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baepop · 5 years ago

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Written in the Stars

You’re the girl of Jungkook’s dreams, literally. The only problem: you’re taken by his best friend

Word Count: 26.2k

Pairing: Jungkook x You x Taehyung

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Pining, Soulmate Au, Plot based around supernatural dreams

A/N: Back again with another love triangle. Are you even surprised? I wanted to write this story after finding out Jungkook really liked the movie “Your Name��

Jungkook has always been a true romantic, a believer in kismet and fate, convinced there is only one person out there in the world made specifically for you.

You might attribute these beliefs to his obsession with dramatic anime movies, the fluffy K-dramas he binges, or to simply watching his own parents happily grow old together. But the truth was that he had an actual reason to believe the way that he did. What one might mistake for blind faith, the boy ascertained to be proven conviction, scientific even.

The fact of the matter was that he had concrete proof of this widely speculated notion being as real as he was.

His ascertations started at quite a young age, when the little boy with the scar on his cheek asked his mother a very complicated question in the kitchen. His brothers and father had already cleared out, leaving his mother to pick up after them. The little boy dutifully brought her the soiled dishes from the table into the kitchen, restating his question matter-o-factly when she stared at him in bewilderment. Mrs. Jeon stared at her youngest son of nine, her mind racing as to the possible reasons for his inquiry.

“Mom?” The boy tipped his head to the side, letting his buoyant hair fall to the side.

“I…why do you ask?” She posed her question as gently as possible so as not to scare him away. He was quite shy, so the last thing she wanted was to make him feel like he couldn’t confide in her.

But he simply shrugged, his large innocent eyes reflecting her confused expression within them. Of course, there wasn’t an ulterior motive to this question. What could he possibly know about true love?

The older woman smiled, putting on her dish washing gloves as she took the plates out of his hands.

She sighed, contemplating dreamily as she recalled her own romance with his father. “How to know when you’re in love? Well…it’s not really something you know, but rather something you feel. It’s a natural feeling, as natural as being hungry or just realizing you like something.”

Jungkook thought for a minute before responding, “Then what does it feel like?”

“Hmm…you know when it’s cold, so I throw your blanket in the dryer for a few minutes before tucking you in, and you’re warm and comfortable before you drift to sleep?” The boy smiled and nodded enthusiastically. It was his most favorite thing in the world. “It feels like that, but emotionally.”

“Emotionally?” Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows, unable to conceptualize being wrapped in a warm blanket in such an abstract way.

“Yes,” The woman gently poked the child’s chest where his heart would be. His gaze followed her finger before she began tickling his sides which earned a fit of laughter from the boy who shied away from her touch. She ruffled his head and ordered him to get the rest of the dishes from the table. He quickly obliged, but not before answering one last question.

“Jungkook! Do you…have a girlfriend at school?” The boy shook his head innocently before disappearing into the hall. She smiled to herself, wondering if he was telling the truth or if he just wanted to keep it a secret from his mother. She knew Jungkook wasn’t a secretive kind of kid, but she could still understand him not wanting to share things like that with his mom. She made a mental note to ask his father about it before bed.

What she didn’t know, however, was that this conversation would have more of an impact on the boy than she’d ever imagined.

Jungkook was experiencing something he never had before, something so out of the ordinary that he couldn’t ask anyone for advice about it for fear of sounding absolutely crazy. He could only try and get advice by asking out-of-the-blue questions to his mother because he knew she wouldn’t pry.

He had started dreaming of you, every single night, and he didn’t know what to make of it at first.

The dreams were mundane, ordinary slice-of-life reels of a foreign girl similar in age to him. For many hours of your day, he’d watch you wake up and get ready for school just as he would, going throughout your day, talking to friends and doing schoolwork. Then you’d come home and spend time with your sisters, play with your cat and watch anime or other things girls his age might do. None of it thrilled him in the least, and if he was being honest, it freaked him out, especially because he didn’t know who the heck you were.

He wasn’t yet at the age where girls were particularly interesting to him. None he knew liked video games or looking at bugs and therefore the female gender was unappealing to his boyish heart.

It was frustrating when he couldn’t seem to convince his brain that he didn’t want to dream of you anymore. Night after night, he’d be forced to watch your life as someone in a secret audience, much to his annoyance.

It wasn’t until you’d entered middle school and started getting bullied that his dreams began to impact him deeply. He’d always remember your first day at school when that mean older girl pulled on your buns and told you how ugly you were, and the way you pretended it didn’t hurt you until you got home and cried on your bed for hours. He’d felt so powerless, unable to help or even talk to this person he seemed to know intimate details about for so long. It was then that he realized his attachment to you for the first time.

Jungkook was always pretty popular at school, so he’d never had to worry about being bullied by anyone. And thanks to you, his popularity only seemed to increase over the years when Jungkook made it a point to stand up against bullies on behalf of others. After watching your struggle at school, he knew how deeply someone’s words and actions could affect others, and he didn’t want anyone feeling the way you did, ever.

Thankfully, his qualms were lessened when you’d both gone into high school. You seemed to be having a better time there, quickly finding a group of people with similar tastes and ideals to yours. He’d found it ironic how your lives seemed to be on a balancing scale. Whenever he was having a hard time, he’d go to sleep at night and watch you having the time of your life. So, while high school was good to you, Jungkook struggled with his studies, earning disappointing grades that he’d fearfully bring home to his stern parents.

The truth was that he wasn’t much of the academic type. He always preferred to be out in the sunshine, playing with some kind of ball or dancing or making music. He loved doing the things that made him feel most alive, and sitting in a classroom answering tiresome questions simply wasn’t that.

You, however, excelled in school, so much so that you had already been taking advanced classes by your third year. It was becoming apparent to Jungkook that you and he were very different people, but it had been so long that he’d been keeping tabs on your life that it didn’t matter. It was weird, the way his thoughts seemed to drift to you and what you might be doing while he sat in class chewing on his pencil.

He knew everything about you and your family and your friends. He knew what your favorite colors were, what your favorite flavors were and what kind of genres you preferred the most. He even knew about the secret piercing you had gotten despite not telling a single soul about it. You had skipped school alone to get it done in a sketchy part of town, and then spent the rest of that week secretly caring for it from infection. It was the first time he’d felt he could relate to you, and he found the thought funny enough to snigger about during silent times in class.

But as time went by, Jungkook was having a hard time being okay with it all. He knew he didn’t have much of a choice when it came to dreaming about you, he just wanted to know why.

Why you? Why still? What did this all mean? Was this the universe’s way of keeping him grounded? A way to show him that even when he felt singled out, there were still people on the other side of the world going through similar situations? Or maybe this was a superpower that he didn’t know how to control? Jungkook had visited countless comic bookstores in the city, trying to find a story similar to his own, anything that might give him guidance or a nudge in the right direction. Was he psychic? He didn’t feel psychic exactly. He’d never been able to dream about anyone else let alone tap into anyone else’s thoughts or lives the way he had with you. If this was truly his superpower, he’d consider the universe to be a cruel entity, considering this wasn’t exactly what he meant when he wished he had special abilities as a little boy.

He tried to ignore the doubt sitting in the back of his mind, the thoughts that negated you being a real person. He’d thought about it before, about the possibility that he had completely made you up, even considered the possibility that he was mentally unwell, but whenever he’d dream about you, he’d feel it deep in his bones, the realness of it all. He knew you were real and out there in the world. He just knew.

Jungkook continued to question the purpose of his dreams and look out for signs throughout high school, which he eventually received in the form of an animated movie. The tale of star-crossed lovers being connected in such a supernaturally convoluted way yet still finding their way to each other in the end had affected him in ways he couldn’t describe. He thought back to his mother’s words, about feeling so warm and comfortable when it came to being with the person you were meant to be with.

Were you his soul mate? The idea intrigued him. He’d always thought of you as a comrade, someone he was sharing his life with in the strangest way possible. But it all felt one-sided, how was he to know you might have those strong feelings about him? Had you been dreaming about him too? These questions kept Jungkook up at night before he’d finally close his eyes and tune into the latest occurrences of your life.

In this instance, he’d watched you get taken to the parking lot by some douchebag in your school that he had already disliked since your freshman year. Jungkook had woken up that morning frazzled and disoriented after watching you accept his confession of love. It seemed when he was becoming comfortable with the idea of you being the one person meant for him, you had finally decided to start dating. And with that guy no less.

Jungkook wished he could come see you, to tell you not to give this guy a chance to break your heart, but he knew you wouldn’t listen to him. Because as weird as it would be for him to tell someone about his dreams, it would be weirdest of all to tell you about them, if you hadn’t been dreaming about him too. Besides, he wouldn’t even know how to get to you, he only owned a bus pass and didn’t have any money.

And thanks to your decision to start dating, what had turned into mildly entertaining dreams had become his own personal hell for the next year.

He’d try to stay up as late as possible so he only had to watch a little bit of your life before waking up for school in the morning, and it was starting to take a toll on him. He didn’t care though, he’d deal with being tired just so he didn’t have to watch you pretend to be happy while in a toxic relationship. When he’d witnessed the way you held back tears after your dick-head of a boyfriend made a comment about your weight, Jungkook decided to form a strike against his subconscious. The boy began staying up late playing video games well into the early hours of the morning before getting ready for school. His friends commented on the bags under his eyes, and his teachers casted worried glances in his direction when they’d see him dozing off in class, but nonetheless Jungkook persevered.

And thanks to his stubbornness to sleep at night, he discovered another clue about his supposed superpower: He could only dream of you at night. Whenever Jungkook would take a nap during the day to supplement his lack of nocturnal sleep, he didn’t dream of you. Ironically, it was the most rest he had gotten in years, and the realization only served to confuse him even more.

After some time had passed with him silently protesting your relationship, he had finally given in and went to bed at a reasonable hour, if only to make sure you were okay, because as much as he hated who you were with, he still cared about you.

Much to Jungkook’s surprise, a lot had occurred in the short span of time he had been staying away from you. You were dealing with a messy breakup while preparing for a huge trip abroad with your class. Jungkook watched eagerly, trying to get important details from the conversations you were having. You hardly confided in your parents or sisters about what was going on at school, but luckily you had been keeping a journal, so he was able to get the juicy details of your life as you wrote out your feelings. Apparently your now ex-boyfriend had threatened you, telling you not to go on your class trip to Korea or else he’d break up with— Korea!? Jungkook was so surprised he had almost managed to wake himself up. You were coming to his country?! Where exactly?! When?!

The boy no longer cared about the details of your breakup. He only cared about your coming to see him. Well, he knew you weren’t hopping on a plane to go see him, per se, but this still felt like Jungkook’s chance to finally meet you.

Jungkook woke up for school with a pep in his step. His cheerful demeanor freaked his friends out, but was too preoccupied to notice. He just wanted to go on with his day as quickly as possible so he could go to bed and learn more things about your trip.

Unfortunately, he had been saddened to realize you weren’t in the best place mentally as of late since dealing with the breakup. Your ex-boyfriend had started a malicious rumor about breaking up with you because you had an STD, which wasn’t true of course, but to high schoolers, it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, the damage would still be done. You threw yourself into your studies again and kept to yourself, your trip abroad being the only thing you now looked forward to.

As the final week leading up to your trip came and went quickly, Jungkook prepared himself. He had decided to go see you, no matter how scared he was to introduce himself. He couldn’t let such an opportunity pass him by, he’d even sneak out of his house if he had to.

Jungkook was only able to gather that you would be visiting famous places with your class like the National Museum and the War Memorial, even making it a point to go to Lotte World, but he wasn’t able to get the specific details of your visit in order to be at the right place at the right time. Still, he ascertained that he’d be able to coordinate once you landed in Korea. He’d at least know where you were staying then.

But something peculiar happened yet again: Jungkook stopped dreaming about you the day you were set to depart to Korea. Jungkook went to bed that night eagerly, excited to see how you’d felt about flying for the first time and your general reactions to his favorite city ever.

When he’d woken up after hours of darkness, he was confused and disappointed, but not enough to bring his mood down. He felt a tingling sensation, a feeling of knowing deep in his bones that you were close to him. Even if he hadn’t dreamt about you, it didn’t mean you weren’t still here, and so Jungkook skipped school that day and rode public transportation to Seoul early in the day. His heart beat erratically the closer he got, the overwhelming feeling of kismet painting his world in rosy shades. He couldn’t believe he was finally going to see you, the person he had been dreaming about since he was a small child, in person.

Jungkook practiced what he’d say when he saw you. He wanted it to be perfect, but as he went over his lines in his head, it suddenly occurred to him that you didn’t speak Korean, and he certainly didn’t speak your native language. He thought back to his dreams, trying to recall how he was able to understand everything going on, but unable to explain it to himself. It was much like trying to explain the dreams themselves. He just knew what was going on. He knew how you felt about things, even when you weren’t verbose. He also knew how other people thought and felt around you despite not speaking the same language. He would be completely confused if he were there with you in person instead of dreaming about you, so it seemed that there were different rules when it came to his intrusive dreams.

This perplexed Jungkook even further. He didn’t know where exactly you were, and even if he did, he didn’t know how to talk to you. The boy scratched his head worriedly, wondering if what he was doing was silly, but he was now almost at the city. There was no turning back now.

Jungkook ascended the steps of the subway and took in a deep breath. The air was a lot cooler in the city, though not as fresh. He looked around at the bustling crowds of people, feeling a bit out of place in his school uniform. He began walking in the same direction as everyone else, only stopping to buy flowers from a street vendor along the way. He figured if he didn’t know what to say to you, a pretty flower might be able to say what he couldn’t.

He didn’t want to scare you off by coming on too strong. Still, he wanted to convey his feelings for you somehow, to show you that you two were fated somehow, even if neither of you knew why exactly.

Jungkook walked around aimlessly for hours. As his feet grew tired, he realized how silly it was to assume he might run into you just by being in the same city. Seoul was huge, and the odds of that were slim. Still, if the universe had bothered to present you to him for so long, then maybe it would lend him a helping hand right now, too.

He made his way to all of the places he knew your class would visit. He didn’t have any money to go in to some of them, so he waited around to see if you might show up. When you didn’t, he began feeling even sillier about the entire ordeal. As the late afternoon approached, he reluctantly caught the train back home, knowing it’d be best that he arrived home at the same time as usual so his parents wouldn’t suspect him of playing hooky.

He rode the train home dejectedly, but still hopeful to see what your day was like when he’d go to bed that night.

But unfortunately, only darkness awaited him again.

Jungkook awoke more confused than ever the next morning. What did this mean? Was he losing touch with you? It would be ironic, since you were now physically closer to him than ever before. Was he losing his super lame superpower all of a sudden? The thought freaked him out. His dreams had effectively become a part of him and his identity, not to mention, he’d basically grown up with you. To suddenly not know about you every night was to relearn how to be alone again, which he hadn’t been for almost a decade. Jungkook quickly shook the thought from his mind.

Since his school was quick to call parents for any little thing, he wasn’t able to continue skipping school to go into the city, but he knew you’d still be there in the weekend coming up, so he settled for trying to get his dreams to come back to him so he could find you.

But as each night came and went without a sign of you, Jungkook grew increasingly anxious. He was no closer to finding answers than he was to finding you, and the thought made him feel helpless. Worst of all, he felt as if his image of you was already fading, despite having seen you every night for years. He tried his hardest to recall all of your features, but they came up hazily. He’d been so shaken by the realization that he pulled out a sheet of paper in class and began trying to sketch you in the middle of class. He came out with a drawing of a faceless girl in a school uniform, despite his best efforts. The ambiguous drawing mocked him, so he balled it up angrily and tossed it into his bag, deciding that it meant nothing if he decided it so.

Just as he had no control over beginning to dream about you, he had no control over continuing to do so, he’d soon realized, and the whole thing felt like a cruel joke. Was this the universe’s plan? To get him invested in someone unreachable only to yank them away when he was so close to getting to them?

On Friday night, Jungkook went to bed with his weekend outfit folded neatly at the foot of his bed. He was determined to head out bright and early and spend the entire day in the city searching for you. And much to his surprise, there wasn’t any darkness waiting for him as he drifted off to sleep.

You were on an airplane, looking out of the window and watching the sunset. Your classmates were also on the plane already sleeping. It turned out that your trip had gotten cut short due to a funding mix up at your school. You were disappointed, but you had had so much fun the last few days, so you decided to focus on being grateful for having the experience at all. By the time you were getting close to landing, Jungkook had woken up.

He sat upright, tears flowing freely from the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t crying exactly, but he should’ve been. Instead, he immediately fetched a sketchpad and began drawing you. He dragged the thin lead across the page continuously, slowly forming the image of you looking out of the plane window. It was you, of that he was certain. And although he was momentarily relieved, he hated the way someone who didn’t even know who he was could have such control over his life.

He laid back down and allowed himself to feel the deep sadness that washed over him. He had decided to believe in his initial suspicions. It turned out that the universe had been just as cruel and fickle as he suspected it to be.

Jungkook spent the rest of his senior year processing his feelings of anger in different ways.

He’d returned to his strike, staying up at night and sleeping during the day. He no longer wanted to be invested in your life as much as he already was, especially if his knowing you from afar was destined to stay that way forever.

He wasn’t mad at anything or anyone in particular, though sometimes he hated you for not coming to find him, as irrational as that was. Sometimes he hated himself for not being more capable of finding you, sometimes he hated your school for not giving him enough time, sometimes he just hated the universe for making him into this plaything he considered himself to be.

As you focused on college applications, Jungkook began spending less time at home and more time exposing himself to the night life in Seoul. He knew he had no plans of pursuing a University degree despite his parents’ encouragement. So instead, he did whatever came to mind, especially if it was something dangerous or out of the norm. He convinced himself he was simply trying to find himself, but a small kernel of truth inside of him suggested he was being destructive on purpose, only wanting to pursue things that would suggest he wasn’t the same boy as he’d always been, that he wouldn’t bend to the universe’s rules on who he was and consequently who he should be with. That his dreaming of you wasn’t a huge part of who he was.

The five years that followed his high school graduation were a bit of a blur. He’d moved out at 19 and into a house full of 6 other boys that he’d met in the city. He’d gotten an overnight job, a shit ton of tattoos, and a dog since then.

Jungkook now spent his nights bartending at a trendy club in Hongdae and snoring the day away in his room. Even the nightly conquests he’d bring home reflected the kind of life he was now living, fast-paced and wild.

Just as Jungkook had numbly flung himself into a lifestyle he knew nothing about growing up, he did the same with women, screwing his way through his Seoul without remorse. And just as he chose to think that his beliefs would be true simply because he could force them to be true, he believed he could find the one simply because he decided you weren’t. Of course, when he found an inability to connect with anyone that he’d bring home or meet on a random day, he blamed it on whatever was convenient. His reason for blowing off the girl who had cutely left her number on his nightstand last night: he couldn’t see himself being with a cat person. It would never work, or so he told himself as he stretched his tired muscles.

The groggy boy yawned and sat at the edge of his bed, petting his pit bull who had excitedly come to his feet as soon as he awoke. He felt bad for not being able to spend more time with his dog, but he was thankful one of his friends was always home to care for him when he couldn’t. Besides, the dog had grown more attached to his best friend anyway.

He peered into his tired eyes reflected back at him in his large mirror that faced his bed. He shook his long dark hair out of his eyes and flexed his muscles, watching his tattoos contort in the process.

“You are so fucken full of yourself.” Taehyung watched his friend from the doorway before the dog turned towards him, wagging his tail furiously. Tae was his favorite person in the house because he was home a lot and therefore spent the most time with him.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, flashing a cocky smile towards his friend before locating his shirt and throwing it on over his head.

“What time is it?” He yawned and stood up, patting the bed for his phone.

“Five. Come eat.”

Both of them descended the stairs once Jungkook found his cellphone in the pocket of his jeans sprawled on the floor. They joined the rest of their rowdy housemates at the dinner table, taking seats opposite of each other as Yoongi began serving them the fried rice he had slayed over.

As Jungkook rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he looked around the table and felt at ease. He’d managed to find himself in crazy situations since he’d left home, but the one thing he didn’t regret was befriending this group of boys. They’d taken him under their wing and offered him countless good advice when he really needed it. But most of all, he was grateful for his absolute best friend in the entire world, Taehyung.

They had gotten off to a rocky start when they first met, sizing each other up after one spilled a drink on the other during a party. After so long, neither of them remembered who started the altercation exactly, but they could both freely laugh about it since the whole thing was so stupid.

Jungkook and Taehyung ended up spending a lot of time together after that fateful party since they shared so many friends, and realized they had a lot more in common than they originally thought. It wasn’t long before they were as thick as thieves, going out together, getting kicked out of clubs together, giving each other poorly drawn tattoos and playing wingman when one desperately needed to get laid.

Though Taehyung was always as rambunctious as he was, Jungkook still knew he didn’t share that same chaos within himself that compelled him to be reckless. Taehyung was a good guy with a good head on his shoulders and a bright future ahead of him, so the closer they got, the more Jungkook encouraged him to go to college and put those brains of his to good use.

He ended up taking the advice, which is where he met his current girlfriend. Jungkook had been both happy and disappointed to hear the news. He saw how happy and smitten Tae was, but this meant he had lost his wingman, and it also undoubtedly meant they would spend less time together since he’d seen first-hand how girlfriends suck up a man’s free time. Jungkook wrinkled his nose at the thought as he chewed on his dinner, well, breakfast really.

“Something wrong?” Yoongi watched Jungkook make a face as he ate, worried about the taste of his food.

Jungkook quickly shook his head, “No hyung, this is really good, thank you.” Yoongi nodded in satisfaction, turning to look at Taehyung.

“What about you?”

Taehyung turned to the older boy in confusion, swallowing his food before reaffirming how good the rice was. Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head before he spoke, “Not that. Didn’t you have something you wanted to tell us?”

The table went quiet as Taehyung smiled, his cheeks twinged pink in embarrassment at the sudden focus on him. Jungkook quirked his brow, unsure as to what was going on. He was usually the first to know about Taehyung’s business, but his increase in hours at work had been keeping him out of the loop with all of the house’s plans.

Taehyung cleared his throat, making eye contact with the members of the table as he spoke, “So, as you all may or may not know, I have a girlfriend,” Someone made a sound of disgust which caused the table to erupt in laughter. Nonetheless, Taehyung persevered, “And it’s getting pretty serious so, I want to bring her over so you all can meet her. You guys are like my family so…” Another sound of disgust was made, but this time it came from Jungkook. Everyone laughed as Tae flung the bottle of sauce at him. The younger boy caught it, his squinted eyes alight with humor. “Since everyone has a day off this Saturday, I’m inviting her over then. I figured we could watch a movie or something. It’s been forever since we all hung out as a group too. Everyone’s so busy these days…”

The boys took turns looking around the table, feeling a bit guilty for not making more free time for each other. When they had first moved in, they were all inseparable, but now, it was rare for them to all be congregated to share a meal the way they all were now.

“Anyway, that’s it. Please don’t embarrass me.” Taehyung held his palms up together in the air, pleading his hyungs not to go out of their way to scare his girlfriend off.

Jungkook smiled as he watched his friends begin to crack jokes about how domesticated Taehyung had become after becoming taken. The brunette ate his food in silence, trying to focus on their words and not in the buzzing feeling he felt deep inside himself. He knew this feeling already, he had felt it before, and if this was years ago, he’d be unwilling to give it the time of day.

Before, he had wanted to drive you out of his life by force, and it had worked for a bit, but every once in a while, this feeling of nostalgia would wash over him, reminding him that somewhere out there in this big world full of billions of people, you existed, no matter how much he thought he didn’t care. Eventually, he just had to make peace with that, and allow you back into his thoughts bit by bit so that he wouldn’t die a resentful old man (as he put it).

It was a year ago, right around the time that Taehyung had announced his relationship to Jungkook. He had played his role as “the best friend who just wanted him to be happy”, but when he sat alone in his room that night, he’d fished out his sketchbook that was flung under the bed and began flipping through it. Countless drawings of you littered the pages, some in your school uniform, some in a sunhat as you helped your mother pull weeds from the yard, even some of you as a kid when you still wore buns to school. He allowed himself to look at these images fondly for the first time, allowing himself to feel connected to a part of himself he had carelessly thrown away.

Now that he was a man, he was able to make peace with the fact that things didn’t work out the way he had hoped they would as a child, and that that was okay. He even tried to draw you again for the first time in years, but the image came out looking like someone unrecognizable, so he had sighed and put the pad away again. Though he didn’t start sketching you again as he used to, he allowed himself to think about you from time to time, and that made all the difference.

He had grown comfortable with the idea of you again, even now as he tried but failed to listen to his friends talking, his mind wandered to you and what you might be doing. He wondered what your life was like now and what you looked like, if you went to college, if you had dated anymore douchebags, if you cut your hair short like you’d always wanted to but never had the bravery to do so. Jungkook sighed, turning back to his plate of food. None of it mattered anymore anyway.

Saturday came all too quickly and Jungkook wasn’t exactly excited about it. He knew Taehyung specifically chose this day to bring his girlfriend around because it was Jungkook’s day off, and it bothered him. He grumbled as he brushed his teeth, wondering why you were so special to have such a welcome wagon. You had been the person to take his best friend away, so to Jungkook, your arrival had been a personal offense. They were supposed to be bachelors in Seoul, but now he was flying solo and it just wasn’t as fun.

As the younger boy joined his friends in the living room on Saturday afternoon, he noticed Taehyung was missing.

“He went to go pick her up.” Jimin read the confused look on Jungkook’s face. The boy nodded, yawning as he plopped himself down on the couch. His dog came bounding in and jumped up on his lap. He patted the dog’s back as he leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing himself to doze off. He had been pretty restless, so he was tired, to say the least.

It wasn’t until his dog had excitedly jumped off of his lap and ran towards the door to greet the newcomers that Jungkook woke up again. The force of the dog using his lap for take-off shook the boy awake, causing him to come-to just as Taehyung and his girlfriend let themselves in. Jungkook yawned again, calling out sternly to his dog when he saw him barking and sniffing his guest excitedly. The dog didn’t listen, choosing instead to lay on his back and relish in the pets and scratches he was being treated with. Jungkook chuckled and stood up, making his way over to them to make sure his overly excited dog wasn’t bothering Tae’s girlfriend.

He watched as you scratched his dog in all the right places before looking up at him with the brightest smile on your face.

“Is he yours? He’s so cute!”

Jungkook froze as he stared into your eyes. His entire body went cold, buzzing with that feeling of nostalgia that became second nature to him. It was you. He hadn’t seen you in years, but it was definitely you, he was sure of it.

It was as if time had stopped when he stared into your eyes. He stopped breathing in that moment, unsure of which thoughts and feelings to process first.

He was immensely shocked, because he had long made his peace that he’d never meet you. He was dumbfounded, because of all places and circumstances for you two to meet, it had to be this way. Lastly, he fought the urge to bust out laughing, because of course fate would have him meeting you now when he had all but given up on any notion of kismet. Of course, you would pop back into his life now.

He drank your appearance in ravenously, willing himself to memorize your features all over again. It was as if staring at an old photograph. He was filled with a sense of awe and fondness at how so much time had passed yet it was as if no time had passed at all. You hadn’t changed in the slightest, he concluded. You still wore your hair exactly as you had in high school, and your eyes were still large and full of wonder, he was happy to find. He thought back to his sketch book and the countless drawings it held of you with your eyes big and round and full of stars in them.

But for all these thoughts and emotions coursing through his veins, he was unable to voice any of them, the feeling of déjà vu shaking him to his core and serving as reassurance that he hadn’t been crazy, he hadn’timagined you.

He stared open mouthed, unable to form the words he had always wanted to say to you, until Tae nudged his side. He looked at his best friend who had shot him a confused look, silently telling him to stop being weird. He had almost forgotten under which circumstances he was meeting you in. Almost.

“Oh, uh, yeah, he’s mine. Thanks.”

You nodded and stood up, coming to Taehyung’s side and grabbing a hold of your boyfriend’s hand. You peered at the five other curious eyes that stared back at you from the living room. Tae led you toward the couches and Jungkook hesitated before following right behind his traitorous dog.

“Everyone, this is Y/N, Y/N, this is Yoongi, Jimin, Jin, Hobi, Namjoon and Jungkook.”

You blushed, bowing at everyone and smiling shyly at Jungkook. You hated being the center of attention, so you wanted to get this introduction out of the way as soon as possible.

“Wow, she’s a foreigner.” Yoongi was the first to speak, eyeing you and Taehyung.

“Oh, did I not mention that?” Tae scratched his cheek in thought. He had mentioned it, but only to Jungkook.

“No, you didn’t. Does she speak Korean?”

“I do,” you spoke up, feeling awkward that they weren’t talking directly to you.

The boys looked at each other in wonderment, already impressed by Taehyung’s girlfriend. But the person who was most intrigued was Jungkook. A thousand questions burned at the tip of his tongue. He was dying to know how you’d gotten here, and how he might fit into that equation, though he desperately beat back that tiny flame of hope inside of himself that somehow you were both still meant to be.

“So, what are we watching?” Hobi opened a bag of chips and dug his hand in, already bored of the introductions. Relief flooded your system as they all switched to a topic that wasn’t about you.

Jungkook shifted his gaze to his feet, realizing he was still staring like a weirdo, so he decided to pop the dvd into his entertainment system while you and Taehyung situation yourselves on the floor. You cuddled into your boyfriend’s side, shyly leaning your head on his shoulder to shield yourself from any curious eyes.

Jungkook made his way towards his spot on the couch now occupied by his dog. He shooed the animal off and plopped back down, keeping his eyes trained on the television.

But try as he did, he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering towards you. He could barely see you from the way you were sitting next to Taehyung below, but it was enough to know that you were there in the same room as him. His heart began racing as he thought about what this might mean.

You weren’t just a stranger in the street he happened to recognize, you were his best friend’s girlfriend. And apparently you two were serious, according to Taehyung himself. That wasn’t a term his best friend used lightly, so he knew you two were the real deal.

It was only then that his jealousy had begun to set in, though it felt out of place.

