#installation-bow-windows

[windowsbydes]

Windows By Design

At Windows By Design, we provide a variety of services to enhance your home’s beauty and efficiency. From sliding glass doors to patio doors, our team ensures you get high-quality results that fit your home perfectly. Serving Sun City Center, we cater to the needs of local residents and nearby areas, offering solutions that improve both style and energy efficiency. At Windows By Design, we specialize in providing top-quality window replacement and door installation services for homes in Sun City Center, FL, and the surrounding areas. Our commitment to quality craftsmanship and customer satisfaction has made us one of the most trusted names in the industry. With years of experience in residential window and door solutions, we understand the importance of having durable, energy-efficient, and aesthetically appealing windows and doors that enhance the beauty and functionality of your home. Our team is passionate about offering personalized services tailored to your specific needs. Whether you’re interested in upgrading the windows of your Sun City Center home or you’re looking to add a new door for increased curb appeal, we have the expertise to ensure the job is done right the first time. From providing expert advice on the best replacement windows to completing efficient window and door installations, our goal is to exceed your expectations. In Sun City Center and nearby areas, we have built a reputation for being a reliable window replacement company that homeowners can trust. We understand the local climate, style preferences, and architectural needs, which enables us to offer solutions that are both functional and visually appealing. With a focus on delivering lasting results, we strive to provide the best customer service and an exceptional experience from start to finish. We offer residential window replacement and door installation services throughout Sun City Center, FL, and the surrounding neighborhoods of Ruskin, Apollo Beach, and Wimauma. Our goal is to protect your home while increasing its beauty, value, and overall curb appeal with high-quality replacement windows and doors. Follow our six-step process to see how easy it is to enhance your property with our expert services.

Contact Us:

1404 W Del Webb Blvd,

Sun City Center, FL 33573

(813) 531-7291

info@windowsbydesignsuncity.com

Window and Door Installation, Home Improvement, Construction

Hours:

Mon to Fri -  8:00 AM to 7:00 PM,

Sat - 10:00 AM   to 4:00 PM,

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[markcityinsider]

What Are the Benefits of Installing Bay & Bow Windows in My Home?

When considering home renovations, one of the most popular questions people ask is: "What are the benefits of installing bay and bow windows in my home?" Bay and bow windows are elegant additions that can enhance the appearance of your home, improve natural light, and provide functional space. These windows, often designed as a combination of three or more window panels, offer a unique aesthetic and practical advantages.

In this article, we'll explore the key benefits of installing bay and bow windows, and how you can transform your space with bay-bow-window-installation-service-in-indianapolis-in.

1. Increased Natural Light

One of the most immediate benefits of bay and bow windows is the dramatic increase in natural light they bring into a room. These windows are designed to extend outward from the home, which allows sunlight to flood in from multiple angles, brightening up your interior spaces. Whether you're installing these windows in a living room, dining room, or even a cozy reading nook, the added light will make your space feel more open, airy, and welcoming.

When you're looking for bay-bow-window-installation-service-in-indianapolis-in, ensure you choose a service that understands the importance of proper window placement to maximize sunlight while providing excellent insulation.

2. Enhanced Curb Appeal

Bay and bow windows are stunning architectural features that can greatly improve the curb appeal of your home. These windows create a focal point on the exterior, giving your home a sophisticated and unique appearance. Whether you're aiming for a traditional, modern, or rustic style, bay and bow windows can be customized to fit the aesthetic of your home.

Investing in bay-bow-window-installation-service-in-indianapolis-in can instantly make your home stand out in your neighborhood, adding value and charm to its overall look.

3. Additional Space and Functionality

Bay and bow windows don’t just improve aesthetics; they also provide extra space inside your home. The outward extension of the window allows you to create additional seating, a small reading area, or even a space for plants. For example, a bay window can accommodate a small bench, offering a perfect place to relax and enjoy the view.

This added space can be particularly useful in smaller rooms, where every extra square foot counts. Whether you’re looking to add a cozy corner or increase your home's functionality, bay and bow windows are a smart solution.

4. Better Views and Connection to the Outdoors

Bay and bow windows allow you to enjoy unobstructed views of your yard, garden, or surrounding environment. Their design enables you to sit comfortably in the window nook and gaze outside, offering a sense of connection with nature that is harder to achieve with traditional windows.

Whether you're overlooking a beautiful backyard or a picturesque neighborhood, bay-bow-window-installation-service-in-indianapolis-in helps to bring the outdoors in, making your space feel more serene and peaceful.

5. Improved Ventilation

Unlike regular windows, bay and bow windows can also provide superior ventilation. With multiple windows that open, you can create cross ventilation, allowing fresh air to circulate more effectively throughout your room. This is especially beneficial during the warmer months when natural airflow is desirable.

The extended structure of bay and bow windows allows for better air circulation, which can help regulate indoor temperature and reduce the need for air conditioning, leading to potential energy savings.

6. Energy Efficiency

Energy efficiency is a significant concern for many homeowners, and bay and bow windows are designed to help with this. When installed correctly, these windows can help to improve the insulation of your home. High-quality materials and energy-efficient window technologies, such as double or triple-pane glass, can prevent heat from escaping during the winter and keep your home cool in the summer.

If you are interested in bay-bow-window-installation-service-in-indianapolis-in, it’s essential to choose energy-efficient window options that suit your climate and help maintain a comfortable indoor temperature year-round.

7. Increase Home Value

Bay and bow windows not only improve the aesthetic appeal of your home, but they can also increase its market value. Potential buyers are often attracted to homes with bay or bow windows because of the light, space, and charm they add to a home. These windows are often considered a luxury feature, and investing in them can increase the resale value of your property.

If you’re considering other home improvement projects, such as patio-door-installation-replacement-in-carmel-in, pairing bay or bow windows with updated patio doors can further enhance the overall look and value of your home.

8. Customizability and Design Options

Bay and bow windows come in various designs and configurations to suit your home's unique style. You can choose from different materials, including wood, vinyl, and fiberglass, as well as various finishes and colors to match the interior and exterior design of your home. Whether you’re aiming for a classic look or a more contemporary style, these windows can be tailored to your preferences.

Additionally, bay and bow windows can be designed with different window types, such as casement, double-hung, or picture windows, depending on your functional needs and aesthetic tastes.

9. Soundproofing Benefits

If you live in a noisy area or close to a busy street, bay and bow windows can offer some soundproofing benefits. When properly installed, the thickness and structure of these windows can help reduce the amount of external noise that enters your home. The multiple layers of glass and insulation contribute to better noise control, ensuring your home remains peaceful and quiet inside.

Conclusion

Installing bay and bow windows offers numerous benefits, from increasing natural light and enhancing curb appeal to providing additional space and improving ventilation. These windows can transform your living spaces, providing both functional and aesthetic advantages. Whether you're looking to create a cozy corner or want to add a unique architectural element to your home, bay and bow windows are an excellent option.

If you're interested in bay-bow-window-installation-service-in-indianapolis-in, it's essential to work with experienced professionals who can ensure proper installation and help you select the right windows for your home. Additionally, if you're considering other home improvement projects like patio-door-installation-replacement-in-carmel-in, combining them with bay and bow windows can elevate the beauty and functionality of your living space even further.

Ultimately, bay and bow windows offer a timeless and valuable addition to any home, making them a smart investment for homeowners who want to enjoy their space more and add lasting value to their property.

[nordenseal]

Bay vs. Bow Windows

When it comes to upgrading your home’s aesthetics and functionality, choosing the right windows can make a significant difference. Among the various options available, bay vs. bow windows stand out for their elegance and versatility.

[laceyfaeryy]

MDNI 18+

pervy stalker! simon riley

—ㅤ ꒰ྀིㅤ simon riley x reader ಿৎ

▐ nasty perv simon, stalking, masturbation

kidnapper! simon is the type to stalk you, learning every little habit and quirk of yours, like a predator stalking its prey. then he would follow your routine, sneakily behind you as you walked home from work hidden in the shadows, face behind his black balaclava. sometimes you felt like you were being watched, by something, specifically someone’s gaze was burning into the back of your head, though when you turned around you saw nothing. you tried to convince yourself that you were overthinking, and that nothing was truely there. though, that only worked for a while.

that was until you got sent flowers, every single day a new bouquet of colourful arrangements would be placed on your doorstep. the very first time you thought it was cute, that maybe you had a secret admirer. though that quickly came to an end, the moment you saw a note. “looked good today love, that little dress of yours fits you perfectly.” but when you looked up you saw nothing. slowly, the notes started to get more vulgar and explicit. “got a glimpse of your pretty pair of panties,” then “wondered what your soft thighs would feel like in my hands… or when i’m fucking them.”

at first simon thought that would be enough to get him going, seeing your face everyday fresh from sleep with your features soft everytime you opened the door to see the flowers. though after he felt confident and started to send you those vulgar notes, you started to get creeped out and started to ignore them. simon couldn’t tolerate that. due to his training simon had impeccable agility and stealth, installing secret cameras in your room. you, being the sweet little oblivious thing reminded completely unaware that simon was fisting his cock in his large calloused hand as you stripped out of your clothes. simon became addicted, the sight of the bare body was forever engraved in his mind, wondering how soft you would feel under his touch, or the sweet little sounds you would make when he was balls deep inside you. it was ironic how you got creeped out by the mysterious person sending you flowers and explicit notes and yet left the window slightly ajar in your bedroom every day.

so he made a return into your apartment, his time he found himself going through your dirty laundry, stuffing a pair of pink cotton panties with a small bow in the middle in his pocket before leaving. that pair of panties then became his obsession, he would rub the material over his cock, staining it with his precum as he roughly fucked it, wishing it was you. after he came and made a mess he would then take a sniff, wondering what it would be like to smell your cunt, what your sweet arousal would taste like.

he was going to make you his.

[windowtownoferie]

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[gohyemi]

birthday wishes (sequel)

——————————

Y/N was searching for a gift for her fiancé, after the mingyu sudden mood swing, sudden apologize, she was weird out but glad. Of course every partner have their storm and breeze

 she wandered down the street, her eyes scanning shop displays for something special. Then, she saw it—a shop filled with an array of watches, but one, in particular, caught her attention. A perfect-sized vintage watch, elegant yet timeless.

Knowing how much her fiancé loved collecting watches, especially vintage ones, she felt an unexplainable pull toward it. Without hesitation, she stepped inside.

The shop was filled with antiques, each carrying a story of its own. The air smelled of aged wood and timeworn pages, adding to the mysterious atmosphere. Behind the counter stood an old man, his eyes twinkling with an unreadable expression. He smiled at her warmly, almost as if he had been expecting her.

“Welcome, young lady!” the old man greeted warmly.

Y/N gave a small bow in return, offering a polite smile before pointing toward the window display. “Can I take a look at that watch?”

The old man’s eyes twinkled with a knowing look as he nodded. “Ah… it’s calling to you, isn’t it?”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, confused by his words, but chuckled awkwardly. “I guess so? But it’s not for me—it’s a gift for someone.”

The old man hummed in understanding as he carefully retrieved the watch from the display, placing it gently on the counter. His fingers brushed over the surface as if the timepiece held something more than just time.

“Would you like to hear the story behind this watch?” the old man asked, his voice laced with mystery.

she was flustered all she want is to buy and went out to buy some more preparations, but out of politeness, Y/N nodded, allowing him to continue.

“This watch was once crafted by a nobleman, intended as a gift for his secret admirer,” the old man began, his fingers gently inspecting the timepiece as he spoke. “But fate took an unexpected turn when hesitation got the better of him.”

Y/N listened attentively as he continued, his voice steady yet filled with nostalgia.

“The nobleman was well-respected—a man of confidence, admired for his kindness and generosity. He sponsored students to study abroad, contributed to his town’s prosperity, and carried himself with grace. Yet, despite all his accolades, he lacked the courage to confess his feelings to the one person who truly mattered.”

Intrigued by the tale, Y/N leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. “Did he ever confess?” she asked, now fully invested in the story.

The old man shook his head, a solemn expression crossing his face.

