with her own.

Accordant to those claims, the girl would not cut him out just because she was unable to control the tides of her adoration, would not push his embrace away even if the mere compass of his calm heart against her chest caused for her soul to shatter into desolation. That being said, considering it bordered on the executable to ignore or revert it, she learned how to suppress it.

But—hell—some part of Jungkook was always there to torment her.

Memories would appear suddenly, taking her off guard. They connected to one another like insubstantial cords, a map of recurrent dreams that bloomed amongst her measured ponderations. Germinated within her brain in the most random of instances, coming and dragging her away to the fragmented retellings of aforetime meetings. And, amongst the billion pieces of their shared laughs and locked gazes, the girl focused on one special dialogue they had merely a few months ago.

It had been an overcast night, a very silent one at that. The two had dove into the obscuration of midnight, walking amongst the darkness of the asphalt and the dimly-illuminated streets. The same illumination that embraced his drowsy delineations like a spectral candlelight; dancing in his unfocused gaze and scintillating beyond the abysm of his stygian irises. His eyes could hold the entire universe inside, but it all apperated to get as cloudy as the sky above once he was in that situation: drunken out of his mind.

She could recall the small hiccup that erupted in Jungkook’s throat before he dared to bother the quiescence of the night, “Don’t place your happiness upon someone else,” he had told her without forewarning, his arm around her shoulder, voice flowing that way that always sent an explosion of warmth radiating through her chest—between a secretive whisper and a kind advice; almost as if he permitted himself to be wholesomely frank, yet remained to hesitant to share his thoughts with the rest of the word. It was okay, she did not want him to. “No one, you hear me? Value comes within yourself, and no one can take that away from you. Grow it, and the world can’t throw shit your way.”

Philosophical, almost. Did not matter that he was drunk, nor that she had been the only one to offer to guide the boy back to his dormitory. She decided to keep those elements out of focus and, instead, remained attentive to the words he had graced her with: something she needed to learn; needed to feel, “Value is a hard thing to grow,” she had responded, hoping he did not hear her subsequent words. “besides, you make me happier than I probably could ever make myself. I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

She did not know if he had captured her delicate enunciations alongside with the mumbling of the midnight wind, all she knew is that Jungkook closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued walking with difficulty.

Then again, he was not always there for her.

Insomnia was usually the most fundamental element of her late night insights, and most were not as positive as she would like. Once, she came to the hypothesis that those unbelonging, unexpected life lessons that he gave her had a reason other than the lack of filter provided by alcohol: mayhaps Jungkook was sentient to the distance growing between them, the void that pulled the two friends into complete edges of an unfathomable cosmos. They were progressively growing apart with time, losing intimacy, and that was most likely why the boy always made sure to tell her those things: so he could be certain her happiness did not subside after he had departed.

Nothing but a utopian idea, if that had been the true cause. Most of the times, life was not at all that merciful nor rational. Justificatives were just broken, slumberous explanations that germinated amongst the intoxicated soil of her anxiety, no one could guarantee that their fruits were not, too, contaminated by its poison. Running while remaining in the same place, she would continue to attempt to find reasons for their progressive separation—though, just like the emptiness that they held inside, it could not be explained so ingenuously.

To lose a close friend to the world is always, in idiosyncratic levels, a traumatic experience. Primordially, the stages of drawing away were almost imperceptible: the long time to answer messages that before would appear so quickly; the change of demeanor into a more closed-off posture, or even a defensive one at times. Later on, it would be the lack of interest in shared activities; in scheduled plans; and, at last, in the person at the other edge of the spectrum. At times, that distance was usual and even inevitable; mutual or unilateral; purposeful or subconscious. Nevertheless, there was a point in which that separation would become more clear, and the signals would be far too vehement to be neglected or absolved

Jungkook was not someone she lost, per say, more of a companion who gradually creeped to the borders of their progressively evanescing friendship. He was still there, appearing like a lost phantasm amongst her mundane tasks, a shadow at the depths of her routine. His messages still came—some faster, some slower—and they still had nights in which they would spend entirely immersed in futile conversations. A fervent dialogue in which, eventually, more serious and personal topics would emerge, only to be avoided.

In all sincerity, she thought all those other fragments were perfectly normal and healthy—after all, everyone needs their personal space every once in awhile—but the second she noticed the manner he skirted those personal conversations, instead growing irritable, she knew there was something wrong.

Maybe one day she would learn how to breathe without his presence to warm the air that entered her lungs. Maybe there would be a day in the future that the ghost of his presence would not bother her as much; the lack of eurythmic laughs would not feel as sepulcral to endure. In the future, there might exist a day in which the static of the TV did not exasperate her, the emptiness of her dormitory did not appear as gargantuan as the longing within her chest. Surely, that day could be waiting ahead, but, as for now, she had to endure the scars of his departure with the prideful impassibility of her broken heart.

Two weeks before, she had convinced herself that she would, too, take some time for herself. Preposterous excuses and justifications came and went amongst the pandemonium of her confident thoughts, the mantra of her decision repeating over and over—a broken record. If space was what Jungkook desired, she would give it to him gracefully, she would keep her mouth shut and decorated with a smile; keep her ebullient sentiments on a leash; would accept that sometimes that was just the way friendships would unravel. She would not reject him, she would just stop searching for someone that was not even looking for her.

As pathetic as it was, that decision did not last for much more than a week.

Sunrays passed through the viridian leaves with resplendent smoothness, gifting it with a clearer shade of its characteristic pigmentation. In between undulating branches and twigs, came the ethereal radiance of the golden light, dripping past the spaces of the foliage and falling upon the two people sitting by that small circular table. They were the only two outside the establishment, and appeared to be more uncomfortable than other friends that passed by.

Jungkook exhaled, placing his white mug on top of the dark wood. In the midst of his downhearted features, the shadows of the leaves were casted over his serious expression, inducing his mere image to resemble a momentaneous hallucination, “I swear, sometimes it's like you’re a old woman trapped in a young girl’s body,” the outside of the small coffee shop was almost deserted as those words broke the breviloquent silence, dragging along the vague redolence of the cappuccino he had just took a slip of. He had just heard another negation in regards to a party invitation, and he was unable to mask his frustration towards it, “you’ve always been like this, ever since we were kids.” the boy added carelessly.

She could not pinpoint if what she heard in his voice was simple playfulness or if, amongst his light timbre, there were deep cuts of resentment pulsating in silence, “You never told me you were bothered by it,” she dared to say, hoping it would serve as a starting point for him to soothe her baseless worries. Mayhaps, he would sense the traces of shame that ornamented her speech and, if she were to be lucky, Jungkook would look at her with his deep eyes—that could hold the universe inside, from the stygian void to the oscillating specks of anemic stars—and laugh at how absurd she sounded. Light as the morning air, his smile would blow her preoccupations away, and it would all be okay.

However, that was not what that day enventualized. Instead of signals of empathy or the curious glimpse of his puzzled spirit, the boy merely scoffed, looking down at his half-empty mug with skepticism, “Bothered is not the right word, you know?” she did not know, and he never told her what it was, “whatever, we’ll do something else. Again. Can I see you later this week? I’ll be late to class if we stay here for much longer.” he was quick to add, not gifting her with the space she needed to fully absorb his words and construct a response based on it.

Always later—later today, later this week, maybe after midterms?—,always rushing somewhere else. Jungkook always had his mind above his clouds, hardly ever recalled where his feet touched. He was always looking miles upon miles ahead, dwelling in the hue that vacillated between the tangerine and the ochroid. Maybe he did not have time. Maybe he did not have interest. That lovely morning, for instance, the boy had twenty minutes to spend, and the walk to his building would not take more than four. He had time.

She knew it, but accepted his fruitless propoundment regardless of the afflicted laceration that punctured her fast-beating heart, “Later this week. Definitely,” she consented. Neither of them specified a date and, soon after, the girl found herself alone in that table for two.

The lump in her throat prevented her from thinking straight. Part of her mind swore it was merely an overreaction from her part, but the other made sure to vociferate the terrible possibility of her paranoias being close to the truth: Jungkook was gradually moving away from her.

But of course, not all of the days passed by his side were filled with empty promises and the vacant redolence of moments past. There were also the days that showed her just why Jungkook was so important, why the universe had pulled all the correct strings so they could grow up together, claiming ever so childishly to being kings and queens of their own personal glimpses of fantasia. Delightful moments which caused for her infatuation to effloresce to the melody of his vernal voice, for her preoccupations to fall like conflagrant autumn leaves; moments that belonged to the two of them, and them only.

That special Friday afternoon happened to be one of those days.

Comparable to the lively color of honey, the golden luminosity of the resplendent sun melted past the swinging of cream curtains, accumulating in auriferous puddles over the carpet’s extension. The air was slightly cold, but calm, holding to the welcoming aromatic combination of fresh coffee and the vanilla of her perfume; the buzzing sounds of the campus could barely be heard beyond the translucent windows. Peace impregnated each and every fragment of that shared instant, and it was a fantastic sensation to dwell in.

Sitting across from her on that two-chaired kitchen room table, the boy had his eyebrows knitted together in a permanent state of confusion, eager eyes now completely puzzled at the endless lines of ink that stared back at him. Surrounded by such diaphanous luminescence, Jungkook’s image reminded her of those graceful masterpieces produced during the romantic era—the same delicacy of forms; the contrast between his caramel skin and the onyx ink of his hair and eyelashes. His lips, such gentle shade of roseate, mumbled speechlessly the words he read, attempting to find meaning within the sentences that filled his slumberous mind.

Those unexpected glimpses at his beauty usually caught her off guard, causing for her eyes to navigate around his lineaments for a bit longer than necessary. That instant, however, she was somewhat prepared to the exquisite figure that would meet her eager gaze, and was able to dissimulate his effect with a deep inhale.

After a moment of ponderation, the girl placed her book over the ligneous surface, the subsided noise enough to call the boy’s attention to her direction. Even before the words left her lips, Jungkook was aware of what they would be, for that random enunciation of curiosities had turned into a customary part of their study routine, “Did you know that the modern musical notation was created by an italian monk?” she asked, pausing for a second to accompany the way his disquisitive eyes switched upwards, blinking away from the incomprehensible pages of his book. “Guido d’Arezzo was his name. From the basic names to the mnemonic system.”

Leaning back against her chair, she then suspired as if to mitigate the restlessness that had accumulated within her bosom, waiting for his acknowledgement patiently. She had the costume of communicating something along those lines, curiosities or thought-provoking facts that soon dispersed the weight of the overwhelming silence. Jungkook thought it was nothing more than a common idiosyncrasy amongst History students, and considered to be quite captivating, even adorable at times.

So precious, in fact, that the boy could not suppress the smirk that creeped up upon his lips, nor the crystalline engrossment that resounded in the background of his subsequent inquiry, “What? Seriously?” he wondered, incapacitated to camouflage the genesis of his interest.

Humming, she moved around on the chair, her rhapsodic tone causing for her enthusiasm to become transpicuous, “Yeah, it came from the first syllables of the first six half-lines of a religious hymn. To John the Baptist, if I’m not mistaken. Some stuff changed along the years, but the basic notation and the musical breakthrough is his to take,” the girl explained further, holding herself back from diving into more specific characteristics, for she soon noticed the fatigued splashes of violaceous underneath the boy’s eyes. “you, on the other hand, look as if you’re about to fall into the nearest grave. How are things hanging there?”

It was his turn to suspire in never ending lament, running of his hands through the cascade of his ink-pigmented strands of hair. Even so crepuscular, some parts of it still embraced the sanctified hue of the sun, and gifted the boy with a particular, empyrean golden aura, “My brain stopped working around two hours ago, honestly,” Jungkook confessed, his hand then moving to cup the back of his neck. He usually did that as a way to mask his anguish, “It’s Friday, why do I have to study?” then questioned the boy.

She had been prepared for that inquiry ever since he had arrived at her dormitory, around three hours ago. For someone as distinctive as Jungkook, he could be quite predictable at times, “Did you have any other plans?” she counterclaimed, waiting for a second as her childhood friend ruminated on an answer. As the only response she received was a small biting of his lower lip, she smiled, triumphant. “Didn’t think so.”

Jungkook whined, crossing his arms over his open book, “You don't have to be rude,” the boy pouted, placing his head over his arms. In that position, it appeared as if he was as near as possible to merely closing his eyes and taking a long nap—something she was quite aware he would do if she were not there to keep him awake. Jungkook turned his gaze upwards, appearing almost child-like as his vague manipulation spilled from in between his cherry-painted lips. “we have two weeks before finals, we could—”

“—We couldn't,” the girl interrupted his sentence even before his proposition could be enunciated. Secretly, she was a hundred percent certain she would never be able to deny the upcoming alternative, so it was wiser to cut his ideas short before they could grow within her own perceptions. Convincing: Jungkook had always been dangerously convincing when there was something he desired, “Last time I left you to study by yourself, you almost fainted from exhaustion in the middle of the exam. No all-nighters under my watch, Jeon.” she crossed her arms: you will not make up my mind, her body language firmly stated.

Wickedly, his smile grew larger by a few millimeters, “I did get that A, though.” he contradicted with pleasure.

She rolled her eyes, leaning in closer to the boy so she could enunciate her rationalization with smidgens of astringency, “Along with a possible brain damage. Don't fight me on this,” the history student warned, not gifting him with an instant to defend himself. Instead, she looked down upon the open pages before him, attempting to read those jumbled words upside down. “what are you even studying?”

“I'm trying to understand Descartes,” Jungkook responded, meeting the breviloquent coruscation of confusion that flashed over her features, “you know, the math guy. Cartesian coordinate system, analytical geometry...” he elucidated.

She elevated one of her eyebrows and unhurriedly nodded in a unspoken signal of her understanding, recalling her own personal studies in regards of the scientist. Fragments of the so called ‘Dutch Golden Age’ permeated her thoughts—alongside with a brief biography of the man: something about serving for Maurice de Nassau? She made a mental note to check that later on, “Yeah, I think you have told me something about him before,” YN acknowledged, pausing for an instant to recall the correct name of one of his works. “Discourse on the Method, right?”