Jungkook had given up on you a long time ago, made his peace with the idea that you and he weren’t, in fact, fated somehow. So why was he suddenly green with envy at the thought that Taehyung of all people would be the one you ended up with. He had grown comfortable with the idea that some ordinary guy on the other side of the world whom he knew nothing about would be the guy you ended up with, not his best friend.

Jungkook balled his fists on his thighs. He let out a shaky breath and clenched his jaw, willing his eyes to go back to the movie on screen.

But when the chips made their way to you, he watched as you politely declined to have any. Jungkook began reminiscing to a few years ago when you had gone through a phase of eating a lot less to look a certain way. He pursed his lips, hoping you weren’t doing that kind of thing again.

He watched your hand, specifically the one enveloped inside of Tae’s grip. The blonde rubbed circles into your thumb which cause your shoulders to relax and for you to melt into Taehyung’s side. You had been tense, though Jungkook suspected as much since you’d never quite gotten over your aversion to attention as a child.

Suddenly the boy felt a pair of eyes burning at the side of his face. He turned and caught Hobi’s eyes on him. His housemate furrowed his eyebrows, gesturing over to you behind your back and mouthing the words why are you staring.

Jungkook pursed his lips. He had forgotten about his surroundings yet again. He absolutely wouldn’t be able to explain himself, so he settled for seeming like a creep in his friend’s eyes as he turned his focus back on the television. And he successfully kept his attention off of you, though he couldn’t quite stop his mind from drifting.

He began to wonder what exactly you had been up to for the past couple years that had landed you here, in his living room, watching a movie together.

The last thing he remembered about you was that you had taken a trip here after your shitty high school boyfriend had broken up with you. Had you liked Seoul enough to come back to and live? Had you pursued your interest in historical studies like the little nerd you always were? Clearly you had learned a thing or two since high school in the romance category, since you had said yes to such a great guy like Taehyung. Would you have been less happy if you had ended up with him? Jungkook shut his eyes and forced the intrusive thought out of his mind. There was no you and him, there never was, so there was no reason to waste time imagining it.

Before he knew it, the movie had ended, and he had no idea what is was even about. There were a few explosions, that’s about all he could recall.

As everyone stretched and commented on the movie’s ending, Jungkook stole a few glances in your direction. He instantly noticed how you had hid yourself behind Taehyung a bit, listening attentively but shying away whenever someone looked at you. In an effort to get away from Yoongi’s stare, your eyes landed on Jungkook’s which had already been on you. You blushed and looked down at your feet, feeling socially overwhelmed. Jungkook fought the urge to be protective over you, to get in between you and the curious stares and to ask you if you were okay. But no matter how much of a right he felt to do these things, he knew he couldn’t, so he was happy when Taehyung looked down and finally noticed your blushing face. He looked up at Yoongi and quirked a brow at him.

“You want to take a picture? It’ll last longer!” Yoongi chuckled at Tae’s outburst but nonetheless turned away from them. He challenged anyone else with a stern look who might dare to make you feel uncomfortable. Each of the boys looked away, rubbing the backs of their necks like little boys who had been caught teasing the new girl.

Jungkook cleared his throat, taking this moment to speak to you for the first time.

“So…Y/N… how did you get to be in Korea, if you don’t mind me asking.” The hard line in Taehyung’s lips softened into a smile. He felt glad that at least one of his friends was being polite. Your boyfriend turned towards you, giving you an encouraging smile.

You peered up at Jungkook from between your eyelashes, the blush slowly leaving your face. “Well, I came to Seoul once in high school, and I really liked it. I ended up applying to Yonsei shortly after. I wasn’t expecting to get in, but I did, and I’ve been here ever since.”

Jungkook nodded thoughtfully, slowly piecing together the last couple years of your life he had been absent for.

“So…you’re still in school then?”

“No, actually, I graduated last year. I met Taehyung during my graduation in fact! It’s a funny story.” You smiled up at your boyfriend who was beaming down at you. He hugged you closer to his side, recalling that day vividly.

Someone made a noise of disgust, breaking you two out of your moment. Taehyung launched himself at Jimin while everyone laughed, including you. You giggled quietly as you watched your boyfriend wrestle his friend to the ground. Jungkook was enamored with you, that he couldn’t deny. He had so many more questions, but he knew it’d be weird to give you the third degree right now, so he took the opportunity that everyone’s attention was averted to slip quietly upstairs to his bedroom. He had grown mentally exhausted and he wanted a chance to recoup in the solace of his bedroom.

As he plopped himself on his bed and stared up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head, the same words he had been trying to force out of his head were now running rampant through his mind like a broken record. If I hadn’t given up on us, would I be where Taehyung was at now? Should I have waited for you?

The boy sighed and stood up, crouching down under his bed to fish for his sketch pad then locating the pencil he had chucked onto his nightstand. He got to work right away, sketching a blushing girl, giggling at something a few feet away. He spent extra time on her features, making sure he got them exactly right this time. He paused to look at it periodically, ruminating on what was missing before he added a detail here and there.

Jungkook wasn’t sure how much time had passed before there was a heavy knock at his door. He opened the door only to find Hobi leaning against the doorframe, staring at Jungkook with a weird expression on his face. He let himself into the boy’s room without invitation, something that always annoyed Jungkook to no end.

“Can I help you?” the brunette closed the door and turned to his hyung who had already made himself at home on his bed. His new guest eyed the sketch pad on the bed before turning back to his younger friend.

“What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem weird, can’t put my finger on it though.” Hobi squinted as he stared at Jungkook, willing for him to cough up any details about Taehyung’s girlfriend that he didn’t know. “What do you have against Y/N?”

The question caught Jungkook off guard, causing him to look around the room and stutter. “I— I don’t know what you’re referring to hyung. She’s a nice girl, why would I have anything against her?”

Hobi continued squinting at Jungkook. He knew him to be a terrible liar, which couldn’t be more obvious in this moment. This only served as more confirmation that something fishy was going on.

“Well, you couldn’t stop staring at her, and the first chance you got, you left. You must know something.” Hobi leaned back on the bed and felt the pad brush up against his fingers. Since Jungkook wasn’t budging, he decided to pick it up and flip through it. Jungkook froze as he watched someone looking at his drawings for the first time ever. Would he know who they all were?

He watched Hobi carefully, noticing how his dull eyes had lit up in recognition. His eyebrows shot up as a slow whistle left his puckered lips. Shit.

“Holy shit—”

“Let me explain.”

“You’re in love with Tae’s girl?!” Hobi turned toward the boy with pure humor rearranging his features. He had caught the bastard red handed.

“No, I’m not!” Jungkook ground his teeth together as he stomped over to his bed and ripped the pad out of his friend’s hands.

“Yes, you are!! You totally are dude. There’s like a million drawings in here of her! When did you have time to do all of these!?” Hobi spoke in between incredulous laughter.

Jungkook sighed impatiently, looking back towards the door in fear that someone might overhear.

“Shut the fuck up! You have no idea what you’re talking about right now.”

“So, what is it then?” Hobi leaned back, eyeing his friend suspiciously. There wasn’t much the younger boy might be able to say that would convince him otherwise, but he gave him the benefit of the doubt, nonetheless.

Jungkook sighed again, dragging his feet as he moved beside Hobi. He sat down heavily, placing the pad on Hobi’s lap reluctantly.

“I always date my drawings.” Jungkook didn’t offer anything more, so Hobi let his curiosity get the best of him and flipped the book open once more. He looked at the bottom left corner of the first page, furrowing his eyebrows while reading the date once, twice, and one more time.

“This is from…years ago…” He turned to another page, and then another, finally realizing that today wasn’t Jungkook’s first encounter with Tae’s girlfriend.

“Bro…this is fucked up.” He chucked the book back on the bed, turning to Jungkook whom was regarding him shamefully. “Does Tae know about this?”

Jungkook shook his head solemnly. “He doesn’t have to know either. I’m staying out of the way, so don’t say anything to him.”

Hobi thought for a moment. He wasn’t used to being Jungkook’s confidante. That role had been taken by Tae from the beginning. He was conflicted, since they were both good friends of his. He didn’t want to be in the middle when this would undoubtedly blow up in Jungkook’s face, but he didn’t want Tae to think him a traitor for staying quiet either. But what would he even be staying quiet about?

“So, what exactly went on between you two? Did you two grow up together or something? She didn’t seem to know you when she first got here.”

Jungkook sighed, realizing he would have to risk sounding crazy in order to get Hobi to understand the unique situation he was in.

“That’s because she doesn’t know who I am. But I’ve always known who she was.”

“What are you some kinda stalker?!”

Jungkook deadpanned at Hobi who pursed his lips, promising not to interrupt anymore.

“It’s…hard for me to say this, so be open minded, if you can. I’ve had these…visions,” Jungkook fearfully peered at his friend who was staring back at him in confusion, “so to speak, since I was a child. They were all about her, and it’s not like I chose this, or anything, they just kind of happen. But it was hard for me to recall her face whenever I wasn’t seeing these…visions…so I started sketching her whenever I could, to remember. I know it sounds weird, but please believe me, I have no reason to lie.”

When Jungkook hadn’t heard anything, he looked over at his friend who was staring down at the floor in contemplation. Hobi was conflicted between believing Jungkook had truly lost his marbles and believing even a sliver of what he was saying. Hobi never believed in anything supernatural of that sort, so it was hard for him to process his words. Still, if there was any possibility that he wasn’t going to go rat Jungkook out to Tae in the next minute, it all depended on whether he believed Jungkook’s innocence. He couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t intrigued, but the thought of Jungkook making all of this up to convince him they weren’t fooling around being Taehyung’s back seemed a bit much.

“So, let me get this straight. You expect me to believe that you have all of these drawings and know intimate things about Taehyung’s girl, not because you two are hooking up in secret, but because you have these weird fortune telling powers? Do you think I’m an idiot or something?”

Jungkook sighed again, “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s the truth. There’s nothing else to it.”

Hobi thought for a second. He had fully expected his friend to blow up on him and get defensive, and when he didn’t, he was even more inclined to hear him out.

“Okay…if this bullshit is all true, then tell me some things about her that only you would know.”

Jungkook quirked a brow, wondering how that would prove his innocence to Hobi, but nonetheless he complied.

“Well,” Jungkook flipped through all of his memories of your life in his mind, recalling a ton he could choose from, “she auditioned for the cheerleading squad in her middle school, but she got denied because she couldn’t even do a cartwheel. Oh, and she used to have a secret pet. She found this dying kitten on her way home from school one day and she wanted to take it home, but she knew her parents wouldn’t be okay with that, so she snuck it in and kept it in her room. She fed it and bathed it, but it died a week later, and she was so broken up about it for a long time.” Jungkook thought some more, “When she turned 14, her parents finally let her go to the movies with her friends without parental supervision. She decided to stuff her bra with toilet paper before going, but it fell out during the movie,” Jungkook began sniggering, remembering the mortification you felt in that moment, “so she quietly pulled it all out and left it under her chair. OH and she skipped school one time to get a belly button ring that ended up getting infected.”

“OKAY, that’s enough! Jeez.” Hobi stood up from the bed exasperatedly. There was no denying Jungkook knew some pretty weird details about you, but there was only one way to find out if they were real or not. “Come on, dinner’s ready.”

Jungkook followed Hobi back downstairs where everyone awaited at the dinner table. He sat across from the red head, trying his best not to look in your direction even when he could feel your eyes on him. He just wanted to get through this meal as quickly as possible so he could retreat back into his room. It was funny how back then he wanted nothing more than to spend time with you, and now after all this time he wanted nothing more than for you to disappear through the same door you had come from.

“So, Y/N,” Hobi cleared his throat while everyone looked up at him. You looked down the table towards him, startled to hear him calling you so loudly. Jungkook’s head snapped up in his direction, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach forming quickly, “I feel like I hardly know you. You ever had any pets?”

Everyone turned toward you as you thought for a second. Your voice was small, barely heard above the television that played in the background.

“Umm, no not really. I wasn’t allowed to have any growing up.”

Hobi shot Jungkook a look as the younger boy grimaced, realizing what he was trying to do.

“Okay…ever gotten denied from a sports team?”

The boys made faces at Hobi, wondering why his questions were so oddly specific. Tae shot him a warning glance, turning back to you as you mulled over his question.

“Does cheerleading count?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned towards Hobi who had mirrored the same expression.

Taehyung smiled down at you, “Babe, I didn’t know you wanted to be a cheerleader at some point.”

You smiled back at him bashfully, “It was in middle school actually, but I couldn’t do any acrobatics to save my life.” You giggled at memory. What was once painfully humiliating was now a fond memory to you, and it had affected Jungkook in the same way. When he experienced things along with you, he felt them too as if they were happening to him. But your memories aged within him just like his own, he was happy to find.

“Hm. Interesting. Well, as you can see here, we’re big fans of tattoos and piercings. Got any of your own?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?!” Taehyung growled at the loud mouth redhead sitting a few feet from him. You clutched at your boyfriends’ sleeve, letting him know you didn’t find an issue with his curiosity.

“Well, not really no. I had a belly button piercing once but I took it out. It was way too much work.”

Taehyung turned to you, speaking in a low tone. “Are you serious? Wait that’s actually really hot. Why didn’t you tell me?”

You giggled, getting embarrassed, “I never really told anyone about that actually. It was my way of being a rebel in high school.” Taehyung chuckled at your confession, pulling on your cheek to show you how adorable he thought you were.

Hobi focused on his meal during the remainder of the dinner, a look of torment shone on his face that no one bothered to question him about. Jungkook felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he had put Hobi in a weird predicament by sharing something so inexplicable with him. But what was he supposed to do, risk making both you and he look like adulterers in a single bound?

Jungkook counted the seconds until you would leave, but goddammit, the time just never came. He was finding less and less excuses to slip away and not get to know Tae’s girlfriend, and at the end of the night when everyone was tired and heading to bed, Taehyung had excused you both and gone straight into his bedroom for the night.

Jungkook wasn’t sure why he expected otherwise, knowing how Taehyung operated with women. How could he have expected you two to be celibate? The boy begrudgingly went upstairs and into his bedroom, flinging himself onto his bed. He wasn’t tired in the slightest since he was used to being at work at this time.

He had deliberately not made any plans tonight for the purpose of meeting you, which he was now deeply regretting as he recalled how thin the wall that his bedroom shared with Tae’s was.

Jungkook quickly hopped up and fetched his guitar from its stand, deciding he’d practice his music all night if he had to, though realistically, he knew Tae’s longest time was about 40 minutes, so that wouldn’t be necessary at all.

Jungkook strummed on his strings a few times before remembering to fetch his song book in case he had any ideas for lyrics.

During the brief silence as he walked over to his desk, he heard your distinct giggle from the other side of the wall. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling through flared nostrils before returning to his guitar.

By the time the sun was rising, he had written and rehearsed an entire song. Of course, it was about you. He just couldn’t get you out of his stupid head no matter what he did. You’d ruined him all over again and you’d only been back in his life for less than a day. He decided he’d hate you from now on as he threw on his hoodie to step outside for a morning cigarette.

He’d hate your face, he’d hate your blush, he’d hate your stupid giggle, and he’d hate your nerdy tendencies. There was nothing about you that he’d allow himself to love or even like. That was the only way he was going to make it out of this situation in one piece.

But as he stepped out into the patio and made eye contact with you, all of those declarations melted away. He loved all of those things about you, and he always would, so he tried even harder to push back against the way his inner self wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms and tell you all the things about him that you’d missed over the past 24 years.

You had snuck out of Tae’s bed for a morning cigarette as well, but you realized you hadn’t brought a lighter with you, so you settled for taking in some cool fresh air. When Jungkook came out to join you, you offered him a warm smile, remembering how nice he had been to you the night before, so it was a shock to see the way his eyes and his jaw hardened under your gaze. He seemed to have grown an aversion to you, or were you just unaware at how generally disliked you were around here?

Jungkook let the door close behind him with a bang as he took his cigarette off of his ear and popped it into his mouth. He fished the lighter from his pants and began trying to light it as you popped your own cigarette into your mouth.

You watched as he lit his cigarette and inhaled greedily before exhaling tiredly into the cool morning air.

“Umm,” You looked up at the boy who was busy pretending you weren’t there. He stiffened at the sound of your voice before hesitantly looking over to you. His eyes widened at the sight of the cigarette in your mouth. “Can I borrow your lighter?”

Jungkook furrowed his brow, yanking the cigarette from in between your lips quickly.

“Y/N what are you doing!? You don’t smoke!”

You were shocked at the way he felt comfortable enough to do such a thing, even speaking to you as if he knew you. You stared at each other, the moment tense with many things unsaid. Suddenly, he realized his mistake, looking away from you to compose himself. Of course, you didn’t know how well he knew you. You’d always found these things disgusting. What changed?

Jungkook decided it would be best to just play this whole thing off as a joke, but when he extended the cigarette back out to you, he felt conflicted with himself. As much of hypocrite that he was being in this moment, he didn’t want to encourage your newfound habit, so he chucked the cigarette into the grass just before you could wrap your fingers around it.

You stared open mouthed as you watched the stick land on the dirt. There was no way you wanted to put your mouth on it now. Your eyes watered, looking back up at the boy who was being inexplicably mean to you. Between the odd stares and the whispering last night, and now this, you had just about had enough.

“What the hell did I do to you!? To any of you?! You’re all so…” You struggled to find the words to say, then realized it probably wasn’t smart to blow up on Tae’s best friend right after meeting him. So you groaned and turned away, marching back upstairs to your boyfriend’s room before you embarrassed yourself by crying from being overwhelmed in front of Jungkook.

Jungkook sighed once he heard the door to Tae’s room close. He continued sucking on the cigarette, mentally scolding himself for not handling the situation better. Part of him was thundering, angry that he hadn’t done everything he could to keep you there with him as long as he could. He knew he couldn’t listen to that part of himself though, not if he didn’t want to cross any lines he couldn’t come back from.

Jungkook stomped the flame out of his cigarette before going back upstairs and finally submitting to his exhaustion. But just as he nodded off to sleep, he realized he was still awake. Or was he?

He was looking up at the ceiling for a while, until he realized it wasn’t his ceiling, it was Tae’s ceiling, and you were the one looking at it.

He felt a thrill running through him. He hadn’t dreamed of you in years, and it still felt as natural to him as if he’d never stopped.

You were lying next to Tae as he slept, trying to calm yourself down so that you could go back to sleep peacefully. You were fuming, playing the events of this morning over and over in your head. It felt surreal for Jungkook to see himself as a guest star in his dreams of you. For so long, the dreams felt like something so detached from himself, as abstract as the very concept itself.

Although you were seeing him in a negative light, he was still beside himself that for the first time, he wasn’t the only one thinking of you. You were finally thinking of him too.

It was better this way, for you to hate him instead of feel for him the complicated feelings he felt for you. He watched as you drifted off to sleep, and so his dream went dark for the remainder of his sleep, not that he minded anyway.

Three loud and decided consecutive knocks interrupted the quietness of Jungkook’s bedroom. It was late in the evening and Jungkook was busy styling his hair before heading off to work. Normally he’d be annoyed by the intrusion, but he recognized those knocks by now. Tae’s knuckles hitting solid wood always sounded like bullets.

Jungkook sauntered over to the door and opened it before heading back to the mirror. He didn’t bother asking his best friend what was up or even making eye contact with him, he knew if Tae ever had something to say he’d just say it.

“Getting ready for work?” Jungkook grunted in response, putting his comb down and picking up his hair spray. “Alright, well I won’t hold you up then. I just wanted to ask you personally about what happened the other day. Y/N said you were really mean to her…”

Taehyung observed his friend closely for a response. He had been surprised to hear you two hadn’t actually gotten along since he was under the impression that you two had hit it off quite well. Surely it was a misunderstanding?

Jungkook struggled to conceal his smirk. Nerd’s still a tattle tale I see.

“Oh, really? I didn’t think I was being mean at all.” Jungkook looked over at Taehyung innocently.

The older boy sighed in frustration. “Okay well, whatever the case, can you please just fix it?”

Jungkook quirked a brow. “Why do you care so much?”

“Please, dude! C’mon do this for me! I really need her to be comfortable coming over! She doesn’t like fucking at her place with all her roommates around and I really need to get laid.”

Jungkook snorted and turned back to the mirror. He didn’t see how that was his problem in the slightest. In fact, he should be the last person on this earth to worry about it.

“Jungkook c’mon!”

The younger boy audibly groaned, quickly becoming tired of this conversation.

“What do you want me to do if she doesn’t like me!?”

“I don’t know man, show her your nice side? Say something nice to her? Spend a little time together? Fuck if I know what girls need in this situation…” Jungkook grimaced. He didn’t like the sound of having to spend quality time with you one bit. “C’mon dude, you used to be my trusty wingman. Do this for me!”

Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the buzzing in his veins.

“Okay, fine! Fuck!”

Taehyung’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. He knew he could count on his best friend to get him laid.

“Alright, I’m outta here. Thanks dude, seriously!”

Jungkook grunted his response as Tae flew down the stairs and out of sight. He let out a long sigh as he collected his belongings. He already knew this would be a long night now that he was already thinking about you. Normally he’d stave off any thoughts that had to do with you as long as possible. Taehyung that dickhead.

Jungkook’s train ride to work was quick as usual. The cars were always stuffed with people at the hour that he’d always go in, but luckily, he didn’t have to put up with it for too long. He was already quite used to his work routine by now.

He’d start by letting himself in through the club’s side door. He’d greet the owner who was always inside doing paperwork before the rest got in. The guys from security were always there too, helping set up the floor.

When Jungkook first started working there, he always kept his head down and did his job to the best of his ability. Nothing much had changed throughout the years, except that now he knew people’s names and had even made a friend or two.

Once he’d make his way to the bar, Jungkook liked to start off by making sure all of the glasses and shakers were cleaned and properly stocked. Then he’d fill his ice and get the juices, sodas and fruits he needed to make his drinks. By then, the club would be opening and quickly filling. His barback would also show up to help him out. He was a good kid, reminded Jungkook of himself a lot when he was his age. Jungkook never bothered asking him how he found himself in this city working at this club, but he had a feeling it was for a similar reasons as Jungkook’s.

On the weekends though, his coworker Lisa would show up a few hours into his shift to help him serve the massive volume of people in need of inebriation. He didn’t mind her company so much these days, now that she’d finally gotten the point that he didn’t want to sleep with her.

On this day, however, he was most grateful to see her bouncing bob making its way to him behind the bar. It was only a Friday, but it must’ve been the start to some kind of holiday weekend with the way people were hoarding the bar like an army of zombies.

“Hey Kookie!” Lisa ruffled the boy’s curls as she passed him by from behind.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” Jungkook filled four gin and tonics while grumbling at his coworker.

“Oh, I’m sorry Kookie. What would you prefer?” The girl purred innocently, loving the way it was so easy to fluster this man twice her size.

“Just Jungkook.” He stated monotonously as he pushed out the four drinks then got a couple beers from the minifridge under the counter.

“Hmm…nah. Too long!” She giggled at her own mischievousness while Jungkook could only groan. Unfortunately, the barback happened to come up with the ice refill they needed in that moment and was now on the receiving end of Jungkook’s pent up frustration.

“I asked for this shit ages ago, where have you been?!”

The boy flinched at the tone in Jungkook’s voice. He only stared wide-eyed, unable to defend himself. He had lost track of time after checking his phone once he got to the ice machine.

Lisa took the bucket from the boy and gave him an apologetic smile. He scurried off to the back to get the fruit Jungkook had also asked him for ages ago.

“Be easier on him or else he’ll quit. We can’t operate without a barback.”

Lisa took care of the next few drinks while Jungkook wiped the wet counter. The customers were getting drunker by the hour and consequently, sloppier.

“We can’t operate with a shitty barback either. He’s gotta learn. This is how I learned.”

Lisa rolled her eyes, knowing Jungkook meant well. He just didn’t understand what a brute he could be sometimes. She wished it hadn’t turned her on as much as it did.

The next hour went by as usual. Lisa and Jungkook had already developed a smooth flow of working together, finishing drinks for each other, picking up the slack whenever one of them was flirting for a good tip, even picking up the slack whenever one of them got a little too tipsy after taking shots with insistent customers.

Tonight, however, was different. Jungkook was distracted. He couldn’t stop looking at you and therefore was constantly messing up.

Your coworkers decided to drag you to a hot nightclub in Hongdae tonight to celebrate one of them finally getting engaged. Nightclubs weren’t exactly your scene, but you didn’t want to spoil the infectious mood or offend them by declining to go. It had taken a long time for them to warm up to you as a foreigner, so you didn’t want to do anything that might put them off. It’s not that you were against the drinking and the dancing and the partying per se, you loved having a good time. But sometimes you’d get in your own head and worry about coming off as awkward. You also weren’t a good dancer.

Nonetheless, you found yourself at the crowded venue with the girls close to midnight, swaying to the music and sucking on a sweet vodka cranberry.

Jungkook had spotted you as soon as you came in. He’d felt a tingling sensation that wouldn’t leave him, until he served a customer that was facing the door. His eyes snapped to your figure receding into the crowd that surrounded the bar. With his eyes trained on you like a hawk, he quickly gathered you were there with a group of women whom had reserved a table last minute. It was hard for him to keep track of you unless he went out of his way to peer over the heads crowding the bar, so he tried not to care at all, which resulted in him distractedly making drinks wrong and ultimately knocking over a glass.

Lisa casted worried glances at her coworker who was normally such an expert. When the glass smashed against the floor, she considered it to be the last straw. Jungkook rolled up his sleeves, exposing the tattoos that decorated both of his arms before squatting down to pick up the mess he had made. She placed a hand firmly on his shoulder, causing him to flinch as he looked up at her.

“Go take 5. I’ll clean up. I don’t know what’s wrong with you today but go get yourself together.”

Jungkook pursed his lips and nodded before heading out of the club through the back. He left the door ajar so as not to lock himself out and as soon as the cool air hit his hot cheeks, he visibly relaxed. He hated being a liability at work. The fact that you were the reason that he was being so clumsy and sloppy was doubly annoying.

Jungkook fished for his lighter and his pack of cigarettes in his pants. He found the former but not the latter, realizing he forgot them at home on his nightstand, another result of his head being so occupied. He sighed in frustration, leaning against the brick wall and tugging at his roots with his fingers. What is she even doing here of all places? Did Tae put her up to this? This wasn’t what he meant when he agreed to spending time with you.

Suddenly a sharp cry pierced his muddled thoughts. His head snapped towards the end of the alley where a woman and a man were huddled together. He squinted his eyes and listened closely, realizing that the situation looked hostile.

The drunken man’s hand was gripping the woman’s arm roughly and tugging her towards him while she struggled to get out of his embrace.

“I SAID NO!” With one final tug, the girl ripped her arm out of the man’s grasp, only for him to lunge at her phone that was in her other hand.

Jungkook hadn’t realized when his feet started moving. All he knew was that the voice belonged to you and that you were in trouble.

His hand pushed the man roughly, causing the older guy to stumble backwards. He had successfully gotten your phone out of your hand, so Jungkook reached for it and snatched it back. The man looked at him furiously.

“Who the hell are you!? Mind your own business man!”

“Get the fuck out of here before I get security.” Jungkook’s voice was low and calm, more of a threat than screaming would ever prove. The man took one look at you and Jungkook before sucking his teeth and walking off.

Jungkook watched him for a while until he disappeared into another bar up the block then turned to you.

You were shaking, hiding behind Jungkook a bit.

He instantly took pity on you, handing you your phone back and subtly turning the corners of his mouth upward.

“You okay?”

You looked up at him and nodded weakly, taking your phone back sullenly.

“…Yeah. I just came out here to call Tae and this creep followed me! God, I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here…what are you doing here, by the way?”

“I work here. Bartender.”

A look of recognition flashed across your eyes before you smiled down at your feet. “Ah, the bartender.”

Jungkook quirked a brow, curious about the sudden inflection in your voice. When you saw his eyes regarding you questioningly, you chuckled and blushed.

“No, it’s just that, my friend got us all drinks and she wouldn’t stop talking about the hot bartender.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up and he couldn’t help chuckling himself. He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, looking at anywhere else that wasn’t you.

“Ah…”

Suddenly the smell of smoke wafted in front of Jungkook. He noticed you had lit a cigarette while he wasn’t paying attention.

“You’re not going to rip this one out of my mouth, are you?” You challenged him with a playful look, causing the boy to chuckle again.

“Nah I’m not.” A moment passed as he deliberated on what to do. You clearly had a phone call to make, and his five minutes were just about up. He should go. He should definitely go. “Hey, can I bum one off of you? I left my pack at home.”

“Oh this is actually my last one, but we can share!” You extended the white stick out to him. He hesitated before plucking it from your fingers and taking a long drag.

You both took turns passing it back and forth in silence. Although this moment was innocent, Jungkook knew he was already beginning to overstep the boundaries he had long placed in between you two. His mind screamed for him to go back to work, but his feet just didn’t move.

“So, you told on me to Tae huh?” Jungkook exhaled a clowd of smoke then handed you the cigarette with a cocky smile.

You couldn’t help but smile back, yanking the already shortened stick from his hand.

“I hold no loyalties to you.” You stuck your tongue out at him playfully. You were glad there wasn’t any animosity between you two as you had initially thought. Tae held his friendship to Jungkook near and dear to him, so it wore on you to be on bad terms with someone whom he loved that much.

Jungkook shook his head, refusing to take the cigarette when you attempted to pass it to him. “So why are youhere?”

“Just here with my coworkers. Do I look that out of place?”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, not meaning to offend you.

“No! You look good here! I mean— You…” You giggled at his sputtering, not realizing someone like Jungkook could ever get nervous. He struck you as such a cool guy, maybe a bit of a fuck boy. Suddenly you saw someone peaking their head out of the backdoor and looking in your direction.

“You on break?” You gestured toward your observer.

Jungkook followed your gaze. Lisa must’ve sent the barback for him. He instantly felt a twinge of guilt, leaving her to fend for herself on such a busy night.