“No,” he said softly. “Before he could gather the courage to confess, war broke out, and every able-bodied man in town was called to fight. He went to war, believing that if he returned victorious, he would finally be worthy enough to confess his love.”

The old man let out a weary sigh, his fingers lingering on the watch’s surface.

“But fate was cruel. The girl he loved… she was taken hostage during the chaos and lost her life before he could ever tell her how he felt.” His voice grew heavy with emotion. “Heartbroken, he spent his remaining years grieving. He once said, ‘What use is watching time when the future holds nothing? When the one I love—the one I never had the chance to cherish—is no longer in it?’”

Y/N was stunned into silence, unable to find the right words. The old man chuckled at her reaction, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look.

“So, young lady,” he mused, “I’m happy to see you again. I’m glad you and your man got your second chance. I just hope it’s not another last chance.” He winked playfully before adding, “Cherish what you have now.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mea—”

Before she could finish, the old man had already packed the watch into an elegant case, wrapping it neatly in a box.

“Here’s your watch,” he said with a smile. “Would you like to pay in installments or all at once?”

————————————-

“Happy birthday, love!” Y/N squealed as she jumped into Mingyu’s arms the moment he stepped through the door. Laughing, Mingyu lifted her effortlessly, spinning her around as her giggles filled the house.

He set her down gently, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Come on! Let’s cut the cake!” she beamed, quickly placing a ridiculously funny party hat on his head before dragging him toward the dining table.

Mingyu smirked, eyeing the cake box. “Let me guess… strawberry?”

She gasped dramatically. “Did you peek before you left?!”

Mingyu shrugged, playing innocent. “Maybe I just know you too well.”

The truth—that he had already known—would remain his little secret.

They celebrated with laughter, singing off-key to the birthday song before diving into the cake. The table was soon covered with crumbs and half-eaten slices, their stomachs full, yet their hearts fuller.

As the night went on, Y/N’s excitement grew. She reached under the table, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped box she had hidden earlier.

“Once again… happy birthday, Mingyu-ssi,” she said softly, handing it to him with a warm smile.

Mingyu blinked, touched by the sincerity in her eyes. “You didn’t have to get me anything…”

“Just open it,” she nudged, watching him eagerly.

Carefully, he unwrapped the box, lifting the lid—and then he froze.

His breath hitched. His fingers trembled slightly as he picked up the watch nestled inside. It was the same one. The same vintage watch he had opened before. The same watch that had taken him back to her.

Goosebumps crawled up his arms as his heart pounded in his chest. But this time, something was different. The watch wasn’t stuck in the past, wasn’t ticking backward. The hands moved forward smoothly, keeping time in the present. The date on the dial matched today’s—this moment, this reality.

“Mingyu?” Y/N tilted her head, confused by his stunned silence. “Do you… not like it?”

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe. Slowly, he looked up at her, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite understand.

“I love it,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Relieved, she grinned. “I knew you would. you know that is one special watch? You better take care of it or I will make you pay the price"

Mingyu let out a shaky chuckle. His fingers tightened around the watch as a realisation settled deep in his chest. The past, the dream, the second chance—it had all led him here. To her.

And this time, he wasn’t going to waste a single second. 

That night, as the warmth of her presence surrounded him, Mingyu held her tightly as if afraid she might slip away. He reminisced when it was time to make a wish, he took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully this time, before closing his eyes and blowing out the candle.

“My wish isn’t for something new… but to never take what I have for granted. The past has taught me loss, the present has given me love, and the future—” he paused “—I will cherish with all my heart. Because this time, I won’t wait until it’s too late.”

As the candle’s flame disappeared, a silent promise settled within him—one that would last far beyond this moment.

- real end -

[oddinary4bts]

Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai​ for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

                December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

                Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

                “You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

                You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

 Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

                Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

                You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

                You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

                Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

                “Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”  

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn��t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

                You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 1: You Shouldn't Have Answered The Door

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter one of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (once or twice), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Present Day

Your head rests against your forearms on your desk, jerking upwards as a loud rhythmic knocking assaults the front door of your apartment.

What?

You think to yourself, rubbing your face with your hands. Your sketchpad was laid open on your desk beneath your head, the rough sketch of an egret bowing its head along the bank of a small pond splayed over the page in shades of gray. It would be the first in your new series of nature paintings that you would be unveiling in a month.

At least I didn't poke my eye out with the pencil. You think eyeing the sharpened point of the pencil that was dangerously close to your face a few seconds ago.

You turn your wrist to glance at your watch and note the time. It was an antique, square faced and strung on a simple black band, a reminder of a past life that you couldn't bear to part with.

Who would come see me at 8:00 am on a Monday?

For a minute you try to remember if you'd received a call from the curator of the gallery downtown, or if there had been a meeting or a lunch with your agent to discuss your next installment of work, but nothing comes to mind.

When you officially retired from being a hero you decided to become a full time artist, a hobby you had since you were a child. You hadn't expected it explode. You had enough money from your heroing career to live several lifetimes, not unwelcome given the fact that you couldn't die, not in the traditional sense at least, so art was supposed to just be a way for you to off steam. But you were happy with your life now, a lot happier than you had been when you were a hero on Payback. The thought of your previous employment with Vought sours in your mouth followed by the unavoidable thought of Ben that you push down with a well practiced sigh.

You didn't feel like reliving all that over again right now, though you knew it would probably happen later. It came in waves, especially at night when you found it difficult to sleep, the melatonin wasn't working, and all you really wanted was a hard drink.

Sobriety sucked.

The knocking persists, rattling around in your head like a bee trying to get out of a plastic cup.

"Fine. I'm coming." You shout standing up from your desk and making your way from the wall that serves as your studio towards the front door of your apartment, while trying to rub away the line the page made on your cheek.

Your apartment was the one extravagance you allowed yourself. Despite the amount of money you had, flashing it had never been a priority even in your hero days. The apartment was open concept with exposed brick walls, tall North facing windows that angled away from the inside and jutted outward over a raised wooden floored area that served as your studio. A large modern kitchen sat just to the right of the front door with stainless steel appliances, on another wall a tv hung above a leather couch and held a dark hallway that lead to your bedroom and the guest bedroom, the other walls were covered in your work, and the final wall held several bookshelves with art supplies and your vinyl record collection. A collection you started forever ago and that continued to grow with each passing year.

Need to get another bookshelf. You note looking at the limited space that remained.

You look through the peep hole in the solid metal apartment door. A tall dark haired man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a black duster and a thin younger guy with brown curly hair stare back at you.

"I don't want to buy any girl scout cookies." You shout through the heavy metal of the door.

The younger guy snorts.

"y/f/n y/l/n?" The dark haired man asks an accent tilting the ends of his words.

"Who's asking?"

He pulls out a badge, holding it up to the peep hole. "I'm Agent Butcher, this is Agent Campbell. We’re from the CIA, here to ask you a couple of questions about Soldier Boy."

At the mention of Ben's hero name you pause. You had avoided thinking about your former best friend as much as possible over the past forty years. Your relationship with Ben was complicated, the final few days you spent together even more complicated than the early years.

It hurt to compare what your life with him was like before you both became supes to the life you had together after. You had grown up together, forced into close proximity because your parents were friends and then became best friends yourselves. You stayed friends, before you both got injected with Compound V and a few years later moved on to Payback together. You were the only person able to keep Ben in check and as violent as his temper was, he didn't like to cross you. You were the only person who knew the real him, had been with him longer than anyone else. Not that he ever admitted that to you or admitted that he cared about you, but you thought somewhere deep down that he had to, felt at least something for you.

That was the problem. You were in love with him, cared deeply about him, cared more about him than anyone else you'd ever had in your life. On the night you finally slept together you were happy, you thought he felt the same way, and then the next day at his premiere you found him in the bathroom with Countess bent over a sink. The fight that followed had been your resignation from Payback and also the reason why you weren't there when Ben died.

Your jaw clenches together at the memory, followed by guilt. You were always there for him, you had his back just as he had yours, but the one time you hadn't been there-

You open the door to look at them. "The singer?"

"What?" Agent Butcher looks confused.

"The artist? Soulja Boy-" You arch a brow feigning confusion. "Because honestly I don't understand why the CIA would be asking me about that."

“No.” Agent Butcher holds up a photo.

You keep your face impassive. It’s a photo of Ben and you at a movie premiere the week before he left to go to Nicaragua. Both of you were standing in your supe suits, your own was a sleeveless black one piece suit with purple embellishments that traced from the sides of your ankles and stretched up under your armpits, while a dark hood covered your head and a black mask hid the bottom of your face. You always thought you looked more like a supervillain in it, but you were thankful that it hid your identity. It was so long ago, but you still remember that night clearly. The ridiculous movie, the afterparty where everyone was so tipsy and the smell of alcohol burned against your nose, and finally when you went to the bathroom and found Ben and Countess together, the immeasurable rage followed by heartbreak that you felt when you saw them.  Not to mention the fight that followed when Ben trampled all over your heart and stated that you meant nothing to him.

“You’re here to talk to me about my mom?” You flit your eyes back to the two men standing in the doorway, easily slipping into the lie that you and Legend invented.

“Your mom?” Agent Campbell looks confused.

“Yeah. Indigo? I mean y’all can come in if you want-“ You open the door wider, understanding that they won't leave, before you begin to move towards the kitchen. “I apologize in advance. I’m not quite myself, I was up late working.” You pause halfway into the kitchen. “I’m going to make some coffee, you guys want some?” You eye the man in the black coat. "Or tea?"

“Coffee is fine."

You find the coffee filters and shuffle through the cupboards to find a bag of coffee, still trying to wake up. Staying up late wasn't unusual for you. You tended to find the urge to create in the wee hours of the morning, not to mention everything that happened in the past kept you up.

You open the bag of coffee to smell the grounds, thinking that it will wake you up, but as soon as you do the smell of Agent Butcher and Agent Campbell washes over you.

You could smell the compound V in their veins pumping through their bodies with every beat of their hearts.

So, they're supes. You think to yourself, pouring the grounds into the coffeemaker. Which means they probably aren't from the CIA.

Despite the realization, you weren't worried. Your particular ability was a well-kept secret, a secret that only Ben knew despite you being on Payback. Stan Edgar and the others had believed that "Indigo," the hero name assigned to you, had enhanced strength and senses, but it was more than that. You had an ability that, if brought to the public, would probably land you in a government facility. Laying low had it's perks, your freedom was one of them.

You watch them begin to walk around your living room examining the artifacts of your new life, the one you crafted when everything fell apart. There wasn't anything in the living room to arouse suspicion that you were the original Indigo. The only remnants of your past life that remained were in a wooden trunk at the back of your walk in closet, hidden behind a collection of paint splattered overalls almost identical to the pair you were wearing right now.

"You've got a nice place." The younger guy says looking around.

"Thanks. It's rent controlled. I got lucky-" You fiddle with the coffeemaker to buy yourself some time.

Why were they here to ask me about Ben? It had been 40 years, hardly seems relevant now. And why were they pretending to be CIA?

"You're an artist?" Agent Butcher asks, staring at the canvas sitting on an easel by your desk. It was a collection of multicolored dark greens that swirled together, flecked with pieces of gold that shone in the brilliant sunlight from the wall of windows where your studio was.

"Yeah. And I tend to paint my best at night. Hence the coffee" You turn, placing your hands on the island to face the two men.

“You’re really good.” Agent Campbell says examining some of the canvases on the wall.

“Thanks.”

“So your mum eh?” Agent Butcher turns to look at you. You note the smirk on his face and incredulous raising of his brow.

He doesn't believe me. Hard not to. I don't age.

“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow to challenge him

“You look a lot like her.”

“Thanks. I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.” You look from Butcher to the younger guy who has moved on to look at your vinyl collection. "And I'm pretty sure that most kids look like their parents. But I'm not a geneticist."

"NO WAY! You have a signed copy of Billy Joel's Glass House!" Agent Campbell shouts holding up the vinyl cover in awe.

"Yeah." You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"How did you-“

"Hughie." Agent Butcher sighs.

The younger guy now identified as Hughie puts the record back with a frown, before turning back to the collection.