Once anew, one of his hands ran through the black seas of his hair. He was truly beginning to get nervous, “Something like that, yeah.” he reluctantly agreed, instead thinking it would be wiser to go with the overly simplified title— ‘Discourse on the Method of Rightly Conducting One's Reason and of Seeking Truth in the Sciences’ was not something that easily rolled off the tongue.

It was her turn to pout. The girl, too, crossed her arms over her disorganized stationary in a subconscious act of mirroring her friend, soon placing her head over the back of her hand. Now much closer to one another, Jungkook could consummately sense the sacchariferous aroma of her vanilla perfume, a scent which induced for his heart to skip a beat as she continued speaking on, “Hey, come on, don’t get sad because of the math guy,” the amicable history student smiled lightheartedly, leaning her head slightly to the left. “tell me what you know, maybe it’ll help you grasping the subject better.”

He disregarded her idea with a scoff, stare flickering towards an orange pencil that had been left over the wooden table. Rather than looking to encounter the welcoming world of her enthralled irises, the boy focused on the minor details of the object close to him; the unnoticeable grooves on the light-colored wood, the dark silver tip of the graphite that ever so dimly shone in a more pallid shade of grey under the weak incandescence, “I know jackshit.” he thoughtlessly mumbled.

The enchantment of her proximity was undone the second that, with a prolonged exhale, she leaned back against the wooden chair; the air that her figure dislocated appearing to have been removed from his own breathless lungs, “Don’t be ridiculous, you've told me tons about his philosophical trips,” she repudiated his claim as easily as one brushes off dirt, confident that it was his despair speaking louder than his logic, “you think, therefore you are. Make René Descartes proud and just tell me what you know.”

Deeply, she hoped she had not misused that quotation, for a momentaneous signal of confusion crossed over his expression. No... not confusion: she knew that face—the face of a mischievous kid; the same expression he had gifted her when they were younger, a few minutes before the school staff crossed the empty hallways with furrowed eyebrows, seeking for her best friend like there was no other culprit possible. Most times, there was not.

Without looking at her, the boy reached for the relinquished pencil, taking it in his hands and examining the sequence of numbers that had been imprinted in one of its sides, “What do I get in return?” mindlessly, he inquired.

“In return?” echoed his best friend, taken aback by the preposterous nature of his question. She swore to the heavens above that, at times, she simply could not comprehend the odd trail of thought that took turns within his mind, “A good grade, for starters.” she responded.

Jungkook shrugged; he, too, moving back to a sitting position. The cantaloupe pencil was placed over the disorganized sheets of achromatic paper and, if she did not know him for so long, she would have swore his disinterested tone meant arrogance, “I get those regardless,” he told her. At last, his gaze flickered upwards and, even if she did not meet it, she could practically feel the way his interested irises burned in expectation. “I was thinking more of a little something from you.”

She ridiculed his sentence with a puff of air that exploded in between her lips, skeptic at the vague proposition that found its way to her ears, “You’re aware that there is nothing I want from you, don’t you? This is the worst trade I have ever experienced,” the girl threw back at him, moving her hands back to the sides of her open book. Sometimes, it was like talking to a child with a superiority complex, going in circles without even understanding why the two had departed from their previous subject. “I’m going back to my own stuff, then. Don’t come crying to me when yo—”

“—Are you feeling like going out tomorrow?”

Just as simply, her voice receded into quiescence. Taken aback by the brusque invitation, the girl did not think her actions through, looking up from the endless ink of her book to encounter the same cimmerian shade that lived beyond the pupils of her company. All that she wanted was to make sure his controlled tone did not betray her, instead disguising a joke from his part, but she was met with more than she ever foresaw.

There it was again: the universes he hid inside, the shooting stars that crossed his ebony gaze every time he glanced at her direction. Again and again, she had wished upon the falling comets that ornamented his gaze for that instantaneous moment to stretch towards the margins of infinity—only to fall back into normality once she realized it was nothing beyond a faint distortion of her position; maybe even the projected necessity to have her feelings mirrored by someone so dear to her.

Each and every time she allowed herself so dive so profoundly into his eyes, a hazy memory would shimmer in her mind: she was laying on her garden, most likely bordering on her ten years of age, and observing the vast, awe-inspiring cosmos that mushroomed right before her infantile perceptions. The girl lamented and sighed continuously, wanting to send a signal up the oscillating stars; to contact the planets that lived beyond the line of her platitudinous atmosphere.

That was how she felt when she was trapped in the spacious infinity of his gaze—under the atramentous skyline of numberless constellations, wishing she could verbalize her sentiment into a brand new, unexplored cosmos. Nonetheless, equiparable to how her story had unraveled back then, she could not find the right words to do so. So, as a final attempt, she merely stood there, hoping the signals could arrive from the other edge of the galaxy’s muted iridescence.

Thought, they never truly did. Not that she could capt, at the very least.

Her pulse quickened, but she was able to mask her breviloquent surprise with the clearing of her throat. Hopefully, he did not perceive the way her fingers trembled against the hard book cover, growing paler at the tips as she attempted to hold down to substantiality—getting her hopes up was a suicidal mission, “What are you talking about?” she managed to say, glad that her tone was not nearly as undulating as her palpitations.

Like the static between two songs, the boy merely shrugged, allowing for silence to be casted over the room as he leaned back against the chair, “It’s been awhile since we went out and had fun together,” it surely took you some time to realize, she thought, but said nothing in return. Jungkook was avoiding her gaze, but nothing out of the ordinary. Yes, her hopes had in fact been raised, for she now felt them falling and crashing down like pieces of a mirror as the boy continued his apathetic speech, “I would invite you to a party, but I know you would deny even before I could finish my sentence.” he said.

She chuckled, even if humorlessly. Her heart felt heavy with despondency, and she convinced herself that she should have grown used to it by now, for it was the harsh reality she had faced for all the years that had passed, “You know me so well. Besides, the last party I’ve been through ended with me dragging a certain drunken someone back to their dorm,” and, with a faint smile—which he rapidly returned—she was sure her decaying sentiment had been flawlessly dissimulated once anew. “what’s your alternative?”

How melancholic was it that the same hand that saved her was the one who clung around her throat and prevented her from breathing? Ironic, at the very least.

Jungkook, regardless, remained unaffected by her subtle comment, “I already apologized for that, I got a bit too carried away,” he spoke out, but his words did not appear to carry any sort of true resentment. The girl did not even need to look up to see that his eyes had grown darker, the same way that happened all the times his mind started to wonder somewhere else, a place she was always unable to reach before it evanesced, rolling into a kindhearted—yet notoriously artificial—phrase. Which was precisely what occurred, “library,  bookshop, museum, theater, movies, whatever you want. Outside is my only request.” he vocalized.

Shaking her head in skepticism, she took a moment to exhale before claiming, “You’re spoiling me,” still a bit hesitantly.

Then, something she did not expect fell from in between his lips. In that very second, the student thought the universe had been constructed for her to observe the beauty of his timid smile, the euphonic accordance of his mumbling voice as he enunciated his devoted confessions, “I’m missing you so bad lately. Missing us. It’s been awhile since we went out to have some fun,” Jungkook shrugged, pausing for a second as if to check the reflection his words had upon her expression: he saw none of the fireworks that exploded within her chest, none of the trembling heartbeats that echoed throughout the threads of her patched-up soul. “I just want to spend my Saturday with my best friend, could I do that?”

On the opposite side of the room, the movement of the curtains followed the rhythm of her own deep breathing—inflating, relaxing—before she responded with the phantasm of a smile, “You could,” the girl nodded, eyes flickering downwards. There was nothing printed amongst those inky lines that could hold more despondency than what resonated alongside with her subsequent words. “I missed you too, Jungkook.”

And, heavens, how acutely, profoundly, passionately did she miss him.

She was not certain if the reverberation of such confession was enough for his heart to suffocate in the same pain she felt within her own chest, but judged it to be sufficient for such peculiar circumstances. Her mind felt less clogged with negative ponderations the very instant that mundane—yet deeply personal—declaration departed from the captive of her incarnadine lips, a glimpse underneath her mask of artificial assuagement. High hopes corroded her spirit from the inside out, but she could not help to cut them off before they begun to germinate within her conceptualizations, infesting her mind with delusional ideas. They were solely friends—and that only—meaning that the concept of a ‘going out’ would not, could not, go anywhere above that definition. As much as it tormented her nature to think so, she had to be realistic, pragmatic even. It was for the best.

Back in the living room that now suffered under the poor, tangerine-pigmented phosphorescence of that lackadaisical day, boy cleared his throat, oblivious to the avalanche that had broke within her body, “That’s—”

“—Now, back to René,” her interruption was immediate, almost unaware that those warm-blooded, panicked words had left her vocal chords. As mercurial as such reaction escaped the grasp of her demeanor, the girl cursed her lack of control over her temperament—that was how she felt: vulnerable and vandalized by her inner, most uncontrollable sentiments. It was almost pathetic, if she were to be utterly sincere with herself, “rationalism, methodological skepticism… whatever that is. Spill your knowledge.” she pushed forward, hoping it would be sufficient for his focus to move away from the previous subject.

Jungkook’s lips parted as if there was something else needed to be said, but, from the space in between them, no sound came out. Even if he would most likely never admit it out loud, there were some sentences he did not know how to enunciate, some words that perished in his throat before they could be verbalized with the gentleness they necessitated. He felt as if his very soul was in dissonance with the commands of his flesh, somewhat out of tune with the instruments of his perception.

It did not matter. Another time, he would discover the most suitable words for his unspoken confessions.

Another time, perhaps—a better one.

According to Jungkook, there were some fragments of the world that could not be characterized solely by the senses, but also by what they caused upon one’s heart and soul.

Of course, if he could, he would go on and on about all the details of that specific piece of campus that felt ever so compelling to him, the way those interminable shelves were inundated by a particular type of classical elegance; the majestic resplendence of the golden sun that sliced the dust-filled air like blades of honey. He would pay close attention to each and every literary work, feeling the pleasant contrast in between each pigment and font, titles that could say everything and nothing at all. From Nietzsche to Voltaire, the ceremonious architecture of renaissance to the pictographic writing of ancient Egyptians; would read everything his tired eyes permitted him, diving into the erudite multiverses that were just at his reach.

As Jungkook stood there, feeling ever so minuscule when encircled by such honorable names of history, he thought of doing just that. Permeated by the fantastic aroma of new and old books, the lukewarm air would embrace his lungs like an amicable hug; the texture of the works underneath his fingertips would cause for his attention to be utterly trapped amongst those unexplored cellulose worlds. And, unquestionably, he could listen to the fumbling of students, and the delicate caressing of paper; the hushed whispers and the immersed conversations—but, then again, the senses alone said nothing beyond the substantial.

And that was when she came in.

It was in between two shelves that the two childhood friends spent around two hours, commenting and desiccating to the bones the most various works of literature that the small bookshop could entrust them. Amongst the turmoil of his ponderations, Jungkook could still notice the continuous repercussion of such discussions, the manner her eyes lighted up time and time again every time she discovered a title that was able to set her heart aflame. That, he thought, could never be explained merely by the response from senses—it was a reaction much more particular than that, an interest that whispered until it was given a chance so scream out, shining behind her eyes as her fingers followed the obsidian-printed letters, lips curling up in a smile that sucked out all the air from his lungs.

Somnolent, the sun unhurriedly moved to sleep beyond the horizon, submerging the campus in a progressive penumbra, guiding its inhabitants into the peaceful chromasia of a clear night. Time slipped through Jungkook’s fingers as the hours went by, remaining imperturbable with the gradual dimness of natural luminescence, then the switching on of the bookshop’s lights. It had always been like that, the absent-minded boy found himself thinking: he always lost his notion of time when he was by her side, dwelling in the comfort of her amicable company.

Moments like those at the relinquished bookstore shook up the margins of his controlled demeanor, causing for an eruption of infatuation to feel like magma in his lungs. It all felt so simple, yet so perfect. To him, importance hid behind the details: the diaphanous lineaments of her focused features to the way her hair embraced promptly the luminescence of the cantaloupe daylight; the gentle symphony of her timbre as her enthusiastic voice waltzed alongside dirt particles in the diffuse atmosphere, carrying along the most unexpected bits and pieces of the history she studied ever so vehemently.

Who was he kidding? It were not the details in those particular instants that enchanted him, but her particularities—hell, it was all of her.

It had always been her.

Jungkook had been in love with his best friend for so long now that he had almost grown accustomed to the quixotic, romantic sensations he held within the walls of his chest. Almost.

During some rare instances, he was able to push those preposterous feelings to the back of his head, attempted faithlessly to convince his infantile optimism that it was absurd—unrealistic, naive—to hold such deep affection for someone who did not see him as anything above a companion from her childhood. The two of you were—and have always been, always would be—merely friends, best friends; closer than anyone else could reach to the margins of their intimacy.

To throw all that away would be equiparable to tearing his soul apart—stitch by stitch, thread by thread, until there was nothing left but the arid interior of a hollow doll. It was best just to ignore it, he convinced himself continuously, forcing his impassioned spirit to move back behind the walls of his cognizance. By holding to reason, he would saving the glory of her company with the coast of his own shattering hope.

Ignore it, for it would all soon go away; forget it, Jeon Jungkook, don't be stupid—the boy repeated like a mental mantra, hoping the baseless frequency of its echoes would be sufficient to make his desperate wishes come to life. He should use logic when drawing possibilities about its consequences: it would never happen. Ignore it, forget it. It would evanesce eventually, and it all would come back to normal.

At times, it almost worked to soothe his worries. Almost.