“No, actually. I should probably get back.” You nodded and dropped the dead cigarette to the pavement, stomping on it with your heel. As he started walking away, he couldn’t help himself from turning around to look at you one more time. You met his gaze questioningly, so he searched for something cool to say. “Try not to get into any more trouble, I won’t be here to protect you.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “No promises.”

“So, uh…guess I’ll see you around.” Jungkook began walking off again before stopping in his tracks at the sound of your voice.

“Well, actually, you’ll see me at home! I was going to go see Tae tonight since your place is close by. Should we…take the train together?”

Jungkook was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected to be spending any more alone time with you. “Well, I close actually…”

“That’s okay! I doubt my friends will let me leave any earlier anyway. Besides Tae hates it when I take public transport alone late at night. Case in point” You gestured to the bar up the block and beamed at him. His heart stuttered a bit.

“Uh…Okay, yeah… sure. Just come see me at the bar if your friends leave.” Jungkook turned swiftly and disappeared back into the club, rushing to join Lisa behind the counter. He couldn’t wipe the goofy smirk from his face, even when Lisa shot him a dirty look for being gone so long. He simply whistled as he got back into the groove of serving the hordes of people throwing their money at them. Lisa wanted to be annoyed with him, but she couldn’t, seeing how much of a good mood he was suddenly in.

Towards the end of the night when a lot of the crowd had thinned out, she turned towards the cheerful boy who was wiping down the counter while whistling.

“Did you get laid out back or something? What’s gotten into you?”

Jungkook shot her a crooked smile, “Nah, just, in a good mood for no reason.”

Lisa pursed her lips in disbelief. From the corner of her eye, she could see a woman making their way to the bar. When she looked over and prepared herself to take her order, she saw how her eyes were trained on Jungkook.

You perched yourself on the barstool directly in front of Jungkook. The last of your coworkers had caught a cab home, leaving you the last one standing. You were pretty tipsy, but nowhere near as drunk as the rest of them had been.

Jungkook’s eyes met yours and he smiled goofily again. “Hey. Friend’s leave?”

“Yep! I’m all yours.”

Jungkook’s neck began heating up at your choice of words, so he decided to busy himself by starting on some of the closing duties.

Lisa looked between you two in curiosity. It was a rare night when Jungkook wasn’t leaving with a girl on his arm by the end of the night, but it was the first time she’d ever seen someone affect him so obviously. She crossed her arms, smiling to herself. Flustered Jungkook was a rare sight to behold.

“Do you two know each other?”

You looked over at the female bartender who was leaning across the counter staring at you.

“Uh, yeah kinda. I’m dating his best friend.”

Lisa’s eyebrows shot up and a slow smile crept across her face. Her eyes landed on Jungkook who was expertly avoiding her accusatory gaze. “Is that so…”

“You good to close up on your own?” Jungkook turned to Lisa who wasn’t too happy about him leaving early, even if she had gotten in after he did. But nonetheless the place was nearly dead, she had no excuse to keep him longer.

“I guess…” The girl pouted as he turned to you and gestured toward the door. You hopped off the stool and turned to Lisa.

“It was nice to meet you…” You waited for her to tell you her name, but she simply turned away and busied herself with cleaning something that was already clean.

Jungkook rolled his eyes at his coworker’s childish behavior as he led you out of the club.

It had gotten much colder than it was before. Jungkook had known it would, since he’s used to leaving work at 4 in the morning. You on the other hand, had not brought a jacket and were shivering already before you two had cleared the first block on the way to the train station.

Jungkook watched you rub the goosebumps on your arms before he shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it around your shoulders. You were shocked, not expecting him to do such a gentlemanly thing. Jeon Jungkook really knew how to surprise you.

You smiled and stuck your arms through, appreciating how much it was already warming you.

“Her name’s Lisa, by the way.” Jungkook stared straight ahead. You nodded, realizing he noticed the way she ignored you as well.

“Lisa huh…I think she likes you.” You laced your fingers behind your back and looked up at Jungkook teasingly. The boy chuckled as you both descended the stairs into the subway.

“You think so?” He knew you were right; he just hadn’t expected you to catch onto it so quickly.

“Yep! You should ask her out, she’s pretty.”

Jungkook held the door open for you. He smiled and shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

You hummed, trying to figure out his deal. “Is she not your type?”

“It’s not really that…” Jungkook looked up at the ceiling, not wanting to talk about other women with you.

“Then…”

“I just don’t want to cross that line. She’s my coworker.”

You nodded, able to respect his reasoning. “If you ever do though, we can double date!”

“…I’ll pass.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. He was definitely rough around the edges.

Jungkook checked the schedule for the next train. It was late at night, so the wait was 30 minutes instead of the usual 5-7.

You both waited near the edge of the tracks in silence. You two didn’t know each other that well, or so you thought, so you struggled to find something to talk about. You had only just met him, and so far, the only things you knew about him were that he liked cigarettes, wearing black, that he worked as a bartender and that he played guitar and that he sang. Oh, and that he was quite the womanizer. That last known fact was curtesy of Tae and all of the stories he told you about his fuck boy crusade with his best friend.

Jungkook searched for something to say. In reality, there were a million things he could say to you, but most of them would probably have you accusing him of being some kind of stalker.

“You have a really nice voice by the way.” Your question had caught Jungkook off guard again. He looked at you with his eyebrows furrowed, wondering how the hell you knew he liked to sing. “I heard you that night. You were up late playing your guitar.”

“Ah…sorry if I kept you up…”

“No, it’s fine! It was nice…” After another short pause, you decided to ask something that had always made you curious, “So, how did you and Tae meet?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Sort of, he just said it was at a party, but I have a feeling there’re more to the story.”

Jungkook recalled that night almost 5 years ago. The truth was that they were both trying to fuck the same girl. They ended up getting competitive with each other, almost fought after a mix up, but the girl ended up leaving with a different guy and made them both feel like dumbasses, so they ended up going to a bar together to drown their sorrows. Although it was the start of a beautiful friendship, he could tell why Tae redacted some details.

“There’s not much to say really. We went to the same party and hit it off.”

You quirked your brow at him, feeling as if he was playing his part as his friend. Nonetheless you accepted the boring story. More silence followed until Jungkook finally thought of something to say.

“So, you and Tae met at school, right?”

“Yep. Graduation.”

“Oh, that’s right, you told me that.”

Man, this is so awkward. Jungkook ran his fingers through his hair while you began walking away. It was clear you had grown bored with the conversation, so you began treating the edge of the platform as a balance beam, holding your arms away from your body for balance.

Jungkook watched you for a bit, becoming worried when he saw the way you swayed a little too much. He caught your arm before you could truly lose your balance, giving you a stern look.

“Jeez, you sure have little regard for your own life.”

You looked up at him sheepishly, “Sorry, I swear I’m not that drunk, it’s just these heels are a bit too big.”

“Why are you even wearing those things? You hate heels.”

You slipped your arm out of his grasp, looking at him in confusion. How the hell does he know that? Did Tae…No, it seems too weird to bring up in conversation.

Shitshitshit. Jungkook had fucked up again. He knew this would happen. He felt entirely too comfortable around you despite being supposed strangers. What could he say to fix this?

Thankfully your tense eye contact was cut off by the train’s horn quickly approaching your platform. It had arrived much earlier than Jungkook expected, and for the first time in years, he thanked the universe for looking out.

You both climbed into the train. It was a lot less crowded than usual, so you both found seats near a window. Of course, you two were no longer talking with the weirdness that now clung to the atmosphere between you two. Jungkook sat with his legs spread eyes wide facing forward and his fingers drumming on his knee as he tried find the right words to say to you.

You sat next to him in deep thought, trying to recall if you had ever even told Tae about your aversion to heels. The whole thing was bizarre, but you weren’t sure you wanted to overthink such an innocent comment. Still, it was a weird assumption for him to make about a girl he didn’t know…

A few minutes into the ride, you had dozed off mid thought. The night had worn on you more than you had thought, causing you to slump against Jungkook’s shoulder. The boy stiffened when he felt your warmth invading his personal space. The goose bumps on his arm subsided as he melted into you involuntarily.

No matter how much he fought you mentally, it was as if his body had a mind of its own, unwilling to accept that you weren’t, in fact, the one for him.

He chewed on his bottom lip absentmindedly. He was tired too, wanting nothing more than to lean his head on you and close his eyes for a minute, just to see what it might feel like to be close to you the way he had wanted to be for so long.

He tried not to move too quickly so as not to wake you when he looked down at you. Your hair was spilling all over the left side of his body and it smelled wonderful. He couldn’t quite place the scent…something fruity?

If life was truly fair, he would’ve been able to drape his arm around you and warm you even further as you snuggled against his side. He would’ve taken you home, not because you were there for another man, but because you wanted to come home with him. He would’ve carried you upstairs and thrown you onto his bed before taking out the years of pent up emotions he had for you out on your body. He would’ve—

Jungkook shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but consequently

woke you up in the process.

You took a deep breath as you opened your eyes and stretched out. You had only fallen asleep for a few minutes, yet it felt like you were knocked out cold. And as soon as you realized you had been drooling on Jungkook, your entire face grew beet red. You sat up straight and looked away, feeling the heat radiating from your face. You couldn’t believe you had been so careless.

“C’mon, it’s our stop.”

Jungkook extended his hand out to you to help you up from the seat in your disoriented state. You hesitated before taking it, and when you did, he quickly pulled you into him and placed an arm around you, looking behind you two multiple times as you made it out of the subterranean area.

“Sorry, those guys back there were being total creeps.” Jungkook let you go and took a few steps away from you once you two made it out into the fresh air again.

You were disoriented to say the least, wondering why your heart had stuttered at being so close to another man. Close to Jungkook, no less. It bothered you to say the least.

For a few minutes, all that could be heard was the clicking of your heels against the pavement as you both walked towards his house. It was only a few blocks from the train stop, so you both didn’t have to deal with the awkward silence for much longer.

As the house came into view, you both spotted Hobi sitting on the steps of the front porch. As soon as Jungkook saw him he stiffened, knowing fully well how something like this might seem now that Hobi was in the loop.

“Hey! Hobi, right?” You walked halfway up the stairs as the redhead smiled weakly at you.

“Yeah. Hey Y/N.” His eyes shifted in between you two suspiciously.

“Is Tae home?”

“Should be.”

You nodded, not knowing what to do with such short responses. You turned toward Jungkook who was at the bottom of the stairs. “Well, thanks for everything tonight. Ah, here you go.” You shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to him. He took it and balled it up under his arm. “Well…goodnight I guess.” You looked in between the boys, feeling some weird tension and unable to help feeling like it was about you.

They both bid you a goodnight in unison and watched you go inside and close the door behind you. Hobi’s accusatory glare landed back on Jungkook, but the boy didn’t have any energy to argue, so he began jogging up the steps. As soon as he got to the top, Hobi caught his wrist.

“Can I talk to you?”

Jungkook licked his lips and sighed, taking a seat next to the older boy. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“When is it ever not what it looks like?” He lowered his voice, speaking more urgently, “Seriously Jungkook, if what you told me is true, you gotta stay away from her man. You’re playing with fire!”

“I’m really trying to hyung. I want to stay away from her but Tae insisted I be nice to her. I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

“Well, be nice from far away!” Hobi snapped at Jungkook in a hushed tone, knowing how easily things could be heard in the quiet of the early hours.

Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh unironically. He couldn’t believe his damn luck. Hobi stood up and stretched out, deciding to go back to bed.

“You coming?”

“Nah, I’m going to stay out here for a while.” Jungkook could only imagine what might be going on in the room right next to his. In any case, he didn’t want to hear a single thing.

Hobi left the boy in silence.

In the next few months that followed the night of clubbing with your friends, something strange started to occur. While Jungkook was gradually starting to have an easier time being around you, quite the opposite was the case for you.

You seemed to have started developing a sort of crush on Jeon Jungkook.

You knew it was harmless. People in committed relationships could have crushes that meant nothing. Still, you waited impatiently for your brain to get over it. But the pesky thing persevered, only seeming to find more reasons to like him every time you went over to hang out.

You found yourself overthinking the looks he threw your way, or the things he said to you in passing, even feeling nervous whenever you two were alone for a while. It was odd, because Jungkook wasn’t your type, yet here you were, finding yourself attracted to him.

You’d never admit this to anyone, since they would automatically think you were losing feelings for Tae, which just wasn’t true. You absolutely adored Tae and were thankful every day that you met him. You couldn’t imagine your life without him now and even looked forward to the day he decided to take your relationship a step further.

But now there were two men occupying your thoughts throughout the day, and it was disorienting, to say the least.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on this thing you had with Jungkook, however. You two seemed to get along so naturally. He was somehow able to finish your sentences without you two knowing each other for long. He was also unnaturally protective over you, but you didn’t mind at all.

And as Christmas approached, you found yourself wanting to text Jungkook to help you shop for Taehyung’s present. You figured if there was anyone in this world that might know Tae better than you did, it was Jungkook. Still, you weren’t sure it was a good idea, so you held off on it until a week before the holiday when you ultimately gave up and sent him a simple “You busy this weekend?” text.

Jungkook hadn’t read it until he awoke for work several hours later, groggily fisting his eyes as he double then triple checked the sender of this ominous text.

You never texted him. And he didn’t remember ever giving you his number.

A slow smile crept across his face. He fell back onto his bed holding his phone up above his face. He wished he hadn’t felt so giddy receiving a text from you, but no one was around to see his reaction, so he allowed himself to be happy briefly in the confines of his bedroom.

He wrote out several texts to you before ultimately deleting them, feeling like they sounded way too eager. He ended up going with a simple “I’m off on Sunday, whatsup?”

You received the message while you were helping yourself to some cup noodles in Tae’s room. You came over to see him, but he still wasn’t home yet, so you decided to wait for him in his room along with the dog that had quickly warmed up to you. You figured Jungkook was awake now since he texted you back, so you quickly made your way next door.

Three soft knocks on Jungkook’s door had him dropping his phone on his face. He winced and plucked the device off, rubbing his forehead as he made his way to the door. The last person he expected to be on the other side was you, clearly shown in the way he froze at the entrance.

Your eyes bulged when you realized Jungkook was wearing a pair of boxer briefs and nothing more. You tried to look away, but you had already seen him head to toe, causing you to blush immensely. He watched your flustered state for a moment before realizing he was almost naked in front of you.

“Shit, sorry.” He walked back into his room and threw on a pair of sweats that were flung on the floor. He wasn’t used to being modest in his own house, there were never girls here unless they had come to get laid by one of them.

“Oh, it’s okay.” You still couldn’t look him in the eye, so you spoke from the hallway. “I just got your text.”

“Oh, yeah whatsup?” Jungkook sat at the edge of his bed, wondering why you refused to come in.

“Well, it’s Christmas in a few days and I still haven’t gotten Tae a present. I was hoping you would come to the mall with me and help me pick something out for him.” Your voice was hopeful, which made it hard for Jungkook to turn you down.

It would be the first time you two hung out alone together since that night you came to the club. He had been doing a lot better these days being around you, making sure not to say anything weird and making sure you two weren’t alone for too long. Sometimes you’d pass each other in the hallway on the way to the bathroom, and he’d be thrown off seeing you in nothing but an oversized t-shirt. But he’d be able to pull himself together, simply because he had to. He was like a robot these days, following a careful script in his head and making sure he was never too close to you. It was causing a strain on him if he was being honest, but his friendship with Tae was worth all of it and more. So he’d endure, so long as you and Tae were happy together.

But hanging out with you alone was risky. He didn’t have a full proof plan on how to survive being alone with you for an extended period of time. His initial reaction was to say no, despite a part of himself desperately wanting to say yes. But as he looked at you from out in the hall, he knew he was doomed. He just couldn’t reject you; it wasn’t in him.

“And you save this for last minute?! The mall’s going to so crowded.”

You pouted and looked down at your feet, expecting to be scolded for being such a procrastinator. Jungkook smiled at your petulant expression. “Fine. But the mall closes early on Sundays so we should go in the afternoon.”

You beamed at him, not expecting him to give in so easily. Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat seeing how happy it made you for him to agree to go.

“Okay, meet me there at 1. I’ll let you get ready for work now.” You skipped down the hall and back into Tae’s room, leaving Jungkook to get ready in an unnaturally happy mood. He wasn’t used to having a pep in his step as he got ready to work a shift, but then again, he wasn’t used to having you in his life.

Sunday came painfully slowly, which made sense because Jungkook was looking forward to it so much. He had thought about it night and day, wondering what to wear, wondering what topics you two could talk about, wondering how much time he had with you.

To be fair, he had also thought about what to get Tae for his birthday as well. It was easy to shop for the rest of the guys, they were simple. But after so many years of friendship and good presents, he just didn’t know what else to get for his best friend at this point. Maybe he’d find a good present while he was out shopping with you.

That did not happen, however.

You two had met up outside of the mall in the afternoon, but as soon as soon as you stepped inside, you quickly saw the pandemonium that awaited. Hordes of people pushed each other every which way as they sped walked to countless stores doing their last minute shopping. A thrill of fear shot through Jungkook. He very vividly remembered the day you discovered you were claustrophobic, and the anxiety you had developed because of it. He didn’t like the idea of you being here whatsoever, but before he could pitch alternative plans, you were pulling him along into the crowd, determined to find a good store.

Jungkook insisted you both stop into a video games store that he quickly spotted, not because he thought Taehyung would want something from in there, but because it would give you time to rest. He could already see the wild look in your eyes and the slight hyperventilation building up inside of you. You were trying to be brave, and he didn’t know how to tell you that you didn’t have to be.

Jungkook slipped out momentarily to get you something from the food court that might help. When he returned, you shook your head and lead him back into the chaos, but you two only made it to the end of the wing before your hands started clamming up. Jungkook noticed the signs right away and tugged you down a hallway with an exit. You burst through the doors, hunching over and taking deep breaths. You wiped your hands on your pants, struggling to breathe. Jungkook pulled out the brown paper bag he had gotten and held it out to you. He crouched down to meet your eyes, watching you as you breathed in and out carefully.

“Count for me.” You nodded and counted backwards from ten, closing your eyes as your heart rate slowly decreased. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Once you were calmer, you straightened up and handed Jungkook the bag. “Thanks. I’m sorry—” He held his hand up, not letting you apologize for things out of your control.

You were ashamed. You hadn’t experienced a panic attack in years, so you thought you could handle it, but clearly you were wrong. You were so grateful Jungkook knew exactly what to do, and that he was so patient. It instantly made you more comfortable, which was odd because the idea of telling anyone about our anxiety, even Tae, was ironically enough to make it flare up.

“Should we try a different place? I know some stores not too far from here that might have some cool stuff.”

You nodded, still unable to meet his eyes. And so you two set off to complete your mission for the day.

Jungkook took you to several places, watching you try and haggle down firm prices of expensive products. He hadn’t stopped chuckling since you two got together, finding everything you did absolutely charming. It was only when you two had stopped in a music store so that Jungkook could buy some new guitar picks that you finally realized what to get Tae. You’d watched him play the piano at school enough to know he should have one at home, or at least a keyboard, since you didn’t exactly have piano money at the moment.

And so Jungkook carried the instrument for you as you made your way home, still thinking about what to get for his best friend.

The idea came to him unexpectedly when he watched you try to hail a cab. You were flailing your arms wildly, even suck your leg out on the street like you’d seen in the movies. He felt so light being with you, so whole that it was scary to think himself without you.

And then the words he’d never wanted to admit came to his mind. Damn, I love this girl.

There, he said it. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. As much as he tried to pretend it wasn’t the case, he knew it to be true. Deep down inside, it was the ultimate truth he had tried so desperately to bury beneath layers of misguided hatred. He loved you, he always had, and he always would, and there was no getting rid of it.

It was then, as he felt freer than he had in years, that he realized what he had to do.

“Okay, Okay! Open the next present!” You bounced cheerfully on the rug, unable to hold back your excitement. You absolutely loved Christmas, especially Christmas with Tae. It was his favorite holiday, and subsequently it became your favorite too. His infectious holiday spirit always got to you and everyone else around him. And as you sat in his living room surrounded by all of his friends and a pile of presents, you couldn’t be happier.

Tae chuckled as he ruffled the top of your head. “Okay fine! Bring on more presents!”

You giggled and tugged on the huge box that had been expertly wrapped by yours truly. The boy’s eyes threatened to pop out of his skull. “Holy shit! This big one is for me!?” You nodded enthusiastically.

He impatiently ripped the wrapping paper away and gasped when he saw a corner of the piano exposed. “Babe, you didn’t.”

“I did!” You squealed as he tore the box open, stopping to give you a huge kiss when he saw that you did, in fact, get him a keyboard.

Jungkook looked away but smiled, knowing Taehyung would be happy to receive it as soon as you had picked it out at the music store.

Someone made a sound of disgust at the massive show of PDA, but the lovebirds simply chuckled, too wrapped up in each other to care. When Taehyung finally tore himself away from you, he placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Okay. I’m about to open my last present, and babe, I don’t want you to be offended, but Jungkook always outdoes himself and everyone else every year.”

Jungkook grinned sheepishly, feeling a bit embarrassed at the introduction. His present this year wasn’t exactly over the top. He actually wasn’t sure how Tae would react to it. But nonetheless the boy handed him the simple envelope.

Tae looked at it and then at his friend, wondering what kind of present came in such simple packaging. He didn’t waste time opening it, but when he pulled out the simple piece of paper, he grew even more confused. He looked over at Jungkook for an explanation.

Jungkook cleared his throat, feeling a bit nervous. “It’s a plane ticket to Jeju. I’m moving there once our lease is up and I want you to come visit me when I do.”

Taehyung laughed, looking in between the plane ticket in his hands and Jungkook’s worried expression. “Come on man, stop playing.”

“I’m…not joking Tae.”

Utter silence followed his statement. Hobi was the first to look away, already knowing why Jungkook had decided to do something so rash. The rest of the boys looked in between each other, wondering if Jungkook had told any of them that he was leaving. Then they all looked at Tae, registering the hurt on his face. He couldn’t believe his best friend would make such a drastic decision like that without confiding in him. He had been picking up on Jungkook drifting from him lately, but he thought it might just be in his head. This confirmed that it wasn’t.

You had been shocked too, looking at Jungkook and the hardness in his jaw. He had been decided for some time now. You looked at your boyfriend, worried about how he was going to take this news.

“You’re…leaving?” Teahyung struggled to make sense of it. Jungkook never even talked about Jeju, or wanting to leave Seoul for that matter. It had always been you two against the world, but apparently that wasn’t the case after all.

“Uh…yeah. It’s sort of a last-minute thing…” Jungkook didn’t elaborate any more, not knowing what else to say. He couldn’t exactly say he was leaving because Tae was dating his soulmate.

“Well, thanks, I guess.” Tae got up and marched upstairs without another word. You all looked after him in worry. He definitely had not taken the news well. Jungkook felt dumb for even thinking that he might. He just felt that since Tae had met you, he was plenty happy and occupied these days, and wouldn’t have minded as much that Jungkook was leaving. Boy, was he wrong.

You couldn’t help looking at Jungkook who was now avoiding your gaze. You wanted to ask him where the hell this was all coming from, but your first priority was your boyfriend, so you got up and silently went upstairs to check up on him.

Someone made a whistling sound that caused some chuckling to erupt. These guys couldn’t take anything seriously to save their lives.

The rest of the gift giving session went on smoothly, with everyone choosing to ignore Jungkook’s sudden news.

In fact, the next two weeks had gone on much of the same. No one brought it up or even asked Jungkook about it, especially not Taehyung, which was due to the fact that he was completely ignoring Jungkook.

The curly haired boy had knocked on his door plenty of times since Christmas morning to have the inevitable talk, but Taehyung would either pretend he wasn’t in his room despite the door being locked or simply turn up the music really loudly and pretend he couldn’t hear. Whenever he’d run into Jungkook around the house, he’d simply turn around and walk out of the room.

Jungkook knew he deserved as much, but it was still weighing heavily on him. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Tae, which was the whole reason he was leaving in the first place.

New Years Eve had come around faster than anyone had been prepared for. You all liked to throw huge parties around this time, but it just didn’t feel right to have one this year with all of the tension in the house. Nonetheless, the boys dressed up and invited you to come watch the ball drop on TV.

Jungkook decided to work a shift that night in order to give Tae a chance to enjoy the evening with the rest of their friends. He hated working the holidays, especially since he already killed himself working so many hours regularly. But he sucked it up and went to work anyway, serving all of the lonely people without places to be on a holiday.

A few hours into his shift, he was surprised to see Lisa stopping by. She always had somewhere to be for the holidays, always some crazy rager worthy of legendary stories.

“What are you doing here?” The boy eyed her curiously. She certainly wasn’t dressed for work.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? When I heard you were working today, I had to come by and see for myself. Shouldn’t you be at your house throwing some crazy party I never get invited to?” The girl crossed her arms childishly.

Jungkook gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that. I figured you always had somewhere to be anyway.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Lisa smiled as Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Come to my place when you’re done. No one should be alone tonight.” Lisa purred, her eyelids heavy as she attempted to persuade her crush to come to her party.

Jungkook thought carefully. Normally he’d decline right away, not even bothering to think of good excuses these days. But what reason did he have to keep turning her down? She was beautiful, and she wanted his company. He was single and he really didn’t have other plans. Plus, they wouldn’t be coworkers for much longer. Sure, he was in love with another woman, but that didn’t even matter when the woman he loved was unattainable.

The boy shifted on his feet, looking over his shoulder at Lisa’s expectant stare. “You’ve worn me down. Just text me your address.”

Lisa bit her lip, feeling giddy inside but trying hard to seem apathetic. “Okay, yeah. I’ll see you later.” She turned swiftly on her feet and exited the club, rushing home to prepare for a night she hadn’t known would actually come.

Jungkook chuckled. He knew Lisa well and could tell she was overly excited about this. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing she was way more into him than he was her, but it’s not like he was asking her to be his girlfriend or anything. It was just one night. One much needed night away from Tae’s pointed stares, his friends’ loaded silence and your intoxicating presence lingering everywhere he went.

He focused on getting through the rest of his shift, and by the time he had gotten home, you were all awake playing drinking games in the kitchen. The curly haired brunette had popped his head in to greet you all and the boys cheered to see their favorite bartender was finally home, well, all except for one.

He watched as Tae finished his drink and bid everyone a good night before going upstairs for the night. You followed right behind him, but not before stopping to wish Jungkook a happy new year.

“You as well.” Jungkook smiled at you, unable to hide the sadness in his voice. You look beautiful tonight. I love you.

He watched as you, too, went upstairs and disappeared into Tae’s room. His roommates continued playing beer pong as if nothing had happened. Jungkook watched for a bit, wishing things were different. He had been secretly hoping things might magically be smoothed over by tonight, and that you all would insist on hanging out together. But it seemed he would be going over to Lisa’s anyway.

He bounded up the steps quickly, not wanting to keep his conquest for the night waiting too long. He changed into something a little more festive before he heard those three soft knocks at his door that made his heart stop.

Jungkook checked his appearance again in the mirror before taking a deep breath and opening the door for you.

You smiled tentatively up at him. He was decent this time, you were happy to find.

“Can I come in?”

The question had caught him off guard, but even so, he moved aside and let you in, closing the door behind you.

“What’s up?” Jungkook tried to sound nonchalant, but his tone of voice still went up towards the end of his question.

“Well, I kinda wanted to talk to you.” You looked around his room, taking the setting in for the first time. His room turned out to be exactly as you expected, dark paint on the walls, his guitar on display, clothes strewn all around and band posters on the walls. You smiled at him as you sat on his bed, patting the seat next to you.

Jungkook instantly grew nervous. Normally when a girl sat on his bed and beckoned him over, it was under wildly different circumstances. He gulped, his heart racing as he took hesitant steps towards the bed. He sat down next to you, wiping his hands on his thighs as you turned to him.

“Talk about what?”

“You…and Tae.” Jungkook sighed, not knowing what else to say on the matter. “He’s really broken up about this, even if he’s not showing it. I know we haven’t been friends for long… but you can talk to me. What can I say to get you to stay?” Jungkook shook his head. You were simply trying to be a good girlfriend by getting him to stay, but Jungkook was trying to be a good friend by leaving. “I mean…Tae said you never do anything drastic without talking to him first. And he told me he felt like you two had been drifting apart for a while. Did something happen?”

Jungkook balled his fists at his knees. “Yes, and no. There’s nothing to say Y/N. I’m just leaving, and it’s final. I’ve been trying to find a way to apologize to him for springing this on him at Christmas, but he won’t let me. I don’t know what else to do.”

“…You can stay.” You smiled at him, but it only served to frustrate the boy more. You just didn’t understand, and you weren’t sure why he wasn’t allowing you to understand. “Jungkook, surely there has to be some reason that—“

Suddenly his lips were on yours, urgent and unrelenting. He effectively cut your sentence off when he leaned in and kissed you unexpectedly. He hadn’t planned it, it just happened in the moment. He also couldn’t think of a better way to convey how much of a problem it would be if he chose to stay, and rightfully so, he managed to alarm you as you shoved him off of you.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU—” His lips were on yours again, but this time, you didn’t have the restraint to fight him. You kissed him back hungrily. A million emotions coursed in between you both, lust, fear, happiness and pain amongst the more prominent ones.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him onto you greedy for more. His lips were like a wildfire igniting your body, molding perfectly into yours as you gasped for air. His hands on your body were hot, too hot against the goosebumps growing on your skin.

Your fingers found their way into his hair and tugged on the strands roughly as he bit your lip. He growled into the kiss, savoring how sweet you tasted. He was going out of his mind with his senses on overload. He felt nothing but you and smelled nothing but your perfume as he leaned into you, pulling your body against his. He also saw nothing but you and him together, living happily as destiny might have it. His tongue slipped into your mouth which you readily accepted, swirling yours around his as you traded saliva.

Jungkook had imagined this moment a million times, but never under these circumstances. He was finally getting what he wanted, but not in the right way, and because of that, he broke away from you, panting as you stared into each other’s eyes for an uninterrupted minute. His gaze on you loving while yours reflected nothing but wonderment.

You weren’t sure what the hell you were doing, you hadn’t yet asked yourself that, because you couldn’t answer your initial question when he first kissed you. Why did this feel so…right?