“But you have the same name.” Agent Butcher's eyes flit to yours.

“She named me after herself. I’m sure the CIA can locate my birth certificate."

“Right.” Agent Butcher smiles, but it’s tight lipped.

You stand there for another minute looking from Agent Butcher to Hughie, trying to think of why they're here. "So what do you want to know?”

“Well is your mum around-“

You allow your shoulders to droop and take in a shaky breath. "She died about a year ago. Cancer."

They weren't the first to come here and accuse you of being Indigo. Legend and you had come up with the farce to protect you, help you start over, but you hadn't wanted to part with your name. So other precautions were put in place: a funeral plot was purchased and a death certificate was issued as was a fake passport, I.D, and birth certificate that made you thirty two rather than over one hundred.

“Really? I thought Indigo-“ It’s enough to make Hughie turn around and look at you.

“Don’t read everything Vought says." You interrupt. "That experimental shit they put in her veins may have made her powerful, but it couldn’t protect her from that.” You sigh again to sell the lie, before turning to the coffee maker, to pour them and yourself a cup. "There should be some milk in there, sugar's in the bowl." You gesture to the refrigerator and the small blown glass sugar bowl on the counter next to the coffee maker.

Hughie moves into the kitchen to pour himself a cup, but Agent Butcher continues to eye you suspiciously.

“It wasn’t in the news.” He grunts.

“They covered it up pretty well. I mean do you blame them? One of the first supes gets killed by something like cancer. Can’t be good for Vought given they pride themselves on showcasing unstoppable heroes. I mean can you imagine if Homelander or Queen Maeve died of something like cancer? Doesn’t look good.” You shrug your shoulders and take a sip from the coffee in your hands. “What did you want to talk to her about?”

“Soldier Boy.” Butcher moves to the coffeemaker and it takes a strong amount of willpower to stop the urge to turn towards him, but you know that you need to act indifferent.

“Did she talk to you at all about him?” Hughie moves to one of the bar stools on the opposite side of the island with his coffee in front of him.

“Yeah.” You look down at the mug with a sigh, rolling the warm glass between your hands. “He really did a number on her. Plus towards the end she started seeing him everywhere."

The emotion that you summon is not fake. You allow a small amount to trickle over the dam you built to protect yourself from falling back into the pit you fell into when Ben broke your heart and then died. When you broke every piece of glass in your apartment and threw your couch through the wall.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Hughie looks sincere when he says it.

Why is someone like him hanging out with this guy? You think to yourself eyeing Agent Butcher again.

“It’s been hard. But I took care of her, sometimes it was only me. It’s kind of hard to restrain an 103 year old with super strength.” You smile to yourself at the joke.

“So you’re a supe?” Hughie takes a sip from his coffee mug.

“No I was just able to talk her down. Guess that first batch of Compound V doesn’t work the same way. Never transferred. Plus my dad wasn’t a supe so maybe it just diluted.” You shrug, the lies weaving easily through the air. 

“But she did talk to you about him?” Agent Butcher presses. He's leaning against the counter to your left.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I mean what do you want to hear? There’s a lot.” The mug sends a pleasant warmth through your hands as you hold it, but does little to stop the chill of the past from creeping up your spine.

“Start at the beginning.”

“Well.” You take another sip of coffee. “I don’t know details-details but- I just know that she grew up with him, they were from the same neighborhood in Philadelphia.  All that shit they made up about Soldier Boy being from a poor family was just propaganda. His dad owned half the steel mills in the state of Pennsylvania. Used to invest in property with my grandfather. Soldier Boy and my mom were friends. When he got the Compound V shot, she did too. They were looking for female and male volunteers. I think he asked her to? Or-“ You shrug your shoulders to push away the memory of the day Ben told you about the experiments. When he told you he was finally going to make something of himself and convinced you to go with him.

“They were dating?” Agent Butcher asks.

The question makes you pause. It was difficult to think about that, difficult to relive the memories of Ben continuing to push you away and his final refusal to admit he loved you. Ben never did say that to you. You had been through so much together, so many years as friends and then after the night you finally were together he threw you away like you meant nothing.

“No, but he really hurt her-“ You avoid their gaze.

“What did he do?” Hughie asks leaning forward on the counter.

“They had been through a lot together and I think when their friendship began to transfer to relationship he pushed her away. My mother said something about him refusing to admit he loved her. I think the last straw when she caught him with Countess.”

“Do you know anything about how he died?”

The memory of the phone call strikes you in the chest, when Stan Edgar himself called to tell you Ben was dead. When the darkness swallowed you whole and all you felt was guilt and heart break over the fight you had and how you left him alone when he needed you most.

“It hurt my mother a lot. Broke her. She never really got over him, no one was good enough, not even my dad. She drove him away too and then it was just us.”

“Was she there when Soldier Boy died?” Hughie spins the coffee mug in his hands.

“No. She left Payback  before that mission. It was right after she caught Countess and him together.” You force a shrug. “I think she regretted not being there. She was almost as indestructible as him, but I think she felt worse because they had a big fight right before.”

“So she didn’t know about Nicaragua or the thing that killed him?” Agent Butcher raises an eyebrow.

You cock your head to the side feigning confusion. “What are you talking about? Soldier Boy got vaporized in a nuclear explosion.”

“Well I think we’ve wasted enough of your time.”

They get up to leave.

“Wait-“

 Agent Butcher turns to look at you. 

“Why are you asking me about him? It's been what? Forty years since he died-"

"That's classified love. Thank you for your time."

You watch them leave, but listen to them as they walk down the hallway.

“So do you believe her?” Hughie’s voice echoes in your ears.

“Not a bit. Maybe we trail her for a day. See if she really is an artist." Agent Butcher grunts. "At least until we go to Russia."

Russia? Why would they go to Russia?

You stand there for a second, holding the coffee mug in your hands. As you do the memories of the past 90 years wash across your mind, breaking through the damn that you built to protect yourself.

You were friends for years. You loved him since the moment you met. There were good times before the serum and then the bad, when he got famous and you were there to keep him in check. Sure you may have annoyed him, but he liked that about you, that you were able to bring him back from the edge. The day you finally had sex you remembered it, it was special, or you thought it was. You were excited that finally he loved you as much as you loved him. But then it all fell apart. That fight hadn’t been pretty. When you left him you felt yourself begin to slip, you didn’t eat or drink for days and when you finally got the phone call you thought it was him trying to apologize, but it was Stan.

You think again about Russia and finally your mind drifts to Countess.

She was the one that said that the Russians killed Ben, she saw it happen, saw his body get taken away-

Your jaw clenches together in anger and frustration as you remember the last time you saw her, when she taunted you and you almost ripped off her head. You never heard it directly from her that Ben was dead, only heard it from Stan. Of course the ridiculous funeral for Ben that you were expected to go to would mean that you saw her, but you hadn't gone, didn't want to keep up the charade. Instead you went to Philadelphia and walked the streets aimlessly with a bottle of whiskey in your hand, remembering what it was like when you were kids. Sometimes you think it all would have been different if you never got the injection, if you said no when he showed up in your bedroom and asked you to come with him. He was your oldest friend. The only real person you'd ever loved or cared about. The memory of the fight rings in your ears but you push it down.

You think again about Countess.  She was the reason why Ben and you had the fight. The reason you weren't there in Nicaragua. Regret spikes in your chest. You should have been there that day, should have tried to save him. You always had each others backs and the one time you weren't there he died.

Maybe it was time to pay her a visit.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373

[multi-stays]

Paring: Transmasc!Minho X Male!Reader

Genre: Smut / 18+ MDNI

Summary: On a warm summer night you decide to sneak into your boyfriend’s mansion and fool around but he says he has a surprise.

My Pookies: @dis-trict9 @lezleeferguson-120

Masterlist

Warnings: Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Swear Words, Mentions of Sex Toys/Sexting, Bunny-Rub/Tit Sex, Kissing The Tip, Minho’s Wearing Yellow Lingerie

He was perfect. There was no other way to describe him and you'd do anything for him. The way his orange hair glistened in the warm summer sun. The way his smile showed his bunny teeth. His intoxicating personality that drew you in when you first met.

It all went hand in hand and you were proud to call Minho your boyfriend. But his parents weren't thrilled about you. Almost like a cliche love story, his parents were rich and had a pretty big role in the area where they lived. This also meant them not liking you made it exceptionally difficult for your relationship with their son to grow into nothing bigger than a want. A lingering feeling that you couldn't fully be together and it drove you crazy. You were going to change that.

You'd spent the whole night texting back and forth mainly about sex and your shared desire to see each other. When you mentioned to Minho you could sneak over he said it was a wonderful idea cause he had a surprise for you.

It was a hot night and the heat bugs were ringing loudly in your ear as you climbed the fence and jumped down into his yard. You were afraid if you went the usual way you would trigger the spotlight that his parents had installed. After they caught you sneaking in last time they were on high guard so you went around the back. Upon scanning the area you found a piece of lattice that was close to a window so you texted Minho to come open it.

You gave it a few shakes, making sure it wouldn't break or fall when you climbed it and quietly started going up. When you saw Minho’s happy face pop out of the window your heart started pounding. All rational thought left your mind as soon as you saw him and you simply wanted to be with him as fast as possible. Luckily the lattice held your weight and you made it inside safely.

You rested your eyes on his gorgeous figure that showed through the thin yellow fabric of the lingerie he was wearing. It had a cute bow fashioned in the middle of his breasts and a dainty light yellow thong to match.

He held onto Soonie his six-week-old kitten, close to his chest as he walked down the hall to listen if the loud squeak from the window woke up his parents. You were safe, even if you weren't you wouldn't have cared to move. Too lost in watching your lover walk effortlessly down the long hall to you.

“Give me a little spin,” you whispered grabbing his free hand and spinning him around so the loose fabric would float in the breeze.

You both couldn't stop smiling when you looked each other in the eyes and you wished you could stay like this forever.

His giggles were quickly hushed when he threw his lips into yours, grabbing your hands to lead you somewhere. “You're gonna love it,” he said in a whisper.

Before you came, you made sure to clarify where his parents would be. They slept a floor above Minho so as long as you both kept the noise down you wouldn't have an issue. “The only person that will see you is my butler and our secrets safe with him,” he said.

Eagerly, he dragged you into his room and shut the door. It was quiet except for his humidifier humming in the corner and Soonie who had started meowing.

“Your gonna have to go,” he said opening the door and clicking for his butler to take the small kitten away. “Sorry about that,” he chuckled nervously then motioned towards what you knew to be his closet.

“Remember the first time we had sex? It was in my closet if you do.”

And you did. It was the best day of your life. He invited you over for the first time to meet his parents but you both got bored. One thing led to the next and you had the most passionate sex in his walk-in closet. But tonight was different.

Most of his clothes were gone and none of his shoes or accessories were present. Where his perfumes used to sit, sex toys of every kind, even ones you didn't know the use sat instead. He clicked a button, turning on a dim light that illuminated a long velvet couch in the middle of the room where his mirror used to be.

“I did some small remodeling with my butler, he helped me a lot to keep it a secret,” he said placing a faint kiss on your cheek.

He waltzed over to stand beside the couch and drummed his fingers on the back of it. “Shall we?”

He pulled on the ribbon on his chest and slipped his arms out of the thin straps. His big round tits popped free and you couldn't help staring at them. “Wanna fuck 'em?” he asked pressing them together and spitting a long hot strand of spit between them.

Of course you wanted to, there's nothing in this world you'd rather do. His tits were perfect and always made you horny. You walked over to the soft couch and took off your pants as he laid down. When your underwear was off you straddled his chest and pumped your cock a few times to lube it up with your precum.

He held up his tits and nodded the ok for you to slip between. The soft feeling of his dewy spit-covered flesh was heavenly, you couldn't help bucking into him. He bounced his boobs up and down your cock, following your motions as you fucked his chest. A long breathy moan escaped his lips each time your cock slipped next to his lips and he couldn't help kissing it. Your cute little tip poking out of his boobs, desperately leaking. It needed to be kissed by his lips and he needed to taste it.