The boy was cognizant of the fact that she was sharing something with him as he entered those subjective endeavours—most likely another haphazard curiosity about the cinnamon-colored book that rested upon her hands—, but he cursed his own limited mind for being unable to recall perfectly the sequence of words that departed from her lips. He swore he tried to drag his own enchanted mind back to the substantiality of her euphonic voice, but his fragmented attention had been completely shattered under her overpowering aura: so mellow and sympathetic.

And god, it felt like smelling the sweetened aroma of a rose, while remaining eternally oblivious to the way its thorns pierced his skin. To look down upon his ensanguined fingertips and wonder how he had gotten himself in such claustrophobic position; to wish to let go of the gracious flower, but being far too weak—too enamored—to perform such preposterous action. Heavens, it hurt him like the licking flames of inferno; but it was far too compelling to let it go to waste. Jungkook could not—would not—allow for his sentiments to continue to be tied to his reason for much longer. Control had a cost, and his was as painful as the hypothesis of rejection.

There were a million things he wished to have said instead, but all that left his throat was a faint provocation; a delicate, honey-like mockery that he knew would be sufficient to break the daydreams of her statuesque position, “You know, when I offered the bookshop, I wasn't being serious.” the boy smiled.

Blinking, she returned from the land of her phantasies and turned around to stare at her companion. When she smiled back at him, the story repeated itself anew: the same flower efflorescing within his heart, the same thorns piercing his lungs and preventing him from camouflaging the infatuated coral hue that painted his cheeks with such overwhelming heat. She is beautiful, Jungkook thought for what could have been the tenth time that night. She was beautiful: she was the entire ocean he drowned in, and he felt like nothing more than a mere drop of water amongst the fury of the rain.

In her fingers, she closed the literary work with a subdued noise, but did not let go of it, “Don't throw the bait then complain you caught the fish.” his best friend cooled, playful.

At that, he could discard his own reveries for the mere instant that took for a laugh to bubble in his chest, “Did you just compare yourself to a fish?” Jungkook questioned, taken aback by the unbelonging comparison. He felt as if he was floating above the horizon, pulled towards paradise by the force of his adoration.

Scoffing at his reaction—somewhat expected, if she were to be sincere—, the girl rolled her eyes at him, not hesitating for a second before speaking back, “Did you skip high school classes on allusions and metaphors?”

Unable to hold back his silly, love-struck smirk, Jungkook shrugged, taking that battle as lost, “Might as well have.” he agreed, causing for her to chuckle.

Suddenly, the boy felt taken aback with the amicable laugh that she presented him with, being faced with the surface of her divinity, “For a philosophy student, you’re so reckless about education.” her words sliced his impulses short right after, causing for his unspoken confessions to drown in the desert of his throat.

As unconventional as the realization appeared to be, Jungkook understood that he was one misstep away from pouring his inner contemplations out into the open, regardless of the consequences they could bring along. Alternatively to such reckless behavior, however, he merely laughed at her odd phrase, “I don’t see how the two could possibly be connected, but, please, don’t tell Socrates,” he joked back, thinking it would be wiser to switch the subject as soon as possible. So, as he pointed down at the object in her hands, that was precisely what he did. “what do you have there, after all? You’re basically on a date with that book instead of me.”

A date.  

Cherise took over her cheeks like a flower swirling open, covering her skins in vermillion petals. Her lips instantaneously felt shut at the sudden term, mercurial heartbeat resounding in her blank mind with the chaotic rhythm of her surprise. Stop being so naive, he is just joking, the girl convinced herself, claiming on and on how idiotic it was of her to believe his words held any sort of deeper veracity. They were just friends.

Somewhere over the momentaneous shock, she could still hear a faint voice cursing her own infantile reaction. Even more, the suddenness of the term caught her so off guard that she was unable to mask its crystal clear effects as nervousness trembled amongst the syllables of her response, “Uh… what d-do you..." she stopped, and cleared her throat. Looking down at the book in her hands, her eyebrows moved together and, a second later, she was able to verbalize her inquiry better. She felt absolutely pathetic to be acting in such manner. "What do you... think of this one?”

Jungkook hummed and looked downwards in a way to mask the way his own hopes had shattered ever so gracefully. Numb was how his heart felt, for there was no initial signal within his brain that warned him of the term before it dripped from his mouth. Again and again, his demeanor cursed himself for not filtering better his choice of words—what was he thinking, throwing something like that so absent-mindedly? He truly felt like an idiot.

Flickering over the details on the cover, the boy’s eyes took in the odd image of the copy in her hands. Three cimmerian-pigmented words stood out amongst a clear cover—The Black Death—and, right underneath the title, there was a somewhat disturbing painting of what appeared to be a village back in the Middle Ages. In the image’s main focus, laid a woman and her child, both screaming out in a silent lament for that devastating, demonic torture to finally cease. All across the background, more nameless strangers curved in pain, skeletons visible through their feeble skins, and shadowy amethyst blemishes infecting their bodies. The figural simulacrum of death was casted over them, painted in fine brushstrokes of the most humane of angonies.

The choice, as odd as it appeared, no longer impressed her best friend—if anything, was even a bit predictable, “Medieval again? Didn't you read all the existing books on it already?” Jungkook questioned, looking back to meet her expectant gaze. Now compared to the horrendous image of a past long gone, her semblance appeared to be almost sanctified, angelic. She is beautiful, he came to terms once more.

Glancing at her eyes was like envisioning a waterfall, he usually thought. Not because of the tears she had shared with him, but for the way they mixed and transitioned so perfectly between the magnificence and peace of the unexplored scenery; though could also crash down upon his contemplations like the overwhelming ponderation of collapsing water, the impact of the roaring cascades. In that breviloquent moment, his reaction stood somewhere in between the two—admiring their exquisiteness, but also growing preoccupied of his choice of words.

Though, the girl chuckled at his response, lowering her book and pressing it against her chest, “One day, maybe,” she told him, pouting at the incredulous expression that emerged within his traces. “come on, you know it's one of my favorite periods.”

“The night that lasted a thousand years...” Jungkook trailed off, knowing what kind of reaction it would be received. Just as expected, her mouth opened in a silent exclamation of negation, eyebrows coming together in a frown. History students generally became very defensive over the claim that nothing was accomplished throughout the Middle Ages, and she was no different, “I'm joking, calm down. You have your history on check. You can stop with those medieval books.” he made sure to add it quickly.

She huffed, shoulders falling in an unspoken relaxation, “Define ‘on check.’” she spoke back.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, crossing his arms before his figure. Only then did she notice the pleasant contrast between his white shirt and the oceans of obsidian that existed in his hair, falling over his eyes like an obfuscous veil. Even under such delicate, lackluster lights, Jungkook still managed to hold the artistry of a renascentist masterpiece, mischievous eyes coruscating with the vitality of youth, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re both at the top of your class, and you constantly shower me with more historical curiosities than I could ever recall. If that’s not being on check, I don’t know what it is.” he explained.

“I can't see how the two could possibly be connected,” she repeated his phrase from aforetime, quick to move her sentences forward before he could even consider a proper response, “I'm buying it anyways. I don’t have this one, and I want to change that.” she shrugged.

With a suspire, Jungkook accepted his defeat, reaching out of the book, “Fine, hand it over,” the boy requested, soon meeting the crashing puzzlement of her confused expression. “what? I'm paying for it. It’s a gift.”

The girl hesitated as if she had just been faced with a prospect far too unrealistic for her to comprehend immediately, “Did I just enter a parallel universe? You used to be bothered when I had no money to pay for ice cream, and now you’re buying me a book?” questioned the lost history student, moving the back of her hand to touch it against his forehead, “Are you feeling okay? Do you have a fever?”

Jungkook moved her hand away with a groan, getting the book from her in a harsh, impulsive manner. He was aware she most likely thought that the blush that covered his cheeks was nothing more than his irritation at her childlike demeanor, but it was specifically because of how dangerously close she had become. Hell, he felt like a teenager sometimes, “Don't get bratty, let me be nice to you before I change my mind,” the boy mumbled, taking a step back. The book felt oddly heavy in his hands, but he gave it no importance—was it hot in there? He was not thinking straight. “I'll be back soon with your stupid Black Plague book.”

Still taken aback by the sudden switch of his temperament, she stood there for an instant and, in an unexpected eruption of staggering words, claimed she would then wait for him on the outside of the bookshop. Jungkook merely agreed with a suppressed hum, then turned around to head towards the cashier—who was staring at the two college students with a certain level of interest.

As she walked towards the exit, she could not organize the confusion that had unraveled within her mind. Longing, her heart induced for her muffled steps to resound amongst the quick beating of her heart; the melody of her affection exploding within her chest in warm ondulations of appreciation. Something about that simple action awakened the love that she was ever so desperately attempting to keep six feet under, causing for a trembling sigh to break in between her curled up lips. Amorous and compassionate, waves of tenderness pulsated through her veins like the cadency of a bird’s wings—quick, precise—and called for her heartbeat to adopt  more of an erratic rhythm.  

As the afternoon air embraced her body, the contact with the chilly winds only made her position become even more corporeal, concrete; as if the sudden change of temperature only served to confirm that those past minutes had not been part of a faithless daydream. Deliquescing into igneous amber, the skyline welcomed the crepuscular indigo of the forthcoming night with open arms. By the side of the humble bookshop, small cerulean flowers trembled under the caresses of the wind, appearing to be far too fragile to endure their characteristic beauty; gradually, they, too, succumbed into the shadows of dusk.

On one of them, a yellow butterfly moved its wings in a lethargic, lackadaisical manner, setting a rhythm disconsonant to the one of the mumbling earth. It beat it once, twice; then flew away, utterly unbothered by the effervescent conversations that gradually resonated around campus. Inside her heart, the same tempo followed.

A date.

Heavens, she could feel the way her pulse trembled underneath the mere connotation of that term, never once used before by him. At the same instant she was aware it did not held the significance she wished, the girl could not shake away the endless sparks that ignited within her spirit once she had heard that term a few minutes ago. She felt so stupid, yet so blissfully happy.

Little did she know that, as Jungkook departed from the inside of that small store, he felt the very same.

Gratitude was plastered all over her features as an alluring smile appeared upon her traces, welcoming the boy as he returned with the small bag. She took it with delicacy, afraid that a brusque movement would be all that it took to shatter the wonderful world of reveries she had immersed herself in, “You're the best person I have ever met.” she spoke, fighting the urge to curl her arms around his body and pull him into a warm hug. Aforetime, that would have been so simple, casual, but now she was not certain that was inside his area of comfort.

Jungkook, regardless, merely responded with a satisfied smirk, glad that his small present had given her that much joy. Even if she could not tell, the affection that scintillated beyond his gaze took in the eternal glow of the stars, bordering on the euphoria he fought to keep inside, “You’re very welcome. If I knew the way to your heart was through lame history books, I would've done this years ago,” then, with a concise pause, the boy placed his hands inside the pockets of his pants, chewing on his following words as his eager eyes traced the details of the falling adumbration, “where to, captain?” he lightheartedly questioned.

Humming, she considered his inquiry as the two began to walk without a destination. She held the bag with two hands behind her back and, with every step, its vague noises resembled the calm melody of the wind that whispered through the trees. Again and again, her partner in crime could only wish to drink the sallow moonlight that bathed her focused features, to listen to her euphonic voice as she distractedly spoke out.

“Let's just... walk around,” at last, her response came. For an instant, the boy forgot what he had asked, but it soon emerged within his infatuated mind. Only then did he allow himself to chuckle in amusement, a reaction she had grown quite used to along the years. “I sense that you have another idea, don't you?”

With that single loose edge, his facade came undone, “I might have one, yes,” Jungkook agreed instantaneously, unable to disguise the sudden excitement that glimpsed within his features. As the two passed underneath the cascades of continuous streetlights, the shadows that melted down his features gifted the boy with an image that bordered on the mystery of his prolonged elucidation, “a certain someone might have the keys to a very empty and unwatched gymnasium.” at last, he said.

“Interesting…” the girl said, allowing for her word to trail off into the vacuum of night. The eternity of that moment reflected within his wicked eyes, dripped in between his cherise lips as a song she would adore to follow—a sailor allowing for a siren to trap him underneath the tempestuous waves of a stormy sea. “did a certain someone steal it?”

From the way Jungkook promptly chuckled at her inquiry, she was certain she had already accepted his unspoken request the very second it had fallen in between their bodies. Weak—she was dangerously weak when he looked at her like that: so meaningfully, yet in such infantile, naive manner, “A certain someone got it from their coach when they were still part of the football team, and then never gave it back,” the philosophy student responded without a trace of hesitation. “what do you think? Worth the shot?”

With a purposefully prolonged suspire, she pretended as if she had pondered upon his idea for an instant. Again, Jungkook was very convincing when he needed to. Or, mayhaps, she was just biased, manipulated by her bottled-up emotions, “Fine. Just because you got me that book.” finally, she accepted.

“Oh, I love how you act as if you're not the tiniest bit curious,” he managed to joke back, thanking the lack of luminescence for masking the roseate hue that burgeoned upon his cheeks. Instantaneously, Jungkook drowned in the oceans she held inside as her euphonic laugh dispersed into the ashen clouds above, her beautiful smile dragging him away from his broken, eclipsed reveries of years past. Once again, he thought about how beautiful she was—it was not as if he had any sort of control over those fascinated observations, anyways. “whatever helps you sleep at night, that's good enough for me. To the gymnasium we go.”

And, without an instant of hesitation, so they did.

Lost amongst the cimmerian shadows of the falling indigo skyline, the two could almost convince themselves that there was no destiny to be reached, merely the path of their intertwined souls; the mesmerizing melting of one color to another, dancing together to form the kaleidoscope masterpiece that was the blazing sundown—then the abysmal nightfall. As one subject progressively transfigured into another, they talked about the most frivolous of interests, jumping from topic to topic with the fluidity of the passing incandescent lights. The overwhelming comfort of something so simple took over their enamored hearts, for it was fantastic to simply go on about everything and nothing at all; the kind of liberty only conversations with him could provide her.