“That’s why I have to go.”

Jungkook sighed as you stared back at him dumbfoundedly. You reached your hand up to your lips that were still tingling, unable to believe what had just happened.

Jungkook expected you to leave, he expected you to be upset, but when you hadn’t budged, he felt himself slowly losing even more control than he already had tonight. He had to get you to go, before he did something else he’d be ashamed of.

“So, if that’s all, I have somewhere to be.” He looked away, hoping you got the hint.

You were caught off guard. Jungkook was so hot and cold that it left your head spinning sometimes. Nonetheless you tried to push through and get the answers you had come looking for.

“Jungkook… you don’t have to go. At least not tonight. Stay, we can—”

“No, I do have to go. Lisa’s waiting for me, so…”

You furrowed your eyebrows, looking at the boy who had now stood up and picked up his watch from his nightstand. Was he seriously thinking of other women while implying that he had to move because he had feelings for you?

You stood up, looking at the boy’s back incredulously. “So, you expect me to believe you have feelings for me while you’re running off to go sleep with someone else?”

“Weren’t you just warming Tae’s bed before you came to my room?”

Your eyes watered at the implication of his words. How dare he insinuate…

You turned on your heel and marched out of his room, unwilling to let him see you cry. Jungkook felt awful about what he just said and did, but he had no choice. Maybe now you would stay away from him and make his last few moments here as peaceful as possible.

Jungkook finished getting ready and left shortly afterward. He spent the night in Lisa’s bed as he intended to, and almost every other night afterward for the next two weeks.

You hated him. You hated him so much you could cry again just thinking about him.

You hated his floofy hair and his dingly earrings and his carefree smile. You hated the way he scrunched his nose whenever he didn’t like something, you hated the tight shirts he always wore. You hated the way his lips were so soft but his body was so hard, you hated how he kissed you and made you feel things that were confusing.

You prided yourself on having a simple life. You went to school and graduated on time, you had a long-term relationship that was precious to you, you even found a job that you liked and friends that you loved. And then there was Jungkook, an unsightly blotch in the mural of your life. You absolutely hated him.

Which was the reason why (you convinced yourself) you were standing outside of his bar on a Tuesday evening. The kiss had now happened months ago, but you were only now able to summon the courage to confront him with all of the things you wanted to say to him.

You had been avoiding him at all costs, holing yourself up in Tae’s room or just not coming over at all. But even when you were over, his room was always empty. You surmised he was back to his fuck boy behavior. It was all the same to you, at least he wasn’t in your hair anymore.

But now, you wanted to see him. You needed him to know that his kiss meant nothing to you and that he was an asshole for insinuating you were being a slut.

You also knew that this was his last day at work because he was leaving tomorrow, so it was now or never.

You sighed as you pushed open the doors of the club. Immediately upon entering, the smell of cigarettes overwhelmed you. There were very few people here, yet the lights still strobed, and the music still blared, albeit at a more respectable volume.

Your eyes found the bar immediately along with the tall brunette chucking playing cards into a glass cup. You clutched your purse straps and marched over to him, a look of determination in your eyes.

Jungkook’s eyes flew over to you as he got prepared to take your order, but quickly realized you weren’t a customer after all. He gulped, seeing the ferociousness in your demeanor.

“Hello JUNGKOOK.”

“Uh, hi.”

“I won’t be staying long. I just came here to say that…that our,” You looked around and lowered your voice, causing Jungkook’s lips to curl, “kiss, meant nothing. It was meaningless and it should’ve never happened. And, And you’re such an asshole because—”

“I know. I’m sorry.” You were caught off guard, losing track of your speech already. “I should’ve never kissed you and I should’ve never said what I said. It was unwarranted. And of course, the kiss meant nothing.”

You huffed, not sure about how to continue. You were expecting a fight. “Well, I just want you to know that I love Taehyung with all my heart—”

“I never doubted that for a second.”

You rolled your tongue around on the inside of your cheek. “Are you going to let me be mad here for a second!?” This time Jungkook smiled involuntarily. You were even adorable when you were pissed.

You sighed heavily, throwing your hands up in the air. “Well, I guess that’s all I came here to say, so…”

“Sit down. What are you having?”

You looked at Jungkook for a second and then the stool in front of him, wondering if you should stay. “I said I wasn’t going to stay long…”

“Do you have plans?”

“No…”

“Then sit. Drink with me.” Jungkook flashed you an infectious crooked smile and you couldn’t believe yourself as you put your purse down on the counter and plopped down in front of him. There was no use in being angry at him anymore now that you were both on the same page.

Jungkook poured two shots of tequila and plucked two limes from the jar of fruit. He placed one of each in front of you and lifted his own glass in front. You clinked your shot with his and threw the alcohol into the back of your throat, feeling the warm sting as it made its way down. With panicked dexterity, you quickly chomped down on the lime to get rid of the horrid aftertaste.

Jungkook scrunched his nose and shook his head. He wasn’t sure Tequila would be his thing, but it was his last day here, may as well drink the expensive stuff.

Suddenly one shot turned into two, which turned into four, which is when you found yourself trying your hand at shooting his cards.

You were absolutely drunk since you had skipped lunch at work. Jungkook had a higher tolerance, but he still had a mean buzz. He was having the time of his life watching you react every time your car didn’t fall into the cup. You were so dramatic, and he loved it.

“You have to flick your wrist. Flick your wrist!” Jungkook was demonstrating as you continued to miss.

“It’s not working! You’re an awful teacher!”

“Are you sure you’re not an awful student?”

“Both could be true at the same time.”

“I suppose, but that statement overlooks a key detail in this scenario.”

“Which is…?

“That I’m AWESOME!” Jungkook tossed a card at the cup that epically bounced off the rim and onto the floor. “NOOOOO! That was supposed to be my moment!!”

“You’re such a failure. So embarrassing. It’s a good thing you’re leaving town, can’t show your face around here after that disgrace.”

Jungkook laughed and flashed you the finger as he bent down to pick up all the cards from the floor. You hiccupped as you spun around in your chair, easily entertaining yourself when the world started to go fuzzy. You stopped to watch him shuffle the deck, feeling content as your body buzzed with a warm tingly feeling.

“So let me ask you something…”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

Jungkook smiled down at his hands. “Because you’re my soulmate.”

You failed to stifle a laugh and so did Jungkook. He realized how ridiculous he must sound to you right now, but he figured why not throw caution to the wind. You probably wouldn’t remember anything he said to you by tomorrow.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I’ve been dreaming about you since I was nine.”

Your laughter was loud, too loud, drawing the attention of other people as they shot you rude looks. You snorted, unable to help yourself from laughing even more. Jungkook bit his lip, trying to stop himself from laughing too so that he could get his words out properly.

“Dreams? About me?” Jungkook nodded, leaning against the counter to meet you eye to eye. “Prove it then.”

“How can I prove it to you?”

“Well,” You tapped your finger against your chin, humoring the boy with the brunette, “if you’ve known about me for the last 15 years, thennnn, how many siblings do I have?”

“Three sisters.”

Damn, that was a good guess. You quirked a brow. “Impressive….thennnn, what was my favorite subject at school?”

“History.”

“Hmm, not so impressive because you might’ve known what my major in college was.”

“Oh, but you didn’t let me finish. History was your favorite because you’re a total dork, but we both know English class was your true favorite because you had a big fat crush on your teacher Mr. Townsend with the dreamy eyes. What was it you liked to call him? Mr. Cutie?”

You laughed again, keeling over the counter and banging your hand on the counter repeatedly. “OH MY GOD I forgot about him!!! He was soooo cute I could die!! Holy shit Jungkook. Did you go to school with me?” You gasped, realizing you’d be a pretty awful person not to recognize Jungkook if he was an old classmate.

The boy simply smiled and shook his head, chuckling at your dazed expression. You were definitely thinking all about Mr. Cutie now. Suddenly his eyes met the approaching figure getting closer and closer. Shit.

“Okay, come on darling. You’ve had a bit too much to drink. Time to go.” The security guard put his hand on your upper back and ushered you off the stool. You stared between him and Jungkook, stumbling a bit when you landed on your feet.

“WHAT!? I’m totally fine. Jungkook tell him!”

Jungkook looked in between you both, biting his lip. You were most definitely not fine. “Just go, but wait for me outside!” You stared at the boy who had run into the back, letting the security guard gently lead you out of the club. That traitor!

Once outside, you began walking up the block hiccupping as you unlocked your phone. For some reason, you remembered that you needed to buy toothpaste. You knew you wouldn’t remember in your inebriated state, so you called yourself and left a voicemail.

“Hey Y/N, it’s you, Y/N. Get toothpaste—”

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Jungkook’s voice came up close behind you, and you panicked and put your phone down, forgetting to end the voicemail.

“No one! Hey, why aren’t you at work?”

“And miss this shit show? I wouldn’t forgive myself.” Jungkook smiled as he looked up at the starry sky. He was filled with an inexplicable peace and he didn’t know why. Was it because he was hanging out with you after months of being apart? Was it because he was buzzed, or because he was finally leaving tomorrow? Or was it because he was finally confessing to you?

You attempted to shove the boy but only managed to stumble again. Jungkook’s arms held you steady instantly, making sure you weren’t going to take a tumble out here for everyone to see. You were much too drunk to take public transport, so he decided to hail a cab instead.

Once the car pulled up to the curb, he held the door open for you as you got in and then followed your lead, giving the cab driver his address.

You turned to face him while smiling lazily. He mirrored your blissful expression, wondering what was going on in your head.

“Tell me more Mr. Wizard.”

Jungkook chuckled. “What do you want to know.”

“I want to know more reasons why you think a girl like me would be your soulmate.”

“I don’t think, I know.” Jungkook paused, wanting to give you a thoughtful answer, even if you were absolutely drunk. “Sometimes I think I know you better than I know myself. I look at you and the life you’ve lived, the things you’ve done for others and the things people should’ve done for you. You make me want to be a better person. The kind of person that would make sure you’d never hurt again.”

Jungkook smiled at you, but you could only look at him pensively. “And…you know all of this because of…your dreams?”

He nodded, his hair and earrings bouncing to and fro. “I think it was the universe’s way of answering a question I had when I was young.”

“Which was?”

“How to know when you’re in love.” Jungkook leaned back against the headrest, looking at you with sadness in his eyes. You leaned in closer to him without realizing, staring into his huge eyes full of so many secrets.

“For someone who’s never even taken a girl out on a date before, you seem awfully sure about this.” The boy smiled, licking his lips as he closed his eyes.

“Gimme a break! It’s not like I didn’t try. That day you came to Seoul with your class, I had been looking forward to it all week. I was so frustrated because I didn’t know where you would be, but I showed up anyway and looked for you, even bought you flowers.” He shook his head at the memory, feeling dumb for teenage Jungkook: the helpless romantic. “Guess I just didn’t want to deal with that disappointment again.”

You looked at Jungkook as the streetlights illuminated his face in iridescence. He looked so sad, and you couldn’t make sense of the words he was saying, but you felt he was speaking to you from the heart. You licked your own lips, only inches away from his face.

His eyes watched you carefully the closer you got. His mouth parted as your nose brushed against his and suddenly, he was whispering against your lips, “Y/N, you should stop. If you continue, I don’t think I’ll have the strength to stop myself this time.”

You swallowed involuntarily, the edges of your lips brushing against his pillowy ones. He was absolutely right, and you were grateful that one of you had the sense to say what needed to be said.

You looked up into his blown-out pupils and imagined what might happened if you simply pressed your lips into his. You saw him taking hold of your face and pressing you against the backseat, curling your leg around his waist as he stuck his tongue into your waiting mouth. You saw yourself loving every bit of the way his hands would grope you, his mouth whispering dirty things against your skin. You’d love it a little too much, but maybe not in the morning when you’d realize what you’d done. So you inched away from him and took a deep clearing breath. Jungkook did the same, looking out of his window for the remainder of the ride home while reminding himself that he was leaving tomorrow, over and over again.

Jungkook hadn’t seen his room this empty in years.

When he first moved into the house, he didn’t have much money to his name, content with sleeping on a tiny air mattress set up in the corner with a lamp and a laptop, both of which were also on the floor. He struggled to remember that overused quote while reminiscing. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

He had already shipped out his belongings prior, even sent you a special package that he should’ve gotten rid of ages ago. His empty room served as a good parallel for how he felt. He was starting anew and felt a little empty inside as he cut off important ties, but the prospect of starting over was all he could put his faith in now.

And now all that was left to take was his packed-up guitar and a duffle bag that sat neatly out of the way as he took a picture to look back on later.

He was wracked with melancholy at his final moments in this house and in his favorite city. He did want to leave and start anew somewhere else, if only for his own peace of mind, but not being able to make things right with his best friend before leaving tainted everything. He never wanted to leave like this.

A few knocks at doorway had Jungkook quickly turning around. Hobi stood at the entrance holding the excited pitbull in his arms. He placed the scrappy dog on its feet and off it went, bounding excitedly into Jungkook’s awaiting arms. His heart hurt as he scratched the backs of its ears. This would be one of the things he missed doing the most.

“So, you’re leaving soon, yeah?”

Jungkook nodded, standing up as Hobi approached him. The redhead took him in for an embrace, patting his back momentarily.

“For the record, I think you’re doing the right thing man.” Jungkook nodded again, trying to make himself believe the words too.

“Hey.” A soft greeting from the doorway startled both Hobi and Jungkook. He knew Tae was home, but he hadn’t expected him to stop by, not with the way he persisted on being mad at him for so long.

“Hey.” Jungkook’s voice was horse. Hobi gave the younger boy a reassuring smile before leaving and giving them some privacy. Tae regarded him warily as he leaned against the door frame, trying to decide if he should enter, and ultimately deciding to do so.

“So, today’s the day huh?”

“Flight leaves in an hour.”

Tae nodded, looking around at the vast empty space. It hurt him to see it so empty for the first time in a long time.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Tae sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets, struggling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

“I know. It’s just something I have to do.”

Tae nodded, even though he didn’t agree, or understand for that matter. He sniffed, frowning as he made a last-minute decision to blow up on Jungkook after all.

“Fuck you, that’s such bullshit! You never wanted to leave Seoul. And all of a sudden, it’s a done deal. You didn’t even talk to me about it! And you talk to me about everything! What the fuck happened to us? What, I get a girlfriend and all of a sudden I’m not a good enough friend to you?! What the fuck is even waiting for you at Jeju?? Do you even know anyone there?! I’m your best friend and I don’t even know your new address!”

Jungkook winced as Tae’s voice only got higher the longer he went on, but he stood and took the scolding, knowing he deserved every bit of it.

“I’m sorr—”

“And then you have the nerve to tell me on Christmas, as if I’m supposed to be happy that you’re leaving, as if that was supposed to be a gift to me. That was fucked up!”

“I know, I’m sorr—”

“And you didn’t even take the trash out last Thursday even though it was your chore day. GOD YOU’RE UNBELIEVABLE!”

Taehyung huffed, running out of things to complain about. Jungkook’s mouth twitched, wanting so badly not to fuck himself over by laughing at Tae right now. Though, he couldn’t help but notice how similar you and Tae were when you were angry. The ridiculous image of you two fighting was distracting to say the least.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know you’re sorry, still doesn’t make this any less shittier.”

“I know.”

“GOD, STOP SAYING YOU KNOW!” Tae slumped down the wall until his butt hit the floor. Jungkook hesitated before going over to sit by him. They both sat in silence for a while, feeling a flurry of emotions. After a while, Jungkook smiled and pointed at a chip in the door frame.

“Remember when Yoongi got so drunk that we had to put him into the shower, but he held onto my door frame so hard while we were dragging him out that he broke it a little?”

Taehyung looked over at the indent and smiled, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. He nodded, remembering the hectic night. The boys had all been scared of Yoongi after that, knowing he could easily knock them out with that strength of his if they ever pissed him off enough. Tae’s eyes wandered along the room, catching the distinct black mark where the bed used to be.

“Remember when you were really into hookah for a while and that sorority girl you brought over that one time dropped the coal on the floor and didn’t tell you?”

Jungkook laughed, nodding as he remembered how furious he was when he saw the damaged that she had tried to cover up poorly.

“Oh god, remember her weird sister? What was her name again?”

“Floosy Susan?”

“FLOOSY SUSAN! How could I forget! What do you think she’s up to nowadays?”

“Still fisting forties and picking up bikers probably.” Taehyung shivered, remembering the very aggressive way she cornered him in the bathroom once.

Jungkook wiggled his eyebrows at him, recalling the story she had told everyone about what happened that night which turned out not to be true at all. Taehyung chuckled and pushed Jungkook over.

“Man, we used to have so much fun. What happened?”

“I don’t know. Life, I guess. You got castrated and I picked up more hours at work.”

“Fuck you.” Tae chuckled some more, running his fingers through his hair. It was silent for a while as he chose his next few words carefully. “Are you leaving because of me? If it’s something I did—”

“No. It’s not you.” Jungkook sighed, looking at his friend with torture in his eyes. “Tae I— I’m…in love with Y/N.” Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up as he searched Jungkook’s face for any ounce of joking. “I have been for a long time, even before you met her. I thought I could deal with it, but it’s been too hard. So I figured it’d be better if I just removed myself from the equation and started new somewhere else, at least for a while.”

More silence ensued as Taehyung processed what Jungkook was telling him. He was angry at first, his baser instinct telling him to accuse Jungkook of being a shitty friend, which he knew was unreasonable. Then he was sad, realizing how much this made sense when he thought about the last couple months.

“Fuck man…I don’t know what to say. Since before I met her?”

Jungkook nodded, leaning his head on the wall as he silently cursed his own bad luck that Tae had gotten to you first.

“It doesn’t matter how, or when, really. Because I see how good you two are together. I don’t want to ruin that. But it’s too hard for me to stay and…watch her build a life with someone that’s not me.” Jungkook sighed and turned to his friend. “I’m sorry, this must feel really shitty to hear.”

Taehyung shook his head. He was at a loss for words. Out of all the reasons he had conjured up to explain their decline in friendship, this had never crossed his mind.

“Shit, I’m sorry I made you play wingman, practically forced you to spend time together when you didn’t want to.” Tae threw his head back into the wall and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like an idiot.

“Eh, you didn’t exactly force me. You know I’ll always be your wingman no matter what.” Jungkook held up his fist for Taehyung to bump. His friend smiled weakly before touching his knuckles to Jungkook’s.

Suddenly the blonde sighed, looking at Jungkook with a serious expression. “Do you…want me to step aside?”

Jungkook froze, unable to believe the words that had just come out of Taehyung’s mouth. “Of course, I don’t want you to do that. What the fuck kind of question is that!? You guys are madly in love.”

“Oh thank god. I really did not want to.”

The boys busted out laughing, holding their sides and rolling over on the floor in tears.

“You’re such a piece of shit.” Jungkook could barely get his insult out in between laughs.

Suddenly Jungkook’s phone buzzed, signaling his Uber approaching the house.

“Ah, my ride’s here.” Jungkook stood up and looped his guitar strap over his shoulder. He realized Tae hadn’t heard him, since the boy had stepped out to take a phone call, so he quietly made his way down the stairs after giving his dog a goodbye scratch. He hated elaborate goodbyes anyway. And besides, he knew Tae would definitely use the plane ticket the first chance he got free time off of school and work.

“Hey babe!” Your sing-song voice rang through Taehyung’s receiver, putting a big smile on the boy’s face.

“Hey you. Are you coming over?”

“Yep! I’m about to leave my house right now. Did we need anything else? I already got the noodles and the hoisin.”

“Nah, we should be fine. Just hurry up and get here already, I miss you.”

You smiled cheesily, looking down at your feet as you walked up to your mailbox. You nodded, and realized he couldn’t see you, so you chirped an okay before hanging up.

You had slept all day recovering from your hang over. You couldn’t believe you had gone to Jungkook’s club to argue with him but ended up getting waste instead. You were happy that you were no longer on bad terms with him though, so you supposed it was a good idea in the end. Of course, you didn’t remember much after the first two shots, so you hoped that you didn’t embarrass yourself too much. You wondered if Jungkook would still be home or if he would’ve left already. You were hoping to catch him so you could say a proper goodbye. It would be embarrassing if the last time he saw you was you drunk off your ass.

As you opened up your mailbox, a package addressed to you fell out. You bent down to pick it up, unable to recall if you ordered anything recently. You quickly tore the envelope open and pulled out what looked to be a sketch pad.

You furrowed your eyebrows, double checking the name on the package. It was definitely for you. Hmm.

You began flipping through it. Countless images of a girl of all different ages flashed in between your hands. Upon looking closer, they all seemed to be of you. You recalled the buns, and the uniform, and the sunhat, even the pajamas you had worn for years before they were ripped in too many places.

You gasped, looking over your shoulder. Were you being stalked? This was so creepy you didn’t even know where to begin. You couldn’t tell who sent the package. You were hoping this was a surprise from Tae, so you pulled your phone out to call him back, but a small red bubble signaled that you had an unheard voicemail and it caught your attention. You didn’t remember missing anyone’s phone call.

Ah, it’s from yourself! You furrowed your eyebrows and hit play, holding your phone up to your ear to see what drunk Y/N might have to say at a time like this.

But the longer you listened, the more you began to understand. Your eyebrows shot up as you dropped your grocery bags onto the pavement, listening to Jungkook spill his heart out to you. Your eyes watered, hearing the longing in his voice. And the things he was saying… your knees threatened to buckle underneath your own weight. You opened the book again, looking at the dates on the corners of the pages. Some drawings were vivid enough to make you recall memories you had long forgotten about. The message ended, so you hit replay, again, and then again.

Suddenly you were quickly scrolling through your apps to call for a ride, praying you would make it to Jungkook in time.

Jungkook spent the 40-minute ride from his old house to Incheon listening to music and thinking about you and his dog. He wondered if he might start dreaming about you again, hoping and praying that he wouldn’t, since it would be counterproductive to him leaving. He needed a clean break.

He also hoped Tae would take his advice about what pet food to buy. Tae had a tendency of spoiling his dog with terrible food choices.

As he exited the vehicle and secured his belongings, he thanked his driver for the ride and headed into the airport that awaited to take him to an island he’d never been to before. He tried to picture himself there already, wondering if he’d fit in well enough and if he’d make any friends right away.

“Jungkook!”

The boy stopped walking and yanked his headphones off of his ears, wondering if he had imagined someone calling his name.

“Jungkook!”

He turned around, only to find you right behind him. His eyes grew wide as he wondered what you were doing here.

“You… you dream about me. No, you’ve been dreaming about me, for a long time. Why didn’t you—”

“Why didn’t I say anything?” Jungkook huffed, looking around incredulously. “C’mon Y/N. Why would I?”

“Jungkook…”

“Save me the pity party. I didn’t tell you all of that so you’d feel bad.”

“No, stop! This isn’t that. You’re just…you’re just leaving! You believe I’m your soulmate, but you won’t even fight for me. God, you make me so mad!” Your eyes grew misty as you balled your fist at your sides.

“Yeah, I know it in my heart that you are, no, in my bones, in my very being. In all that I am, it all just comes down to you. Hell, soulmate might not even cover it Y/N.” Jungkook’s eyes began to water as well and you looked away, a few tears spilling when you blinked. “But Taehyung is just as important to me, if not more. He’s my soulmate too, and I choose him. You should too.”

You wiped at your cheeks hastily, breathing shallowly as you tried not to sob here in the airport in front of all these people. You nodded, trying to put a smile on your face. Of course you’d choose Tae, so why did it feel as though your heart was breaking in two?

Jungkook watched as your face began to break. He crossed the distance in between you, placing his hand behind your head, bringing you into his chest. You let out a few sobs as you clutched onto his shirt. Your entire frame began to shake, so he put his luggage down to hold you in his arms properly. He kissed the top of your head as he tried to focus on not crying too. He knew he wouldn’t be able to leave if he stayed here with you any longer, so he backed away and gave you a weak smile before turning around and blending into the crowd of people heading in to check in.

You cover your face with your hands, willing yourself to stop crying so hard. When you could no longer see the top of Jungkook’s head, you wiped your nose and left just as you came.

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skwivr · 4 years ago

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I’m getting so dangerously close to flattening my island and redoing it but I’m so nervous about it I’m like genuinely getting kind of panicky (over a video game.....) anyway here’s my notes on what I want to change on my island that’s basically just me thinking out loud, if y’all wanna read it and comment please go for it, but I just need to get the thoughts out to battle the nervousness LOL

First of all, I like my little village area, I think having an area that is both a tightly populated village but also foresty is somewhat unique and I like how homey it feels, but at the moment, first of all, it’s a tad too cramped, and too uniform. Four houses are laid out on a fairly wide grid, but then Beardo and Cranston’s yards are comically small, squished in to fit next to the plaza. Then the yards all hugging the river, two of them are roomy and nice, but poor Timbra’s house is just crushed up next to the cliff that houses Hazel’s house, which in itself is this random weird sticks-out-like-a-sore-thumb feature.

I’d rather a village that is more spread out and not necessarily laid out along perfectly straight lines so that more natural looking paths look, well, natural.

The village is also like RIGHT at the airport entrance. Like, literally there’s a single tile when you step off the deck to walk before you hit Ketchup’s yard. I’m sad I never considered, when building my village, a scenic “entrance” that a lot of other people build around. I’d like a tiny buffer zone, if I can.

Also there’s the forest park area, which is currently just sort of sitting behind my village area. I’d originally conceived of it as a tiny park area which thematically could have ornamental plants - I wanted a place where it “made sense” to have bamboo in my otherwise New England themed town. But after a while I had the idea that it would be a nice little park area where I could set up seasonal displays throughout the year. The problem is, it’s comically small, thin and long. There’s no room to put up more than 1 piece of seasonal decor and even the it’s annoying to walk around.

I’d like to take the concept of that fountain with the benches and the seasonal decor and shove it maybe instead in the center of the new, widened “village”, so that there feels like there’s a hub area.

Then there’s my orchard. My orchard is important to the entire concept of my town from the start (hence the name “Honeycrisp”) but at the moment, while it’s big, it also feels kind of weirdly cramped. I think orchards are supposed to feel somewhat wide and open, and at the moment it’s sort of squished up against a cliff on the left that you can’t even walk on, that serves no purpose other than to try to be a visual buffer between my orchard and my campsite, which has a very different visual vibe from the orchard. Trouble is, not only does the cliff not do a good job of being a visual buffer and makes moving around it annoying, but the aesthetic of my campsite isn’t even very good (a visiter once described it as “haunted” looking) and itself deserves a redo. I should probably just keep the campsite there on the beach but try to somewhat unify the aesthetics of the orchard and the campsite so they make sense to be next to one another.

I think that’s a larger problem with the way I decorated my whole town. I wanted to avoid the stereotypical “beach aesthetic” like the plague so I tried to decorate as though I were hiding my beach like I was sweeping dust under a carpet. I should just accept that the beach is a part of the town as much as anything else and not be afraid to decorate with it.

Anyway, I like the idea of the orchard being this wide, open area both next to the beach and next to the theoretical big lake I want in my town.

Speaking of big lake, the thing I’m most passionate about is this one idea I have in my head, of a section of town that’s elevated in such a way so as to look down at a large lake with a forested island in the middle of it. Hopefully, the roller pin look of the AC world will contribute to this sense that the forested island is further away than it actually is.

On the forested island, I want to migrate my little “standing stones” concept. The “standing stones” were, in my mind, sort of the cornerstone of the town other than the orchard. They were this mysterious bit of woods that you could find your way into, emerging into a big beautiful clearing of white roses and mysterious mossy stones. Trouble is, in my current layout, they’re just sort of..... there. There’s a path leading out the back of them to get to the secret beach. Back before Redd existed, the secret beach was just a little shrine so it made sense, but now the standing stones area just feels like an incidental footpath to get you to a sketchy art dealer in the back of town - one that’s annoying to walk through because of how thick I made the woods around it.

I feel like putting it on a little island both places mystery and visual importance on it - you’ll see it from a distance before you can actually get to it - while also making it so that you don’t simply walk through it to get to other parts of the island. I think a rickety bridge to get to it, or perhaps a thin land bridge, would be cool.

There are a lot of the parts of the back of my island that I don’t care about very much and can be easily rearranged. My zen bridge on the third level in the back of the town that leads to a single kid’s tent is just sort of... there. I’ve never known what to do with it. The area around my own house’s yard is both huge but also cramped and not easily traversible.

So much of it is space I really don’t mind using up instead to expand on what I see as the three central concepts of my town: forested village with shopping plaza, quaint roomy apple orchard and picnic area, and deep forest with sacred stones.

There’s so many other little things, like I have a little waterfall sitting area in the back of my orchard that no one ever knows is there because the path is so not obvious no matter what I do. My picnic area near my alpine lake in the back was my limp-wristed attempt at the real lake concept I now want to go with, but it’s cramped and leads to literally nowhere. My little “outdoor library” area near the house is cute but I’ve never known where to put it (it should really probably go in or near the village area now that I think about it).

Anyway that’s it. Literally no one will read this but it’s nice for me to come back to read this.

#thank you #long post #if the read more on this doesn't work god i'm so sorry

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popculturebuffet · 5 years ago

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Scott Pilgrim’s Precious Little Life Review

Happy Birthday To Me, as I continue my birthday celebration by taking a look at comics that have a personal connection to me.. And for our main feature, i’m taking a look at the first volume of a series that was vitally important to a teenage me, Scott Pilgrim.

Scott Pilgrim is the brainchild of Brian Lee’O’Malley. O’Malley came up with the concept from a number of things. Being a fan of the band Plumtree, O’Malley was curious about the name of their song “Scott Pilgrim” and wondered who this Scott Pilgrim guy was. So over the years he slowly built the guy up in the back of his mind using bits of his life and what not. As for why he ends up fighting 7 evil exes, that came from a discussion with his then girlfriend, later wife and currently ex-wife Hope Larson, where he threw off the joke that her exes should form some kind of League. After finishing his first solo work Lost at Sea, O’Malley decided Scotty would be his next project and the rest is history. To date while O’Malley has written two works since, Seconds which is delightful and Snotgirl which didn’t grab me but I intend to try again, Scott remains his most popular work, in large part due to it’s SUBLIME video game and movie adaptations, the former of which is finally getting a rerelease next month.