His slow deliberate kisses drove you wild, with his spit clinging to your tip and creating a stringy mess on his chin. Everything in your body was telling you he was right. You never doubted in your mind about him and you wanted to marry him. It had been an ongoing thought in your mind, if you fucked him hard enough and he got pregnant his parents would have no choice but to let you be with him.

When you felt your orgasm start, you stopped moving causing mild confusion in Minho. “Why’d you stop, I was enjoying it Love,” he said with a pout that you kissed tenderly. “I just want to take that cute lingerie off of you,” you said getting off him and pushing him down onto the couch. His breathing became erratic as you slipped his thong down his legs gently with one finger. Deliberately slipping your finger between his groin before it was completely off. Upon holding it up, you noticed the dark yellow spot on the small piece of fabric, making you smile. “Wet for me already Baby?” you questioned as you threw his thong across the room.

“My butler will get that,” he said with a chuckle as he spread his legs open. You lined your penis up with his aching hole, already wet and more than ready for you. As soon as your skin made contact with his there was no stopping you from pounding him till his mind went numb and he was lifeless on your cock. It was rough but you knew Minho didn't mind. Looking down you could faintly see his smiling face as his body jolted from your movements.

With as harsh as you were fucking Minho he couldn't help but let out a few small whimpers. They weren't very loud but his closet was echoey and made them sound more audible than they were. “Hush, hush Baby” you said breathlessly, slowing down your movements as your eyes crossed from your pleasure continuing to build.

Minho was no different and when his walls clenched around your shaft, enclosing you in its warmth you tipped over the edge. Almost like your orgasm was instantly induced and you couldn't do anything to stop it. With your semen flowing, you had to fuck him harder like you wanted it in his guts. If you were going to get him pregnant making sure not even a single drop is wasted was important.

The loud squelching slowed down significantly when the sensitivity started to take over and moving felt impossible. You took a minute to breath trying your best to recollect yourself when you looked down at Minho

His soft whines still filled the room even after you both had come down from your highs and you needed to cuddle him. You slipped out of him, making sure not to move around so much, and picked him up princess-style.

Gently you placed him in the bed and jumped in with him before covering the both of you with his soft blanket. Once settled, you kissed his whiney lips till he stopped and cuddled him to sleep. You couldn't, if you fell asleep now you risked being caught and that wouldn't end well by any means. So when you felt he was asleep enough for you to leave, you wrote him a note saying you loved him and snuck quietly back out the window.

[ccwritesninja]

The Aftermath-Itachi

A/N: A bit of a shorter installment, but please let me know what you guys think! I've been loving ya'lls comments and insights into Itachi, Sasuke and the mc's feelings. Chat with me about your thoughts or leave a comment if you want. I try to reply to every single one.

CW: SMUT (Just a little bit)

Read on Ao3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

“Y/n!”

Sasuke jerked himself free from Kiyoshi’s jaws the minute her grip slackened. He tore down the hall, sliding onto his knees next to your unconscious body. 

“Y/n. Onee-san, wake up. Come on, please.”

His pleas were soft. Broken.

He was dimly aware of Naruto kneeling beside him, but the only thing he could focus on was you.

Your eyes had been open only moments ago, pupils dilated with a strange horror that Sasuke had never seen in them before. Itachi had fled like a coward, leaving your broken form crumpled on the floor beneath his feet. 

The image of his parents’ dead bodies flashed through his head. Had he let it happen again? Had he allowed Itachi to destroy the only person he had left?

Sasuke leaned his ear against your chest. A twinge of relief traveled through him when he began to hear the measured thump of your heartbeat. 

Still, you made no acknowledgement that you heard his voice.

Sasuke didn’t understand it. You were strong, one of the best kunoichi of your time before you had given up your ANBU position to raise him. 

All it had taken for Itachi to break you was a single look. What had he done? Why wouldn’t you wake up?

“Please,” he whispered. “Onee-san, open your eyes.”

“It’s no use, cub,” Kiyoshi murmured.

Sasuke’s dark eyes shot up, fixing the tiger with a sharp glare. “Shut up! You don’t know that!”

The tigress bared her teeth at him. “A genjutsu like this is not easily broken. You have no idea the abilities Itachi possesses. She did, and she took the brunt of them for you.”

“There has to be something-”

“There is nothing, stupid boy! If you had just obeyed her-”

Jiraiya cleared his throat. “Now is not the time, Kiyoshi. I know Y/n is dear to you.”

Naruto’s wide blue eyes darted between the two of them. “Is she going to be okay?”

Kiyoshi bowed her head, fixing her sharp eyes back on your limp body. 

“She needs a healer.”

“You’re right,” Jiraiya agreed. “And the woman you’re talking about is the one we’ve come to find.”

—

Inky, black feathers littered the window sill outside your hospital room. Itachi’s crow remained fixed on the ledge of the building, keeping a near constant vigil.

Sometimes, the shades were drawn and it was unable to catch sight of you. On other days, it would watch you lie there, carefully observing the slow rise and fall of your chest.

Nurses and medics would bustle in and out of your room to tend to you, changing the bags on your I.V. and performing medical checks that yielded no results.

You didn’t wake. You didn’t move. 

Sasuke was there multiple times a day. He would stop in before he began training and return hours later. Sometimes he even brought along his pink-haired teammate, Sakura. The girl always brought flowers for you.

Kiyoshi was there too, from time to time. She would curl up at the foot of your bed, as if guarding you, much to the dismay of your nurses. Itachi saw one nearly pass out as she entered the room and saw the tigress lounging on the tile.

When he was alone, Sasuke would speak to you. Always when he thought no one else could hear him. 

“Please, onee-san,” he would whisper. “Just wake up. I swear I’ll get stronger. I swear I’ll learn how to protect you.”

Itachi couldn’t stomach the sight for too long. You laid there, limp and broken, because of what he had done to you. 

The memory of your face as he trapped you in the genjutsu twisted like a knife inside his chest. Your expression of abject horror would be ingrained in his mind forever. 

And you accepted his brutality so willingly. You had barely even tried to fight back. You were as reluctant to hurt him as he was you, and, yet, Itachi was the monster that had gone through with it. 

It hadn’t been that long ago that he was the one who protected you. How many times had he saved your life? How many times had you woken, shaking from a nightmare, and sought comfort in the warmth of his arms?

Maybe it had been a mistake to reveal the truth to you, to entangle you further in the mess he created. He had encouraged you to put your faith in him again, only to snap it into pieces once more.

He should have allowed you to believe that he massacred his family for the thrill of it. He should never have given any indication that you were still etched into his wretched heart, giving it reason to beat day after day. 

He had selfishly, foolishly wished that he could become your hero again. Your Itachi. Not the pride of the Uchiha, shouldering the weight of his entire bloodline's fate upon his shoulders. Not the clan-killer who destroyed his entire family.

Just Itachi. 

That was always who he had been to you. He showed you a side of himself that hardly anyone else had ever seen, and it had only made you fall deeper in love with him. He wasn’t sure how he had ever managed that in the first place. He hadn’t deserved it then and he certainly didn’t now.

The soft tranquility of the early years of your relationship was a distant dream. You had confessed that you still loved him in that cabin, but surely those feelings were dead now. 

Itachi hoped he would become nothing more than a ghost to you. A passing thought, a distant nightmare.

He could still watch over you, ensuring your safety, always from a distance. He would catch precious, fleeting glimpses of you before Sasuke eventually came calling and killed him. That was all he would allow. He had to spare you from the utter devastation he continued to leave in his wake. 

He could never come that close to you again.

—

The agony of Itachi’s tsukuyomi eventually gave way to vivid dreams. They came in short flashes, and were always of him, in one way or another.

You ghosted though the memories, feeling every touch as if you were living it once more. 

Was this a side effect of the genjutsu? Had Itachi given you these dreams, or were they your mind’s attempt at comfort after enduring such a painful ordeal?

Every sensation felt so real, so genuine. You let yourself tumble through the darkness and into a bright haze, falling further from the sharp, searing pain you had suffered at his hands. 

—

The sudden warmth of Itachi’s calloused fingers cradling your face was jarring. You blinked awake to meet his worried gaze. 

The thin sheets and stark, white curtains surrounding the bed told you that you were in the ANBU infirmary. You had nearly died after creating a diversion so that an injured Yugao and Shisui could flee to safety.

The last thing you remembered was being beaten to a bloody pulp on the forest floor. Your head was pounding, vision fading as you began to sink toward the darkness. You were pretty sure a couple of your teeth were resting in the grass next to your cheek.

You focused on the sharp white color, stained with flecks of crimson, and held onto it in an attempt to remain conscious. 

Suddenly, a flaming, red pulse of light overtook the looming darkness. The force of it caused your hair to flutter around your face.

Itachi stood before you, engulfed in the glow of his susanoo. The physical manifestation of his chakra towered over your broken body, shielding you, as the group of Hidden Mist ninja advanced. He proceeded to cut through them as if they were made of paper.

That was the last thing you remembered before finally blacking out.

“Reckless, foolish girl,” Itachi muttered.

He peered down at you from where he sat at your bedside. The infirmary was blanketed in a hushed quiet. You could hear his chair creak as he leaned forward, meeting your tired gaze.

He sounded angry, but his eyes were glinting with anguish. He likely thought your decision was careless, stupid. Just the type of thing you would do.

Your entire body ached. The heavy cast on your left leg told you it was broken, and all you wanted was to sink back into the fog of sleep. You didn’t think you could stomach one of Itachi’s lectures right now.

You opened your mouth, ready to bite out that you weren’t a genius like him, that you didn’t have time to come up with some brilliant strategy to save the others and your own skin. You made the only move you could, and you didn’t regret it.

That was when he leaned down, pressing his lips to the center of your forehead. He lingered there for a moment, hand resting on the back of your head as he hovered over you. 

He leaned in to rest his forehead gently against yours. His scent washed over you, woody and familiar. Pine, mixed with a tinge of sweat and blood from the battle.

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

—

When you opened your eyes again, you were lying in the cool grass of a seemingly endless field. You were somewhere in Iwa, gazing up at the stars above you. 

A cool wind rustled across the wide, open landscape, but Itachi’s side was nestled warmly against yours. 

Shisui snored loudly somewhere behind you. You should have been sleeping, like he was. Itachi had kindly offered to take the first watch, but you found yourself not wanting to leave your place beside him. 

He spoke softly as he pointed out the different constellations overheard. They littered the sky in a glittering display, free of the light pollution of the city. 

“And there’s Mitsu Boshi.”

“Where?”

He pointed. “There.”

“On the right?”

You lifted your own finger. Itachi’s lips twitched. He reached out, guiding your hand slightly to the left. 

“There. Do you see it?”

“Oh, yeah. Pretty.”

“Very.”

Itachi was no longer looking at the constellation, but at you. His fingers were still grazing yours. He didn’t pull them away.

You glanced over at him, meeting his dark eyes. Everything but the two of you seemed to fade away. Even Shisui’s snoring was a distant buzz in the background.

You flushed under the heat of Itachi’s gaze and hoped he wouldn’t be able to see it much in the dark. He always looked at you like you were something beautiful. Something to be revered. 

When he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to yours, that was exactly how you felt.

Special.

Loved. 

—

You were suddenly breathless under him as Itachi thrust inside you, pressing soft, wet kisses along your jaw. His lips dipped against the hollow of your throat. His usually pale skin was hot and flushed, dark eyes shimmering with a vulnerability you had never seen in them before. He was completely lost in the feel of you, of your thighs locked around his toned hips, of your calloused fingers tugging and tangling in his long, dark hair.

He relished each whimper he pulled from your lips, every single gasp of his name. You were so wet for him, so sweet. You took his cock so well. 

He mumbled the praises against the skin of your neck, slick with sweat as you bucked your hips against his. His teeth sunk into his lower lip, muffling the sound of his own deep groan as your walls fluttered around him.

His hands fisted in the sheets underneath you, twisting, squeezing. You pulled him closer, ankles locking around his back as you tugged him down into another kiss.