Enthusiastic like the wind, able to move between delicate breezes and the pull of a hurricane. Never once had the girl felt so light, so unrestricted by the ties of her subdued sentiment. As the wind caressed the spacious world that expanded in between their bodies, all her preoccupations dispersed into the nocturnal winds. As strange as it might have seemed, she sensed as if that instant became boundless, as immeasurable as their own story. It was ordinary, but lacking any flaws; momentary, but infinite—it was just the two of them and the perpetual embrace of dawn.

She missed that, she truly did.

So much, in fact, that the sentiment blinded her to the obvious manner her friend stole quick glances in her direction, hoping and praying his admiration would not become translucent through his armor. Even with so much adoration continuously blooming within her breathless chests, the two could not win against the enormous space in between their tentative hands.

Truly, one of the most melancholic kinds of love was the one that remained silent, afraid of never being returned with the same vehemence.  

Jungkook could never quite elucidate the sentiment that sang inside his soul once she was there by his side, absolutely obvious to the mystical effects she had on his soul. Continuously, frequently, hopelessly—Jungkook had envisioned that determining occasion again and again, hoping his courageous spirit could show itself when facing the paralyzing, faceless nemesis of his confession. He had imaged how feather-like her honeyed lips would feel against his own, dwelled in the picturesque smile she would present to him once his idolatrous words dripped in between his clenched teeth.

Three small words never felt so threatening, so invencible; spinning his bravery around like a carousel, giving him the motion sickness of a hypothetical rejection from her part. Jungkook hoped for a smile, but could not face the possibility of a frown, of a confused stare; of an unilateral infatuation.

Uncountable instances aforetime he had considered pursuing the rocky path of a faithful confession. Frequently, he had portrayed the most absurd sequence of events, all of them intercalating the ethereal, paradisiacal glory of mutual feelings to the scalding inferno of a possible humiliation, the burning of being turned down by the one he adored ever so dearly. At some occasions, Jungkook got as far verbalizing the syllables that constituted her name with the harmony of his growing hope, words intoxicated by the same affection that hung ever so sweetly at the tip of his tongue—nevertheless, he never enunciated his love. Never found the sufficient amount of courage to do so.

Returning to the unbearable space that dwelled in between their bodies, Jungkook looked to his side in the internal expectation of meeting her image. Neighboring the otherworldly, there was an extraordinary aspect about the way her gaze was lost beyond the sempiternity of the violaceous skyline, how her skin glowed under the golden, aureate lights of a campus that slowly begun to embrace its nocturnal habitants. Heavens, he had lost himself in her charms so many instances, yet the boy was never entirely prepared for the way her grace monopolized his thoughts, causing for them to metamorphose into anarchy as he attempted to formulate the most basic of sentences.

It was brusque, impetuous—but it was not unnoticeable. Deep in the rampageous turbulence of his inner dilemmas, Jungkook thought that peaceful moment was perfect for his courage to present itself—it would finally arrive, and he would recklessly relocate his reluctancy aside, telling her with unshakable bravery how mindlessly, profoundly had he fell for her. Communicate it to her not as a request, not as faithful attempt for her to experience the same: Jungkook would confess his feelings for the girl as if it was nothing at all, a subject could be overlooked  if she wished to do so. He would make sure to say how it would not change anything, how she had absolutely no obligation to feel the same.

Though, that was all that he could ever wish for.

Suspiring, the girl brought his attention back to the two of them, back to the grey asphalt and the howling of the autumn wind. At last, the prolonged tension of his expectation was broken with the notes of her voice, somewhat embarrassed at the subject being presented, “That chick you hooked up with that last party… the one with the long curly hair, you know?” YN asked, seeing from her peripheral vision how the boy nodded in agreement.

Jungkook looked at her in expectation, taking that brief instant to appreciate the cherubic way her features embraced the streetlights with so much grace—her nose appeared as if it had been outlined by gold, the pallid yellow of the lamps that fought the penumbra just to shine upon her cheeks, down her face, around her roseate, petal-like lips as she continued her reluctant speech, “She came to talk to me yesterday, wanting to see if I could give her your number.”

He frowned, clearly puzzled at the unforeseen prospect, “Did... you?”

Her mouth closed at that, eyes seeking for the answers that hid behind the trees of the silent campus. Guilt was not precisely what she was feeling, but it was the only word that emerged within her mind as she attempted to characterize her position, “I didn't know if you wanted me to, so I made up some excuse about breaking my phone and that I never memorized your number,” the girl confessed those words quickly, as if a part of her was silently begging for him to forgive the sins she never committed. “we ranted for a bit about the technological dependency we have, but she bought the lie just fine. I didn't give your number to her," and, after a pause, she made sure to add that, "I know her, though. If you want, I can reach out.”

Jungkook shook his head in negation, moving his hand in the air as if fanning away the nefarious clouds of his apprehension, “No, no, that's fine as it is,” he was quick to say, forcing his tone to remain somewhat controlled. “I don't even know her name. Don't want to change that.”

From the manner her lips fell back shut in a momentary image of hesitation, he knew there had been some fragments of his rapid negation that resonated with an erroneous chord within her soul, “I... understand. Maybe you should tell her, though,” his best friend counterclaimed, measuring her sentences with infinite care, so they would not show the personal pieces of such carefully constructed puzzle. “it's quite sad to just sit and wait for someone like that. Specially if they're avoiding you.”

The hidden gloominess that embellished the corners of her smile often induced for the boy to discover his limbs suddenly growing stiffer, his lungs contracting in apprehension as he met the wonders that dwelled in the fathomless world behind her gaze. In the captive of his throat, the words he would never say died once again. His confession had its spotlight prepared, but he was terrified of the stage, “Yes, you're right,” was what he proffered instead, masking the anxiety of his missed chance with a quick, almost timid cough, “I suppose I should... tell her.” Jungkook acknowledged.

At that, she only hummed in agreement, but said nothing else. As the terminal syllables of his thoughtful sentence lost themselves amongst the hyperborean atmosphere of the night, neither of them knew if they were still discussing that faceless stranger, or if their inner preoccupations had peeked through the cracks of their pride.

It did not matter. Another time, perhaps.

A better one.

Arriving at the gymnasium was not troublesome, but opening its passageway turned into a much more arduous task than they could have ever envisioned. Jungkook pushed and pulled the doors with just enough force so there would be no obstreperous reverberations, but none of his efforts appeared to cause any sort of change in the fact that such dark metal entrance remained imperturbable, standing in the same place as if it was a loyal soldier in its designed position.

Behind the two explorers, no other living being crossed those parts of the campus, for their Saturday night was reserved to other, more vivacious landscapes. Such unique equanimity became quickly cherished by the curious girl—for there was a secretive element about the forlornness of an universe once so ebullient that appeared to be mesmerizing, a piece of reality only the two could waltz in. To her, even if only as an internal conceptualization, the sands of time had stopped to run so the two could observe the gorgeous navigation of passing clouds, how the light of the moon bleed through the opaque nebulas of such onyx cosmos, then withered into the twilight of those dimly illuminated ambients.

Disregarding all those mystifying aspects, her focus solely resided in the boy before her. Bathed by the consecrated complexion of the caramel streetlights, Jungkook held tightly to the ethereal aura it gifted him, the golden aureole that slipped in between the charcoal strands of his disheveled hair—just like that day at the cafe, he appeared to be a pulchritudinous hallucination; a treasure that flinched away from her grasp continuously.

Fumbling with the newly discovered lock, Jungkook angrily mumbled at the overabundance of keys in his hands, uttering profanities at unseen divinities every instance he attempted to utilize the incorrect one, “Okay, I think I think I got it,” the boy said after a breviloquent instant of expecting silence, his shiny eyes looking at her with the endless stars of his bliss. She did not care the reason why he had grown so happy, for it was the image of his endless joy that brought her such euphoric comfort; memories of their childish years coming back to her like tides of wistfulness.

Repeatedly, she thought that she could still catch glimpses of his younger self slipping between the cracks of his controlled persona, and it was an extremely conflicting sentiment to endure. Youthful, his heart lured her into moments of magic and wonder—yet, they kept crashing down back into reality, turning her position into a much more anguishing one.

At last, an exclamation from his part sliced her reveries, causing for the whine of the opening door to echo in the nocturnal infinity that surrounded the two, “Welcome to the castle, princess,” her best friend joyfully greeted, dramatically moving his arm as if he was a painter presenting his newest masterpiece to eager art lovers. In some level, that was precisely what unfolded, “the world is yours to take.” Jungkook added, taking a step to the side so she could walk in first.

And, God, what a world it was.

Near the ceiling of the gymnasium, an elongated line of rectangular windows stood at the top of the wall opposite to them, allowing for the caliginous illumination of the street to welcome the two into those relinquished lands. The spiritless, aurulent phosphorescence from the neighboring lamps dripped from the dusty glass and caused for the specks of dust to oscillate in the static atmosphere, obtaining the achromatic pigmentation that made them seem like anemic lampyridae against the moonlight.  

Casted away by her momentaneous reveries, the girl released a long sigh; looking all around as if checking any other peculiarities she could have missed at first: the wooden benches by the side of the court; the mountainous bleachers that embraced the blades of luminescence with its phantasm-like semblance; the polished cantaloupe wooden tiles, the bleached demarcations that separated the areas of the court, but also guided the two adventurers to enter its realms. There was something terribly alluring about the entire ambient, which she could not yet elucidate.

“God, I hate how pretty this place is at night," she groaned as she slowly walked towards the center of the court, lamenting how rapidly memorable situations like those could become. That small fragment of campus belonged to them—and them only—for god knows how long. If she could, she would have spent the rest of the night there, merely accompanying the midnight darkness as it grew thicker before, at last, gifting its position to the auric resplendence of the burgeoning sunlight, "have you been here before?” she questioned, turning around to meet his silhouette.

Momentaneously, she considered that an answer could not be exactly what she desired. The mere hypothesis of him taking other girls there was able to make her stomach turn. It was not induced by jealousy, but by the damage of replacement. The hurt of longing for someone who escaped in between her fingers like mercury.

Yet, her inner preoccupations did not appear to have any effect on the oblivious boy, “When it's empty?" Jungkook questioned, almost mindlessly. His friend only nodded in agreement, and he hummed for an instant as his mind worked around its memories. After a few prolonged seconds, he was able to construct an answer, "Only once, when I needed some space to think, but you're the first person I bring here.” he confessed.

Perfectly, she masked her alleviation with a shiny smile, “The honor is endless,” she spoke, those words holding more significance than she ever expected. Truly—the world was theirs to take, “it's... weird at the same time. So empty, devoid of noise.” she shared her thoughts.

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Jungkook agreed, placing his hands inside the pockets of his pants as he moved closer to where she stood. Against every fiber of his body, he forced his gaze to remain on the endless lines of pallid windows, avoiding to meet the beauty of the girl amongst the consolidated penumbra of that secluded night, “I'm glad we got this night for ourselves. I really missed it.” he manifested that with so much tranquility that she overlooked the turbulent storm clouds that begun to accumulate within his obfuscous eyes.

Humming, the girl but down on her lower lip, taking a couple steps up the solitary bleachers—against what she expected, her footsteps did not sound like thunder amongst the emptiness of the gargantuan construction, but soft and precise as the heartbeats that pulsated within her veins, “We haven't done this since what, freshman year?” the history student questioned, at last sitting down, closer to the middle. By her side, she placed her new book. “Damn, you used to be bolder back then.”

Jungkook chuckled at her peculiar choice of words, forcing himself to follow his best friend up the steps, “Bolder?” he echoed, somewhat puzzled by such term. Communication appeared to be odd between the two childhood friends, for each syllable shared held a level of ambiguity that made him uneasy. “Are you talking freshman year of college or high school?”

With a sudden glimpse of interest, her eyes widened in the face of an upcoming recollection, “I was thinking about college, but you just made me remember something,” she said, promptly meeting the reluctant expectation that was casted over his focused lineaments as, finally, he stood and sat by her side. “and yes, we're going down memory lane whether you want it or not. Picture this: teenager Jeon Jungkook, climbing up my window in the middle of the winter, having to wait for almost twenty minutes on a tree before I got out of the shower to let you in.”

Of course, he could recall that perfectly. Even with some particularities lost amongst the nebulous trails of his mind, Jungkook could still feel the claws of the gelid winter diving deep in his skin; could recall the sound of her surprised exclamation as she left the bathroom with just a pale blue towel around her body, her widened eyes meeting his own behind the glass window. The scalding roseate hue that exploded in both of their faces was barely noticed under the hushed whispers and fervent curses, his excuses were quickly disregarded and curtains were rapidly moved in front of the translucent surface as she claimed she needed to get dressed. Almost twenty minutes later, the boy was allowed entrance. The price to pay: a couple playful hits to the head.

Back to the present, Jungkook then laughed—one of those free, careless laughs that he allowed himself to present when he are truly, foolishly happy. If anything, the most elementary kinds of bliss were the one he cherished the most, for they were both the most achievable and the most alleviating to experience, “Don't do that to me, that was such a traumatic night,” he confessed with a smirk, feeling as if some part of him had shattered under the ponderation of nostalgia. Their bodies were so close, just a few more millimeters and his hand would be placed over warmth of her own. “though, I remember you sneaking out with me to go to that party. Did you parents ever find out that we went there?”

She paused for an instant, ruminating on her memories. As the nuances of that peculiar nightfall returned to the surface of her chaotic memories, the history student came to the uncommon conclusion that she could remember minute, almost ignorable details about those comforting instants, small quirks and expressions that could never be applied to anyone else but her best friend. In the end, even unable to characterize the boy that now stared at her so patiently, Jungkook was one of the most singular individuals she had met, someone that completed her oh so perfectly.