The series charm is in it’s style: A manga styled comic that combines two desperate kinds of story: Shonen Fight Manga and Slice of Life Indie Comics. The story shifts from Scott going through normal life stuff while trying to make his new relationship work and get his shit together and Scott getting into big bombastic fights with his new sweetie’s exes for the right to keep dating her and to you know, stay alive. The series effortlesly blends a video game like world with real grounded characters and is wonderful for it. As for where I came in, one Free Comic Book day I found a little comic named Free Scott Pilgrim, which I genuinely loved and was instantly charmed by it’s humor and well done art. So I picked up the second and third volumes of the series proper and the first once I could find it and the rest ,as they say, is history. For my high school life, this was one of hte most important things in it and I wrote fanfiction, which I thankfully never put online and in general enjoyed the hell out of the series. Then I just kind of.. let it sit on my shelf for a while. It wasn’t BAD, I just never got back to it and as the franchise went dormant I just sorta slept on it and the movie and that part of me...

Cut to a few weeks ago, when Comixology did a massive sale for black friday that marked a ton of Graphic Novels down to just 1 buck each, and the color editions of Scott Pilgrim happened to be part of this, though only volume 1 was that cheap. But thanks to my best friend micheal and an early christmas/birthday present I got the rest and got to revisit the series as a whole, with me rethinking my previous thoughts of volume 1 and thus.. wanting to review it and share both why this series is so damn special and what’s good, and what’s not so good about it. I’ll also be covering the game, once i’ts re-released, and the movie once i’m finsihed with the comics so look out for that. And get ready to take a trip to the glorious land of canada...

As a heads up and as you can tell i’ll be using the color version as while I could get scans of the black and white, I prefer the color version. While the black and white was fine and always will be, I think the impressive coloring job really adds to thing and makes the already great fight scenes pop more, as well as making certain background elements stand out a bit. While it does negate the black and white gags, the tradeoff is more than worth it. That being said either version is fine so if you can get the black and white cheaper that’s fine and i’ve kept my original copies, with volumes 4 -6 having been picked up as they came out.

So as our story starts we meet our hero: Scott Pilgrim Age 23, a charming but jobless and kind of sketchy possible college graduate whose really been adrift in his life since a breakup about a year ago. And when our story opens he’s taken a turn for a worse and decided to date sweet but naive and inexperinced Knives Chau, a 17 year old girl. And why yes the power dynamics there are messed up and why yes Scott is pretty damn sketchy in this moment in time, and while yes I am aware the age of consent in canada is 16, it dosen’t make this any less greasy and the story knows that. And how it knows that MOST of his friends aren’t on board. The only ones who seems to is Stephen Stiles, leader of Sex Bomb-Omb, the band scott’s in with one of the best names ever and even then it’s hard to tell if he’s being sarcastic or just a total douche. The other, Young Neil Nordgraf, Stephen’s roomate, is well 19 or 20 and kind of a dipshit so we just ignore him. I used to use him as kind of a projection, to put myself in the adventure when I was younger as Neil kind of lacks personality in the comics but in the comics.. he’s not hte best or most complex character. He is great in the movie though and Edgar Wright did an amazing job fleshing him out. The rest of his circle are .. not so permissive. His best friend, roomate and king of all gays for all time Wallace Wells very much does not want to come with Scott to school to pick her up because every part of that sentence after hurt to type. Granted Scott gets him to come with him with promises of boys, but frankly knowing wallace he was probably just playing along/wants to protect this poor child. His ex and fellow bandmate Kim is clearly bothered by it and is flat out worried Scott is taking advantage of her. Kim and Wallace are easily my faviorites both for personality and because I have a massive crush on both. With Wallace it just didn’t manifest till the reread. Finally Scott’s kid sister Stacey chews him out over it before genuinely wondering if he’s gone insane or he’s actually happy. For my two cents: he’s not. He WANTS to be, but he dosen’t know how. And as someone whose both neurotypical, which given Scott’s troubles with empathy and relating to people like yours truly I strongly suggest he is, and has struggled with depression I can relate to that. He wants to move on but he just.. can’t, he just wants to get past the haze he’s been in since Envy dumped him.. but he dosen’t know how. So instead of doing someting constructive or finding a job or anything .. he just took the first and easiest way out of his depression he could. I’ve done that with video games and stuff. Scott did that by entering a relationship that’s really easy, requires only so much effort, and is with someone who utterly adores, looks up to him and will never expect better. Being with Knives makes him feel better.. but it dosen’t MAKE him a better person. As i’ve made clear dating someone just for a boost makes him actively worse and had fate not intervened, I shudder to think what Scott might have become. That being said his actoins are still creepy and since Scott has a habit of landing ass backwards into being an asshole here’s a counter to track that. That’s 2 for doing this overall, one for tleling her to be good, and 1 for trying to ply wallace with underage boys.

Your the Scum of the Earth Scott Counter: 1

Thankfully fate does and Scott’s dreams, ones of him crawling through a desert alone, are interupted by a mysterious pink haired girl on skates. The next day he’s just sort of in a daze, kind of confused, and even more so when he sees her IN REAL LIFE, while at the library with Knives. He’s understandably frazzled but ends up finding out he’s not hallucinating when talking to MIcheal Cormeau. Micheal is a minor character and another artist and friend of o malley’s who represents that one guy in social circles who knows everybody. And indeed he knows the mystery girl, Ramona Flowers and that she’s there. Scott TRIES talking her up but just creeps her out, so Scott goes with plan b and decides to ask around about her. Enter Sandra and Monique, two college aquantinces of Scott, who just sorta show up at major events and aren’t that developed or intresting. They turn him to Julie who forbids him to date her. To which I say.

Naturually we’ll aslo be needing a counter for this.

Shut Up Julie Counter: 1

Scott however did find out she’s a delivery girl for Amazon Canada, and thus orders some CD’s on Wallace’s Credit card to hopefully see her. And while his behavior IS obessive.. it’s understandable. I’d be weirdly obessed with finding someone too if they showed up in my dreams every day and were apparently a real person. I’d probably play it cooler but still i’ts kind of understandable. So after a day with knives in which he’s clearly checked out she kisses him, he freaks out and it’s very clear that while Scott’s good at attracting women he’s just.. not good with his emotions and has finally woken up to how messed up this is, but has no idea how to get out now he’s intrested in someone he actually has a future with maybe. Speaking of Scott’s package and Ramona finally arrive. Scott’s move is to.. ask her out abrubtly but after he mentions her Dreams, Ramona finally puts two and two together and explains things: She’s been using Subspace, a seris of highways connected by the subconcious and apparently more common in america, though it’s later revealed she was taught this but being the first book with a lot of the lore and what not ironed out this is fine. Point is she was just using his dreams as transit and didn’t mean to get him obessed. Scott continues to try his schtick and eventually gets her to agree to hang out with him. Why she does I generally do not know, as SCott basically fell ass backwards over himself conversationally, but whatever. If he didn’t succeed we wouldn’t have a plot.

That being said things pick up a bit with the date though. The scene is really good and simply just the two.. talking. Having plesant conversations getting to know one another. That good stuff. it’s just really nice to read and it’s hard to explain why. Highlights include Scott’s x-men patch, Ramona not wanting to talk about her last job and Scott admitting he hasn’t been obessed in a long time.. and it comes off sweet rather htan creepy like that sounds. It just means he hasn’t fell this head over heels felt like this. As I said Knives was easy.. but this is hard.. and this.. feels right. So as things Snow Ramona yanks scott through subspace to escape the blizzard.

So we end up back at Ramona’s place and she offers some tea which leads to one of the best gags of the volume as she lists them off:

So Ramona goes to get Scott a blanket, Scott ends up following finds her changing, and she decides to warm him up another way.. by embracing him... cue.. the inevitible really.

It feels organic though: The two are clearly attracted to each other and while Scott came on as strong as freaking colossus, he still rebounded well once they hung out and he could relax a bit and show the scott underneath the lairs of dumbass. The two end up cuddling in bed and Scott seems..genuiley happy saying he needed this... awwwwwww. They part the next morning with him asking her to his band’s performance.

So Scott finds Wallace at home who says what Scott needs to hear “You need to break up with your fake highschool girlfriend scott’ Granted the entire first 40 pages could’ve been titled that but now he’s actively cheating. He’s also got a letter.

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It’s a death threat Scott barely grazes through, just like an email earlier.

But scott’s more concerned with his emotional distress.. i.e. the consequences of his throughly shitty actions finally hitting him in the face.

Scott heads to practice for his gig and can’t bring himself to break up with knives, but does find out about the opposition: Crash and the Boys, based on an NES game title because of course it is. Crash, their leader, Joel their baseplayer who scott hates because he hates all other baseplayers (”I don’t hate myself kim) and Trasha, an 8 year old progedy they found playing Drum Mania. Don’t ask me what that is, i’m not going to get every refrence.

So at the show Scott runs into Stacey and her new boyfriend Jimmy with Stacey being supportive. And then Knives shows up and then RAMONA SHOWS UP. Oh no scott’s cheating might be discovered!

So Scott books it while we’re introduced to Crash and the Boys. Wallace heckles them, to the band’s annoyance, until they eventually get fed up and we easly get the best gag of the volume. I was wrong this clearly tops the tea thing.

So Crash and The Boys continue to play their set, including a song that supposdely kills the audience but really knocks them out.. which of course bothers kim because they play next. Meanwhile Ramona and Stacey meet and the two really get along.. and come back to find the audience ko’d and Wallace Making out with Stacey’s boyfriend. Oh no! Which is a dick move, no question. But Stacey’s next move is questionable even for a 19 year old: She says “You won’t steel another guy from me and tells wallace to sit over there”. Okay Stacey even if he is bi, and this series has trouble with the concept of bisexuals we’ll get into that later trust me, he made out with someone else entirely while on a date with you. Wallace is still an asshole, it’s part of his charm.. but it dosen’t change the fact your date kissed someone else seconds after you were gone and has been eyballing him all night, as seen even above. He’s not into you as you thought, just accept it, move on, and kick Jimmy in the balls and then wallace like a proper lady. So Scott prepares to play and this happens

And it’s here, at the very end of the comic the series main premise finally kicks in and the world takes it’s true shape. It’s a world where an indie comedy about a mess of a being putting his life together after finding his dream girl.. also has said mess being forced to get into fist fights with wizards, movie stars, vegans, half-ninjas, twin roboticists and a katana wielding douchenozzle record exec in order to continue to have the right to date his girlfriend.

It’s where the series charm comes from and really what made it a huge sucess so it’s no suprise this volume perks up immensley for the climax. I’ll get more into it’s pacing problem at the end. For now it’s fight time and as we find out in a hilarious and awesome turn.. Scott is the best fighter in toronto.. which just makes me REALLLY want a Scott Pilgrim version of letterkenny. I mean who wouldn’t want to see wayne fight some guy who can turn his hands into dragons or see Squireely Dan do E.Honda’s hand slap move from streetfighter or see the skids all fuse into one mega emo. It’s just.. the possiblities are as endless as they are wonderous and I want this now.

But yeah as Patel is both the first boss and Scott’s first real opponent Scott.. handles him really easily. This was by design as O’Malley wanted a shonen progression to the fights.. and honestly it’s a great way to do things. Since the fights are styled after shonen and video games, and both have power based progression in bad guys and threats, it just made sense. Patel.. is just pathetic even with his magic powers, and his habit of sending letters and emails just pounds it in. Though he is right to be a bit pissed Scott didn’t read a letter he hand delivered in a snowstorm. That’s just a tad rude.

Mid-Fight, Scott, now he knows the whole evil ex boyfriend thing, wonders what Matt and Ramona’s past is and while Matthew refuses to tell.. Ramona spills easily. It was midddle school, all the jocks wanted her for whatever reason, likely because from experince in high school, guys really like indie girls. Matthew was the only non-white non jock, so they teamed up and with her strength and his mystic powers they beat them.. but since his use had dried up, she flipped him off and left. Matthew dosen’t take this well and summons demon hipster chicks to fight while Scott and co, minus ramona, fight back with a finger gun routine and block his fire balls before propelling Scott into matthew somehow, and landing the KO Evil Exes Left: 6 Matthew bursts into coins though fun fact, O’Malley says the Exes all respawned back at home afterwords and learned their lesson. With Pattel I genuinely don’t think he did... but clearly given his penchant for formality what with the letters and emails, he probably felt it’d break protocol to attack before the rest were done. He probably jsut formed a hipster emo band and found more sucess using his magic for that instead and just forgot about the whole thing. Could be wrong but that’s what i’m going with. So Scott asks Ramona to go out with him then make out with him, both of which she says yes to. Nice one scotty boy. Ramona then explains the whole evil exes thing: He’ll have to defeat each one as they come after him, and while Scott wonders if they’ll come one at a time Ramona��s not sure. As time will bear out, Scott is MOSTLY correct as most exes take him one on one, with the exception of the twins. But since as I said earlier the twins are basically one person, and as we’ll find out by choice, so it’s an exception. Plus their the last step before the final boss, so by that token it’s a bit fairer to have the penultimate boss get an unfair advantage. Scott is fine with that, he and Ramona share another moment and a kiss.. but Scott makes the mistake of asking if gideon is one and Ramona’s head starts glowing with her dodging the subject, though still going out with SCott and him worried.. it just feels.. off. not a bad ending but the only one of the series three cliffhanger endings that just dosen’t work for me, especailly since it is a bit before the Gideon mystery really picks up steam again. But with that we close this chapter

FINAL THOUGHTS:

Precious Little Life is a decent start to the story. While Scott is loathsome at first, he’s still a compelling character and does get more likeable as things go, the humor when it is there shines and is one of the series best assets and while the fight is short and only at the end, it is oh so glorious especailly in cover with the impacts taking cues from the movie. It’s a good intro to Scott’s world and ther’es a reason the movie adapts this book the closest as it sets up the cast and premise well, with only Stephen Stiles feeling a bit off and ONLY for the first few chapters. The volume is only really held back by it’s pacing, as before Scott runs into ramona in his dream the story feels a bit sluggish as we’re just watching some douche date a high school kid. While it is necessary to set up the world, it just dosen’t have the snappy pacing the series would be known for and that makes the rest of the series more charming. it’s nto BAD.. but it’s not FANTASTIC like the series would become. What keeps it from being bad is simple: These aren’t general badness signs but more just O’Malley coming into his owna nd getitng better and better as the book goes, to the point that by the next book the pacing is much better and by book 3 onwards he has it down pat. Overall not a BAD volume but certaionly the weakest of the bunch.. which given it’s still really good says something about the ride we’re in for. I’ll be back sometime in the future, likely january. Yup i’m taking on YET ANOTHER PROJECT. but since this one, while clearly exausting and time consuimg, is much shorter in overall length, and i’m still proritizing the three I have running over this, I think i’ll be just fine. Until next time, have a happy holiday.

#scott pilgrim #scott pilgrims precious little life #ramona flowers #wallace wells #kim pine #stephen styles #knives chau #neil nordgraf #julie powers #matthew pattel #gideon #crash and the boys #reviews #comics #oni press #micheal comereau #stacey pilgrim

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kalypsichor · 5 years ago

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five’s a crowd [ beatles x reader ] chapter nine

summary: George fancies himself to be Sherlock and drags you along with him, determined to figure out why Ringo’s been acting so weird lately. What you find changes everything.

warnings: 2.7k of an emotional rollercoaster

i’m sorry. notes at end of chapter

You float through the next few days on a bit of a cloud. George doesn’t see Maureen again, which you know you should be bummed about since he’s your friend and all, but… okay, you admit it. You don’t like them together. It’s nothing against Maureen, of course, and everything due to you being a shitty friend.

Wait… that’s it. You’re sitting on the steps leading up to your building and, jumping up, you almost hit your head on the railing. That weird, acidic feeling that sat in the pit of your stomach and reared into your throat whenever Maureen had laughed or George had put an arm around her… that was because you didn’t want to lose George’s friendship. It all makes sense now. And sure, although you admit that it’s not healthy to be so possessive of a friend, it’s better than the idea that you could possibly be… possibly be in…

“Love? What’re you doing out here?”

You know who it is before you turn around. Still, your heart catches in your throat, and you can’t help feeling like you were just caught doing something you shouldn’t be.

“Just enjoying the nice weather,” you say, smiling at George as he joins you on the steps. Are you smiling too wide? Is it too forced? Fuck, you’ve forgotten how to smile, what’s happening to you??? “How ‘bout you?”

George bumps his shoulder lightly into yours. “Was wonderin’ where my friend went. Have you seen her? She’s about yea high, can’t play Clue for shite-”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I’m very good at Clue. Better than you, at least.”

“Hm, but who was it that won Monopoly at Game Night?”

“You were cheating!”

You grin at each other and it’s so… natural. Yes, this is natural, this is just good ol’ banter between good ol’ friends. And being so jealous of Maureen had been stupid; how could you have possibly doubted the bond between you and George? The bond which has kept you together through thick and thin, through all your ups and downs…

Ever since that first night you met him.

***

Uni was nothing like the movies.

For one, there were no cliques or anything like that. People were generally nice and welcoming.

Which made the fact that you were feeling so out of place at this party even more pathetic.

Your roommate, a bubbly theatre performance major named Jane, had convinced you to come—well, her exact words were that you needed to “stop sitting on your arse and get out of the dorm a little”—and you weren’t having a bad time. You just weren’t having much of a good one, either. The music was loud yet also unintelligible and the flat, which belonged to some third years, was stuffy and packed with way more people than should be legally possible.

So, there you were, nursing a cup of Sgt. Pepper and trying to find somewhere that didn’t smell like B.O.

People kept on bumping into you, making your drink slosh around dangerously close to the top, and you kept on apologising for some fucking reason. Eventually, a set of double doors caught your eyes. It led to a porch of some sort, and just the thought of fresh air was already making your breathing easier. With quick, careful steps, you made your way through the throng of people and into the warm summer air.

It’s so dark out that you don’t notice there’s someone else on the porch until he turns, melting right out of the shadows and startling you a little.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you…”

The stranger just blinked at you, looking as though he was about to scowl but suddenly forgot how.

“Er, I’ll just find somewhere else to, uh, sulk.”

You made to leave but froze at the feeling of a grip on your wrist. Your gaze followed the long, almost elegant fingers to a tense shoulder. A bobbing Adam’s apple. Dark eyes which widened comically when he suddenly snatched his hand back as though burned.

“Stay. Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” When he noticed your shocked expression, he quickly backpedaled. “I mean, you don’t /have/ to stay. You can. I’m not tryin’ to tell you, uh… I’m…” The boy sighed and slumped forward, his next words more to himself than you. “Jesus Christ.”

Normally you’d sprint the other way if you accidentally found yourself alone with a complete stranger, but something drew you to join him, drew you to stand shoulder to shoulder and drape your arms over the railing. Something, something… you weren’t sure what. You would figure it out eventually, probably.

“Well, it’s an honor to meet you, Jesus. I’m a big fan of your work.”

His head turned slightly, dark mop of hair shifting and parting in the breeze. When your eyes met, you both started laughing, the sound carrying over the din of the party behind you.

And when he told you his name, and you told him yours, they fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

***

George brings you out of your reverie, calling your name softly. You shake your head and try to swipe away the cobwebs of that fond memory.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about something.”

He grins and shoves a hand in his pocket, bringing out his phone. “I’ve been doing a little thinking of my own, too. Have you noticed how Ringo’s been sorta sus recently?”

Huh. You think back to Ringo's odd behavior last Sunday, and how he’d come back from supposedly walking dogs with a grin that lasted til dinner. Dogs are cute, obviously, and you’d die for one in an instant, but you’ve never seen them have that kind of an effect on Ringo.

“Yeah, I guess. Do you know why?”

“No, but!” George accentuated the ‘but’ with an adorably excited wag of his finger. “I know how we can figure it out… using the wonders of technology!” George’s phone is shoved in your direction and you blink at the familiar yellow app glowing right back at you.

“... Snapchat?”

“Ringo left half an hour ago to do some more ‘dog walking’,” cue air quotes, “and I was thinking we could try and figure out what he’s really up to.”

It takes your brain a few seconds to process this. “Wait, but—shouldn’t his location be turned off?”

“Yeah, it should be. I tell him to do it all the time, 'cept he doesn’t know how. Anyway, it’ll come in handy now.”

“Wait wait wait.” You bring up a hand and slowly move the phone out of the way so you can meet George’s eyes. “You’re talking about stalking your friend.”

“Our friend,” George corrects. “And it’s not really stalking if he’s so easy to find.”

“Say that a little louder, Geo, I don’t think the police heard you.”

“Listen, there’s no harm in it. If Ringo’s really telling the truth, we’ll get to see some cute dogs. And if not, we can catch him red-handed doing… something sketchy!”

You want to say no, partly because this is a crazy plan and partly because you weren’t too keen on spending your afternoon on a wild goose chase. But with your exams over, you really haven’t got anything else to do.

Also, you just can’t bring yourself to let down that adorable anticipation on George’s face.

“Fine. But!” This time it’s your turn to jab a finger in his direction. “If it’s the mafia or something, I’m using your skinny arse as a human shield.”

George frowns. It’s more of a pout, really, and you privately think that it puts Paul’s to shame. “First of all, it’s not skinny. Second,” he grabs your hand and starts pulling you along the sidewalk, “we’re losing daylight! The game is afoot, dear Watson!”

You can’t help but laugh, even as you’re being unceremoniously dragged along. “Why do you get to be Sherlock?”

George lets go of your hand (you are not disappointed, you’re not) and turns up the collar of his jacket, sending you a sly grin. “It’s the cheekbones. Benadryl Cucumber could cut glass with those things, y’know.”

As you look at George’s side profile, platonically admiring his sharp jawline and defined nose, you can’t help but agree. Personally, though, you think that his cheekbones put Beelzebub Cabbagepatch’s to shame.

***

The problem is that Ringo keeps on moving. Sure, you have Google Maps, but you can’t exactly put in a destination because Ringo doesn’t even seem to have one. George isn’t any less directionally challenged than you, so for the past half hour you’ve both been just walking in the vague cardinal direction of Ringo’s last location.

“Consider this,” you say, huffing a little from the endless walking. Okay, so maybe you should get out of the apartment and, god forbid, exercise more. “What if he’s actually walking a dog? He’s moving around enough to be doing it.”

George comes to a sudden stop and you smack right into him, nose squashing momentarily against the back of his jacket before. Before you can withdraw from the warmth of George’s body, though, you catch a whiff of something—clean laundry, fresh linen, George—and you’re overwhelmed by a sudden, ridiculous urge to press into him again.

“There’s got to be something going on,” he insists. “Ringo can barely wash his hands with that cast on, much less walk dogs. Don’t you think?”

You nod, but really only because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to speak.

“Wait, look! He’s walking around in circles now… think he’s at some sort of park. Come on, before we lose him!”

And then George is taking your hand again, sprinting across the street with no warning. You can’t bring yourself to mind. His palm is so warm against yours, fingers intertwining perfectly as though they were made for each other. He lets go when you reach the sidewalk, of course, which is absolutely normal. Friendly. Your fingers don’t suddenly feel cold, not at all.

God, you wanna hold his hand.

You get to the park pretty quickly, which the stitch in your side is grateful for. It’s your run of the mill ordeal: benches, trees here and there, a nice duck pond in the middle of it all. Before you get the chance to look for Ringo’s mop of hair, though, George pulls you into a clump of bushes. Your knees hit the dirt and send a jolt of pain up your leg, making you hiss.

“What the hell, George?”

“Sorry, sorry!” He gives you an apologetic look and his hand finds one of your knees, rubbing little circles where there’s a smear of dirt. Suddenly, you don’t care at all about falling down. “Just wanted to make sure we wouldn’t be seen.”

You huff and glance around. Thankfully, there aren’t any passersby to give you weird looks. “This Sherlock thing is really going to your head. Don’t you think we’re making a big deal out of all this?”

George goes to make a retort—looks a little sheepish, though, so you’ll give him that—but then he freezes. He doesn’t even have to say anything for you to know that he’s spotted Ringo… and that something’s wrong.

Ringo’s walking around the bend of the path that circles the pond, laughing about something. He looks so happy, his laugh so lighthearted, that your own lips twitch upwards at the sight. But then you see what’s making him laugh and the grin disappears.

It’s Maureen.

Ringo’s got his arm around her and they’re looking at each other like nothing else exists. You’ve seen that look many, many times, having to suffer through it whenever John and Paul get very, well, JohnandPaul. It’s not friendly, like you and George, it’s… it’s like love.

You want to pull George away, cover his eyes, anything that could possibly undo this, this… whatever this is. But the damage has already been done. You can see it in how his jaw clenches, how his eyes flash vulnerable before settling on guarded, and how his posture is stiff when he stands up and walks right through the bushes you’re crouched behind.

“George, wait-”

It’s too late. Ringo’s head turns to the sudden commotion and his smile slips away so quickly it’s like it’s been slapped off. He stops in his tracks. Maureen is a second behind, takes another step forward before jolting back when her partner doesn’t move. And when her gaze lands on George, who’s barreling towards them, the emotions on her face are so visible that you almost cringe. Shock, fear, and then, overwhelmingly, guilt.

You don’t have to see Ringo to know he looks the same.

Your feet are carrying you towards them before your brain can catch up, but something stops you a few feet away from the scene. It almost feels like you’re eavesdropping because this has nothing to do with you. Except, you realize, everything concerning George concerns you, too. Because you care about him.

So much.

“Ringo! We were just walking through the neighborhood!” George gestures in your direction and Maureen’s eyes snap to you. You flinch, partly at the motion and partly at the false cheeriness George has inflected into his voice. “You know, she said to me, she said ‘well isn’t that Ringo?’ And I thought, no, it couldn’t be. My best friend wouldn’t go behind my back and take out the girl I was seeing.” His voice cracks halfway through ‘best.’ You know that George notices, because his cheeks have turned a furious, embarrassed pink. “But I guess it really is you.”

Ringo’s eyes stay on George the whole time. They’re really so, so blue and light enough that a part of you fancies you could see George’s reflection in them. They don’t look away, not when George points at you, not even when he’s done speaking. You know, then, that Ringo really cares about George. Loves him, even. And George must know that, right?

“George.” Quiet, restrained. “How did you find us?”

It’s like George doesn’t hear a word. “Did you already have your eyes on her at the bar? The morning after, you were already texting her, right? God, you took her out. The morning after.” His voice breaks again at the last sentence, catching on something sharp and stumbling out of his throat.

There’s nothing to say. Everyone knows the answer, really. It’s obvious—yes, yes, and yes. The silence that stretches between George’s shuddering intake of breath to Ringo’s next words is heavy.

“Did you follow me?”

The atmosphere becomes paper-thin, now. Changes so quickly you feel the breath rush out of you. And George tears right through it.

“Does it fucking matter?” You’ve never heard George sound like this and you know you’ve got to stop it, got to slam on the brakes before it all breaks. But how?

“George-”

“Stop. Just stop, Ritchie.”

That’s when something cracks in Ringo’s eyes. Only his closest friends call him that, Ritchie, and hearing George say it like that, practically spitting it out… even Maureen feels the venom in his tone. She takes a half step forward and Ringo stops her, hand grasping her arm and tugging her back. George sees it and his face falls.

“I’m sorry, George, he was just—being nice to me, that’s all.”

“Nice? Is that what you call it?” George laughs bitterly. “God, I couldn’t even keep you for a day, huh? This is pathetic. I’m-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, takes a deep breath instead. Runs a shaky hand through his hair. George is angry, trembling with it, but for some reason you almost feel like it’s more towards himself.

“I guess you really were dog-walking, Ritchie. Just didn’t think she’d be a bitch.”

Whatever holds the four of you in place shatters. George stumbles backwards and the regret is already painted all over his face, the shock evident in his wide eyes. Maureen gasps, tearing her arm away from Ringo’s hold to clasp a hand over her mouth. And Ringo—Ringo doesn’t stop her this time. They both know he doesn’t mean it, even you do, but the word still hangs in the air between them. Ringo has always been the slowest to anger, the hardest to rile up, but this time is different. You see a fire rise to his eyes, a line harden around his mouth, a subtle change in his stance.

Still, nothing prepares you for when he rears back and strikes George right across the face.

- - -

notes: 1) i know nothing about college (or i guess “uni”) in england, so some of this is probably so wrong. Like i guess you guys only have three years?? And apparently NO GPA??? So, that was def a mistake on my part in ch six. Also, I guess midterms aren’t a thing. That brings me to 2) this story is taking place during the first semester of their third and final year at uni. Which means they are in… the middle of October! IDK i’m making this tf up rn. Mostly bc I really wanna write a halloween chapter (dee here! We’re making an executive decision to set this before halloween because we NEED christmas feels)

taglist: (wanna be added? dm me or @spaceyantique!)

@1-2beeble @beatlevmania @theclassicsl @withthebeables @thasbooooooi @geostarr @report-abuse

#george harrison x reader #beatles fanfic #the beatles x reader #ringo starr x reader #john lennon x reader #paul mccartney x reader #five's a crowd #kalwrites #i will timezone rb this later #but i just wanted to post now #need it get it outta my system

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drfate · 5 years ago

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Dr. Fate: In the Dungeon of the Damned

An old school Dr. Fate novel by Rex F Dorgan

Chapter 1 – Salem Tower

The tall blond man stepped from the train onto the platform at Salem Station. It was only 5 p.m., but the sun had already moved behind the train-and-bus depot building, leaving the platform and track in shade. He glanced down the track at the tunnel from which he had just emerged, and then began the climb up the stairs, to street level, with the mob of commuters and tourists departing the train with him. It occurred to him that much of his life had been spent on journeys through various underworlds followed by ascents back into the light. He smiled and laughed quietly at himself; he really needed to curb his habit of finding portentous metaphors in every little activity.