His last shred of control slipped as he slammed his lips against your own. His teeth clicked against yours, eagerly slipping his tongue into your mouth.

Itachi was everywhere, his body entirely intertwined with yours. You were completely enveloped in him and you never wanted it to stop.

His thumb came down to rub soft, measured circles on your clit. Heat pooled in your lower abdomen.

Another whimper slipped from you, muffled by the intensity of Itachi’s kiss.

He leaned up on his forearms to admire the fucked-out look on your face, still caging your body under his, still hitting that perfect spot inside you. 

His thrusts became quicker, shallower, as he neared his limit.

“I love you,” he breathed against your lips. “I love you, Y/n.”

I love you. I love you. I love you.

—

You woke with a gasp, bolting upright so quickly that you almost headbutted the young, blonde woman leaning over you. 

She pulled back, studying you with honeyed brown eyes and a frown on her face. Her hand came to rest on her hip.

“Easy, kid. You’ll be alright.”

Kid? She couldn’t have been but a few years older than you.

She and a crowd of other people were huddled at the side of your bed. Sasuke was there, along with Naruto, and another woman with short, dark hair that you didn’t recognize. Gai was also there for some reason, anxiously wringing his hands together.

“Granny Tsunade!” Naruto cried, tugging at the sleeve of the blonde woman’s shawl. “We’ve still gotta fix Kakashi-sensei!”

Tsunade? Her words made sense to you then. This was the Lady Tsunade, one of the legendary Sannin. She was renowned in the Hidden Leaf for her monstrous strength and her incredible healing abilities. 

She may have looked young, but she was actually in her fifties. 

“My lady,” you breathed, bowing to her.

She waved you off. “Relax. I should be bowing to you, after what you did.”

You sat up, brow furrowing. “What I did?”

“You threw yourself in front of Itachi Uchiha for a kid. Either you’re incredibly brave, or really, really stupid.”

She turned and strode toward the door, heels clicking on the tiled floor. The others followed close behind, but Sasuke remained.

Naruto paused in the doorway, glancing back at him. “Sasuke? Are you gonna come see Kakashi-sensei?”

“You can go if you want,” you told him gently.

He frowned. “I’m good here.”

Naruto shrugged and took off down the hall with the others, allowing the door to slide shut behind him. Sasuke hovered in the silence for a moment, before he sank into a chair beside your bed, fixing his eyes on the floor.

“I think one of the Sannin just called me an idiot.”

“You are an idiot,” he muttered.

Your lips curled up. With Sasuke, there was no such thing as a simple admission of affection. He was never going to say “I love you.”. This was about as close as you would ever get, and that was enough for you.

You settled back into the pillows, shifting awkwardly due to the sling on your arm. 

“I’m sorry that I scared you, Sasuke.”

 “I couldn’t protect you.”

You shook your head, reaching out to place your good hand on his mop of black hair. “You’re the kid. I’m the adult. I do the protecting, not the other way around.”

He shoved your hand away and glowered. “We should protect each other.”

“And one day, we will. But for now, your job is to get stronger. Let me protect you until then.”

His dark eyes remained trained on the floor. For a few moments, he was silent. When he finally did speak, his words were dripping with venom.

“I’ll kill him for what he did to you.”

Dread washed over you. You had feared that Itachi’s return would trigger something in Sasuke. It was partially why you tried so hard to keep him in the compound that day, to avoid any and all interaction. 

It was clear that he had been struggling with feelings of inadequacy since the chunin exams. You found out what happened in the final battle from Kakashi. Naruto had saved Sakura from the Suna jinchuriki as Sasuke struggled under the strain of the curse mark. He hadn’t been able to help much. 

You knew how weak he must have felt. How useless. 

And then he had watched Itachi break your bones and mind right in front of him.

“Sasuke, I’m fine,” you promised. “I’ve had much worse.”

While your broken wrist would keep you off missions, and the mental anguish of the tsukuyomi had been intense, you were okay. You would be discharged shortly, not even in half the amount of pain you had been in when you nearly died at the hands of the Hidden Rain shinobi. You were stiff and a little sore, but this was hardly the worst injury of your career.

“It’s not just that,” Sasuke snapped.“Itachi took your life from you. Now you’re stuck with me, instead of being some badass, legendary kunoichi.”

“Hey,” you said sharply. “I’m not stuck with anything. I don’t see it that way at all.”

“Still-“ 

“No.” Your voice was stern. There was no room for argument, not this time. “Sasuke, I get to live this life with you, and that’s a choice I would make a thousand times over. I’ve never regretted it, and I never will.”

He looked up at you then, eyes watering. “I thought I lost you.”

A bitter pang of nostalgia rang through your hollow chest. It was similar to what Itachi had said to you the day he rescued you from that group of Mist ninja.

You took a deep breath and fixed Sasuke with a steely, determined look. It reminded him of the one you gave him that day in the compound, after you scooped his trembling body from the dirt.

You have me. You’ll always have me.

 “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sasuke suddenly leapt forward, catching you off guard. He threw his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You brought your hand up to his back, rubbing soft circles as he clung to you.

Tears dripped down his cheeks, falling silently onto your sweater. You closed your eyes, burying your face in his choppy hair, and held him while he cried.

No matter what happened with Itachi, Sasuke was your little brother. You made that choice all those years ago when you found him, surrounded by the bodies of his family.

You had come to learn that sometimes that was more important. You loved Sasuke, not because you needed to, but because you chose to. That meant more to you than any insignificant blood tie you still held to anyone else. It meant more than the isolation and pain you had experienced at Itachi's hand.

It meant everything.

[yxngbxkkie]

freak accident (b.c)

welcome to the third installment of mechanic!chris 🫢 i had thought of this idea the other day as a way to make it angsty but it's still pretty fucking cute 🤭 i do hope you guys enjoy it! ✨️mechanic chan for life✨️

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

You're out shopping for dinner tonight when your phone starts to ring. You furrow your brows, wondering who it could be since Chris is working and Hyunjin's at an art exhibit.

An unknown number is printed on your screen, and you reluctantly answer it. “Hello?” You start walking through the aisles again, waiting for whomever is on the line.

“Hi, this is Dr. Brown at SNUH. Am I speaking to Y/N?” You stop in your tracks at the question, feeling your heart begin to race.

“Yeah, yeah, this is Y/N,” you say to him, moving to a more secluded area in the store.

You can hear the background noise of nurses trying to speak to him, only to be hushed. “I'm calling in regards to Chris. There's been a slight accident at his auto shop and was rushed over here,” he explains the situation.

“Is… is he okay?” You ask, your breathing picking up.

“He's stable. I can give you more information on what happened when you get here,” the doctor states.

You nod your head, abandoning your cart as you rush towards the main doors. “Okay, I'll be there as fast I can,” you mutter before he hangs up.

As you're almost running to your car, you take deep breaths to stop you from having a form of attack. Tears pool in your eyes, every scenario of what could have happened runs through your mind.

The drive to the hospital doesn't take very long, thankful that traffic is on your side today. You quickly lock your vehicle and rush inside, stopping in front of the admitting desk.

“Hi,” you're out of breath, feeling the palms of your hands get sweaty. “I'm here to see Christopher Bang.”

The woman behind the desk nods and types in the patient's name. You tap your fingers against the desk, waiting for her to give you a room number.

“He's in room 203,” she tells you, making quick eye contact.

“Okay, thank you,” you mumble before walking over to the elevators. You take it up to the second floor, finding a sign to where 203 would be as soon as you step off.

You see a doctor and a nurse standing outside one of the rooms, finding out that it's Chris’ room. You walk closer to the pair, capturing the attention of the nuse.

She nudges the doctor, motioning her head in your direction. You clasp your fingers together as you make eye contact with Dr. Brown. “Y/N, yes?” He asks, holding a hand out for you to shake.

“Yes, hi,” you greet him with a bow, shaking the older man's hand. Your gaze flickers toward the small window in the door, seeing Chris lying on the hospital bed. “What happened?”

The doctor releases a deep breath. “He was working on a vehicle when it fell from the lift,” he starts, earning a gasp from you. “Thankfully, he wasn't completely under it and that he's quick on his feet. The situation could've been worse. He broke his left leg in two places.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter while stepping up to the door.

Dr. Brown gently rests one of his hands on your shoulders, reassuring you. “He'll be okay. The surgery went well. He had a couple of plates and screws put in. It'll somewhat be a long road to recovery,” he mentions.

“Is there anything he'll need to do?” You ask, tucking some hair behind your ears.

“There will be some follow-up appointments with orthopedics. But, that won't be for a few weeks. I'll have our nurse write down instructions you'll need for the healing process.”

You nod your head before opening the door. Both the doctor and nurse decide to let you have a moment with Chris alone. You gently shut the door behind you and walk over to the chair next to his bed.

Your eyes look at the cast on his leg, seeing that it's almost up to his knee. A frown, etches itself on your lips as you place your hand on his. You let out a couple of deep breaths, squeezing his hand in yours.

“I'm glad that it's only a broken leg,” you say out loud, not talking to anyone. You bring his hand closer to you, kissing the back of it softly.

Chris’ upper body stirs, making your movements halt. You watch his eyes slowly flutter open, squinting at the bright lights. He releases a tired groan, tilting his head towards you.

“Y/N?” He calls out your name, making your heart flutter.

You scoot closer to the bed and squeeze his hand. “I'm here,” you whisper loud enough for him to hear.

He smiles at you while lacing your fingers together. “I'm so happy to see you,” Chris mutters, turning his head again before closing his eyes.

“I'm happy to see you too, baby. I'm glad you're okay,” you mention, standing up from your chair.

You keep your hands intertwined and bring your free hand to his forehead. You brush the hair out of his face, listening to him hum continuously.

“I don't know what happened,” he mentions, smiling at the touch of your fingers. “It all happened so fast.”

“It's okay. The only thing that matters is that you're alive,” you state before leaning down to kiss his forehead.

A knock on the door captures both of your attention. The nurse from before walks in with a sheet of paper. “This is everything he'll need to do during recovery and the appointments he'll have,” she says to you while handing you the paper.

You grab a hold of it, your thumb stroking the back of his hand as you read through it. “Okay, thank you,” you smile at her, setting the paper on the table beside you. “When is he being discharged?”

“He's all set now. There's a wheelchair and a pair of crutches right outside the door,” she informs you before leaving.

“Chris, baby,” you softly call out his name, watching him open his eyes again. “Do you want to stay at my place during recovery?”

He tilts his head towards you and shakes his head. “You live on the fourth floor,” he mumbles, causing you to chuckle. “I live on the first floor. You can stay at my place. I also have a spare bedroom you can use.”

You laugh some more, combing your fingers through his hair. “What? You don't want to sleep in the same bed as me?” You joke with him, helping him sit up.

“I do, I swear,” Chris groans, leaning into your body. “I didn't know if you wanted to.”

A hum leaves your lips. “Such a sweet man,” you sigh before pulling away slightly. You stroke his cheek, watching him blink. “Are you going to be okay? I gotta grab the wheelchair.”

He nods his head, pursing his lips. You know what he's asking for, and you smile at him before planting a kiss on his plump lips.

“I'll be quick,” you mumble against his lips, placing one more kiss on his forehead.

~

You slowly walk behind Chris, eyeing him as he crutches into the kitchen of his apartment. It's been a few days since he's been discharged from the hospital, and he seems to be taking it really well.

He slumps into the chair, releasing a hefty sigh. “This is exhausting,” Chris laughs, lifting his head to look at you.

“You're doing well, though,” you grin, tapping his chin.

“Thank you for staying with me,” he mentions, grabbing your hand. “I couldn't ask for a better partner.”

Your cheeks blush, and you shrug your shoulders. “Of course, baby. I… I love you,” you tell him for the first time.

It's been a couple of months since the two of you started dating. He's not like any other guy you've been with. He's such a sweetheart, and he treats you like an absolute queen. It didn't take long for you to figure out that you loved him.

Chris stares up at you, his lips parted at the sudden phrase. “You love me?” He whispers, squeezing your hand. You giggle, nodding your head in answer. “Even like this?”