Memories like those were the kind that remained in the depths of her childish mind and, when they returned, they caused for your heart to flutter under their overwhelming wistfulness. That instance, nevertheless, they only brought her a certain sense of disappointment, accompanied by a sign that appeared to hold the entire weight of the world within it, “Not that I know of,” her negation came with a measurement of hesitation, causing for him to grow preoccupied at what would follow. “it was a pretty terrible night, though. I spent most of it in the couch by myself, groaning at drunk people.”

Jungkook’s primordial response was a smirk, his eyes falling down to the polished court that awaited in the hollow spaced in between the steps of the faded bleachers. There was a certain sorrow camouflaged within his every syllable, and she would have never noticed it if she had not been so attentive to his every minor signal of irritation, “You do that during every party you go to.” he spoke underneath his breath, hoping that the traces of regret within his tone could be sufficient for her to understand his fragile position.

Open, then closed. Her lips moved as if delineating her words in the air, but allowed no sound to run from in between them. There was only silence, only the beating of their arrhythmic heartbeats. Open, closed.  

It was during moments like those that the boy finally understood that the duality she presented him with was nothing but the existence of a melancholic soul in a vivacious personality; the glimpses of hope and despondency that morphed to form the girl he had fallen so deeply for, “Yeah, but you left me alone,” she spoke, breaking his romantic reveries instantaneously. That was not even close to a sentence Jungkook ever expected to receive, far too close to his nightmarish forthcomings for him to promptly take seriously. Paranoia was not all that it was, then: he had truly relinquished the one who he adored the most. “I mean, I get it. You wanted to have fun with your friends, I don't blame you for it. I'm also not saying it was on purpose, but it did make me feel down. For a long time, at that.”

Those words made him feel sick to his stomach, the impact of his guilt absorbing all the air from his already feeble lungs. Jungkook could not put into words how much he hated the fact that the girl felt that way, especially if it was because of infantile and reckless decisions he had once took. He would have done anything to put poetry into her life, to find the lyrism that tied them together with so much perfection. The white rymes, the flawless metric, the correct verses at the specific time. Everything he did not have, that is. Everything opposite to what he had truly given her.

“You never told me it bothered you so much,” he spoke those words with care, almost as if he was scared of the consequences of facing a wild animal. Though, he was aware YN was not even close to a roaring lion amongst the endless fields of the savannah, nor the calculative wolf that awaited for its pray in between the alabastrine snow—she was his best friend, someone that knew him even better than himself, “it's nothing that wouldn't happen nowadays, too.” he quickly added.

Subsequently, he came to realize that it was a calamitous choice of words. It was nothing that would not happen nowadays: he would still leave her alone, “I know. It does happen sometimes,” the girl agreed closely after, bringing his deeper nightmares to life. It was like watching a piece of glass falling to the ground in slow motion: body paralyzed, wide eyes merely awaiting for the crashing impact that would soon arrive. And, duly, it came. “Jungkook, you know I'm not someone that gets comfortable at parties. I only go because you want me to, and every time I think you'll keep me company, which you don’t. I don't demand to be exclusive, it's just kind of exhausting when you drop me to be with your friends or some random girl the very second we walk through the door.”

With her amable voice and the dainty reluctance it provided, Jungkook’s best friend shattered his spirit with the simple pronunciation of those words. Brusquely, all elements of nature he once perceived within her became the natural disasters that would tear him apart—calamities, oh calamities—the same calm breeze had now turned into a merciless hurricane. Paralyzed. Slow motion. He spoke out, “Is that why you... are already gone every time I go search for you?” he seemed unable to find the correct words to formulate his inquiry, but he did it regardless. Jungkook expected that amongst his shaky timbre, she would capt his disguised message: he had gone after her, she had not been simply forgotten nor replaced.

Though, it was much more complicated than a disguised apology and the infantile hope of a benevolent forgiveness, “Yeah, I get tired of waiting, so I just go home.” she shrugged, and moved her gaze away from his own. That was, in a way, the breaking point: a simple misstep that sent him flying down to the abyss of his suppressed frustrations.

Like wildfire, his frustration started to fumble around in his tight chest, taking over the arrhythmia of his heart and burning his logic thinking into ashes. He felt the pressure of the earth shaking beneath his feet as his subsequent words ate his mouth, bringing along a poison that he did not recognize as being his own, “I've seen you talking to some people every once in awhile, though. Some guys.” added the boy, trying to hold back the rivers of his awakening exasperation.

If the hidden connotation of his claims reached for her cognizance, she gave no signals that she had been affected by it, “I'm not socially inapt, Jungkook, I can talk to other people,”  she spoke back with bittersweet aftertaste hanging at the tip of her tongue. She could not explain the reason for his sudden harshness, nor the way that it reflected upon her very temperament. “it's just the same story all over. The guys you see me talking to just want to flirt and fuck around, and I'm not interested in that. Besides, it's not like it's an excuse for you to just leave me like that.”

He frowned, unaffected by her sentence. The thing about resentfulness was the blindness it dragged along, preventing its owner from recognizing the irrationality that slipped through one’s every movement, “Why is that?” he thoughtlessly inquired.

Was that jealousy she perceived within his tremulous phrase? No, she was not being rational: of course Jungkook was not jealous. She supposed that was a common behavior amongst the ones who fell in love to place a special, idiosyncratic meaning in everything their loved one did, for it was much more soothing than to face the hypothesis of it being an one-sided devotion.

As much as she was sure it was the case, some stubborn, hopeful part of her heart expected otherwise, and it was sufficient to prolong her anguish even further. She paused for a second, taking in the vague question, and the curtain of such abstract feeling that had fallen over his eyes, “What do you mean?” she thought it was better to question.

For the first time, she did not see Jungkook as an unexplored mountain, did not force herself to fight the radiance of the sun in a faint attempt to glimpse at the secrets the cloud-hidden apex held. Now, the boy was nothing beyond the best friend she had lost a long time ago, an hesitant and even quite timid kid that was unable to construct his sentences with the correct words. His mouth was opening and closing, his flickering eyes were moving around—everywhere but on her—seeking for the answers that he necessitated. She could almost sense the waves of frustration that emanated from his body, but could not pinpoint the reason for such swift change of demeanor.

Each step forward, the boy felt as if he was taking two steps behind, crawling away from a reality he would forever deny to face. Keeping those thoughts at bay, he forced himself to clear his throat, resuming his speech with care, “Why are you... not interested in any of them?” at last, he reformulated his previous inquiry, his voice a note softer than before.

“I don't know, I'm just not,” she breathed out, allowing herself to embrace the profound waters of his gaze for a momentaneous instant of weakness—in her perceptions, his beauty still resided amongst the harshness of his expression. Fragility reluctantly opened before her like a efflorescing flower, presenting her will the prismatic magnificence of his kind spirit, the kindness that sometimes got eclipsed by his reckless acts. Yes, that piece of a lonely universe was duly was a beautiful ambient, but his presence managed to make it even better. “the heart doesn't pick what it wants, I suppose.”

Taken aback by the pulling currents of his heartache, the boy felt as if he was nothing more than a book with a torn out page: missing an imperative scene, a discontinued trail of thought. Jungkook truly despised how distant he had become, and was unable to direct his anger towards himself. Instead, it dripped in between his mouth like drops of a corrosive liquid, burning his patience to threats, “It really fucking doesn't,” he bitterly agreed. “I'm sorry, okay? I never noticed I was doing that.”

If it had been in any other situation, she would have left that slip. She would have overlooked the pendulum of emotions that guided his posture, would have disregarded his unbelonging frustration as being caused by the subjects the two would much rather avoid—however, that moment, everything switched back to place. The same constrained petulance that deteriorated his heart could be reflected within her own chest, crushing for her reckless speech to reverberate past the static air before she could ever hold it back. Not that she would have, for she was, too, reaching the margins of her patience.

“I told you about this at least two times already, though,” YN continued to say, refusing to acknowledge an apology that was as empty and mechanic as the others he had presented her with. She could see that the boy was compassionate towards her position, so she could not comprehend the reason for the prompt manner he avoided diving deeper into such matters. “you apologized, but the story remained the same. In fact, if I'm being honest, I feel like you purposely avoid me at this point.”

There it was, and there was no way to take it back. Her piercing words felt like cold daggers to his chest, slicing his pride in half and causing for his negation to shatter into reality: Jungkook could no longer escape from those demons. Perhaps, there was not another time—a better one—waiting for him ahead; the universe would not be merciful enough to take that miraculous decision for him, or even to plan the correct, unrealistic instant for his devoted speech to leave his mind. He was losing his best friend at every hollow apology, it was not worth the secret.

At the same time, running over that blame distribution made his limbs hurt, those fragmented opinions and past recollections that only induced for his inner guilt to shine with a new force, “What are you talking about?” Jungkook questioned, aware that he was being irrational, speaking in circles. She was right, and he was searching for signals that held absolutely no verisimilitude. “We're alone in a gymnasium. How is this avoiding?”

“Yeah, I'm as surprised as the next guy,” scoffed his best friend, her calm tone in dissonance with the clear astringency of her measured words. Heavens, he felt as if the paradise of her gaze had just metamorphosed into inferno, oscillating in a middle-ground in which her melancholy appeared ever so clearly. “you're always postponing our plans, always making up excuses to cancel or leave early. And when you do stay around, your mind is miles away, you never even hear what I’m saying.”

Syllables felt arid as a desert as his poorly pronounced negation fell from his mouth, “That's just not true, YN.” was all that he was able to say, even if he did not believe that claim for a mere second.

Truth was: Jungkook had been aware of how the two had followed separate ways, traveled different roads. Ever since they had gotten into college, they were no longer the kings and queens they once pretended to be, just two pathless students amongst an ocean of strangers. More than that, he knew perfectly the way he had purposefully avoided his best friend with the objective of muffling his feelings—which, ironically, only added to his overwhelming longing. She had all the right to be feeling lonely, to be placing the blame on him. God, he hated himself at that moment.

The girl, however, merely shrugged at his words. For the first instance, Jungkook came to the conclusion that her disappointment was so rooted down her mundane chores that she could barely present him any sort of sentiment: it had become part of her routine, “Perhaps not, but that's how I feel.” she humorlessly told him.

Stitch by stitch, his facade was torn apart, lying somewhere in between the broken and the frustrated, “Maybe you should ask me how I feel.” Jungkook said without a second instant of ponderation.

Parts of his forgotten reason still screamed within his mind for the boy to better filter his verbalizations, but he was aware that, phrase by phrase, the damage that was progressively being done could not be fixed so easily. He was certain, one way or another, that the time he had been waiting for now approached at full speed. It felt less and less like a kind embrace, and more like a truck about to hit him in the middle of a deserted road, its phosphorescent lights so strong that blinded the boy to any sort of self-control.

She, too, appeared to grow conflicted at the spectacle that unfolded before her eyes, pursing her lips together in a quiescent instant of hesitation, “Very well,” she agreed after a sigh, placing her hands on top of her knees. Her palms felt horribly cold, even if it ambient was warm, “for starters, why are you getting so defensive?”

“Defensive? I'm not getting defensive, I'm just getting mad,” and he only got himself to blame—the two of them knew that. “seems like every time I'm about to do something right for once, a talk like this blocks the way. We haven't been close ever since we started college, that's normal, but do you have to rub it in my face that it's all my fault?”

At that, her shield of apprehension shattered. Yet anew, the naivety of his younger self shimmered past his staggering tone, causing for the girl to remember that the two had a story far deeper than those shallow years of college, “I never said it was all your fault. Things like this are mostly never unilateral,” her shoulders fell at that, voice growing more delicate. Even if she still blamed the boy for the way he had departed, she could not pretend as if she could not have fighted harder for it. In a way, she, too, appreciated the security of distance. “I know you for too long, Jungkook, I know you wouldn't just cut me out because you're feeling like it. Or, at the very least, I'd like to think so.”

Her words felt like kerosene setting his soul aflame, the sparks that gradually consumed the rope of a dynamite. From the manner Jungkook swallowed his anguish dry, he could tell he was merely a couple steps away from the edge, holding himself back from a road divider he was so frightened of facing, “I would never do something like that, you're my best friend.” Jungkook spoke, but did not fully believe himself. He had done it, after all.

Patient, the girl breathed out, placing her hand over his own. Her touch was like poison ivy, burning every part of his skin and causing for his throat to itch under the bothersome presence of unspoken claims—nothing could ever come close to how much he wanted her at that instant, even if it was to solely feel her embrace, her heartbeat mixing with his own, “And you are mine. You just haven't been acting like it,” she tenderly responded, voice faltering for an instant before continuing with the subject. “what's going on with you lately? You know you can tell me anything, I won't judge you.”

What’s going on with me is that I have no fucking idea how to love you, and it’s tearing me to pieces, the boy innerly responded, but could never find the courage to push those brave claims out of his asphyxiated chest. He was two steps away from crying out mercy, giving up to the fatigue of his suffocated sentiment and merely allowing for it to spill out amongst the breaking thunder of his pride.

Regardless, what he said was the complete opposite, “Nothing’s going on with me.”

Breathing out, she took her time to find the air she necessitated to continue such personal conversation, “Look at me,” requested the girl and, after a concise second of vacillation, the boy glimpsed upwards. Jungkook could swear that it was almost sanctified the way the colorless glow of the moon dripped over her frown, the chimerical traces of her confusion standing out amongst such welcoming persona. Preoccupations painted her features in shadows, and he could tell that there was no way he could turn back from the path they were heading. “tell me what's wrong. We can't fix it otherwise.”

Jungkook scoffed at her sentence, promptly feeling terrible for doing so. His heart skipped a beat the the apathetic temperament that had taken over his spirit, for he was aware his defensive posture would soon get the best of him. For a moment, he found himself inquiring if that would be the last night she would spend by his side, if the subsequent renunciation he would present her with would be enough for their friendship to be ruined forever, “We can't fix everything, YN.” he counterclaimed.

In fact, it would make everything worse. One fallacious advancement, one misspoken sentence. One step out of the chord that divided who they were and who they had become, and the two would downgrade into the vacuum of utter evasion that existed in between.