He normally used much faster modes of transport, but today he felt like taking things at a slower, more human pace, especially after all the inhuman things he had witnessed recently while working on site in Iraq. He was returning home now, having stopped first to deliver a guest lecture about this expedition in the city of his birth – Cambridge, where he had spoken before a packed room at the Peabody Museum of Archaeology at Harvard. He now began the final, happiest part of his journey, back among the familiar vistas of his adopted hometown of many years, Salem, Massachusetts.

“Witch-haunted” Salem, as it was so often called, an epithet confirmed commercially, and somewhat comically, as he strolled down Washington Street on his way home. In every direction, the town was overrun with reminders of its claim to infamy. To his right was the Witch Dungeon Museum on Lynde Street and to his left the Salem Witch Museum off Church Street. There was the Witch House and the Gallows Hill Museum, the Witch Village and the Salem Wax Museum. There was even the Bewitched Sculpture in Lappin Park, depicting television’s favourite housewife-witch, which he spotted as he passed Essex Street.

But then he came to Front Street, which led to Charles Street and the Witch Trials Memorial, and the true, sombre reality of the town’s supernatural past asserted itself. If they only knew, the man thought to himself with morbid amusement as he glanced back toward the ridiculous Bewitched statue, if they only knew. Salem had in fact truly been haunted by dark witchcraft in its colonial past (and since), but it was not the work of the young women who had been accused, tried, and executed at the Witch Trials, but by some of the very men who had sat in judgment of them. Isn’t it always the case, the man thought to himself, that great evil resorts to even greater evil – the greatest evil – when it sacrifices innocents to bear the blame, and suffer the consequences, of its own dark deeds?

His grim reverie was broken by someone shouting at him.

“Kent Nelson!” A very old man teetered on a walker directly in front of the tall blond man, pointing at him and accosting him loudly.

“Yes?” the tall blond man asked, a little confused. The old man seemed vaguely familiar.

“You’re the spitting image! Of him. Kent Nelson, that is. Except for the beard, of course. Kent Nelson was a clean-cut man, he was. A gentleman.”

Kent Nelson understood now.

“My grandfather. I believe you’re thinking of my grandfather. ‘Kent Nelson’ is my name as well. I’m named for him, as was my father. Dad just never went by ‘Junior,’ and I don’t go by ‘the Third.’”

“Why, it’s like looking back in time when I look at you Mr Nelson! Or is it Dr Nelson, like him?”

Kent Nelson smiled. “Well, technically, I’m a doctor, too – but only a simple Ph.D. in Archaeology. Not a medical doctor like him. Although he had a Ph.D. in Archaeology, as well – and Physics, too!”

“Oh, I recall all about the archaeology! He was like Indiana Jones, he was! Better! The real McCoy. He was always in that bomber jacket and those khaki desert pants when we saw him walking these streets, and then later after the war always so smartly dressed, being a doctor and all, in his dark blue suit. Like the one you’re wearing now. And with a gold tie. Like yours. And his wife, what a beauty! We were all so smitten, you know, all us boys. What a face! And what a body!”

Kent Nelson smiled more broadly. “Yes, she was quite a looker, ol’ grandma. People tell me she was as pretty as Maureen O’Hara – and twice as feisty!” He and the old man shared a laugh.

“And you still do the digs? Like your gramps? Looking for pyramids and the like?”

“Yes. In fact, I’ve only just returned to the states on a mission in Northern Iraq, evaluating the damage done to the Ezida Temple – the Temple of Nabu – and the Nergal Gate – by ISIS. And trying to help the National Museum recover precious antiquities that were stolen in the wars from whatever black marketeers and crooked billionaires they made their way to.”

“Iraq? Worse than ever, I reckon?” the old man asked, arching an eyebrow in a manner that indicated a kind of general scepticism toward every story he’d heard about the place for the last two decades.

“Yes, in some ways worse than ever, sadly. The birthplace of Western civilization, and we’ve lost so much so quickly. The destruction of the Northwest Temple, the ‘mermen’ statues, much of Nimrud in fact…”

“No doubt, no doubt,” the old man grumbled.

“I flew into Logan and stayed in Boston for the night, and gave a talk at Harvard this afternoon to please my benefactors. A TED Talk, very au courant, I’m told. You’ve heard of them?”

The old man shrugged. Nelson chuckled. “Yeah, I hadn’t either before this one. My publicist,” he said, as if that explained everything. And it apparently did; the old man nodded knowingly. “But now I’m finally heading home – and I can’t wait to get there. It’s been too long!”

“Well I won’t keep you, then,” the old man said, shifting his walker to clear a path forward for the doctor. “No doubt you got a pretty wife of your own to run home to. It was a pleasure to meet you, young Mr – Dr – Nelson.”

“And it was a pleasure to meet you too, Mr...?”

“Moore. J.D. Moore.”

“A pleasure, Mr Moore.” Kent nodded his head in a slight bow toward the man and continued on his way. He remembered Mr Moore, all right. Or Little Jimmy Moore, as he had been called back then.

At Norman Street he turned right to head south to Margin Street, which led to Jefferson Avenue and the more prosaic part of his journey. Off the beaten tourist path, with architecture less enduring and much less quaint, he now entered a part of town that grew increasingly quotidian the farther south he travelled. He passed the Post Office, which sported a “ye olde” colonial brick façade on its otherwise prefab form, and then the police station, the red brick of which was even more utilitarian and bland. He passed parking lots and auto parts stores, and a nest of large, boxy buildings constructed primarily of sheet aluminium, which gave the impression of being the office-building equivalent of a mobile home park. He proceeded into an area where Jefferson Avenue was lined with old homes, some of which had businesses operating out of them. He stopped at one of these, a quaint little flower shop with the name “Rose Red and Snow Lily” hand-painted in a flowing script on a wooden sign above the porch.

He had known the shop’s proprietress, Eliza Grey, since the time he had first arrived in Salem, which seemed as if it were only yesterday – while at the same time, it seemed as if their acquaintance had spanned centuries. He supposed both impressions were true; he knew that for Lady Grey, as he called her with an odd mix of irony and respect and affection, it had seemed forever. Time, and the perception of it, was as personally relative as it was fleetingly elusive, even for him.

No sooner had the little bell atop the door jingled upon his entrance than he was greeted by a voice that was at once shrill and melodious, upper-crust British mixed with the sharp, flat edges acquired from too many years in Boston, “Kent Nelson! What a plez-zhah!” The old woman rushed over to him and hugged him, her head only reaching his belly. She released him and looked up, smiling. “And how is that lovely wife of yours?” she asked.

“When last we spoke, she was doing very well, thank you. But that was last night on a sketchy WhatsApp connection and we haven’t seen each other in weeks. I’m on my way back home now. In fact, she’s why I stopped in.”

“Well of course she is, dear! Who else would you ever be buying flowers for?”

“Oh, the occasional funeral – maybe my own if I don’t get moving a little faster,” Nelson quipped.

“Well, then – the usual?”

“You say that like I order them every day.”

“Every time I see you.”

“But what is that – every five years?”

“Three, four – but who’s counting?”

“Yes, two dozen of the Rosa Richardii.”

“The Rosa Sancta – the Holy Rose of Abyssinia?”

“The Holy Rose of the ancient Egyptians, too.”

“Oh, yes, that’s where you two met, isn’t it? Alexandria?”

Nelson smiled. “As well you know, Lady Grey.”

“And you only want two dozen? I hear that when you first met her, you bought out a vendor’s entire market stall and had her hotel room stuffed so full of them she couldn’t move without knocking over a bouquet. You might have asphyxiated her with perfume blooms.”

“I have no idea where you might have heard such a ridiculous slander, Lady Grey,” Nelson laughed.

“Oh, I heard it from the most trusted source, Dr Nelson, the beautiful woman herself.”

“Yes, only two dozen. I learned my lesson not to overdo my displays of affection. With flowers, anyway.”

The old woman laughed and pelted him in the chest with a large delphinium she had been holding. “You are ever a character, Dr Nelson,” she said as she assembled a pile of flowers from two different refrigerated cases.

“As are you, Lady Grey.”

The old woman placed the flowers on the counter, pecked daintily at her register, and announced a price that was clearly too low for the rare flowers that Nelson had picked up and organized into a bundle appropriate for carrying another mile or so.

He tossed a $100 bill on the counter and said, as he headed toward the door, “Thanks, Lady Grey. Wonderful seeing you again.”

“Stop by any time, Dr Nelson,” she said. “Always a plez-zhah dealing with a gentleman. And such a wicked handsome gentleman,” she added with an exaggerated South Boston accent, accompanied by a playful wink.

He laughed and turned to leave the store and saw his face reflected in the glass window of the shop door. He’d allowed crow’s feet to form at the corners of his deep blue eyes, and, mixed in with the gold that the desert sun had spun in his straw-coloured hair, there were here and there strands of silver, but he realized he had hardly changed in all the time Lady Grey had known him. Not bad for a man of 112, he thought to himself.

Before long, he had come to a collection of four gambrel-roofed houses, two red, one blue, and one white, that struck him as a playful bit of coincidental Americana, and which served as a sign that the last leg of his journey lay before him. He turned onto Willson Street and followed it until it led to the entrance to the Highland Park golf course – or, as the purposely anachronistic green and gold wooden sign referred to it, “Olde Salem Greens.” This park was part of the larger green space known as Salem Woods, where his home was located.

As the sun started to set, he crossed the parking lot to a little asphalt trail that led into the park, then crossed the golf course until it ended and the trees began, where he picked up a narrow dirt hiking trail that continued on into the woods. As he walked through the remaining forest of an area once sacred to Native Americans, he passed what he had long known to be three sites of intense spiritual energy. Powerful guardians still watched over this patch of woodland from the higher planes, and they bowed, and the birch trees that sensed their presence likewise bowed, as be passed.

At last he came to the base of Monument Hill, the tallest point in the woods. From the top of this hill you could reliably see the smokestacks of the power plant in Salem to the northeast, but on a clear day looking due east you could see over Swampscott all the way to the Atlantic Ocean.

At the top of the hill there had once been an observation tower that had belonged to the Forestry Service and then to the local Boy Scouts. The tower had been mostly demolished by 1933, at which point a new owner had purchased the hill, and the land around it, from the town and built a large, two-tiered granite tower that one local wag had likened to a rook from God’s chess board. The tower had no windows and no doors; its builder, one Kent Nelson, had declared that it was not to be inhabited but was instead merely a monument to the town and to luminaries such as Emerson, Hawthorne, and Thoreau, who had all reputedly derived spiritual sustenance, at one time or other in their lives, from visits to these woods. The town was perfectly fine with this construction, since the remains of the Boy Scout tower had been an eyesore, and this seemed to be a perfectly satisfactory memorial, along the lines of the obelisks that city fathers were forever erecting in plazas and traffic circles, but with a Northern European flavour that had greater appeal for the WASP city fathers of that era.

But whether because of or in spite of this tower’s vague function, the locals set about immediately creating legends about the tower and its alleged inhabitants. Ghosts, witches, the ghosts of witches, Mothman, aliens, vampires - even Bigfoot - had all allegedly been seen coming and going from this tower, which apparently could only be accessed by beings capable of passing through its walls as if they were mist.

Kent Nelson grinned and let out a quiet, satisfied sigh of excitement at seeing his home, then bounded up the hill until he stood by the tower wall that faced north, hidden from the view of the condos to the south and west of the woods. He raised his hand and touched the cool granite blocks of the tower wall, the tower he had built with his own hands, with his own craft. And then he walked right through the wall as if it were nothing more than mist.

The world inside Salem Tower was not a place the untrained human mind could easily apprehend, much less comprehend. Here the laws of physics did not strictly apply. As in Faerie, the four dimensions of spacetime, and the rules governing it, were violated here in ways that could be literally maddening. But unlike Faerie, which grew more disturbing the longer one lingered there, the interior of Salem Tower was ordered, logical even, something a mere human could adjust to, given time (or a magical facsimile thereof) and an easy-going imagination. While its bowels were vast, covering an area that seemed enormous at first glance and never-ending to one attempting to traverse it, and while its many staircases and rooms were set at Escehrian odds with one another in defiance of gravity and three-dimensional causality, it still had a lived-in humanity about it that made it, over time, knowable and even comfortable to those who dwelt there. Bookcases filled with ancient volumes, odd but beautiful artworks and artifacts stood in hallways or sat on tabletops, Persian rugs of great size and greater value (but none of them – any longer – capable of flight) covered floors of ancient hand-hewn oak, maple, and ash, and stone archways and hallways were so captivatingly constructed that one could walk through them for hours and never feel fatigued, or see the same place twice. This fantastical homescape was where Kent Nelson and his beloved wife Inza Cramer had lived the better part of their lives.

But entering Salem Tower now, this is not what Kent Nelson saw.

He saw, instead, a scene that reminded him of the Coventry Blitz: splintered walls, broken staircases, carpets ripped to shreds and stained with something resembling viscous bloody ink that seemed to be spreading even now before his eyes, the loose leaves of books scattered everywhere, their gutted hardcover carcasses lying spread apart like dead soldiers on a field of slaughter. Statuettes and ancient musical instruments lay in pieces on the tables they had rested on, or on the floors they had fallen on.

And in his right hand, two dozen roses drooped, withered, shrivelled, turned a sickening ashen grey, and then flaked into dust before his eyes.

But while all this registered, none of it mattered. Only one concern came to mind.

“Inza!”

He rushed from room to room with inhuman speed. “Inza!” Up and down broken staircases. In and out of crumbling archways. In every room, it was the same. Devastation. Desolation. And no Inza. He knew without a doubt that whatever had come here, whatever had worked its evil will here, had made her a captive pawn in its deadly game.

He fell to one knee, head in one hand. He felt the closest thing to panic he had felt in years. It was not that his many years labouring in the supernatural had rendered him any less a natural being, or that his many journeys among the superhuman, the inhuman, the dead, the demonic, the angelic, and even the godly had left him in some way less capable of emotion. Or that his own superhuman powers rendered him any less human at his core. It was simply that his many years of training had taught him discipline and calm in the face of adversity, and his experience and triumphs had given him confidence facing the most powerful of foes. But being attacked like this in his own home, in his heretofore impregnable fortress, and to have had the one most dear to him apparently abducted, held hostage, or, the unthinkable, dead – this shook him as nothing in many years had. And… there was something else. A dark grey shadowy pall hung over everything – less substantial than mist, almost as if a kind of veil had been cast over his vision, or a scentless smoke were choking the very light. It seemed to instil in him – even in him! He considered, amazed – a kind of irrational fear. It reminded him of what the ancient Sumerians had called puluhtu, an almost physical dread of the divine, the twisted opposite of ni, the awe one experienced in the presence of melammu, the aura or garment making manifest the glory of a god.

“No! It can’t be!” he said to himself, but the thought caused him to spring up and race to his watchtower room, from which twelve “windows” – mystical mirrors, in fact - looked out onto various planes of existence from the windowless tower. As he expected, these were all cracked and filled with a hideous grey film. In the centre of the room, in a pile of shattered glass below the wrought-iron stand where it had nested in its centuries-old circular oak frame, was the remains of the Eye of Merlin, an orb that had been the scrying glass of the famous magician, given as a gift to his friend and peer after the two had defeated the chthonic demon trio of Abnegazar, Rath, and Ghast. What power on Earth was great enough to destroy this supremely potent magical engine? He gestured to the pile of broken glass and willed an unspoken command at the glistening shards. A flash of golden light, a radiance halfway between a blast of lightning and the glow of a saint’s halo, flew from his fingertips to the pile of glittery rubble. The light subsided; the pile of rubble remained.

Once again, he made the mystic healing gesture, but more forcefully this time, exerting himself with such grim determination that every muscle in his body tensed and strained. The pieces of glass slowly, ever so slowly, began to rise and reassemble into the shape of a crystal globe, but he could see black fracture lines where the shards joined, and realized that these dark lines represented a destructive force repelling the shards from each other, preventing an undoing of the globe’s destruction. He struggled with this force for several minutes, contesting with it, his raw will against this nameless, mindless force. At last the black lines faded and the orb seemed to settle into a restoration of its whole, intact state. Nelson let out a long sigh of relief. But no sooner had he done so than the black lines swiftly reappeared, seemed to quickly expand, and the globe shattered into a pile of shiny debris once more.

Nelson let out an angry epithet, then cast a summoning spell. His form was quickly enveloped in golden light until it became a blinding blur. When the light slowly faded, in Nelson’s place stood a form clothed in a golden cloak, gauntlets, boots; a blue body suit covering his body from his torso to his legs; a golden amulet on his chest, and on his head a golden helmet. This quiet, private man now stood revealed as a figure known around the world – and on many other worlds, as well – as the master mage and supreme sorcerer, Doctor Fate.

Something had declared war on him, and likely had also declared war on the entire world. Doctor Fate would answer it.

He gestured toward the broken globe again, but this time with his left hand; his right hand pressed the golden jewel set in the centre of the golden metallic disk on his chest: the Amulet of Anutu. The power of the greatest of the ancient gods, Anu, the Creator of All, the Lord of Heaven, transmitted through the sigil of his scion, Utu, god of the sun. He rarely used the amulet’s power; it was too great, too unwieldy for anything but the most extreme situation. But he knew such an occasion was upon him now. Power flowed into him from the wellsprings of creation itself, until he knew he could barely contain it. Dropping his right hand to his side, he expelled the tremendous force from himself through his outstretched left arm.

The tower shook and for a split second all the familiar reality of it seemed to blink into something else entirely; for a split second, time and space, even such as they were in the Salem Tower, were rendered entirely irrelevant. Everything was something entirely other. But then reality reasserted itself, as did the Eye of Merlin, for when Kent Nelson – Doctor Fate – had recovered his sense of reality, the globe was fully restored. Holding his breath for a few seconds, he let out a sigh of relief. The restoration spell held; the dark force had been completely expelled.

But at such a cost. Despite possessing superhuman strength and stamina, he was exhausted. But there was no time to rest. Inza’s life was at stake. Certainly, he knew that some unknown enemy was setting a trap, that he was the prey and she was the bait. But that hardly mattered. He would rescue Inza or, immortal or not, perish trying.

Taking a deep breath and concentrating, he muttered an invocation to the spirit of the Annunaki and a supplication to Anu, to Enlil and Enki, and to his former mentor, Nabu. Give me strength, and more, give me wisdom, he spoke in the ancient, forgotten, forbidden tongue of the original Ubaidian sorcerers. He then laid his palm over the Eye of Merlin and exerted his will upon the orb, directing it to locate Inza.

The globe seemed to come alive with a golden light that radiated from it as if it were a warm electric bulb, but this glow dimmed and lost its lustre until it was a smoggy yellow-grey, and inside the scrying glass grey mists swirled and grew darker, until they appeared to form a grim shape.

The shape became the shadow of a misshapen head, and then in an instant it resolved into a hideous face, one that clearly had once been human long ago, but had become so corrupted as to appear demonic. It was completed bald, and its pale, bluish-grey skin appeared to be ravaged by some disease that had left it pocked and mottled with dark pits and patches. Its ears were of differing sizes; one seemed to have been partially eaten. Its teeth were long and yellowish and appeared to have been purposely filed to points; its tongue was long and appeared to have been similarly altered by surgical means: it was forked, like that of a snake.

But the most disturbing aspect of this creature’s face was its eyes: the whites were a cirrhotic snot-yellow, the irises a chthonic fiery red.

It couldn’t be, Fate muttered to himself. The demonic face laughed as if to answer, But it is!

“Nergal!” Fate exclaimed. The word sounded half curse, half question. The creature laughed again.

“What have you done with Inza?” the distraught sorcerer demanded.

The face grinned widely, exposing all the pointed yellow spikes in its hideous mouth., then turned and gestured to the form of a woman, floating in the middle of the great hall of a stone temple. The image grew closer to him until he could see that it was Inza, stiff as a board, pale white, and dressed in sombre sheer black silks with a grey rose and a grey viper perched on her breast – in the manner of ritual sacrifice to a dark god.

“NO!” Fate shouted. But then the face appeared again. Its mocking laughter filled the orb, and evil emanated from it like the wicked gravity of a black hole, depleting all heavenly light in its vicinity. The black veins again appeared in the orb, and it threatened to shatter, but it held firm. A look of surprise appeared briefly on the hideous face, but then it just smiled again, and pointed again to the floating form of Inza. Then the view inside the globe seemed to scan the room, so that Fate would be certain where his beloved was being held captive. But he had known that room from the first second the face had ceased to fill up the entire orb. It had once been home to him, after all.

Then the face vanished completely, the darkness drained from the globe, and it was once again no more than a large crystal ball.

Fate shuddered. He was shaken by unreasoning fear, as if under the spell of the fear-inducing Mask of Medusa. He had faced some of the most powerful beings in the cosmos – Darkseid, the Anti-Monitor, Mordru, even the Spectre – and never felt fear like this. He knew it must be the primal power of the creature’s aura, powerful enough to induce extreme puluhtu, even in him. And for the first time in his life, Nelson – Fate – experienced the sensation of his life flashing before his eyes, his life compressed into an infinitely faceted, self-reflective crystal. Under pressure like the grip of a collapsing star, he saw his life reduced to an atom of time upon staring into the face of the god of death.

#drfate #doctor fate #dr fate #dc comics #fantasy #fiction #comics #superhero #supreme sorcerer #kent nelson #inza cramer #nabu #justice league #justice society #jla #jsa

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willel · 6 years ago

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Will and El storylines

This is a straightforward picture of how I view their development.

El’s main antagonist is Brenner. Brenner is the one that has caused the series we call Stranger Things to happen. Due to his cold and endless scientific curiosity, he has forever tainted their world with the Upside Down. There may never be a day where they achieve peace because of him.

Not only did Brenner take El as a newborn, not even allowing Terry to hold or touch her own baby, he stripped her of her name and raised her mostly alone in a cold laboratory.

Although we don’t know the age at which the experiments and testing started, it is all El knew. The most warmth she’s ever had was 1 stuffed animal toy, occasionally getting a story read to her, and getting to draw 1 picture.

After Brenner caused El to open the gate into the Upside Down, El took her fate into her own hands and escaped. She ran as hard as she could and found two safe havens. First Benny, who was killed for trying to help her, and then The Party.

There, she continued to decide her own destiny. She put her foot down when she needed to, refusing to let Lucas and Mike inform their parents. But, she was also on her own mission. She was searching for someone, someone she didn’t even realize was associated with the boys who helped her.

The show doesn’t delve into how she knew Will before she met the boys, but the comic illustrates she caught a glimpse of him on the other side and vice versa.

Now with the pieces all in place, El, in her own way, tries to undo her “wrongs”. She wants to help the boys to find Will. Safely. In the end, she does. At a price. For a while, she can’t be with her friends and Mike anymore. She’s lost her safe haven, but soon finds another in Hopper.

As we know, things with Hopper aren’t all sparkles and rainbows. As time marches on, El grows more and more frustrated and she starts seeing things in Hopper she doesn’t want to see. She sees traits of Brenner and what he did to her. While Hopper is nowhere near as bad as Brenner, it’s easy to see someone who experienced as much trauma as El can see the similarities. So she ditches Hopper to find a new safe haven.

She finds her mother. Alive. But broken. Another piece of her life broken by Brenner that may never be fixed. She can’t fix this one, at least, not right away. Instead, she tries to follow her mother’s wishes, which leads her to her third safe haven. Kali.

Kali is just like her. They were tortured by the same man, both stolen away from their parents. They found a new family to feel safe with. But, there’s a key difference between Kali and El. Kali heart is hard as stone. She’s been hurt one too many times. Her fear and rage fuel her to be on the offence against the people who hurt her instead of the defense. El tries to follow in her footsteps, but she can’t. She doesn’t want to split up families like they did to her and Kali.

It happens again. Brenner returns, but it’s a manifestation of Kali’s powers. El and Kali are so alike, Kali knows El’s pain and can use it against her. It’s always Brenner who is her greatest fear. Her and Kali too.

When she closed the gate, who is it that pushed her over the edge to make one last huge push? Brenner.

It always comes back to one person. Brenner. Even when he’s supposedly dead, he has affected El’s life forever. If he is still alive, I think even the big bad Mind Flayer won’t personally affect El as much as Brenner has. Even when El inevitably has to fight the Mind Flayer, I just can’t see it cutting as deep as Brenner. She can fight the Mind Flayer. It’s just a monster out to destroy her world. Brenner? His pain cuts much deeper, fighting him isn’t as easy.

El’s foe is Brenner.

Will

Will’s antagonist is the Upside Down, and the embodiment of the Upside Down, the Mind Flayer. Of course, he shares this antagonist with literally everyone. The difference between the others and himself is they’re on the outside looking in, and he’s on the inside looking out. If that makes sense.

Will’s story will be a little faster to write. Probably.

Will was once a normal kid with a jacked up family. Despite this, he’s made the best of it. He has good friends. A good brother. And a very supportive caring mom. Good grades. Interesting hobbies. Although things aren’t great with his dad, I think Will was content with the life he once had.

But, everything changed when he ran into the Demogorgon that night. He was kidnapped to an alternate dimension for a week and somehow managed to escape death right up till near the end. He was saved thanks to El’s help.

Will comes back home, but things still aren’t the same no matter how hard he tries. He’s having visions. Nausea. Nightmares. Panic attacks. How many sleepless nights did he have? How many times did he crawl into bed with Jonathan and Joyce or vice versa? He’s 12 going on 13 year old and probably feels like a small child again. Despite all this, for a while, Will is able to gain at least a little normalcy.

As the anniversary of the events comes closer, all that normalcy is washed down the drain. The Upside Down came back for him and overtook him. “I felt it... everywhere. Everywhere...” Imagine how traumatizing that is, being unable to move as you’re overwhelmed with what looks like smoke. Possibly unable to breathe or scream. The torture didn’t end there. Every waking moment he didn’t feel right. Stuff that probably would’ve been enjoyable, like a hot bath, instills fear in him. But it’s not HIS fear, it’s someone elses.

Then he gets thoughts. But not his thoughts, someone elses. Memories. Visions. Feelings. Everything. All belonging to someone else. Feeling it all the time, unable to stop it. It’s worse than invasion of personal space, his person is no longer his own. Something or something else is in his body. The Mind Flayer knows everything about him and uses it against the people he loves. He no longer has control over anything, not even his own voice.

In season 2, slowly but surely, Will loses his fight against the Mind Flayer/The Upside Down. Once again, he is rescued by his mother and his brother through a painful and intense exorcism.

El seals the deal and saves everyone by closing the gate, locking the Mind Flayer out.

The Intersection

The part that interests me on a deeper level is not necessarily how similar El and Will are as people, which they are, but how similar their personal antagonist are.

Brenner and The Upside Down/Mind Flayer have both changed Will and El’s lives in personal irreversible ways. Yes, Brenner is technically everyone’s enemy. So is the Mind Flayer. But who have they done the most damage to? The answer is obvious.

Controlling. Manipulative. Forcing them to do things they don’t want to do. Knowing everything about them and using it as a weapon to cut deeper. Brenner and the Mind Flayer are big contributing factors as to why Will and El are so alike excluding their natural calm and quiet demeanor.

The Future

So what does this mean? Why does it matter? All of this boils down to how the cast are going to take out the two big bads. Brenner, and the Mind Flayer. I don’t think El can do both all alone and she shouldn’t have to. She has friends and family now to support her.

El is weak to Brenner, but with her powers can fight the Mind Flayer.

Will is weak to the Mind Flayer, but Brenner has no hold over Will’s psyche.

I think both these big baddies will need the whole group to help take them down just like the previous seasons, but I also think there’s some importance for the main people affected get the final blow.

El getting to slap or punch Brenner? El getting to throw him against a wall? El getting to tell him off to his face??? I want this to happen for her. I want her to get her chance to take down her big bad, the one person who ruined her life. She deserves her moment. Kali too, I’m not sure how Kali fits into this, but a team up of her and Kali getting a few licks in? That’d be good too.

As for Will, this place has been haunting him for years. It’s stolen years of his life and continues to bother him, his friends, and his family even still. I think Will deserves to have his winning moment as well. He’s not El. I don’t think any power he has will be able to do anything to the Mind Flayer. Not like El can. No, I want Will to be the one that crafts the ultimate plan that takes out the Mind Flayer for good. I want Will to be the brains, and for the others to use his blueprint to win.

I always visualize it as the Mind Flayer and Will on opposite sides of a chessboard. And on Will’s chessboard, El would he his queen piece, the strongest piece on the board. Oof, that’s so cool to me. It really ties into that scene with Joyce and Will at the table for lunch and in response to Joyce’s question, he says, “Sometimes, the bad guys are smart too.”

(note: I do think Will could help El with Brenner, but Brenner feels like more a Mike and Hopper problem for now)

The Powers

Onto the powers thing, my favorite thing to talk about. Over the last year or so, I’ve thrown out all kinds of theories about what powers Will could have and why. I probably have hundreds of posts, some serious, some not. As season 3 grows closer, I think I’ve settled on what they are.

Clairvoyance or the power to feel ones intentions. A general sensitivity to things. A heightened sense of empathy.

Something Upside Down related is headed towards Hawkins again? Will would be the first to feel it.

Something supernaturally bad is happening in Hawkins? Will could point out where on a map or draw it out.

Meets someone who seems sketchy? His gut would be able to accurately confirm or deny any suspicions.

Need to peek into the Upside Down (or possibly other dimensions?), Will can use True Sight.

True sight includes being immune to illusions, so Kali’s power might not work on him.

As you can see, none of these powers are out of this out of this world crazy or bonkers. None of them conflict with El’s powers either. These are all things Will has done before and while being possessed by the Mind Flayer. Season 3 will show us exactly how much is him and how much belongs to the Mind Flayer.

It’s also interesting to note that Joyce displayed a few of these traits too and she has nothing to do with the Mind Flayer. As season 2 has showed us with Terry, the writers are following the Montauk Project blueprint in how powers are acquired. Genetics. Trauma. And drugs.

Whenever I speculate Will’s powers, I never think about it as, “What power can make Will just as powerful as El or stronger?” It can’t work like that. You see, El was an experiment. Day in and day out, the laboratory focused solely on making her power stronger. It’s unnatural. There is probably no other psychic more powerful than El and Kali. They are the equals in that regard, not Will and El.