“Chris, baby, yes,” you laugh.

“I love you. I love you so much,” he says while resting his head against your stomach.

You wrap your arms around him, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Now, what do you want to eat?” You ask him, opening his fridge to take a look inside.

“You wanna just order something? I haven't had the chance to go shopping,” he mentions with a pout.

“Sure, baby. Maybe later I can quickly go get some groceries,” you mention, having him move into the living room.

Chris walks into the living room before lowering himself onto the couch. You grab the pillow beside him and tuck it under his leg, keeping it elevated.

“If you do, I'll give you my card,” he says as you sit down next to him.

He places his hand on your thigh, stroking the inside of it. “I can pay for it, it's okay,” you reassure him, linking your arm with his.

He groans, resting his head against the back of the couch. “Baby, it's my place. Let me pay for my groceries,” he whines.

“You can get them next time,” you wink at him, patting his good leg.

“Fine,” he reluctantly agrees, squeezing your thigh.

You cuddle into his side after grabbing the remote. He combs his fingers through your hair as you find a movie to watch.

Chris looks at his food delivery app, trying to decide what he wants for lunch. “Do you want to get a variety of things?” He asks you, showing you his phone screen.

You quickly glance at the screen and nod your head. “Yeah, that's fine. It is pretty late, and we haven't eaten anything yet,” you tell him, moving your gaze from his phone to his face.

He smiles at you fondly, moving some strands of hair out of your eyes. “Man, I really love you,” Chris sighs, shaking his head. You giggle at his reaction. “I know it's only been a couple of months, but after this is over… I wouldn't mind you staying here.”

Your heart skips a beat, sitting up slightly. “Are you saying you want me to live here?” You ask him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“I've enjoyed the past two days even though my leg hurts,” he chuckles.

We'll see when you're all better,” you giggle, patting his chest. “You might get sick of me.”

Chris scoffs and playfully rolls his eyes. He hooks a finger beneath your jaw, turning your head before kissing you. “I'll never get sick of you, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, planting soft pecks after.

You kiss him once more before grinning. “We'll see, lover boy.”

~

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n @meloncremesoda

[reallypleasanttree]

Under the cut is the first half of “Wedding Plans” chapter 27.

“I am going to go check on Akaza and then get ready with Sanemi and Genya,” Obanai said. They stood at the entrance of the venue. Mitsuri glanced at the set of lounge chairs outside of the event coordinator’s office. Last year they had been sitting there when Mitsuri asked for Obanai’s phone number. Her hands shook as she handed him her phone. Her lips curled up. They have come a long way since last August. 

“Did you hear me?” Obanai asked, angling his head towards her. Mitsuri straightened her posture as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t. 

“Sor-” Mitsuri paused when Obanai’s brow furrowed in preparation to tell her there was no need to apologize. “I was just thinking about the last time we were here,” Mitsuri said, pointing to the chairs, “back when I asked for your number.” 

“Back when you joked about Kanae killing Sanemi and we had to get our stories straight?” Obanai raised one brow. Mitsuri nodded and grinned at her fiance. “In all fairness, it could still happen,” Obanai said with a shrug. This made her snort. Obanai’s eyes crinkled at the edges and squeezed her hand. “I should check on Akaza. I’ll see you later,” Obanai said, letting go her hand. He turned and began to walk away. 

“See you soon,” Mitsuri replied before clearing her throat. “I love you,” she said, a bit louder than she anticipated and the near empty hall echoed. Her eyes widened and blush crept over her cheeks as she noticed Yushiro, the event coordinator’s assistant, in the main hall, running over his checklist. The man with pale blue and black hair stared disapprovingly at her. 

In turn, Obanai glared at Yushiro, who rolled his eyes and turned his back to the couple. His dual toned eyes drifted over the hall before pulling down his surgical mask under his chin. 

“I love you too,” Obanai said, offering her one of his special smiles. A giddiness filled her before Obanai pulled the mask up again and headed towards the kitchen. She was sorry to see him go, but they had their roles to fulfill. Mitsuri slapped her cheeks lightly to redirect her attention to the wedding in a few hours. 

Originally, Kanae wanted to get married in the garden, but due to the humidity and heat they were forced to have the ceremony and reception inside the main hall. Kanae didn’t want their grandparents to suffer in the humidity. A grey aisle separated the benches. Wisteria, lavender, and baby’s breath lined the side of the benches with mixed greenery to offset the white and violet shades. A rustic burlap bow held the flowers together. Yushiro inspected each bouquet and the spacing of the benches with a critical eye. He scowled as he adjusted the lavender on one of the benches and plucked a few browned petals. The flowers would have melted in the summer heat. Sunlight filtered through the windows illuminating the hall. 

At the front there was a white marble platform the bride, groom, and officiator would stand on for the vows. Just behind it was a Japanese pagoda tree in bloom. The white flowers created a romantic effect to encompass the rest of the venue. Tamayo placed a few artificial butterflies on and around the tree. It was timeless and fit Kanae’s aesthetic. As a nod to Sanemi, there was a beetle placed beside the butterflies. 

Then there was the butterfly house that was installed earlier this year. It was one of the main reasons Kanae had her heart set on this venue originally. It was across the parking lot, encased in glass. Before the ceremony they were supposed to take bridal pictures surrounded by butterflies. 

Mitsuri couldn’t wait to get pictures with everyone, especially Obanai. A lightness filled her as she recalled the maskless picture he sent her yesterday. Maybe he would allow her to take one together if they were alone. Or was it too soon to ask for them? He hardly ever denied her requests, but she didn’t want to overstep or cross a boundary. Her mouth twisted slightly. One day she would get one, but for now, she had to be patient. 

“Mitsuri!” Someone called out. Mitsuri blinked and turned towards the honeyed voice. Shinobu was walking into the hall with her arms full of bags. 

“Let me help you with those!” Mitsuri rushed over and took several of the bags. 

“Thanks,” Shinobu said. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from hauling the bags and the summer heat. “Are you ready for your debut as maid of honor?” Shinobu asked. 

“Yep!” Mitsuri answered. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening. I was just about to find Kanae and get ready. Do we need to drop these off somewhere?” She lifted the bags. 

“No, they’re actually for Kanae. There’s so many things that can go wrong or you forget about on the wedding day, so I grabbed everything. Sewing kit, aspirin, Tide pen, bobby pins, lint roller, tissues, and xanax,” Shinobu listed them off like a list of symptoms. “Giyuu will be bringing my parents, centerpieces, and the kitchen sink shortly,” she joked. Mitsuri chuckled and they made their way towards the bridal suite. 

—----------------------------

Shinobu was engrossed in a conversation with her mother, Mika, while the hair stylist brushed Kanao’s black hair in preparation for styling. All the Kocho and Shinazugawa women decided to wear violet shades in order to match the wedding party. The respective mother in laws donned matching ebony kuro-tomesodes with lavender tree branches and green vines. The younger generation opted for modern dresses, but both had their hair pulled into buns with floral hair sticks. The bride was the only one to have her hair fall loosely down her back. 

Knock! Knock! 

Mitsuri sprung to her feet and rushed to open the suite’s door. Kanae sat in front of the mirror with the makeup artist who was applying charcoal grey eyeshadow to make Kanae’s light eyes pop. She opened the door a crack to see Tamayo in a plum kimono with crimson orchids. 

“Do you have a moment to speak?” She asked, glancing over at the bride and pursing her lips. Based on her expression, this was not going to be good news. Mitsuri nodded once and slipped out into the hallway. It was only then Mitsuri noticed Yushiro was standing in Tamayo’s shadow. 

“I want to start by apologizing. I just got a call from the photographer. He’s not coming,” she explained. 

“What? Why?” Mitsuri gasped. “We’re supposed to start pictures in thirty minutes,” she said, glancing at the clock. 4:03 P.M. 

“He had another wedding booked this morning and his camera stopped working. He’s not sure what the problem is, but he won’t be able to make it. I am truly sorry and will take full responsibility,” Tamayo explained as she bowed her head.

Weddings were never perfect, but this was certainly a kick in the gut. Mitsuri would have to break the news to Kanae and her family. They could get by with the cameras on their phones, but Kanae had her heart set on capturing every moment. Mitsuri wrinkled her nose and shut her eyes. There had to be something that could be done. With all of their friends and family, there had to be someone who knew a photographer. What was-

“I reached out to other photographers we’ve used. The only one who can come on such short notice takes incredible photos; however, he is a bit…eccentric and blunt,” Tamayo admitted. The event coordinator held her hand over her neck. 

“How so?” Mitsuri asked. She’d been called eccentric before, so how bad could it be? Before Tamayo could respond, her assistant stepped forward.  

“He’s more than blunt. Gyokko is rude and pushy. He insulted couples and bridal parties in the past. He’s made kids cry before because they don’t understand ‘his vision’,” Yushiro said plainly and used air quotes. “We try not to use him unless we know it’s a ‘child free’ wedding. Great photographer, but a pompous ignoramus. However, he’s your only option.” Tamayo covered her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement. 

“There’s no need to be harsh, Yushiro,” Tamayo said, trying to be professional. “What he said is true. Gyokko made the flower girl cry at one wedding because she wasn’t throwing the flowers correctly. Yushiro and I will ensure he’s on his best behavior.” She placed a hand on Yushiro’s elbow. He looked down at where she touched him. His cheeks tinted pink at the contact. Mitsuri raised one brow wondering if there was something more between them. It was not the time to indulge her inner romantic. 

“We’ll make it work. Just make sure he’s here on time, please. I’ll tell the bride and groom,” Mitsuri said. They had to make it work because what other option did they have? She turned and walked into the bridal suite. Kanae stood in front of the mirror with her soon to be mother in law and sister in laws while Kanae took photos. Shinobu and Mika sat on the cream loveseat beside the door. The bride glanced over at Mitsuri. 

“What did they have to say?” Kanae asked. Everyone’s eyes shot towards the maid of honor. Mitsuri pressed her hands together and explained the last minute photographer switch. “It’s okay, these things happen,” Kanae attempted to stay neutral, yet her posture stiffened. Her violet eyes moistened threatening to ruin her makeup. Mitsuri pulled her best friend into a hug.

“They do, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be upset,” Mitsuri reassured her. Kanae hugged her back. “Maybe if you cry now, you won’t cry during your vows. Sanemi said you were having a competition, right? To see who cries first?” Mitsuri felt Kanae’s body shake as she laughed. 

“We are,” Kanae said. A few stray tears fell down her face, but her face seemed to relax. “We’ll have to tell him about the switch. Can you handle that, Mitsuri?” 

“Of course!” Mitsuri agreed. “I’ll be back in five minutes,” Mitsuri said, holding up her hand. She strode down the hall towards the groom’s suite. The maid of honor knocked on the door. Within seconds, Tengen appeared on the other side. 

“Welcome to the party, Honey,” he announced as he opened the door wide open. Sanemi stood in front of the mirror adjusting his collar. His brothers were laughing at the sour expression on his face. Obanai sat in a chair holding Kannon on his knee. His face was bare and her mind buzzed. Was he not going to wear the mask for the wedding? He hadn’t mentioned it, but she could hope. He rose and placed the baby on his side before joining Tengen at the door. Kannon was dressed in a white onesie with grey glitter letters reading, Best Baby. The glitter was flaking off and covering Obanai’s dress shirt. The sight made her knees wobble, but she had a mission. Focus! 

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Obanai questioned in a low voice. 

“Not wrong, but we have a little bit of a situation,” Mitsuri began. She wished her hair was down, so she could channel her anxiety into playing with the green tips. “The original photographer isn’t coming. Tamayo said his camera broke. They found a replacement, but according to Yushiro, he can be rude.” Her gaze flickered between Obanai and Tengen. The white haired hair put his hand under his chin while Obanai waited for her to continue. “Apparently, he’s made kids cry at weddings and insulted the bride and groom,” she added. 

“Is that it?” Tengen questioned. She nodded. “Between all of us, we can keep him in check. You and Babe, can make kissy faces at each other while I tell Sanemi,” Tengen said, smacking his lips. Obanai’s right eyebrow twitched and Mitsuri covered her mouth. Tengen knew exactly how to get under his skin. Tengen grinned as he went back to the Shinazugawa brothers. 