However, the manner her fingertips curled around his hand in a silent comfort was enough to puncture his heart instantaneously. Her touch, as intoxicating as it was, was also warm as a splendiferous summer morning; welcoming as the oceans that stretched beyond her eyes—seas he had continuously drowned in, being pulled under by the enchanting spell of her voice. His own eyes, however, were again moving away from hers, focusing on the achromatic particles that danced in slow motion against the phantasmal lambency, “Let's at least try.” she told him with care.

Even hours after that scene had occurred, the boy could not pinpoint what it was about that simple sentence that felt like the last drop to him. Self-condemnation had corroded his soul for so long that Jungkook could not do anything but feel infuriated at himself, profoundly displeased by the manner she continued to be benevolent to him even though he had done her so wrong—Jungkook anathematized how much he loved her, how much she made him fall deeper and deeper with every loving touch. He hated how he continued to keep all that as a secret.  

Of course, he was not obligated to.

Groaning in annoyance, he ran one of his hands through his cimmerian-pigmented strands of hair, leaning back against the bleachers as in a silent signal of defeat, “Fine. We're doing this, then,” Jungkook rolled his eyes, an action that felt like hyperborean arrows being shot straight through the walls of her hopeful heart. He was mad, frustrated even. “let's play guessing game, if that’s what you want from me. Guess why your best friend is unable to look you in the eye, guess why he can't stay around for you for long without making an absolute fool out of himself. Guess why I always go to search for you during parties and end up so frustrated that you left that I get the first chick I see in front of me.”

Once, twice—she blinked lethargically, using all the seconds she could to fully comprehend the explosion that had just came from his lips, “I... don't know the answer to any of those questions. That's what I'm asking you, Jungkook,” said the bewildered girl. His name slid off her tongue with so much easiness, so much harmony. It would soon be the end of him.

Of them, even.

Thunder broke once he opened his mouth, bringing along the reverberation of his suffocated misery, “Why do you think I got pissed drunk back in that party, uh? I was trying to man the fuck up and be straight up with you.” Jungkook said, aware that each syllable took him closer and closer to a path of no return. The boy was staring at the barrel of a gun; patching up each and every sliced up fragment of his temperament from which his genuine sentiment could slip through. Nevertheless, some calamities are stronger than the man’s will to control them, and to fight against nature is to lose sooner or later.

The wild winds of his tone shook what was left of her cognizance, his sentence holding meetings far too abstracts for her to promptly grasp, “Be straight up about... what?” strangely, she found that simple sentence particularly challenging to pronounce.  

Like flowers that ruptured the cement, Jungkook's words broke upon his clenched jaw before he could ever measure their inevitable consequences; the ponderation of revealing his most secretive emotions to someone that could tears his very soul to pieces with a mere negation, “Are you that dense?” the boy spat, moving his head back so his eyes could meet the overwhelming infinity of her own: patient, kind, understanding. All at once, it all spilled out from his mouth. “I’m in love with you, YN, how can’t you tell?”

With that, their world withered into quiescence.

Cold and silent, the devastating space between their bodies appeared to grow within the span of a heartbeat, pulling the two lovers towards opposite edges of the ambient. Paralyzed by the connotation of those words, the two impassively watched as their story reached the end of a long-running chapter, turning to a page that still remained blank. Their young hearts faded for an instant and, ever so strongly, fell back to the turmoil of the present.

Encompassed by quivering stars, the moon casted its porcelain aurora on the eternal minutes that prolonged inside that gymnasium, embracing their still bodies in a ghostly, melancholic atmosphere. Ache and bliss irradiated inside her suffocated lungs, inducing for her dry lips part as she progressively absorbed the impact of such abrupt epiphany, “You’re… w-what?”

Jungkook had his eyes lost in the abyss far beyond her position, avoiding her presence vehemently. By her side, the cover of the book appeared to mock his coward nature, causing for the explosion of his devotion to progress into the weight of his words, “Don’t come to me pretending you didn’t hear it,” he spoke those words with weakness, finding it hard to discover the same ruthless he had tasted just before. “I hate this shit: I’m in love with my best friend. I've fallen for the oldest trick in the goddamn book. Fucking fantastic.”

It was sudden, overwhelming—but it was there in all its melancholic glory. The abrupt crash of their shared emotions, the spectral way his thoughtful irises still resembled the ones who stared so fondly at her all those years ago. The confirmation had reached her years, and the brokenness she felt for so long was now silent before the fulfillment of her numb euphoria.

Sincerely, she was planning to verbalize something back at the vulnerable boy—anything she could ever conceptualize, really. As her petal-like lips fell open in the wordless enunciation of a silent exclamation, the girl swore there was a vague idea of which baseless, improvised sentences would come out of her mouth, a broken inquiry or, perhaps, a faraway recollection of her profound reflections. Nevertheless, as her wide-eyed gaze met the beautified lineaments of Jungkook’s anguished semblance, all those blurred thoughts dispersed into a blank canvas, his very image causing for her breath to get trapped in her throat, “J-Jungkook, I—” she stuttered.

“—No, listen to me,” he interrupted vehemently, unsure if the fragile voice that left his lips was truly his own. It felt too rushed, too piercing; too broken, “I know I’m a prick sometimes, alright? I know I end up ignoring you, that I leave you hanging. I know I’m always overprotective of you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry because I’m aware that’s not healthy, but I can’t work with what I’m feeling,” he spoke those endless confessions like a cascade of reverence, unable to pause and fully ruminate on everything that had been told. He hesitated, then continued after a sigh, “shit, I tried to ignore it, I tried to go out with other girls. But they weren’t... you. As stupid as that sounds, they weren’t you, and you’re the only one that I want, YN.”

Looking at him at that very instant was like losing her balance; equiparable to the absence of gravity that a lost astronaut would feel when floating around the void of space. Everything was so out of focus that she could only pay attention to the odd pattern of sensation that took hold of her: his eyes, that torn-apart gaze of someone who had just pulled the final loose edge of a decaying friendship, pulled her into the blurred hollowness that existed beyond it—no more phantasmal constellations in sight, “Why… why are you saying it now?” was all that she could ever question.

Amongst the fragmented adumbration that painted his features, she could perceive a niveous blanket of tears shimmering over his eyes, “Keeping this inside it’s just too much, alright? It's suffocating me, sometimes I feel like I can't even breathe,” Jungkook was honest with his every sentence, feeling as if it bordered on the inexecutable to respond without losing control of his already staggering speech. “I'm sorry that I couldn’t just pretend as if you weren’t such an important part of my life. I'm sorry I was a coward and that I pushed you away. I'm sorry I fell in love with you and now that I'm throwing it all on your shoulders.”

Once anew, the girl opened her lips to respond, but he silenced her with a quick raising of his hand—an unspoken request for her to continue listening to his unplanned confession, for he was uncertain if he could ever be able to find the correct words to continue if she verbalized something in between them, “I'm sorry I'm a fucking idiot, alright?” Jungkook breathed out, shaking his head. Yet again, his eyes fell to the spacious nothing that existed in between the steps of the bleaches, the hole that he wished could swallow him whole, deleting his existence or merely taking his tormented spirit away from such terrible position. “You deserve someone that will treat you better than this. It’s not fair with anyone.”

After Jungkook’s trepidation had dissolved into the obfuscous eternity of night, she awaited for an instant to check as if he had said everything he wished to. Amidst the soft infinite of the elephantine quiescence, YN melted into the nostalgia of their past, both embracing it and pushing it away from the present that they now dwelled in—for, no matter the ones that they once were, it would be infantile to grasp into moments that could never be replayed, people that had long moved away from those childish imaginations.

The two friends had truly grown up, enough so that he had spilled out his emotions in a momentaneous explosion of devotion, an uncalculated reverie that ended up holding much more significance than the two could have ever foreseen. Now, it was her turn.

Gentle sighs, deep breaths. As the afterglow of his confession tingled in the space between their silhouettes, a pallid shade of roseate burgeoned on her cheeks and she sighed, rupturing those never ending moments with the symphonious tranquility of her timbre, “Can I talk now?” delicately inquired the girl. Only then did she notice that, throughout his eruption of emotion, he had taken his hand away from her own, and the coldness of night felt as venomous and merciless as ever before.  

Jungkook had immersed his demeanor on the unspoken task of maintaining his composure intact, for his pride had long fell like ashes to the ground, combusted by the volcanoes of scalding secrets that had just grown in between the two. Contoured by the waxlike luminescence of buzzing lights, his impassive lineaments did not show even a fragment of the pandemonium that exploded beyond the two simple words that constituted his response, “Go ahead.” he shrugged, hoping that the shame of her refusal would not scar his soul as deep as he expected.

The chuckle that dripped from her lips was enough for his eyes to unwillingly dart upwards, presenting the girl with the opening she needed to continue, “Jungkook, you have to be the denser person I have ever met in my entire life,” she playfully told him, instantaneously recognizing the way his gaze danced in between the confusion of assuagement and the shock of her reaction, “you don’t know if I feel the same? Really? What do you want me to do, wear a T-shirt with your name printed on it? Change my relationship status to ‘it’s complicated’?”

He rolled his eyes, turning his head forwards and staring at the now closed passageway. Meters from where they stood, he could still perceive the vague shimmering of the silver keys scintillating in the air like a solitary astro, guiding him into amenity like a personal north star, “Complicated is one way to put it.” was what he said back, for he felt unable to comprehend her reaction wholesomely.

Placing her hand on his tensed-up shoulder, she called for his attention again, “Hey, Jungkook?” his best friend’s mellifluous tune culminated in a swift movement of his gaze back towards her direction. Suddenly, the smile she presented him with was everything he could see—no dusty gymnasium, no silvery stars—and her sacchariferous timbre was the only melody he ever wished to hear. “Do me a favor and just... shut the fuck up.”

And then, the boy found the softness of her lips pressed against his own.

Kissing her was like having a drink of whiskey—addictive, intoxicating; it was drowning in the mesmerizing sensation of her lips without caring for the hangover that could arise alongside with the morning sun. Feeling her trembling heart against his own was like an earthquake inside his soul, like they were colliding and drowning away, feeling the spacious nothingness between their lips before diving back to it with much more adoration.

And god, the roses! The roses blossomed like galaxies exploding within his chest, the thorns no longer cut his breathing short. It was everything so perfect, so immaculate; a scene that could be part of a formidable romance—a painting, a masterpiece—of two friends finally succumbing to the feelings they have kept inside for so long; souls shining brighter than the lackluster moonlight that was casted over their interlaced fingers, their waltzing mouths.

Honeyed, then astringent. Peaceful, then tormenting. It was perfectly imperfect, flawlessly damaged. It was the two of them, and nothing more.

At last, she departed from his lips with another peck against his swollen mouth, her following words coming out in an infatuated whisper, “I’m in love with you too, Jungkook," the girl confessed in infinite devotion, her tone resembling the faint beating of a butterfly's wings, the rustle of the tall grass beneath its kaleidoscopic colors signaling the blowing of the vernal breezes. "maybe you would’ve noticed it if you weren’t so busy running away from me.”

However, at that instant, nothing about his poorly calculated mistakes mattered.

The bitterness of their past no longer held any sort of relevancy, for the honeyed nectar that danced at the tip of their tongues was sufficient to silence all the howling poltergeists that remained at the back of their heads—at times, things did not have to be so complicated, for the simple, innocent certainty of a shared love was already enough, “You know me, I can’t cope with some stuff. I just avoid it and hope it goes away magically,” the he chuckled at his own words, noticing promptly how pathetic they were after everything that had unfolded, “I guess it was too much at stake. I couldn’t just throw years of friendship out—”

“—Like you just did,” she was quick to interrupt, gaze flickering downwards to meet the contours of his swollen, scarlet-painted lips.

“Like I just did,” Jungkook echoed with infinite adoration, taking one of his hands so he could remove a strand of hair from the front of her pulchritudinous eyes. He paused at that, the warm feeling of  her skin against his own awakening an exquisite emotion amidst the never ending haziness of his mercurial conceptualizations. If he were to elucidate such feeling, it seemed as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep, but his heart continued to waltz on a chimerical cosmos of unachievable reveries. “and I’m very, very glad I did.”

Time and time again, he would find himself getting lost in her details—the way her hair fell around her head, embraced by the aura of the tarnished incandescence; how her smile held the allurement of a thousand renaissance masterpieces, lips moving with the fluidity of a running river, oscillating like petals in the wind to form the most harmonious of notes, “I’m glad you did too.” she repeated, placing her hands on his shoulders in an unspoken cue for him to move even closer.

And so he did.

Breaking him down and building him back up, she used the architecture that hid in her kiss to fumble around with the pieces of his soul, writing unsaid poems on the silk of his mouth and a suppressed, indestructible suspire escaped from his mouth. One of his hand navigated to hold to her waist, touch light as a feather, electric as a lightning bolt that coruscated amidst the raven ink of dawn; as the other continued to cup her cheek, holding her in place as his mouth explored the gentleness of her kiss.

Jungkook swore he could still see her comeliness even with his eyes closed, for it was the same grace he had experienced time and time again throughout the years they had shared. He had fallen in love with her very soul; the color of sunset that it emanated, the heat of the sleeping sun’s radiance—those brief seconds in which the sky was in absolute equilibrium between light and penumbra, waltzing with strands of gold and the sapphire sea; painted in light brushstrokes of white and grey.

It was both an ending and a brand new beginning. When the day reached its ending, night would soon follow and, once the stars were already exhausted of its continuous glow, the everlasting flames of the sun would come to bring them assuagement. Like her, the sun would continue to rise, sunset would continue to embrace him.

The two would meet in the horizon, consoled by the philosophies of its equilibrium.  

At times, Jungkook would catch himself thinking about the meaning of the most introspective of concepts. Often, love and beauty.