When I speculate about Will’s powers, I think, “What power could Will have that would fill in gaps El doesn’t so they can be a team?”

In season 2, El’s power revealed a huge gaping hole. She can only see the people she’s searching for or have met/seen before. So when they went to kill Ray, El did not know he had daughters and could not see them. This blindsided the gang and inevitably put a bigger target on their back.

So what power do I think could have helped El cover he bases better? Someone who can help her not just see one person, but maybe everyone in the area she’s looking at.

Think about what Will was doing while the Mind Flayer possessed him. It was kinda similar to El where he could remote view what was going on. But he didn’t need to know all those soldiers to see them dying. He saw the whole area, their whole trip down into the tunnels. The catch is, his vision was tied to what the Mind Flayer was seeing. The only time Will used their connection to see what he wanted to see absent of the Mind Flayer is during the search for Hopper.

So imagine this same concept applied to an El and Will team up. Will can see what El can see. She can go anywhere she wants if she knows the person she’s looking for, but Will, through her, can help see not just the one person, but everyone they’re with and their surroundings instead of a black void. A booster for El’s existing powers.

I imagine Will is a booster. Not particularly strong on his own like any other natural psychic, but with a skill set that boosts the effectiveness of other psychics. The team buffer.

I love the concept. I don’t think I’ve ever written about it here because I’ve been saving it for my fic you see. A fic that will take forever to write, so why not. The one time I’ve alluded to it is my Bathtub Theory.

The Ships

I just want to get this out of the way. Byler shippers? Mileven shippers? I’m not on either of your teams. My blog doesn’t exist to boost your ships. Whatever ship happens doesn’t really matter to me. At all. I’m agnostic. I’m not out to get you, but the posts I make also aren’t meant to be evidence for shipping.

I’m not crafting theories and posting about parallels because I’m trying to make Will and El compete for Mike. Or to make Will the one and only main character. Or to reduce the importance of other characters and story lines. I’m making these posts because I feel like these parallels and similarities are going to mean something for the plot against the bad guys and them as characters.

I make Will and El comparisons to Mike sometimes not even to stress how important Mike is to them, but to show how the characters end up treating them similarly because of their circumstances. I use it as proof both of them have an extraordinary role in the group on purpose. The two oracles. The ones the group will turn to when stuff starts going down.

This willel blog? It’s a sideblog. This is where I put most of my Will and El love. My love for other characters that aren’t the Byers/Hoppers are on my main blog which I don’t really advertise because that’s what what you’re here for. This blog is compartmentalized love for two main characters out of ... however many we have now. 20. I bet many of you didn’t even know my second favorite character under Will is actually my dearest action hero son Lucas Sinclair whose story line I can’t wait to see this season.

The only kid ship I KINDA care about is Luxmax. And that’s ok people. We don’t all need to care or love the same things, you know? That would make a boring uncreative fandom. It’s not about the ships for me. It’s not. It never has been. I made this blog because there were no Will and El blogs at the time, only ships.

Conclusion

I love my potential siblings. I think they have a lot in common and can relate with one another in ways the others can’t. They aren’t the same people. They don’t even have the same beef with the main antagonist of the series. They don’t have the same powers. They don’t have the same life experiences. They don’t have the exact same personality. Although similar, they don’t have the same trauma.

They’re parallels. The definition of parallel is “side by side and having the same distance continuously between them” or “a person or thing that is similar or analogous to another.” Or, analogous, “performing a similar function but having a different evolutionary origin, such as the wings of insects and birds.”

You see that? Side by side. Similar. Analogous. Not same. Carbon copy. Identical.

They’re twins. My mom and aunt are twins. They have so many similarities including their face, but are also have a huge gaping canyon between their personalities. They aren’t the same person and that’s never what I’ve pushed here.

Please understand, I love Will and El because well, I always gravitate towards stories like theirs. Two people completely unrelated and barely even know each other brought together by supernatural forces and managed to work together to take down the big bads with their friends/family. For me, it’s like found family to the extreme. I love it. I always fall for it.

I have so much fun crafting theories about their powers. I have fun coming up with fluffy or angsty headcanons about them. I have fun thinking of big family Hopper-Byers scenarios and making gifsets. This is what I enjoy personally.

I know you guys are having your ship war, but please leave me out of it. I’m not involved. Leave my posts out of it. Ok? I’m tired of it, you know? The other day it really depressed me. I felt like all my love for Will and El was being misinterpreted as existing only to stir up ship wars. I contemplated hiding my blog for a while until my rage passed over, but at the end of the day, I don’t have the energy to be mad. I’m just sad.

My one wish is for Will and El not to receive hate because of ships because you know what? That’s the worst possible outcome possible for season 3. They don’t deserve it.

#stranger things #will byers #el hopper #jane hopper

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voidwaren · 6 years ago

Text

[READ MORE] STORY 2/?

Story Title: idk I don’t have one yet Rating: M for language and themes. Like always. Words: 8k+ Warnings: Video game warnings apply, just in case. In addition: explicit language, dark themes, mental illness. You know, the usual ball game for this AU. (Actually, this one has a little heat to it, but it’s nothing beyond a T rating) Summary: Warren’s called to pick Nathan up from the party he didn’t want to go to. Trevor tags along, because Trevor’s now a central part of the whole AU. Shit goes down. Warren continues to hate parties, but what else is new.

(why is the line break gone. wtf. come on, Tumblr. work with me here.)

Warren’s first warning comes in the clipped voice of the Tenth Doctor saying “Allons-y!” as it signals a text coming in, which he ignores at first, because he’s busy reading about gelatinous rainfall in certain parts of America and knows if he lets this Wiki spiral have a moment of pause, it’ll just start up all over again with renewed energy, and he didn’t want to still be engrossed when Nathan decided to show up again.

His second warning comes about a minute after the Tenth Doctor’s deceleration in the form of Daft Punk informing him that they’re up all night to get lucky, telling him both that someone had changed his ringtone yet again—though he couldn’t easily choose a culprit considering both Chloe and Nathan’s past attempts at pranking him—and that whoever had sent the text was also probably the one calling him. With Nathan out at a house party with Hayden and Victoria and her posse, Warren knows he can’t just let it ring in case there’s an emergency. So he answers it.

His third warning, really, should have been tacked-on immediately following his first, because he’s been through enough instances where his life has been threatened before for there to be some kind of Spidey Sense attached to the notion. Like, come on. Where were the perks to almost dying so many times?

Alas, it only comes after Victoria threatens to dislodge one of his favorite body parts and make him guzzle it if he didn’t do exactly what she was telling him to do right now and have it done, like, yesterday. Even if it wouldn’t make sense for him to do it yesterday, since it was happening in the moment, and she wasn’t aware he ever had the ability to fall through time. The guzzling is still threatened, and the fear is still real.

(He wonders if Victoria learned that one from Nathan or vice-versa, because it wasn’t a new one. He also wonders in what capacity either of them might have learned it in the first place, but then decides he probably really doesn’t want to actually know.)

“And you can’t drive him back to campus, why?” Warren risks asking as he wrangles his legs into a pair of jeans he swiped off the floor of his room, cell phone shoved up with a shoulder and plastered flat to his cheek.

“I have business elsewhere, creepo,” Victoria responds. It’s a wonder he can hear her, honestly, because the music at the party she’d gone to sounds loud in the background.

Warren sighs, replacing the phone in his hand and starting the search to find the one sneaker he’d kicked off the day before and didn’t bother locating today, since he had no reason to leave his room. Well, until now. Apparently. “You were supposed to be their DD. I even asked Nathan if you were really going to, and he vouched for you.”

“Obviously. He wouldn’t throw me under the bus like that.”

Jesus Christ.

“Jesus Christ,” Warren echoes in a sigh. “Okay, fine. Only because I know if I tell you no, he’ll ask someone else, and something tells me everyone there is blitzed out in one way or another and incapable of operating heavy machinery. That’s a non-negotiable factor.”

Victoria’s reply is swift and sharp as anything, “You saying no was a non-negotiable factor.”

“Right. Of course. That one’s on me, I should have known.” Ah, there’s the shoe. Wedged between a rule book and a cardboard box filled with comics. Warren grabs it and crams his foot in. “You have his keys?”

Victoria scoffs, and if she’s at all drunk, Warren can’t tell by the perfect execution of the noise of disgust. She would go places, if there was ever a market for Absolute Destestment and Other Annoyed Noises. “Cut the stupid questions and get over here. I sent the address, don’t bother me again.” And then she ends the call before Warren can say a word more.

Warren sighs and stows his phone away in his pocket, grabbing his jacket from where it hung haphazardly from the corner of a lamp Nathan had stored in Warren’s room earlier that day for a reason he had yet to divulge, and grabs only his car keys after hunting around for a good fifteen minutes and failing to find his room key. If someone stole his stuff, he was going to blame Nathan, because it was his fault Warren kept misplacing the damn thing.

(Not that Nathan would care. He got blamed for things that weren’t his fault enough for things that happened to actually be his fault not to matter much, unless they had dire consequences attached. And there was no way Warren could be dire about anything short of someone getting killed—and Nathan knew that.)

“Grow a spine, Warren,” he mutters to himself grumpily as he veers out of his room and slams his door shut behind him, too caught up in his own self-made petty angst to realize someone was directly in his path until it was too late and he was barreling directly into the chest of one poor Trevor Yard.

“Whoa, Graham my man!” Trevor exclaims, his hands planting firmly down on Warren’s shoulders and anchoring him there. Warren notices offhandedly that he was now taller than Trevor, too, if only just. Weird.

“Hey, man,” Warren greets sheepishly, his hands automatically reaching up to cup the points of Trevor’s elbows. “Sorry for nearly steamrolling you,” he says, then fakes a cough and tacks on, “again.”

But Trevor only grins. “You got places to be, no worries.”

Warren snorts, pulling a hand away to rub it along the back of his neck. “Not ones I want to be.”

Trevor’s smile drops. Warren can feel the fingers curving around his shoulders tighten their hold. “Are you being forced into something?”

There’s a look on his face that Warren can’t interpret. He wonders if Trevor thinks it’s Nathan’s doing, and immediately feels a spike of irritation despite himself. He squashes that down, because he likes Trevor, and it’s not like he was wrong. Trevor was only looking out for Warren, which, had the positions been switched and Trevor had still wanted to be Warren’s friend, Warren can’t say he wouldn’t try to do the same. Nathan was still a sketchy individual to anyone who didn't know him—and, of course, that was nearly the entire Blackwell student body, so, really, he shouldn’t even attempt at faulting Trevor in the first place.

… If that’s what Trevor was even thinking that. Warren was probably jumping to conclusions.

Trevor’s eyes dart towards Nathan’s door, and, okay. Maybe Warren wasn’t.

“Forced is a strong way to put it,” says Warren sheepishly. “It’s not what you’re thinking, though. Probably. Most likely?”

Trevor’s lips quirk back into a small smile, the minute reassurance apparently enough for him to relax away from the tension of whatever possible situation he’d been worried about. It makes Warren question just how much Trevor trusted Warren’s word, because, with anyone else, he knew he’d have more of a battle to gain some calm.

That’s because everyone else knows you lied to them, he reminds himself sharply, and he had. At least at some point in time. In Nathan’s case? Despite having basically told him everything the moment he woke up in the final loop? The fact he’d lied in past loops were what kept him from skimming by under the wire most of the time, because he’d been an idiot and told Nathan that part, too.

That’s not fair, he pushes back against himself. Nathan wouldn’t trust you immediately even if you hadn’t told him you’d lied.

And Warren knows he’s right. Because that was just Nathan. Nathan trusted Warren, but he was careful about that trust. He only gave it immediately when he knew he needed to.

“Hey.” A gentle voice accompanied by a slight jostle to his arm pulls him back, and Warren blinks rapidly at the worried face of Trevor, whom he’d totally forgotten about. “Earth to Warren, did I lose you? You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Warren says hastily—too hastily, if Trevor’s expression is any indication. Warren clears his throat, pulls away slightly. “Long night. Wikipedia spirals! They can be a real bitch.”

“Oh, yeah,” Trevor agrees. “Been there too many times. Creepy shit, some of the stuff you can find.” He pauses, but not long enough for Warren to think of a way to get going before he speaks again. “Where are you going, man? Is it bad?”

“No, no,” protests Warren, still too hastily, dammit. He needed to calm down. “Nathan and Hayden are at a house party with Victoria and Taylor and— Yeah, you know the crew. Victoria’s sticking around, I guess, and Nathan can’t drive how he is after partying. I’m picking him up.” He frowns. “I don’t actually know how the others are getting home,” he realizes. “I was just called to pick Nathan up.”

“We can ask when we get there,” Trevor says, finally releasing Warren, and Warren turns in surprise as Trevor starts walking down the hall towards the exit.

“We?” he repeats, no less than a little tentative as he catches up to Trevor’s side.

“You’re spacing out, dude. You’re always a space cadet, but, man, I’m not letting you out at a party alone when you’re losing it on me in the dorms.”

That throws Warren completely off guard. He knows that Trevor is a nice person, he’d shown as much in the past months with how much he wanted to be included in the nerdy things Warren liked to do, but this? This went beyond what Warren had expected out of the guy. And, really, that was his bad.

Why the hell was he so bad at judging the character of his dorm mates? Jeez. And he thought he was a good judge of character, too. So much for that.

“Okay,” Warren agrees faintly as they lope onto the asphalt of the school’s parking lot, his hand already in his pocket to fish out his keys.

Trevor throws Warren another grin as the doors are unlocked, but then eyes Warren’s car warily as he slides into the seat. “You know,” he starts conversationally, snapping his seatbelt buckle into place while Warren turns the car on, “this thing looks so much better at a distance, no offense.”

“Uh, offense taken! I bought it when I was sixteen,” Warren responds, throwing the shift into reverse and backing up, only slightly knocking his head against the roof this time when he turns around to look. He needed to lower his seat a little more, apparently, and does so. “Some of us here actually need the scholarship we’re on. Take the boons of freedom life offers, Grasshopper. Cheap, shitty transpiration or not.”

Trevor holds his hands up, grinning. Most people would look like a dick, presenting the gesture after a comment about how derelict the state of the vehicle was, but Trevor manages to make it look as innocent as it probably actually was, damn the guy.

“So long as I don’t get tetanus, I’m game.”

Warren rolls his eyes in Trevor’s general direction, mentally patting Trevor on the back for even knowing what tetanus is, before the less asshole-ish side reminds him that just because everyone else at the school might not be as smart as him, it didn’t mean they were dumb. Blackwell Academy wasn’t exactly easy to get into, after all. That didn’t make the accusation any less rude, though.

“Everyone’s a critic,” Warren mutters, pulling out of the student parking lot, and Trevor only laughs in response.

They end up needing Trevor’s GPS about ten minutes into the drive when Warren realizes he isn’t as familiar with the outskirts of Arcadia Bay as he probably should be by now, and then stop needing Trevor’s GPS two streets before finding the one that the house actually sits on thanks to the volume of the music the premises is emitting. Warren is both shocked and amazed no one has called the cops yet, because deafening doesn’t even begin to cover the noise that greets him when he parks the car in an empty lot four odd houses down the road and pulls himself out. Trevor meets him at the trunk, looking like he was second-guessing everything about this whole ordeal, and they share a look before turning and making their way down the street and to the party.

“I knew there were big parties around here, but my imagination apparently sucks, because I didn’t think this is what we were getting into, ” Trevor remarks to Warren as they press close together to be heard, his voice a low rumble just barely heard over the pounding of the bass in Warren’s ear, then jerks away in order to narrowly avoid the careening path of a probably-drunken girl as she thundered between them with another girl on her shoulders, both hollering like they were at a concert and the limited-edition T-shirt gun had majorly misfired off into the distance. Warren turns to watch them continue on, both in curiosity of where they were going and in mental calculation of how far they could get with how much momentum they seem to have gained, but Trevor doesn’t, and it takes him a moment to notice Warren’s lagged behind.

“Blood in the water, Shark Bait?” he calls good-naturedly.

Warren winces and turns, jogging a little to return to Trevor’s side. “That nickname is never going to leave me, is it.”

Trevor snorts. “Not for as long as you keep tangling tongues with a biter. Not that I’m judging!” Trevor says quickly, turning so fast to face Warren that he nearly trips over the toe of his own shoe. No wonder he wipes out so much, Warren thanks.

“If anything,” Warren reassures, “I’d say you were one of the more accepting of the whole ordeal, considering you found out before most of the school.”

That seems to placate Trevor, because he gives Warren a smile reminiscent of a happy puppy dog before suddenly going still as a statue. He clears his throat, maybe twice, but the music is so loud that Warren can only judge by the way his Adam’s apple bobs with the movement, and the count is fairly indeterminate.

“You good?” Warren asks him, ducking his head.

Trevor laughs, but it’s a nervous laugh if Warren’s ever heard one. “That’s why you were bleeding, wasn’t it? That whole fight you two had, back in November. Your mouth was bleeding when I found you in the stalls, and it was because he bit you, didn’t he,” he asks, but it sounds less like a question the second time Warren runs it by himself in his head. The quiet swear Trevor tacks on doesn’t make it sound any more like one, either. “He better not be biting other places.”

Warren cringes and shoves his shoulder into Trevor, knocking him off-kilter. He lets out a faint yelp, but then starts laughing, and all the tension is gone in a flash.

“I hated everything about that statement, just for the record,” Warren mumbles, but, judging by the loud “What?” Trevor offers in return, Trevor didn’t hear him. Warren only shakes his head and grabs Trevor by the arm, and into the fray they go.

They’re met immediately by a gaggle of females in smeared makeup taking selfies on the front porch. Warren can’t help but gawk at the shimmering bikini tops they’re clad in despite himself, like he’s never seen a girl in a scanty swimsuit before (which—come on, he technically hasn’t, if movies and porn don’t count), and Trevor yanking him on ahead is the only thing to save him when one of them looks up and gives him a smile worthy of a lioness.

They don’t get far from the girls, though, before one is calling out to them with a “hey, you two!” and Trevor winces to a full stop two steps up the porch.

“You gotta pay to get into this party,” the girl informs them as she saunters up, a little unsteadily despite her bare feet, and her friend giggles and holds her hand out for what Warren presumes is the fee until the first girl gently pushes her hand away. “Not money,” she corrects, her eyes never leaving Trevor. “Give us something good.”

“Good?” Trevor repeats, frowning at Warren, who can only shrug. He’s not exactly a master of parties, and the biggest ones he’s ever hit have been Vortex ones, which, at most, had a monetary fee. “Uh, we don’t have drugs?” Trevor tries, then starts pulling out his pockets as if to prove his statement.

“Or alcohol,” Warren tacks on.

“Yeah, so— Whoa, okay!” Trevor stumbles away, into the step behind him, and nearly falls when the first girl goes in with her arms like she was trying for a hug with some face. Warren makes a noise of surprise and lunges for Trevor, but Trevor’s a lot heavier than he looks, and they both tumble onto the top of the porch with a thud.

“Ow,” Warren moans.

“Sorry,” Trevor croaks.

“Ew,” the girl sneers, and, before Warren can even blink, she vanishes with her friend without another word.

“Did— Did I just imagine that?” Warren says, sitting up and blinking. The girls were gone. Completely. “Where did they go?”

“You didn’t imagine it,” assures Trevor grimly, rubbing his head as he pulls Warren to his feet.

They huddle together as they flee, Trevor’s face so close to Warren’s that he can hear him breathing as they move around the wrap-around porch to the back of the house.

“Dana’s going to kill me,” he whispers, his fingers twisting in the cuff of his jacket absentmindedly, and Warren finds himself nearly physically restraining his own hand against reaching out and stopping the fidget, like he might’ve had Nathan been the one executing the action.

Get ahold of yourself, Graham, he chastises.

“You didn’t ask for that to happen,” Warren reminds him, pressing a hand against Trevor’s shoulder and gently pushing him away again so he couldn’t trip on Trevor’s close steps. “Dana’s pretty understanding anyway. It’ll be fine.”

He should have known better, anyway, considering the lawn was filled with drunk humans having what looks like either the best or worst time of their lives as they trek their way around and through the house. None of them wore anything identifying them as an admittee, so, clearly, the girls were trying to play them.

They break apart when they reach the backyard, where a giant pool sits steaming into the cold air, filled to the brim with people in various states of undress.

Warren swallows and tries his best not to stare. Again. “Okay. We’re here for Nathan. If I were Nathan, where would I be?”

Trevor glances around. “Uh,” he tries, then shrugs, “literally anywhere? This place is massive. Can’t you call him?”

But Warren shakes his head. “Victoria is the one who contacted me. She wouldn’t bother with me if it didn’t mean Nathan couldn’t do it himself for one reason or another.”

Trevor opens his mouth to reply, seems to consider himself, and sighs. “Yeah, okay. Makes sense. I’ll check inside, yeah?”

Warren turns his gaze back on to the pool. “... Sure. Yeah. Fantastic. Wet people. Love it.”

“Enjoy the sights while you can,” Trevor says happily, clapping Warren on the back, and then all but vanishing into the shadows of the party. How, Warren really can’t understand, but he’s seen enough weird shit not to question it for now.

“Here we go,” he mutters to himself just as someone yells “Cannonball!” and five people jump into the pool at once.

Operation “Where’s Waldon’t Make This Easy For Warren, Why Would You Do That?” ... commence.

Finding Nathan … turns out much easier than is expected.

Keeping Nathan, though? Much harder than anticipated.

Warren finds Nathan not even ten minutes after breaking from Trevor on the independent search, chanting “chug, chug, chug, chug!” with a group of people huddled around a keg with someone—is that Hayden? —upside down and, well, chugging.

“Graham?” Nathan says in surprise before Warren can even get close enough to call Nathan’s name without freaking him out. He blinks a few times in confusion, then pulls a face of annoyance when he realizes why Warren must be here after declining to come when asked earlier in the day. “Aw, fuck me. Vic’s bailin’?”

He’s slurring so much, Warren thinks he maybe should have shown up earlier and not wasted so much time, you know, driving the speed limit. Shit.

Warren reaches out all the same and grabs Nathan’s hand, which turns in his palm and latches on.

“Rescue squad, at your service,” he announces. The person on the keg is released, and Nathan whoops his glee at what is indeed Hayden. Okay. Great. “Am I supposed to be taking Hayden home, too?”

“Warren Graham!” Hayden greets happily before Warren can get an answer, lunging drunkenly at Warren and wrapping him up in a hug. He reeks of alcohol and sweat and beer, so much beer, and Warren tries his best not to gag. He definitely doesn't manage. Hayden doesn’t seem to notice, making a noise deep in his throat that Warren is pretty sure is a half-step from becoming a laugh, but that Hayden is way too drunk to bring to completion.

Yikes.

“Hayden,” Warren struggles, trying to not suffocate in Hayden all on his own, Nathan’s guffawing not helping anything at all. “Hayden. Let me go, for the love of Sputnik, please.”

“Oop, ah, sorry!” Hayden says, finally releasing Warren. He grins down at Warren, and if it weren’t for the way he sways slightly while even standing still, everything about him right in that moment would seem perfectly sober.

Warren struggles to regain himself after the interaction. Nathan’s still laughing, bent over at the waist, and so obviously drunk in clear contrast to Hayden’s weird pseudo-sobriety.

“What are you doing here, dude?” Hayden asks before Warren’s recovered, and, there, he sounds drunk. Mostly. It was all smoke and mirrors, totally wouldn’t pass a standardized field sobriety test.

“Vic’s got ‘im takin’ us home!” Nathan offers, apparently over himself, and Hayden’s face falls.

“No!” he stage-whispers, scandalized, and looks to the house forlornly. “I didn’t get to dance!”

“I gotta talk to Vic,” Nathan announces suddenly, then turns and starts to leave. Warren maybe overreacts just a little and literally jumps after him, grabbing his arm to stop him in his tracks.

“Wait!” he calls frantically, and Nathan looks back at him like he’s lost his goddamn mind. “What if I can’t find you again?” he tries meekly once he’s tried at a recovery. He doesn’t release Nathan.

Hayden offers insight on this: “Not that big of a place.”

“Not a big fuckin’ place, bitch,” Nathan echoes, like it was his idea.

“Nathan, there are so many people here,” Warren says, and he wouldn’t exactly deny that it’s a half-whine. He just really wants to get out of there. It’s so not his scene, and he’s so over parties as a whole, Vortex-hosted or not. “So many,” he pushes when Nathan only frowns, bored. “What if I can’t find you?”

“Call me. Duh.”

“And if you don’t answer your phone like you haven’t been all freaking night?”

Nathan seems to consider this, his free hand tapping on his chin, as the party around them screams, shouts, and generally gives Warren a headache. Then, he snaps his fingers, and Warren is immediately sure that the answer he wants is not coming. Nathan was never this easy.

“I’ll come lookin’ for you,” Nathan decides firmly, and, yeah, definitely not what Warren wanted, but Nathan’s hand slaps over Warren’s mouth before he can say so. “Come on, Graham. I’m havin’ fun. Just need t’ talk to Vic. ‘Kay?”

Too tired to argue about it any more, Warren only nods his head once, and he’s released. Nathan pries Warren’s hand off his arm and smiles his half smile.

“Hold this f’r me,” he slurs, swaying forward as he digs in his pocket and deposits a handful of items into Warren’s outstretched palm, then staggers away to god knows where. Warren watches him go, then looks to his hand to find the stub of what he was pretty sure was a blunt, along with a dime, two quarters, a key—his key, dammit Nathan—and three and a half peanuts.

From his left, Hayden bends over and surveys the contents of Warren’s palm with an almost-sober level of scrutiny, then gives a snort of a giggle and plucks two of the peanuts away from where they’re nestled between the dime and the key. Warren hears the crunch before he has the chance to even think of maybe stopping the drunk guy from eating something that had been in Nathan’s pocket for lord knows how long, and the deed is done.

“Gross,” Hayden comments shortly, without any inflection to his garble of the statement, then ambles off in the direction Nathan had vanished, leaving Warren alone amongst the strangers that littered the backyard.

“Why me?” he whispers to himself, and then has to beg off a girl when she tries to answer the question for him in something that sounds like it’s supposed to be English, but isn’t coherent enough to actually be intelligible.

He finds Trevor again next while he’s trying to hunt Nathan and Hayden back down, looking a little lost in the small sea of people surrounding him as he stands in the dead center of a tiny kitchen with a multitude of snacks in his hands, all the cabinets around him flung open and more than one person petting his face and arms.

His eyes light up the second he spots Warren, but his hands are too full to do anything more than nod his head enthusiastically for a few seconds before one of the girls in the cluster reaches out and jostles his shoulder in that sloppy but endearing kind of way only drunk people can really execute. He looks down at her, blinking in surprise, then says something Warren can’t hear over the noise of the party and starts opening one of the many bags clutched in his grip. Granola, it looks like from where Warren stands. Or trail mix? Something like that.

“Hey!” one guy slurs as Warren tries to wiggle his way closer to Trevor, grabbing Warren around the waist to stop him from continuing his journey. “Wait your turn!”

Warren blinks down at the guy. “What? No, I’m— My turn for what?”

The guy releases Warren to gesture at Trevor like he was presenting Warren with the presence of a god of some higher status. “Magic fingers!” he declares, fumbling on the word “fingers” and punctuating the statement with an ill-timed thrust of both hands. “He’s got magic fingers! You have to wait your turn to use them!”

Warren blinks owlishly, first at the heavily-intoxicated man, and then at his friend, who’s now in the middle of ripping open a packet of fruit snacks and handing it to a sobbing boy who doesn’t look any older than Warren himself.

“... He’s opening food for you guys?” Warren concludes and, as if the universe was on his side for once, witnesses his confirmation in the form of a redheaded girl with raccoon eyes fumbling with a family-sized bag of Cheetos before Trevor takes it from her and does the deed, earning himself a squeal of delight and a clap of the hands like he’d performed a miracle.

“My fingers aren’t magic!” Drunk Guy informs Warren in wonder. Warren realizes a second later that the hand is back on his waist, but he’s not sure if the guy himself realizes it or not.

“I mean,” Warren tries, taking the guy’s hand off so he can move again, “that’s great he’s pulling a Rasputin on you and all, but I kinda need to talk to him.”

The response he gets is one of incredulity, and the guy looks legitimately offended even as his hand latches back onto Warren’s torso the second it’s freed from Warren’s grip of removal. “You gotta wait your turn!”

And then, the next thing Warren knows, he’s being forcibly removed from the kitchen.

The next thing Warren knows, Hayden’s arm is in a vice-locked grip around his shoulders and he’s being lead into the fray of sweating, writhing people the next room over.

Exactly the place he had been avoiding since even being aware he was going to have to set foot on the premises of the party.

“Whoa, wait, hold up,” he says frantically, scrabbling at the hold Hayden has on him. It’s no use—Hayden was a big guy, and his grip was akin to that of King Kong, with Warren as the unwilling damsel in distress. “No, no, nuh-uh, no. Can’t dance, Hayden!”

Hayden laughs, the music doing nothing but amplifying the sound of it. “You don’t have to know how to dance! It’s a party, man, you need to chillax a little more! Have some fun.”

“I’m not here to chillax,” Warren protests as Hayden’s hands grab his and tries their best to get Warren to add to the communal gyration happening all around them. “I’m here to take Nathan back to the school, but he keeps vanishing on me.”

“S’cause he’s having fun. They got all the good shit here—Nathan doesn’t have to play delivery boy for once!”

“Hope he’s not mixing drugs,” Warren mutters to himself, trying his best to twist out of the way when someone’s ass bounces into his hip and pushes him further into Hayden’s hold.

“He doesn’t do that kind of stuff anymore,” Hayden replies, like he heard Warren somehow, then spins Warren around while he’s too caught off guard to physically revolt. The noise he releases in response is decidedly not girly, and, no, he won’t take constructive criticism on that.