“Mitsuri,” Obanai said, his smooth voice soothing her. Mitsuri turned towards him. His gentle eyes rested on her. Mitsuri had not realized how hard her heart was pounding before now. “It’ll be alright. You can always hand him a pink slip,” Obanai reminded her.  

“Or I go into teacher mode and give him a detention,” Mitsuri said with a laugh. Kannon shifted in Obanai’s arms and reached out for Mitsuri. She leaned forward to be face to face with the boy, who immediately smiled. “Isn’t he the cutest?” She asked. 

“For a potato, yes,” Obanai replied plainly. Before she could refute his claim, she noticed the mirth behind his eyes. She admired his dry humor. 

“You mean, a sweet potato,” Mitsuri countered as she poked Kannon’s cheek, which earned her a giggle. The sound alone alleviated a fraction of her anxiety. “Isn’t that, right, my little sweet potato?” She asked in a higher pitch. She extended her arms and Obanai gingerly handed Kannon over. “He’s such a sweetheart. My brother always smiled like this as a baby,” she commented. 

“From what I’ve seen he hardly ever makes a fuss. The Uzuis lucked out,” Obanai agreed as he brushed off the glitter from his dress shirt. “Imagine if they had a baby exactly like Tengen.” An image of a crying, red faced baby with a bedazzled headband and clothes appeared behind her eyes. 

“He still would have been a sweet kid, just a louder and flashier one,” Mitsuri said as she beamed at the baby. The glitter from his shirt flaked onto her dress, but it didn’t bother her. In fact, it added a layer of sparkle that was missing from the original design. Kannon’s jovial spirit eased the tension in her shoulders and neck. Tengen walked back to the couple. 

“You look like a natural with him. Maybe you can take him down the aisle instead of a bouquet,” Tengen said, pointing at Mitsuri and Kannon. 

“That’d be so cute,” Mitsuri said and hugged Kannon a little tighter, “but I doubt Kanae would appreciate a baby stealing her thunder.” Tengen nodded deeply and took his baby from Mitsuri’s arms. 

“Maybe when you have your own wedding then,” Tengen suggested with a wink and a sly glance towards Obanai. Mitsuri’s cheeks warmed as she swallowed. Their engagement was a secret, but they already agreed their wedding would be next summer. When would they start telling their friends and family? She glanced at Obanai. Behind his shoulder length hair, his ears were tinted pink and his eyes narrowed on the taller man. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Mitsuri said, brushing off the statement the best she could. “I need to head back to Kanae.” She handed Kannon off to his father before waving goodbye to her fiancé. 

—-------

The photographer, Gyokko, arrived at 5 P.M. and was able to snap a few shots of the groomsmen and bridal party getting ready. He was obnoxious and nitpicked everything including the lighting, makeup, and attire. At one point, Gyokko criticized Obanai’s height and he asked if the photographer had any original material. His face turned crimson and he spluttered out a dimwitted response. After that, Obanai noticed Gyokko would whisper insults under his breath. Now the photographer slithered around the main hall getting pictures of the aisle and guests with Yushiro following close behind him. 

The hairs on Obanai’s arms rose when Tengen joked about Mitsuri holding Kannon at her wedding. The glint in his eye was unmistakable when he winked at Mitsuri and Obanai. It was just another way for Tengen to further embarrass the couple and unfortunately it worked. Typical Tengen. 

Obanai readjusted his grey mask to ensure the metal wire laid evenly over his cheeks to conceal the scars. A few minutes before they were summoned, he debated whether or not he would wear a mask, but ultimately decided to wear it. He bought this mask specifically to match his suit and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Tonight was for Sanemi and Kanae. Now, he stood beside Shinobu with Mitsuri and Genya behind them in preparation for the ceremony. Genya’s face was the color of a watermelon as Mitsuri laced her arm under his. Obanai could not help but be amused at Genya’s obvious embarrassment.

“Ah, it’s finally here!” Mitsuri exclaimed, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

Her enthusiasm was infectious, yet Obanai’s mouth was dry. Large gatherings still activated the spot in the back of his brain telling him to leave as quickly as possible. Several guests failed to show up, but there were over 100 people in the benches lining the aisle and all their eyes would be on him. That wasn’t true, they would be staring at the bride and groom. He just happened to be standing beside them.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, held his breath, and then exhaled in an effort to ease his nerves. The scent of wisteria was overpowering. Kyojuro, Mitsuri, and him went over the order of the procession in preparation for today, but there was still the nagging feeling that something could go wrong. His fingers trailed over the hemline of the suit jacket, taking solace in the smooth thread and fabric.

Everything will be fine. Even if something bad happens I can handle it. This is just another one of Dr. Ubuyashiki’s tests. 

Mitsuri reassured him that she would be close during the ceremony and reception. She promised to help and protect him in any way she could. She suggested he could slip away during the reception if he needed to and she would be right behind him. Most likely with a plate piled high with ohagi, mochi, and other decadent sweets. The image made him smile and a sense of calm rolled over his shoulders. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

In front of the wedding procession, Kyojuro stood on the altar with Sanemi, who was trying his best not to pull on his tie. He despised constraining clothes and Obanai had to remind him he’d only have to wear it for an hour. Once the ceremony and family photos were over Kanae agreed he could throw the necktie away if it pleased him. 

The front benches were filled with Sanemi’s mother and siblings along with Kanae’s parents, Kanao, and grandparents. Shinobu poked Obanai’s shoulder and he narrowed his gaze at the unsolicited touch. 

“Do you think we have enough wisteria to ward off demons?” Shinobu asked and gestured to the flowers decorating the benches. Her impish smile reminded him of how mischievous the woman had been in their prior life. They had been the type of friends to spar with swords and words. 

“No, otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” Obanai retorted quickly. It was too easy to slip back into their tongue in cheek banter. Shinobu’s smile deepened at his barbed response and she laughed. The sound took him by surprise since it was an uncensored laugh. Even Shinobu’s current iteration was different. He never saw her authentic smile in the past, at least what memories he’d seen. 

“You never miss a shot, Mr. Civil,” Shinobu chided. He nearly rolled his eyes. Before he could respond, Kyojuro clapped at the front of the aisle. The crowd was silenced. Obanai straightened his back and turned to face his brother. 

“It’s about time we begin the ceremony.” Kyojuro’s voice boomed. The chords of a love song he could not name began. Tamayo gave Obanai and Shinobu their cue to start the procession. He spared one last glance at Mitsuri before holding up his elbow for Shinobu to take. Mitsuri’s face softened, all tension gone as she offered silent reassurance. He exhaled once more and walked down the aisle beside Shinobu. They parted ways as they approached the altar with Shinobu veering to the left and Obanai the right. 

Mitsuri and Genya followed. The dusky purple dress complemented her complexion. Her hair was held up by a hair stick with green and violet flowers. Her eyelids were painted with muted grey and lilac to make her eyes pop. Her radiant smile shone like the sun's rays. Like this, Mitsuri could have stepped out of a painting and he would not have questioned how. Mitsuri and Genya parted as they reached the front. 

Next came the ring bearer and the flower girl who were accompanied by their mother to ensure the three year old twins made it down the aisle without issue. The music paused for a moment before the instrumentals of another love song started to announce the bride. The guests stood in response as Kanae and her father began to walk. 

Obanai watched Sanemi’s breath hitch. His dark purple eyes widened upon seeing Kanae for the first time in her wedding dress. Her bouquet was a variety of violet shades including plum, orchid, and fuschia with eucalyptus interspersed. Mitsuri said Kanae designed it herself and it was nearly as stunning as the bride. Her black hair was pulled up into a bun and the veil shrouded her face, but Obanai could not mistake the look of longing shared between the bride and groom. Kanae’s father escorted her down the aisle before giving her a quick hug and sitting down beside his wife. Sanemi and Kanae joined hands. 

“Everyone may take a seat now,” Kyojuro said and waved his hand over the guests. “Thank you for coming out this evening to celebrate Kanae and Sanemi’s wedding. For those of you that don’t know me, I am Kyojuro. I’ve known Sanemi since we were teenagers and when he first introduced Kanae I knew she was someone special. They both are.” His eyes blazed as they shifted between the pair. 

“Today they will be joining their lives and souls together and begin a new life as husband and wife. To begin, I was asked to read a short poem by Saigyo.” Kyojuro pulled out a notecard from his jacket pocket. His theatre experience was on full display as his voice resonated throughout the hall. 

“You left impressions unforgettable

and when I view our moon

your image surfaces

and that love seems forever.”

“Kanae asked me to read this poem because of the love she shares with Sanemi. An eternal love that transcends this world and the next,” Kyojuro said and paused to put the notecard back in his pocket. Obanai swallowed. The poem matched him and Mitsuri’s love as well as Sanemi and Kanae’s. In one of his dreams, Kanae’s death was a harbinger for any relationship within the Demon Slayer Corps. It was one of the reasons, upon hundreds, Obanai never confessed to Mitsuri until the end. How many other couples were given a second chance in this life? 

“Our bride and groom have prepared their own vows,” Kyojuro said and gestured to the bride. “Kanae, if you would like to begin.” Kanae dipped her head and cast a glance at Mitsuri who passed her a slip of paper with her delicate script. Mitsuri warned Obanai that Kanae’s vows were worth crying over. Now it was the moment of truth. 

“The moment I met you I never imagined we would be saying our vows in front of our friends and family years later. When we met I thought you were blunt, hotheaded, and abrasive, which you were-actually you are,” Kanae said, which earned a laugh from the audience. Anyone who knew Sanemi would say the same. 

“You were everything I wasn’t, but then I realized that part was only the surface.” The bride looked up from the paper to share a smile with her groom. There was no mistaking the emotion between them. “I was quick to judge when I shouldn’t have and I came to love all your parts. You’re blunt, but it means you're honest to a fault. You’re hotheaded, yet it shows how passionate you are. You’re abrasive, but it reminds me how dedicated you are to your loved ones. No one would argue with your devotion to your family and that’s part of the reason I grew to love you. Now I know you are generous, considerate, and bend over backwards for any of our friends and loved ones.”

“I admire your ability to challenge me to be the best version of myself. We may get into fights, but they come from a place of mutual respect and love. As we enter this next chapter, I know we’ll continue to challenge each other and grow together as people and a couple,” Kanae continued. 

“So today and for the rest of our lives, I promise to always be there for you. Whether it’s to discuss the mating rituals of beetles, the rotation of the earth, or argue over the best way to drive to the movie theater.” The audience chuckled knowing how the couple would get into small tiffs. 

“I always want to be by your side, Sanemi,” she said. Her light purple eyes softened. “Because living beside you makes me the happiest woman alive.” 

The bride blinked away the tears that threatened to pour. Obanai couldn’t see  Sanemi’s face, but his shoulders trembled slightly. No doubt Sanemi was attempting to control his emotions in front of everyone. There was a moment of silence. Kyojuro’s eyes brightened as he turned his attention to Sanemi. 

“That was beautiful, Kanae. Sanemi, if you would like to say your vows,” Kyojuro said. Sanemi was quiet and pulled a paper out of his pocket. He held the sheet with both hands and scanned the words. Another moment passed before the white haired man finally spoke.

“I’ve never been the sort of man to speak or write eloquently. Obanai helped me write these vows, but they don’t accurately express how I feel about you.” Sanemi crumpled the piece of paper and shoved it in his pocket. Obanai tried his best not to facepalm. Sanemi said he wanted Kanae to cry hearing his vows, but now he ensured it. 

“I don’t need to recite how beautiful, smart, confident, and strong you are. You know exactly who you are and I love that about you,” Sanemi said bluntly. Kanae’s eyes warmed at his words. She took his hands in her’s and squeezed.  “Instead, I am going to vow to get up every morning to make you a cup of coffee with cream, to listen to your worries, and to love you more every day. Whatever the future brings, know I’ll be on your side.” Kanae blinked away the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. 