Love, to him, came and went in waves, and the movement of the seven seas never ceased. The pellucid waters slipped through his fingers and shone under the sun like they carried along a million diamonds; the alabastrine spume of the caressing ocean fell like a pulled blanket over the sand: crashing, cleaning, wiping away all traces that could have been left aforetime; turning the world into a clear canvas ready to be painted by a brand new story. Undertow; drought; tormentous tides and currents that led to everywhere he could ever imagine.

To her.

And, heavens, he had drowned in those crystalline waters a long time ago.

His most accepted characterization of beauty, however, came solely after a few months the two of them had been together. Not in an epiphany, as he once expected, but in between the tender caresses he had now grown so blissfully accustomed to, combining itself with the other special little word that haunted his contemplations—it was welcomed, regardless. For it was more perfect that he could have ever imagined.

Her lips were like the finest of silk against his own, the warm embrace of two bodies intertwined amongst the sheets of a messy bed. There was something tragically pulchritudinous about it, something so wholesome about the way her arms wrapped around his neck and pressed their chests down together—hearts intertwined, beating in consonance. It was like waiting for years for a rare flower to blossom, only to find yourself overwhelmed with its beauty, taken aback by the nectarous, sacchariferous scent it brought along. It was like home. Like the story they shared. Like her.

She moved apart from the embrace of his kiss with a prolonged sigh, her eyes fluttering open as the afterglow of their afternoon crashed down upon her nude figure, “I swear, this must be the third time we say we’re gonna study, but we end getting carried away,” the girl mumbled, using the snow-colored sheets to cover her chest, as the boy moved closer to her, placing his hand on her waist with a mischievous smile that she quickly recognized, “and don’t even think about saying it, Jungkook. This is not anatomy studying.” she cut his sentence short.

He merely smirked at that, never saying that he would have claimed otherwise, “Well, I’m not complaining,” Jungkook told her, hearing as the sound of the moving bed sheets danced on the stillness of the air.

Behind his figure, the window of his dormitory bedroom presented the girl with the beauteous imagery of the afternoon skies, unrealistically achromatic when compared to the conflagrant leaves of cantaloupe trees, burning like amber, dancing like autumn. The horizon casted an anemic silvery hue over his caramel-painted skin, appearing like a thin white line that contoured the lineaments of his shoulders; that melted in between the strands of his black hair. Many months had passed since the two shared that kiss in that abandoned gymnasium, but his gaze still held the same adoration, the same immaculate love.

“What’s with that face?” She questioned as she moved around, her chest facing his own. There was some sort of odd glorification shimmering inside his attentive eyes, precious metals that lured her into the treasures his soul held inside. Something has switched: they both understood, but could not pinpoint what it was.

Jungkook took the chance to pull her body closer, causing for their arrhythmic heartbeats to overlap one another as their skins collapsed together. As his inquiry reverberated on the thin air that existed in the middle of their lips, she felt as if the weight it carried caused for the gravity in her chest to increase, heart swallowing in infatuation, “What did I do to deserve someone as amazing as you?” he questioned.

She rolled her eyes, taking one of her hands to remove the disheveled strands of hair from her forehead—something she always did once she was trying to mask a reaction, in that case, the appearance of a roseate blush upon her cheeks. Even so messy after everything that had unfolded, her strands irradiated around her head, falling over the pillows like a silky cascade, “Piled up karma from your childhood, most likely.” groaned the girl in a sarcastic manner, hoping he would take her playfulness as a signal not to enter those emotional subjects.

Regardless, Jungkook was never quite able to catch signals from her part. That never truly changed.

“Stop it, I’m being serious,” mumbled the boy, allowing himself to smile just enough so comfort would return to shine within her chest. His nose scrunched up as another euphonic laugh ruptured the equanimity of his cherise lips, eyes shining in interminable amorousness, “I can't believe I have someone like you in my life. I'm being honest when I say that I could hear you talk all day about the invention of musical notes by some random Italian monk or whatever the hell you just discovered, and I'd never get tired of it. That's quite something, especially coming from me.”

Laughing feeling at his odd confession, the girl could only feel feel herself growing lighter again, “You’re being so cheesy, please.” she claimed, almost timidly.

Jungkook pouted at her words, leaning his body closer so his lips hovered over her own—light enough to touch her skin like diaphanous feathers, but not enough to gift her with any sort of pressure, “I don’t care, I’m being honest,” he counterclaimed, allowing for his eyes to flutter shut under the embrace of her presence. Both of them begun to value unpremeditated, filterless honesty more than ever after their unique night at the gymnasium. “just staying by your side… it’s enough to make my day so much better. You’re my everything, you know that.”

She did. It was something Jungkook told her often—not necessarily by spoken words, but by actions, the sudden surprise of welcomed affections and minor details that made their entire day count. It was within his every touch, within every glance that stood glued to her figure for a bit longer than necessary. Heavens, how deeply did she know that, “What about finding value within yourself?” Questioned the his best friend, taking one of her hands to the cataracts of his onyx hair.

Jungkook’s eyes opened at the delicate contact, the line of his lips curling up as if he had been waiting for that question to find its way back to him, “That doesn’t mean someone else can’t make you just as happy,” the boy promptly responded, each and every syllable feeling as if it was the part of an ethereal, gorgeous melody of affection. He looked into her eyes like he was able to envision the entire universe in them, and, in some way, he was. “it doesn’t make you vulnerable to allow someone else to love you, to be kind to you. Most of the time, we are not kind to ourselves, anyways.”

“Here comes the philosophy student,” the girl teased, but took his words to heart. It was true, after all: to love was not what culminated in torment. The element which did was what was done with a such sentiment; at times murdered by the hands of humans who did not know how to grow it, asphyxiated by hearts too feeble to find courage, “thank you, though. You know I feel just the same way.” she made sure to speak further.

And, yes, he truly did know.

Jungkook would not give up the roses that grew in his chest, regardless of the pain that they brought along. Just because the world was a never ending incendium, he would never allow for its blazing flames to consume the hope he held inside; to tear away from him one of the last comforts he still held to so tightly. Heavens, but how could he? How could the boy relinquish the warmth of her presence, how could he overlook the manner even the most gelid and merciless of winters melted under her scalding and welcoming aura?

Only the courageous showed their vulnerability with so much eagerness: they opened their arms and vociferated at the top of their lungs to bring on the pain of humanity—tear me apart, my love, they would bravade, tear me to ashes and throw me out of your life, burn my wings and break my soul apart: I can take it all, for I know the path was worth it. Kiss me like there is no tomorrow, ruin me like there was no yesterday. Show me that we were alive, that we meant something. That we are. Were. Will be.

Show me who you are, and I will be brave enough to show you who I am.

Then and there, she was graceless. She was courageous; vulnerable. She was everything he had imagined and a bit more. She was his. He was hers.

Perfect, gentle, palpitating—oh, God, how the roses effloresced! How their scarlatine hue dripped in between their lips, how their characteristic smell embraced them with the gentle aroma of the welcoming spring. How graceful their delicate petals felt, how perfectly articulated their touch caressed their skin with so much adoration. The roses burgenated; wilthered. Though, they never burned. No, never did.

Jungkook swore he could capture that moment forever, that the words that left his mouth would reverberate for all the years to come, guiding him throughout his times of doubt, “That’s the most fantastic part of it all, isn’t it?” her best friend questioned, hints of a smile daring to blossom in his roseate lips. They had such a sweet, delicate delineation, so perfectly sculpted to feel the graceful details of his features, “I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where...” the boy continued, pausing for a second as if to check her reaction.

And there it was: the brief confusion that transfigured into understanding, then the skepticism of his sudden reference, “Is that Pablo Neruda?” asked the history student, finding herself dwelling in the fuzzy sentiments that took over her chest.

With the euphony of her laugh, Jungkook was sure he would tear his very spirit to shreds if that was what it took him to listen to it again; would fight for the rest of this days for that gorgeous smile to remain locked into her features, “The one and only, love,” the boy responded before leaning in.

The reverberation of his heart against her chest increased as his lips met hers once anew, staying there for a moment far too quick for her to fully drown in the nectar they carried. Jungkook placed his forehead against hers, noses touching, and continued the poem as his mouths still brushed against one another line fine strokes of oil on canvas—each word meeting her flesh with awe-inspiring artistry, “I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you...”

The love that irradiated in her chest motioned her to move her head upwards, trapping his enamored words in between a kiss before the poem could reach its ending. Her fingertips, ever so patiently, traced the insubstantial path in between his shoulder blades to the back of his neck, then to the base of his hair, at last intertwining in his silky strands of ebony-painted hair. Jungkook half-smiled and half-sighed against her mouth, his own arms moving from her waist to wrap around her figure. It was so safe, so welcoming. It felt truly like home.

Breaking the kiss with a timid smirk, she closed her eyes. Again and again, she smiled by his side, filling her being with a sentiment she could not yet pinpoint—it did not matter, a label was not necessary, “I swear to god, you’re so cheesy sometimes.” she whined.

With slow, tender movements, the boy’s feather-like fingers caressed the softness of her skin with endless adoration, allowing for him to drown in the profound waters of her eyes as his subsequent words escaped the captive of his swollen, red-bitten lips, “Hm, maybe I am. But you love it.” Jungkook claimed.

She breathed out, taken aback by the hidden veracity of those simple words, “I really, really do.” the girl confessed, unable to hold back the smile that effloresced amongst her features. There was nothing she ever loved more than her best friend, especially during moments like those.

Reason relinquished amidst the diaphanous rhythm of their intertwined hearts, Jungkook kissed her once anew—he kissed her as if the universe was falling down to pieces, as if the shining stars could not reach the sparking incandescence that danced in between their nude bodies. His lips caressed hers as the roaring waters of the seven seas crashed down past her skin, hitting her legs in a silent, tender wish for the two to move closer. Nature was present within their every loving touch, as perfect as ever.

His hands moved towards hers, fingers filling the space between her own. Palm against palm, hearts beating in euphoric arrhythmia; Jungkook felt as if they were as profound and illimitable as the oceans of their naive adoration, lips trembling and caressing one another like the gentle wings of a butterfly beating against the vernal wind. Feeling her mouth dancing—oscillating, trembling—ever so tenderly against his culminated in a bottomless belief of security germinating within his veins. Just then, his arms held tighter to her figure, pulling her even closer.

An ethereal suspire escaped her as he did so. No matter how breaths she took, the girl still felt as if it was impossible to breathe under his embrace; the absolute infatuation the two shared finally exploding around them like polychromatic, soundless fireworks. It was poetic, thoughtless; impossible to be characterized or elucidated by a mere sequence of adjectives—it was Jungkook, and, for her, that was all you truly needed. A friend, a lover. Him.

Drinking the honey of her presence was equiparable to the grace of a dream, he realized. It was completely unreal the way her lips felt against the kiss prolonged itself with patience; absolutely fantasious the form she embraced him with the spell of her mouth. Beautiful, staggering, inspirational. It was the sempiternity of nocturnal endeavours; the tormenting flames of hell and ecstasy of paradise melting at the tip of their tongues. It was a long story that was far, far from reaching its terminal chapters.

Jungkook thought that beauty could be discovered within the simple, common fragments of life. It was breathing in the aspects of daily tasks most would consider mundane, the unnoticeable particulars and technicalities of the universe’s perfection; from the kindest of winds to the colder of dewdrops, the contours of snow-like clouds and the iridescent starlight that casted its glow over the obsidian blanket of dawn. It was the classical proportions of imperishable, timeless artworks, the mathematical precision of the golden ratio; the coordinated symphony of collapsing waves against the shore.

At last, beauty and love coexisted in the natural manner the two closed their eyes and dove into one another, finding synchrony in the oscillating breathing of their overwhelmed lungs. The flowers were there, blossoming like their bodies held spring in their veins, but their thorns were no longer hurtful.

On and on, their days passed beautifully.

[candlefright]

The Blob (1988)

This is less of a new venture and more of a reflective blurb. 

Can we all just sit down and talk about the underappreciated remake; the ooky spooky oozy woozy gobbling wobbling Blob?

Please be advised that reading further will result in potential spoilers for the film listed in title and related films: so if you haven’t seen The Blob (1988); come back when you have, or abandon all hope, ye who enter here…

I was a thirteen year-old babysitter the first time I watched this movie. When you babysit, you inevitably wind up with some free time when the kid lays down for bed and you’re waiting on the parents to get home. A brief period of time where you get to feel semi-adult, and for tweens like me, steeped in my own burgeoning angst, a scary movie was the closest thing to a thrill I could touch without putting myself in danger. I popped some popcorn, I pulled out the snacks I couldn’t have when the kid was up. I hopped on-Demand (some of you might not remember on-Demand, I feel old writing it out) and found Chuck Russel’s The Blob. I was already familiar with the hokey but legendary original from 1958. I figured it was within my fear threshold; nothing to worry about, why not dive in head first?

Let me start with the facts, The Blob opened on August 5th in 1988, sandwiched between Cocktail (July 29) and Young Guns (August 12). In the commentary and in interviews, director Russel has attributed the film’s lack-luster success with the competition it faced hitting the box office. It’s true, Cocktail grossed nearly $12 million opening weekend and was given extended runs of up to ten weeks in some theaters. Young Guns fared about as well, breaking $7 million in it’s first week and packing theaters for nearly eight weeks in some locations. The Blob, however, grossed only nearly $3 million, with what has been estimated to be about $9-10 million budget, and averaged a modest two-week run in most theaters on average. (Source: The Numbers)  

Now, over thirty years later (and 60 years since the original), the film has respect, but in my opinion, not nearly enough.