Obanai looked past the couple to watch Mitsuri. She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. A year from now, they would be standing in front of their friends and family. He pursed his lips. He could see her in a white dress with an elaborate hair style. No doubt she would be wearing some sort of oddity whether it be a headband with cat ears, lollipop earrings, or a pair of green socks. Her eccentric style would be on display for the world. 

Mitsuri met his gaze, smiling instantly. Was she thinking the same thing? His lips curled up behind the mask. Watery green eyes reflecting the sunset and the promise of forever. 

In this life and the next. Obanai vowed. 

“Now, Kanae, will you take Sanemi to be your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward. Will you promise to love, honor, and cherish him for the rest of your life?” Kyojuro asked.

“I do,” Kanae said through her tears. 

“Then Sanemi, do you take Kanae to be-”

“I do,” Sanemi interrupted as his voice cracked. The audience laughed at his impulsivity. Obanai smirked. Sanemi was never one to do anything in half measures. Kyojuro chuckled. 

“Then in sight of your loved ones and myself, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Kyojuro took a step back. Sanemi pulled Kanae’s veil up and they kissed. Sanemi caressed Kanae’s face, brushing away her tears while she did the same before they separated. 

“It is my greatest pleasure to present Mr. and Mrs. Shinazugawa!” Kyojuro announced. Cheers rang out across the hall, the sound deafening as Sanemi and Kanae held their hands up in celebration.

——-

The next hour was a whirlwind of activity. Mitsuri felt her head spinning. She ran between the main hall and butterfly house to gather wandering family members for photos. When she thought she had everyone, someone asked where their uncle or aunt was and she would have to search for them. 

After the third time, Obanai laid his hand on her shoulder and said he would go retrieve the errant person while scrutinizing the Kocho and Shinazugawa clans. With his assistance, they gathered everyone and Gyokko was able to take what seemed like thousands of pictures. He even captured one where a blue butterfly landed on Mitsuri’s shoulder. She had to cover her mouth to stop from scaring the insect away. With a laugh, Shinobu asked if this was the beginning of Mitsuri’s Disney princess arc. Mitsuri felt her cheeks warm at her friend’s teasing. 

After the photo session, they went to the reception hall for dinner. Mitsuri ordered two plates and was in the middle of eating an ohagi when Genya stood up and asked for everyone’s attention. It was time for the best man’s and maid of honor’s speeches. 

“Evening, everyone,” Genya began. He held the microphone so tight his fingers blanched. His posture was rigid. “For those that don’t know me, I’m Genya, Sanemi’s brother. Despite our appearances, he’s older. I hit my growth spurt at 15, but before that I always looked up to him. Now it’s more of a figure of speech.” Sanemi’s other brothers chuckled at the eldest’s expense. Sanemi shot them a pointed look, which silenced them. Genya rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled through his note cards. 

“Growing up, Sanemi acted like the toughest guy. He got into fights a lot, which Obanai can attest to,” Genya said, gesturing to the other groomsman. Obanai simply nodded once in confirmation, which made Mitsuri laugh. That’s how the two met. 

“He has a softer side he rarely shows. One time when he was thirteen he snuck out with his backpack. I was worried he was running away, so I followed. After a few blocks, he stopped and walked into an abandoned house. Sanemi set down his backpack and sat on the front porch. A second later I saw a small dog appeared and ran to him. She looked pretty thin, but she was wagging his tail like crazy. Sanemi pulled out lunch meat and started feeding her. I joined him on the porch. At first, he was angry. I could have been kidnapped or worse. Eventually, he calmed down and explained how he found the dog and had been feeding her on his way to and from school for two weeks, but he couldn’t find her earlier. In that one act, he showed me what it meant to be a good man.” Genya paused for a moment and wiped away a tear with his sleeve. 

“Since he’s been with Kanae, I’ve seen the way he is more willing to show his softer side. It makes me really happy because my big brother is the nicest person in the world,” Genya said as his voice began to tremble. “It means the world to me that others can see it now, so from the bottom of my heart thank you and welcome to the family, Kanae!” Genya cheered. 

[ambernotember]

a little meddling could go a long way

a very silly episode coda for 9-1-1 8x11 and Doctor Odyssey 1x11

read on ao3

“Sergeant Grant,” Tommy grinned at her as he hopped down from the helicopter. “We have got to stop meeting like this.” “Firefighter Pilot Kinard, thanks for the assist,” Athena said. “If I never see another boat it will be too damn soon.”

or read below the cut

“Sergeant Grant,” Tommy grinned at her as he hopped down from the helicopter. “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

“Firefighter Pilot Kinard, thanks for the assist,” Athena said. “If I never see another boat it will be too damn soon.”

Tommy laughed. “Let’s get you all loaded up and out of here then. I assume you’re Daphne, our VIP?” She nodded and he guided her over to the helicopter. “You’ll be in the back with our aeromedic, and you’re our first stop.” He helped her up, and his partner got her situated. “And next to our FBI guides, we’ll have you two.” Between the two FBI guys, they quickly got Bonnie and Clyde seated as well.

“Sergeant, can I offer you the front seat?” He gave her a jaunty little bow as she climbed in, before he slid in after her. Once Daphne and Athena had been given headsets, and the criminals had ear protection on, they took off.

“Welcome to Kinard Air,” Tommy said over the headsets. “Our first stop is the hospital in approximately two hours. We don’t have in flight entertainment, but you’re welcome to watch the ocean waves out the windows.”

Daphne laughed, audible even though she hadn’t turned on her microphone, loud and bright.

“So Daphne, what are your plans once you’re healed up and out of the hospital?” Athena asked over the headsets. The aeromedic showed Daphne how to use hers to respond.

“Oh Sergeant Grant, I have no idea,” Daphne laughed again. “Dance all night, drive through the wilderness, swim in the ocean. Just celebrate, you know? Do the things I've been putting off, or thought I couldn't do anymore.”

“That sounds lovely,” Athena said. “But if I can make a suggestion? No more cruises. They’re not worth the trouble.”

Tommy privately thought Athena Grant might be the only person who could out deadpan him. He let the conversation fade into the background as he focused on flying, keeping an eye on the time and his nav system.

“Have you seen the new photos of it? Tommy?”

Tommy realized Athena was talking to him. “Sorry?”

“Has Buck shown you the new photos of the house? The kitchen counters just got installed.”

Tommy realized abruptly that Athena thought he and Evan were still together. “Uh, no, I haven't seen them,” he said. They still had an hour to go, and other people were on the comms, so it seemed like the easiest answer.

“Hmm,” Athena said. “Maybe Bobby forgot to send them.”

“Are you renovating?” Daphne asked.

“Building, actually. Rebuilding, I guess,” Athena mused.

“Rebuilding?”

“There was a fire,” Athena said. Tommy knew she was leaving out a lot of details about how and why the fire had started - Evan had told him about it. “We looked for a new place but nothing felt right. So we decided to build something new where the old house had been.”

“Wow. Did you get to design it?” Daphne asked.

“Actually my ex-husband did. He’s an architect.”

“And you’re still close? Wait, sorry, is that prying?”

“Nothing else to do,” Athena said. “We are close. We’ll always be family, and we have two kids together. He and his husband live in Florida now. We got divorced about, 7 years ago now? Almost 8. Then I met Bobby, my husband. Well, we had met before that, on the job — he's a firefighter. That's how I know Tommy here, actually, they used to work together.” Athena smiled at him then continued her story. “We were together a little less than a year when we got married. Part of what I love about him is how much he loves my family. He never tried to take over the dad role but he’s always been there for my kids. And he and Michael — that’s my ex — are close.”

She paused. “Sorry, that was probably a lot information that you were expecting.”

“I mean, like you said, not much else to do,” Daphne said.

“Do you have anyone at home Daphne?” Athena asked.

Daphne laughed again, but it was sad this time. “No. When I got sick — well, I didn’t want to put anyone else through that. It seemed easier to be alone.”

“It can be,” Athena agreed. “The thing I’ve learned as a first responder though, is that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow. If there’s something that makes you happy, someone you love, it’s worth the risk.”

Tommy glanced at her out of his peripheral, but she seemed focused on the view out the windshield.

“And that’s how you feel about Bobby?”

“It is.”

“That’s so romantic,” Daphne sighed.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a lot of hard work too. We almost broke up twice,” Athena confided. “I didn’t want to be seen dating after the divorce and he thought I was embarrassed of him. And then I asked him to move in with me before he was ready.”

“Really?” Tommy surprised himself by asking. “You two have always seemed so solid.”

“Now, yes. But it took us a while to get there.” Athena turned around slightly to see Daphne. “The new romance shine is easy to find. It’s what comes after that that people don’t talk about. It’s a lot of hard work to learn to communicate with each other and trust each other. And it doesn’t stop.”

“It doesn’t?” Daphne asked.

“No, it does not. Bobby and I actually fought about the house design — I wanted to rebuild exactly as it had been, but Bobby pointed out that really, that had been mine and Michael's home. If we were building something, it should be mine and his, even if it was on the same piece of land as the old house.”

“You two sound like a romcom come to life,” Daphne said.

It was Athena’s turn to laugh. “Only because I’ve left out a lot of details. Sometimes it’s a horror show. But I can get through it because I know he’s there for me.”

Tommy swallowed around a surprisingly large lump in his throat.

Athena pulled out her phone to read a text message. “Slight change of plans, folks,” she said over the comms. “Pick up for Bonnie and Clyde will be at the hospital as well, no need for a second stop.”

“Copy that,” Tommy said, relaying the information to Harbour.

“I’m just going to let Bobby know,” Athena murmured as she typed out a text. “Do you want him to pass the message along to Buck as well?”

“Oh, I have to go back to Harbour anyways,” Tommy deflected. “No worries.”

Athena and the FBI agents spent the last part of the flight coordinating with their team on the ground, and Tommy and his aeromedic kept the hospital apprised of their progress.

Daphne was the first person off the helicopter, the medical team whisking her away to surgery for her transplant. Tommy hopped out for a quick stretch while the LAPD and FBI dealt with Bonnie and Clyde. He was surprised when Athena rounded the helicopter and pulled him down into a hug.

“Thank you for getting me home safe again,” she said. “Housewarming as soon as the tools are cleaned up - we’ll see you there.”

“Uh, I’ll see how my schedule works out.”

“We’ll see you there,” she repeated. “And hopefully never again on a boat.”

Tommy laughed despite himself. “I’ll do my best to avoid it,” he said. He waited until everyone had cleared the helipad, then got back into the helicopter to head back to Harbour, trying to put Athena’s comments out of his mind.

“Thank you for picking me up,” Athena said as she got into the truck. “I could have just had one of the uniforms get me.”

Bobby held out his hand for hers and threaded their fingers together. “And miss out on another second of seeing you? Absolutely not.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of her hand, squeezing tightly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t with you.”

“It had to be a boat,” Athena said. “You’ll never believe who my ride back was.”

Bobby looked at her in askance.

“Tommy Kinard.”

“That must have been an awkward flight,” Bobby said flatly.

“Actually there was a lovely patient named Daphne on the flight, we had a great time. And don’t talk about Tommy like that,” she chided her husband. “Have you seen him since the breakup?”

“No.”

“Well, that is not a happy man. Regardless of Buck saying Tommy broke up with him,” and he had, many times, and it was the reason Athena’s kitchen was overflowing with baked goods, “he’s clearly hurting.”

“What did you do?”

“Let’s just say there’s an aeromedic and two FBI agents that know a lot about our relationship now.”

“You meddled? You?” Bobby raised an eyebrow at her. “You hate getting involved in other people’s relationships.”

“It was the happiest I’d seen either of them,” Athena shrugged. “Sometimes people just need a little nudge. If it works, maybe they talk and we finally have an end to the baked goods. Or he doesn’t do anything about it and we have to buy a chest freezer for the new house for Buck’s baking.”

Tommy landed at Harbour, refuelling his bird and finishing his paperwork before the exhaustion of the day could overtake him.

When it was done, he took out his phone and sent a text message.

Can we talk? Maybe on Saturday?

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