The horror snobs will tell you that The Blob remake doesn’t stand up in comparison to films like The Fly, or it’s cosmic-horror cousin, The Thing. I’m calling bullshit. The remakes of The Fly and The Thing are phenomenal, refreshed versions of influential films, and The Blob deserves equal respect. While The Fly and The Thing leaned on the edge of a very serious, professional revamp; The Blob dared to poke fun at the tropes of the original, and then willfully and literally fed a tired stereotype to the beast. They also framed a female as the unlikely hero while illustrating her journey in a subtle way that only young girls with experience in microaggressions can understand. While The Fly and The Thing are remarkable remakes, and remakes that I cherish and love; they both center on the male persona. The Blob invites the strong female perspective and openly challenges the idea of the strong male lead.

Shawnee Smith plays the role of the high school cheerleader. Her doe-eyed stare is one of the first things we encounter during a scene that I appreciate for it’s illustrative power. The setting appears deserted until this scene. A small town lured into sleepy stasis right before the introduction of each leading role. The silence is dispelled by cheers and stomps; the entire town is at the local football game. So we see, this is a small town. Everyone knows each other by name. Children grew up together here. There is a delicate shell of community waiting to crack under the flat foot of impending doom. This scene is fragmented by the cheers of the crowd. We see Meg the cheerleader (Shawnee) pining over the freshly sacked, dazed Paul (played by actor Donovan Leitch Jr.) who comically asks her out on a date right there on the ground, still counting the cartoon birds orbiting his skull. He feels like the stereotypical male character, the re-imagining of Steve McQueen’s Steve from the original. The football player and the cheerleader; this feels like the serendipitous event that would normally predate a love story.

Meanwhile between claps and thunderous booms, the camera flashes to our third lead role: Brian Flagg (played by actor Kevin Dillion; yes, Matt Dillon’s brother.), the skid row rebel with a bad reputation and seemingly no concern for his own safety; as expressed by his weak attempt to jump a broken bridge on his motorcycle (of course, bad boy). 

We’re seeing what feels like an immediate dynamic between the three; notice they will be relevant and can speculate the potential relationship they will have with one another. We can see Meg as the girl next door, Paul as the white knight in football gear, and Brian as the trouble-making instigator who will almost certainly be butting heads with Paul. Spoiler alert: all of these initial assumptions are true. 

Brian Flagg is your classic bad boy “fuck you, won’t do what you tell me” burn-out who is known by name at the local police station. Granted, this comes as no surprise in a small town, but his relationship with Sheriff Herb (played by my Walking Dead favorite, actor Jeffrey DeMunn), who warns him to watch his behavior now that he can officially be considered an adult in the eyes of a judge. Brian scoffs this off characteristically, butting out his cigarette and rolling his eyes in the way boys with authority complexes tend to do.

The film proceeds down a long, horrifying snail trail of goopy gore and apocalyptic dread. If you’ve seen the film, I won’t bore you with one great long write-up of each scene, but I will pick out my favorites.

At the local pharmacy, Paul and his wannabe frat friend Scott Jeske (played by actor Ricky Paull Goldin) lurk around. Scott needs to pick up some skins for what he hopes will be a lucky night with his squeeze. This is the bait-and-switch that totally eviscerates McQueen’s role in the 1958 original. Without our knowing, Scott has inherited Steve iconography, and we get a peak at the nature of high school boys and their burgeoning sexuality. We see the other side of popularity, of the jock reputation. Chivalry flies out the window, and we laugh at Scott when the local priest reverend Meeker (played by Beware! The Blob!’s Del Close) grills him on his participation in the church. All the while, waiting for a pack of condoms to be delivered by the pharmacist. I still laugh wholeheartedly when Mr. Penny, the local pharmacist (and Meg’s father) stands between the good reverend and Scott and asks: “You want the ribbed, or the regular?”

This joke is only further extended past the punchline when Scott denies that the condoms are for himself, but rather for his friend Paul, who he says is too nervous to get them himself. Moments later, Paul will come to retrieve Meg. He encounters Mr. Penny, who peers over his newspaper and, with wide eyes, delivers one of the most memorable lines of the whole film: “Ribbed.” (Fun fact: the condom scene was based off of a real event from the director’s life.)

Paul and Meg’s date is interrupted when they nearly reduce a homeless man to a skid mark on asphalt. A homeless man whose hand has been completely engulfed by our star; the lovely baby blob. Brian is in hot pursuit, trying to calm the old man in that I’m-damaged-but-I-have-a-heart kind of way, earning him some gentleman points and drawing him into the triangle we ruminated on earlier. As expected, Paul and Brian immediately butt heads. It’s clear that the jock/bad boy dynamic is completely in play, here. Paul wants Brian to stay, basically accusing him of foul play- while Brian is quick to want to disengage. Meg is stuck in the middle, focusing on things more important than a pissing contest: like the wounded man they’ve helped into the car. What follows once they reach the hospital is quite honestly one of the most terrifying scenes I ever watched as a young girl.

Paul’s death hit me like a Mack-fucking-truck. Even as a kid, I had immediately cataloged him as a main character. He was safe, untouchable, the football superstar. The McQueen legacy. I read about this scene. Leicht really was under all of that slime (mostly composed of a thickening agent called methocel), struggling for air. Comparable to being waterboarded, Leicht crawled inside a large base shell and was covered in the flimsier material before it was pulled and dragged over his face to create the harrowing effect. 

Oh, my gods. How my face mirrored Meg’s in that moment. I remember pausing the movie and getting out of my chair, earnestly shocked and frightened. I was thirteen, and shaking. I was disgusted, terrified, and stunned. I gathered myself, and stomached the rest. Watching Meg struggle to free Paul, only for his arm to slough away into a soupy mess- it will always stick with me. To this day I will re-watch this scene and marvel it as one of the first films to ever solicit my interest in the special effects industry. 

Alterian Studios was responsible for these unholy effects, including special effects legends like Tony Gardner, whose film credit list reads like a Walgreen’s receipt; Chet Zar (who had a credit in Dark Man for his special effects prowess), and the incredible Bill Sturgeon (who had a hand in several favorites and cult classics such as Army of Darkness, Hocus Pocus, Aliens, and Killer Klowns from Outer Space). The work of this team, those mentioned and unmentioned, is really impressive. Practical effects were always a part of the horror scene, from the very beginning; but the 80′s really welcomed and embraced a new age of creativity. It wasn’t enough to just produce a monster anymore, it was about fooling the audience into believing these things could climb right out of the screen and swallow you whole if you dared to look away. While the crew in charge of legends like The Thing and The Fly will forever be shining stars in any fan’s lexicon- The Blob only smoldered, and now rests as a sort of hidden gem that I feel nobody gives a second glance. Which is shameful. If you’ve seen The Thing, The Fly, From Beyond, Event Horizon, or any other FX-heavy horror: The Blob should most certainly have a place somewhere in that collection. No excuses. 

After Paul’s death I was primed for the rest of the movie. I really was, my sense of safety was shattered and I was on the edge of my seat with sweating palms. Who was going to be next? The blob dissolved people!? I was stuck between fear and fascination. Paul’s death is a showstopper, an absolute mess that deserves more recognition than it has received, and to place it beneath the visualizations of its like-films is just a shame. Watch Paul’s face as it stretches and then deflates and slips away into the ambiguity of the blob; with streams of syrupy red blood streaming into what looks like a sentient tumor. 

Scott’s death is also an honorable mention. I appreciate this scene mostly because of what it represents to me as a fan of the original: the burning effigy. Scott represents what is left of that football player icon. He’s also a total sleaze who, for some reason, has a fully stocked bar in his trunk and a collection of class rings to toss out like party favors. His karma comes so quick, he watches his dates face cave in like a sinkhole, then gets swallowed up himself. 

Scott’s death felt like a high-five. The demise of the jocks resonated with me; pointed out the bad in both of them- how chivalry could be just as boring as sleaze. These men weren’t special, they were poignant representations of the type of boys we all fall in love with: The white knight, who uses his chivalry as a means to assert dominance, and the sleaze- who uses sheer charisma to assert dominance. Watching both of these boys literally melt away within the first 30 minutes felt like a deliberate act of kicking that tired, overused trope out of the picture. Which just leaves us with leather-jacket McGee; Brian Flagg.

Another one of my favorite scenes is when Meg chews Brian for being so damn apathetic. She looks him in the face, searching for help in what is a helpless situation, and he totally dumps on her. His fuck-me-fuck-you attitude completely ignites her. She said what I was thinking as a girl:

“You act like you're different, you put on this big show, but you're just like everybody else in this town, you're full of SHIT, Flagg!”

This is the moment where Meg completely rejects what would be a characteristic stereotype. 

It is so important, how her exhaustion eclipses her next-door nature. How as a female character, she blinks away the obscurity of the male-savior trope and calls a spade a spade. Dressing rebellion up in a leather jacket doesn’t make a hero. A hero spits in the face of apathy, the way Meg does to Brian, confronting his bullshit “I don’t care” attitude with her own intuition. Pretenders don’t survive horror movies. Hell, even heroes don’t survive horror movies always, and Meg makes that poignantly clear by throwing Brian’s crybaby hungry boy attitude back into his face. The apocalypse is a little more urgent than your abandonment anxiety or survival complex, Brian. This is final girl energy, that utter rejection of fate, that “fuck fate, I will change it with my bare hands” sense of responsibility. Meg is a small town girl, a small town hero- and a bad motherfucking bitch.

So, needless to say, Brian quits pouting and hops on board. Is it because he’s got a thing for Meg? Does she remind him of his place in this spiraling catastrophe? Is she a love interest? His motivation felt driven by his attraction to her, perhaps his own responsibility- feeling obligated to shield the token sacrificial lamb from an inevitable end. Whatever it is that drives him, he resigns himself to helping her- and the horrors star to accumulate around them. Including the death of a cook (sucked down the drain almost comically), and the death that gave me a panic attack: the sweetheart waitress Fran Hewett (played by the lovely Candy Clark). 

Fran’s death was scary because it fully described, without mystery, what it felt like to be aware of your own approaching death. She scrabbles in the phone booth like a trapped animal, dialing 911 in search of Sheriff Herb. When his head floats into her line of sight, half-dissolved and digesting within the Blob, terror sets in like a death rattle. The shots of this scene are claustrophobic and stifling. We feel her raw terror, we see her as the individual who cracks in the face of death- the real sacrificial lamb of the film. Her role, though small, was innocent and wholesome. We’ve all known a waitress by name, we’ve all been treated special by that woman who seems to channel maternal energy. Watching her die feels like peering down the barrel of a loaded gun. She braces herself against the booth and then the glass breaks, engulfing poor Fran in a mass of agonizing pink gloop. 

This scene was filmed using a mock-booth that was only 3ft tall, with an articulated doll made of Candy. They blasted the doll with air mortars to create what was the world-ending scene of the film for me. I myself am claustrophobic, and this entire experience sat with me long after I watched the movie. I would have nightmares of being trapped inside a photo booth, surrounded by pink, waiting to be burned away to slime.

The blob gets bigger, angrier, and more effective. It infiltrates the local theater through the air ducts and wreaks havoc for a strobe-festered horror on the crowd inside. Children are swallowed up, girls peel off the floor like melted bubble gum, and our main characters juggle the chaos with the introduction of the fucking government.

That’s right, the Blob is a scientific experiment gone AWOL. I’ll give kudos to Brian for his role in their involvement. Where Meg believed in the integrity of the government, Brian sets her straight: these people are worse than the thing they created. I’m not trying to say not to trust the government (now I am, don’t trust the government), but the film definitely winks at what is a very real concern. The danger of government experiments, what would happen if something like this actually took place? My first thought was that they were going to nuke the city, blow it to smithereens the way we saw in Return of the Living Dead. However, it seems that they don’t intend to do this, instead these hazmat poindexters want to sacrifice the whole town to the “specimen”. They scare the public into believing Brian and Meg are “infected” with a pathogen related to the Blob. One of my favorite supporting characters, the lead scientist Dr. Meddows, does his best to manipulate the public into a sense of ease. He seals Meg, her little brother, Brian, and a fellow colleague in the sewer in order to preserve his specimen. Human life is expendable. He meets his deserved end by literally getting sucked out of his suit (a comical, entertaining way to see someone go).

I won’t leave without mentioning the death of the melt veteran from Robocop; actor Paul McCrane’s deputy Bill Briggs. Dude literally got folded in half hamburger-style and was never seen again. Props to that effect, was very cool. 

Like the blob in the original, this blob doesn’t do the cold. Long story short, they run a truck full of CO2 into the big pink mess and freeze it into tiny shards. The good reverend from the beginning has lost his mind throughout all of this, and I suppose, in honor of open endings, saves a piece of the blob for the day his senile ass wants to bring about a second coming.

Though Meg and Brian both live through the entire ordeal, the film is still satisfying. You root for them the whole time, you bite your fingernails and wait for the moment a pink tendril comes out to end it all. 

The Halloween movie had underwhelmed me as a child. I wasn’t checking every room of the house for a masked man. I was looking in my sink and my shower for signs of a color out of space. I could rationalize a murder. I couldn’t make sense of a manufactured organism getting out of control. I couldn’t rationalize or shake away the fear of being enveloped in viscous sentient acid. 

Say what you will about The Blob remake. Say it isn’t as influential, you’re lying. Say it isn’t as entertaining, you’re definitely lying. The Blob is a hilarious half-satire about the things that scare us the most: things we can’t understand nor control. It taps into the same vein of supernatural fear that cosmic classics like The Thing and The Fly boast about. 

If you haven’t seen it; do.

If you’ve seen it but not in a while: go back, sit down, pop some corn, settle in, and take it in. Take it in for the silly filming errors, the drifting booms and clockable reflections, the subtle mistakes in FX. Appreciate it for what it is, a sci-fi thriller that isn’t afraid to make fun of where it came from. 

Stop spending as much time comparing films that pushed the limits of what are now very modern special effects. Appreciate the handiwork of the practical magic involved in making this shit come to life. With the rise of CGI, films like The Blob are going to become increasingly more difficult to find. That’s not necessarily a knock on CGI, I have appreciation for it as a separate medium- but practical effects will always have me by my balls.

Enjoy craftsmanship, watch The Blob.