Hayden laughs all the same, and then his head drops dangerously close to Warren’s as he leans in, still dancing awkwardly against Warren’s half-stuttered forced moves that are somewhere between trying to get away and trying not to get smothered by the people way too up in his personal bubble right now. “Okay, Sherlock, he’s right over there,” Hayden half-sings. Why, Warren can’t deduce, because his tempo is nowhere near that of the song’s. He also gives no indication of where “right over there” is, exactly, and Warren’s jolted looking around doesn’t remedy the mystery.

Hayden groans, then wrenches Warren’s head in the right direction.“You’re being such a mood-killer,” he grumbles. “He’s gonna hate that if he sees.”

Warren doesn’t have an answer for that, and he doesn’t have a moment to think of one before he finally catches sight of Nathan, sans the jacket he’d been wearing the last time Warren had run into him, dancing in what seemed to be dead center of the dance floor (of course, where else would Nathan Prescott be?) with Victoria close at hand.

They make a remarkably good-looking pair, is the first thing that Warren thinks once they register in his brain as people he knows and can put names to amongst the sea of strangers. Nathan’s head is bent in such a way that his light brown hair, freed from its usual styled prison by means Warren doesn’t think he wants to know of, mixes with Victoria’s golden blonde as their foreheads press together, Victoria leading the dance with one hand wrapped around Nathan’s jaw and the other at his hips. Nathan, high on whatever the hell it is he’s actually taken, does nothing more than sway with Victoria, and yet it still manages to come off as exactly what the music calls for.

It’s hot—they’re hot, Warren thinks, and holy shit—it spikes a hot flare of irritation from somewhere deep inside him, that they looked so perfect together, that they looked like they were made for each other—and that, in reality, they probably were. It must result in some physical reaction, because Hayden stills momentarily, something like a question coming from his mouth without registering as actual words in Warren’s head, but then Victoria’s eyes are opening and centering on him in, and the green coating his vision immediately melts away as she throws him a smirk and pushes away from Nathan.

“About time, Pumpkin Boy,” she calls cryptically, Nathan raising his head just in time to witness Victoria grab Warren by the collar and haul his ass right where she wants it—which apparently is where she’d been dancing just previously. He nearly wipes out when his foot lands wrong on the floor, but Nathan catches on fast enough to keep Warren from eating anything more than his own yelp of alarm, his cold hands gripped tight on the skin under Warren’s shirt where it had rucked up from Victoria’s ministrations.

“The fuck am I going to do with you?” Nathan asks acidly as he helps right Warren, shaking his head in a way Warren’s pretty sure he’s seen on a principal once. In a movie. About delinquents. Which he certainly wasn’t.

(Those past brawls notwithstanding, as they weren’t part of his current loop, thank you very much.)

“I’m not here to dance, Nathan,” Warren protests, but he’s already moving along with Nathan despite himself, and it seems like all of Nathan’s moves were in Victoria, because he’s not much better at it. “I’m here to take you home.”

Nathan all but ignores everything coming out of Warren’s mouth in favor of sliding his fingers through Warren’s belt loops and holding him anchor. “Yeah, well I’m here to fucking dance,” he all but growls, somehow sounding leagues more sober than he had just before. “Pick up your feet.”

“Oh, at least make it worth my while,” he whines sarcastically, voice low, and then sighs heavily as a new song starts up, a little slower than the previous one. He isn’t aware Nathan can even hear him until the moment when Nathan’s eyes flash something dangerous in response. His lips curl, his hands tug, and, before he realizes what’s happening, Warren finds himself flush up against Nathan’s chest. His heart nearly stops right then and there.

“Nathan—” he chokes, then stops abruptly when Nathan tilts his head back and runs the sharp of his teeth against Warren’s ear. It’s more action than he’s ever gotten in real life, and the fact it’s not happening in his head sends him into a tailspin of contradiction as his body both wants to respond and knows now is not the time or the place.

He feels, rather than sees, Nathan grin in triumph, and Warren realizes he was having trouble breathing, making his mindset on the whole thing blatantly obvious. Nathan’s hands crawl up Warren’s sides, his ever-cold fingers tracing icy paths along Warren’s skin, and Warren closes his eyes and gulps loud enough to break the sound barrier.

“Oh, my god,” he gasps, and Nathan’s laugh puffs against his neck. “Now? You’re choosing now to do this? You’re playing so dirty! I’m supposed to be taking you home, Nathan.”

Nathan hums, deep and enticing, and Warren feels it resonate in his sternum.

Jesus. That was so not appropriate. Warren hates what that does to—well, all of him. He’s lucky Nathan isn’t in the consenting mindset, because, otherwise, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to stop himself from allowing Nathan to take it elsewhere. Thank you, moral code.

It doesn’t stop Nathan from being the most attractive thing he’s ever seen, though. He wonders, vaguely, if he can convince Nathan to keep the messy look, but the thought is gone in a blink when Nathan presses his nose into the hollow under Warren’s ear.

Shit.

“Nathan—” he tries again, only to fail once more when Nathan’s fingertips turn to nails and it’s all he can do not to outright gasp.

“Tell me to cut the shit, and I will,” Nathan murmurs, the words ghosting along Warren’s jaw, and everything in Warren’s brain comes to a screeching halt. Nathan’s breathing hitches, the warmth of the bodies around them seeping in deep, and Warren feels it race all along his spine. “I will stop,” Nathan continues, so quiet Warren almost can’t hear him, “I swear.”

Warren swallows, gentler this time, and Nathan brushes his lips against Warren’s chin.

“Tell me,” he breathes, “and I will.”

Warren drops his head and doesn’t say a word.

The night from there is a blur, up until the point where the songs pick up to a speed even Nathan finds he’s too tired to keep up with, and Warren is positive he doesn’t come away unscathed. A public setting and dubious consent from Nathan while drunk means he didn’t allow anything more than a lot of close movement and fluttering touches, fingers drifting and breathing stuttered—but that doesn’t mean he won’t be having dreams of more, even after Nathan pulled him from the trance he’d been put under with a jostle of a shoulder and a grin so sharp Warren could have used it to carve ice.

They find Hayden sprawled out on the porch deck when they go looking for him, waiting for them to wrap it up and move on with their night, a few equally worn out people sitting around him and listening as he told a tale Warren doesn’t manage to catch more than a few words of before they’re all saying goodbye to one another and Hayden is walking away with a few numbers and emails scrawled on his arms in purple ink. They stumble away from the party and head towards Warren’s car, heads echoing with the phantoms of the songs they leave behind.

Warren doesn’t see Trevor anywhere on the outskirts and, if he doesn’t find him along the way, decides he’ll just text or call him once he gets the other two safely in the car, because he doesn't want to risk taking them back in and potentially get caught up in something else, like he knew his luck was bound to allow.

Nathan and Hayden flank Warren’s sides as they amble along, Hayden with his eyes closed and humming one of the songs from earlier, and Nathan with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket, recovered from God knows where, because Warren hadn’t seen him do it, and his cheeks ruddy from either the cold or his own ministrations, Warren isn’t sure.

His heart is just managing to slow its rhythm after the strain it’s been put through, and he tries to focus on relaxing completely before starting up the drive back, listening to Hayden softly hum his own tune, completely different from the bass that still echoed from the house and down the street. It’s an easy thing, Warren thinks.

But then he spots something out of the corner of his eye and turns to it fast enough to get whiplash, almost knocking himself off his feet with the momentum of the action.

And, suddenly, Nathan is completely sober.

“What? What is it? Where’s the fucking inferno?” he barks, the words coming out so fast they nearly clip each other off as they’re spoken. “Graham? Hey!” Nathan pushes when Warren only slumps down, holding his chest like he’d nearly been startled to death. He grabs Warren by the shoulder in a pinching hold and shakes him. “What was that, you bitch? Tell me!”

“Deer,” Warren explains tiredly, gesturing to the only animal decoration capable of giving him a panic attack by doing nothing more than existing. It was just a plastic deer that lit up at night, sure, but it was a bastard in its own right, adorable exaggerated eyes and all.

Nathan curses sharply in response. Warren reaches up and presses a hand to Nathan’s, and Nathan’s fingers immediately relax.

Hayden stares at the both of them, the alarm on his face so wrong that Warren accidentally lets out a startled laugh. Hayden’s gaze centers on Warren alone, and Nathan leans away from Warren in obvious distaste.

“The fuck was that?” he accuses, and Hayden nods his head once.

“Uh, yeah, was gonna ask both of you the same, actually,” he says hesitantly. He doesn’t stop looking at Warren. “Did you just get jump-scared by a fake deer?”

“I, uh—” Warren starts, but Nathan smacks him in the chest to stop him and finishes quickly with: “got attacked by one as a baby. Walked right up to his stroller and tried to eat his face off!”

Warren blinks down at Nathan, and Hayden looks as if he isn’t sure Nathan is exactly telling the truth, but doesn’t know enough about deer attacks to exactly question it.

“Er—” Warren offers, scrambling, and just then Trevor manifests on the scene, looking haggard.

“Who tried to eat whose face off?” he asks breathlessly, turning wide, haunted eyes on Warren, and Warren immediately feels bad for leaving him alone.

“Graham,” Hayden offers faintly, then frowns and reaches out to finger the object Warren just then realizes is hanging from around Trevor’s neck. “What—”

“Is that a bathtub plug?” Nathan asks loudly, effectively cutting the quieter inquiry from Hayden off.

Trevor ducks his head. “Uh, yeah. They gave it to me. Said it was a prize for being the miracle man and—um, saving the party.”

Nathan gapes. Warren tries not to start laughing again. Hayden hasn’t removed his fingers from the rubber bung.

“The shit did you do?” Nathan asks incredulously.

“Opened—food?” Trevor replies, so hesitant that Warren thinks he’s possibly questioning the reality of what he just went through. Warren can’t say he doesn’t relate.

“Wow,” Nathan muses. “The world has low standards.”

“Look who’s talking,” Warren mutters, and only snickers when Nathan turns and slugs him on the arm before walking off again.

Hayden releases Trevor’s makeshift medal, and they all follow after. They’re maybe a house and a half away, walking in relative silence for no more than a minute, when Nathan does what he always does best: decides quiet is not his favorite way to occupy the time.

“So why’d you bring that fuckbucket?” Nathan asks, eloquent as always, jabbing a thumb in Trevor’s direction and effectively breaking the—in Warren’s opinion anyway—enjoyable silence.

Trevor jumps, blinking rapidly, like someone just slotted a coin in and brought him to life. The plug swings violently with the motion. “Ran into him in the hallway,” Trevor explains after a moment, and Warren thinks it’s pretty nice of him to dignify Nathan’s childish acid with a response they all know it doesn’t deserve. “Didn’t think it was a good idea sending him into the fray alone like that, when people could take advantage of him.”

“What?” says Warren, blinking at Trevor in surprise. He didn’t know that last part.

Nathan scoffs. “It’s just a college party. Warren’s not some candy-assed pansy man, he can manage the scene. Victoria wouldn’t have texted him if he couldn’t handle it.”

Trevor just slides his eyes in Warren’s direction, radiating dubiousness over Nathan’s statement, but he thankfully keeps his mouth shut. Warren wants to be on Nathan’s side, because Warren certainly can handle it, but Victoria? Would truss him up in a Chicago overcoat and throw him in the deep end just to watch him drown. She’d even supply the cement to help the deed along. There was no love lost between them, and Warren knew she would have texted him to come collect Nathan even if it meant bodily injury along the way.

Nathan meant far more to her than Warren did, far more than Warren knew he ever would. And Warren was okay with that.

“Shotgun!” Nathan hollers suddenly, nearly leaping off the street as he bolts towards the shadowed shape that was Warren’s car. Hayden makes a noise of offense, reminding Warren of his presence, and takes off at a run after Nathan.

“You still happy you signed up for this?” Warren asks Trevor as they watch their two classmates barrel into first the car, and then each other, cursing and spitting and laughing.

“No,” Trevor admits, fidgeting with his rubber prize, “but I’m not mad I came with you. I really didn’t want to just let you go to something like this on your own.”

Warren huffs quietly. “I can handle myself, you don’t have to be my knight in shining armor.”

Trevor looks over at Warren, his face wrinkled up, and he shakes his head. “No, not like that. You’re my friend. I got your back, Warren.” Trevor’s arm reaches out, and Warren feels his hand pat once, twice, before transitioning into that comforting rub Warren could never quite perfect without it coming off as slightly creepy, but that Trevor seems to be a master of. Warren feels tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in his shoulders relax.

“Thanks, man,” Warren says, and he means it. “Not exactly easy finding the real ones in a school full of wannabes and fakesters.”

“And yet you seem to be racking them up,” Trevor replies with a pointed look in the direction of the car, where Hayden and Nathan have piled in the back and can be seen pushing each other back and forth in the back seats. So much for Nathan’s declaration of shotgun. Trevor sighs. “You ready for this drive back?”

“Not even close. Don’t be surprised if Nathan argues with you about getting the front seat.”

“But he’s in the back.”

“You think that’ll stop him?”

Trevor puffs his cheeks out. “Right. Prescott, coming in hot. I’m ready.”

“That’s what you think,” Warren mutters, then reaches for his door in the same moment Trevor does, and into the car they go.

They stop at a drive-through farther away from the school than where they started, solely to distract Nathan from pestering Trevor about taking his seat up front and from badgering Warren to do exactly what he ended up doing. It’s a little chaotic, going through the window at such an early hour when only one poor employee was working the entire establishment, especially when both Hayden and Nathan decide they absolutely have to give the guy their order themselves and not relay it to Warren because they “know Warren will fuck it up” (Nathan’s words, but Hayden’s nod had been an affirmation, so Warren was holding the insult against him, too), and then take entirely too long trying to make their order coherent.

Warren tries to give the guy his best “I’m so fucking sorry we exist” expression when he rolls up to the window, but the guy is not impressed, and Warren really can’t blame him. Nathan shoves his card up before Warren can even reach for his wallet, decidedly paying for all of them, and Warren only sighs when Nathan refuses to let Warren hand the card up.

(Nathan nearly climbs over Warren’s lap to give the card over, and Warren finds absolutely none of the action enticing in any remote sense. Not even when Nathan sloppily smacks his lips against Warren’s forehead on the way back, because the guy sees, and he only raises his eyebrows before silently handing the food over and closing the window in their face.)

They scarf their meals down with no small amount of stealing from first Nathan, then Hayden and Trevor, and finally Warren once he hits a red light and nearly throws himself across the car to snatch the curly fry right out of Trevor’s grasp, laughing and jabbing and essentially having what Warren might dare even call one of the best late-night escapades he’s ever had in his life.

The food is gone within fifteen minutes of receiving it, and Hayden begs Warren to crank the radio up as high as it’ll go for the remaining ten-minute drive they had into the sound-restricted street the school sat on, his hands on Warren’s seat and his chin digging uncomfortably into Warren’s shoulder. Warren obliges, and they all crow and sing off-tune to 80s favorites—courtesy of the only station his sad excuse of a car can get so late at night. Trevor proves to have the best voice of them all, and Nathan retaliates to this newfound information by trying to smother Trevor’s mouth with his hands, which he fails epically at.

They cut the music as they pull up on the street, but they’re laughing loud enough for it not to matter, giddy and high on the energy between them.

Tumbling from the car, Hayden and Trevor lock arms and take off towards the dormitories, singing Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name in what could probably be considered acapella if Warren had any understanding of music whatsoever, and Nathan and Warren trail behind them, tangled up in each other, Warren laughing so hard he’s sobbing and Nathan’s eyes bright with all the things Warren didn’t have names for. Warren has to stop himself from grabbing Nathan and pressing him close, but Nathan has no such qualms, and the moment on the dance floor comes rushing back when Nathan stops them both in their tracks and tugs Warren down, slotting their mouths together with a practiced ease, the heat between them all but searing him right down to his bones. He feels Nathan gasp into his mouth when he scrapes his teeth against Nathan’s lip in a mimic of a move he’d been shown before, and just about loses it right then and there.

It takes the combined wolf-whistling of Hayden and Trevor to get them to come to their senses, and then both boys grappling them into a foursome of a hug to get them back in motion, and they somehow make it into the hallways as the conglomeration of far too much testosterone and no small amount of affection shared between them all, only to get yelled at to shut the fuck up two feet in the door. Nathan doesn’t go after whoever had yelled, only because he’s laughing too hard to speak.

Though Trevor’s room is technically the closest, they fall into Warren’s room when no one is able to procure a key, discarding clothing and pulling off each other’s shoes. Trevor looks up at Warren with his eyebrows gently raised in silent question from the floor when it becomes clear both Nathan and Hayden are both staying by the way they roll into the bed nearly as one in a botched fight to get to it first, and Warren only has to smile and nudge him with his one socked foot in response. Trevor’s shoulders relax, and Warren reminds himself to maybe treat Trevor as more of a friend in the future, because he knows now he wouldn’t have made it out of that event easily without Trevor there to watch his back. Warren drops to the floor next to him and hooks the metal chain of the bathtub plug Trevor still wore around his neck between his fingers, and then smashes his nose against the curve of Trevor’s shoulder when a pillow nails him in the back of the head.

“Whoops!” is all Nathan offers, his hands out in a pathetic excuse of an apologetic shrug, when Warren whips around to locate the culprit and finds Hayden hanging off the bed in obvious defeat. Warren flips him off, and then gets rewarded with a second pillow right to the face, which sets them all off again.

Three of them end up only in their underwear by the time the communal helping of cloth-removing has ceased, spurred on by no small amount of jibes and playful taunting all around once they had regained their breath and rushed to finish getting undressed for the night, with only Nathan the victor of a shirt in addition to the boxers that were—fuck, Warren’s, okay, alright, he can handle that, sure—and they pile into the mess of what once covered Warren’s bed like the children some of them were robbed of being.

Warren falls asleep with Nathan’s head on his chest, Hayden’s on his stomach, and his head resting under Trevor’s chin, all boundaries lost, at least for that night, in the moment they all needed to share, and Warren thinks, as he drifts off under the hazy blanket of sleep, I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

And it’s a comfort that, never again, would he have to. This was his end.

This was his.

And no one was going to take that away.

#[RM] spoilers #grahamscott #life is strange #warren is strange

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theglguidetowebcomics · 6 years ago

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Essay time: A Rant About Backgrounds - Part III

To use backgrounds and not to use, and a quick showcase of genre.

From tone and the power of timing onwards. And now the next topic ans a quick showcase.

Background absence

However, as insanely useful and interesting backgrounds can be, all rules are meant to be broken. Not all panels that don’t have backgrounds are useless, rather, there are times where they’re required. blank backgrounds have useful effects, such as time, focus, and impact.

Kill 6 Billion Demons - Tom parkison-Morgan Creating powerful moments with empty background

Tom Parkison-Morgan is a clear example of using background complexity to it’s advantage. And one of the strongest uses of removing backgrounds is to redirect focus. It brings focus onto the character and the moment. A backdrop would pull away form that, splitting the focus. In the example above is a scene from Kill 6 Billion demons where a character is having a key shoved into her forehead. An Important plot point. It’s the inciting incident to the story. So the panel focuses on the character, her shock, the hand, the key playing lights all over her face, and the soft movement of the hair. The character is lost, things are happening to fast for her to catch up. So the lack of background in this incident doesn’t just draw the audience’s full attention to the inciting incident (which it does), it uses the lack of background to explore the character’s confusion. Now, context wise the background in this scene is also rather blank due to scene (demons coming out of a void into her room). So there is another reason to it. But, even taking that into account, it still acts as a break from the former background, and considering the lack of figures in the background it still works as a disorientated removal from what’s happening around her. It removes background as a way to direct focus, and in this case, also capture the character’s state of mind.

Kill 6 Billion Demons - Tom Parkinson-Morgan Breathtaking worlds to empty scenes, the power of contrast and diversity of backgrounds

Kill 6 Billion Demons though is quite famous for it’s backgrounds, it has some of the most complex and visually rich scenary in webcomics. But the biggest strength in the webcomic is that even if it has extremely poignant sprawling landscapes it knows when and where to use them. Backgrounds are where they need to be to still ground the place of the story, removed in small talking scenes, and ommitted where the lack of backdrop heavily improves the meaning in a panel. It’s a good example of balance. An empty background doesn’t mean much unless it’s contrasted with an actual one, same vice versa. The importance lies in it’s comparison to other panels. So, even if blank backgrounds and complex backgrounds are extremely useful as a tool, there still needs to be diversity. If all the backgrounds are blank audiences won’t pick up on when a single panel is supposed to be especially blank. And, if you want a complex background to hit hard, it needs to contrast to other panels. Overused panel styles loose their effect . Which is why a lot of comics that use backgrounds well, go from no backgrounds, to full, to somewhere in the middle. It’s about a bit of variation. There’s a lot of freedom there.

Gunnerkrigg Court - Tom Siddel Some scenes need to be simple

And to addition to sprawling city splash pages being impressive there are many instances in the story were they’d simply be distracting. In this strip from Gunnerkrigg Court there is not much visual information. Besides a bed in the foreground. It’s dialogue scene. The focus is the character’s expressions and an off hand joke about a cursed tea pot, in this instance an inclusion of a background (especially a detailed one) would just clutter the scene. The panels are small, and the dialogue is quick. As much as a sense of place can add to the character’s motivation or story there are times where things need to be simple. Simple isn’t a bad thing. Backgrounds aren’t always necessary. It’s all about balance. And even if a comic is about visual information, sometimes taking a break for the dialogue is just as important. Dialogue is a tool too, it’s useful, and in many instances needed.

Go Get a Roomie - Chloé C Sometimes the background isn’t relevant right now

The need for backgrounds in scenes varies. On top of the contrast of backgrounds, and the inclusion of them actually taking away from scenes; there are also times where they’re just not relevant. And a lot of this can boil down to genre. And purpose. Go Get A Roomie is a gag and character focused comic, the importance of location and it’s effect of the plot is fairly minimal. It isn’t a comic devoid of place. Not many comics are. It has locations like a flat, a bar, a park, a mentor’s house, dreamscapes, and establishing those places is important. But, strip to strip wise, a lot of the comics segments are focused on a joke or the character’s state of mind, and backgrounds aren’t entirely relevant in those instances. Looking at the two examples from Go Get a Roomie (above) the approach to backgrounds are both rather sparse for narrative reasons.

Firstly there’s a gag strip, two side character’s visit a protagonists house for the first time, make a sexual joke, get the door shut on them. Character comedy. The joke is the focus. So the background reflects only the information needed to display this (the door frame). What’s behind the door besides the character’s is irrelevant, and much like the previous point, would also ruin the timing, and bog up the panel with useless information. Simple isn’t bad. Sometimes it’s needed. To go up with the background complexity is the strip below that. Protagonist walking down a street. The background isn’t omitted but it’s sketch like in design. Where she’s walking is somewhat important. But again. The focus is somewhere else. This instance focuses on the state of mind of the character. Aimlessly wandering, the third panel flipped, she’s completely spaced out and the sketchy background also shows her disinterest in the space she’s in as well. The background here certainly does it’s purpose. Both the character and audience aren’t focusing on it, which both supports the character’s thoughts and the reader’s focus on the character. It’s a small use, but an important one. Backgrounds may have a multitude of uses, but every tool varies in relevance case by case.

What does the fox say? - Team Gaji Soulless backgrounds and the loss of impact

But, even if backgrounds vary in use and may even negatively impact certain panels, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter when and how they’re used. There’s always a lot of freedom with what does and doesn’t work with images. But, backgrounds are a tool, you work with it rather than ignore it. Now, with this example, again it’s important to remember the context it was made with. A different industry (once again, the South Korean comic industry with a salary model), and the problems in the industry and the number of people on a project effect how it functions. And the capabilities. One isn’t necessarily better than the other. But, they do work slightly differently. However, this example from Team Gaji “What Does The Fox Say?” (strange title, I know) is a solid example of poor use of background and it’s subsequent effect on the story. The assets and backgrounds in this comic are all 3D rendered, which gives off a strange disconnect between the 2d characters and world they inhabit. And this effect is unintentional, it takes away from the story, it’s distracting, especially at first. But, probably the biggest impact of the rendered backgrounds (the use of rendered backgrounds is a different topic, this is just a case example) is how they’re structured. They’re bland. There’s no information in it. The backgrounds are generally grey scale and empty, the only information is the design. Clean modern. Which could reveal a bit about the character if the other backgrounds and assets in the comic weren’t exactly the same. The use of rendering backgrounds in this case is more about making the workload easier, which could be a completely fair reason, however it does effect the comic. The purpose of backgrounds become purely location based, where the character is when it’s necessary. It doesn’t explore the character’s relationship to the setting/opinions/tone/or personal flares even. So the backgrounds are boring. But even with that the comic still tries to have moments of no background or simple backgrounds for some effect. In the first panel the only focus is on the figure, we see she’s smoking, we see her look down, we see her blandly look over to off screen, then there’s a reveal of another character sleeping in the bed. This is supposed to be a small moment, a moment of quiet with removal of the backgrounds, but that doesn’t work when the backgrounds are information-less to begin with (just grey and sterile, not even for effect). And with the grey gradients you can’t really tell what the character’s are thinking with how the expressions are drawn, even if that’s supposed to be the focus of the frame and be the critical component to the visual story telling. The background tells the audience nothing, the lack of background tells the audience nothing, and in the end the comic relies on dialogue cues. Doesn’t make the scene horrendous, but, it does make it hard to understand and a tad boring. There are many reasons to not use backgrounds in scenes, from setting being irrelevant, to panels needing to be simple, to background removal being a really strong effect. But, Backgrounds are still a tool, and even if they can be used as often as they are not, completely disregarding how they effect the scene doesn’t make a great scene.

Backgrounds and genre

On an extremely quick note. Backgrounds vary on genre, in use, stylization, and function. There’s a lot of freedom in how backgrounds can be used, with things as subjective as media there’s never one way to do anything. So just a few examples of the variation:

Spinnerette - Krazy Krow Cliche and satire, changing styles to parody and change up a chapter. From the comic that nearly makes fun of being a comic as much as it is a good one.

Ava’s demon Michelle Czajkowski Horror and experimentation. Eeriness through the abstract.

Go Get a Roomie -

Chloé C The gag comic with emotional weight, from no backgrounds to full and back again.

Backgrounds are a tool. Not all hammers and hammers alone make a chair. How they’re used and the effect they have on the audience is complex and varied, which is a good thing. This rant isn’t how people have to use them, more that backgrounds are a useful tool and it would be nice to see them used more as a visual storytelling means.

#Comics #webcomics #essay #how to be a werewolf #kill 6 billion demons #gunnerkrigg court #go get a roomie #what does the fox say #spinnerette

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guileheroine · 7 years ago

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wait for the night

part one. a chance encounter with a common young man befalls the crown princess just as a court crisis does, and they both change her life / 11k / ao3

🏰❤️ masami royalty au! (bg irosami)

“Alright, I brought you something too, and it’s not the Ember Island octopus. That won’t be ready until the party tomorrow.” She takes the morning’s sweet from her pocket and slips it into his. “For your lunch break.”

It’s 4am on the junk store rooftop; Asami’s head is swimming in a good way for the first time all day and night. She snaps back to their surroundings when a noise alerts her to the presence of the shopkeeper’s cat, who they find glaring at their backs.

“He knows I’m not supposed to be here,” Mako laughs, glancing back momentarily at its unblinking face.

“Well, neither am I, you’re not so special.” Asami nudges her elbow into his arm, glancing up for the anticipated eye roll. It comes, and so does the arm, around her shoulders.

“Whatever, drink your champagne.”

She smooths the sleeve of his jacket under her hand, shivering in the slight breeze. “Toast,” she sips and announces quietly into the night, feeling the liquid slosh in the thin metal of the can.

“And to what now?” He says, probably rolling his eyes again.

Asami shrugs. “Us.” She isn’t sure if her heart shrinks or grows at the saying aloud; and tries to work it out as she stares coolly ahead. The sea way out on the horizon is still too dark to discern, but the city lights mellow against the bluing sky as she huddles closer. “I wish we could run away.”

Mako is unresponsive for a long moment. Though his grasp around her shoulders betrays nothing, she can practically sense the words hesitating in his mouth, disappearing somewhere between a swallow and a slight cough, before he eventually says, “So, uh. That’s the champagne talking…?”

“Oh, what, am I embarrassing you?” Asami’s turn to laugh, as she removes her hand from his to pull her knees in against the chill. She tilts her face up to shake her hair back, feeling the dull weight of sleep on her brow bone. “Just let me dream for a moment.”

He cracks a smile at last. He withdraws his arm and takes another sip of beer. “Ember Island octopus waiting, and you’re dreaming of me?”

~ PART ONE

Having parked and dismounted her moped, Opal pauses for a moment to brush her hands off on her trousers before speaking.

“Anyway, girls’ night. If you’re still alive after your little date with Lord Longshot or whatever on Sunday -”

“Longyang. Not Sunday, Opal. I have to write this - announcement. The engagement.” Asami’s nose wrinkles of its own accord and she mentally wards off the impending cloud of dread, well practised at it at this point. “I mean I’ve got a template… in my head...” She shakes her head as if to shake the very thought off.

Opal raises a curious brow as they walk together out of the garage. The warden bows his head as they leave and Asami inclines hers politely in return. “Wait, you have to write...? Can’t you just give them a quote or something...”

Asami shrugs. “Everybody wants me to start taking the reins, speaking for myself -”

Her schedule is torture. Her father is ever so smart. Anything public-facing (increasingly, anyone -facing) is delegated to her - for a smooth transition , urges Raiko’s slimy voice in her head. They dress the burden up like a privilege and Asami, with no other options, doesn’t have it in her to resist except nominally to the odd sympathetic ear, in private moments of utter frustration. Giving her father the cold shoulder means only that it’s harder for her to go and argue any of these stifling demands, slid her way easier than ever all of a sudden. A long line of aides, advisers and other courtiers ensure King Hiroshi reaches her all the same. She feels desperately unequipped.

“Show ‘em you have control of the narrative, right...” Opal finishes, clenching her fist, the gesture comical on her sweet face with no genuine ire behind it. “Okay, but why this? It’s... frivolous.”

“I have to be more accessible, too.” Her father - being mired in deadly secrecy having been his downfall - is sort of the roundabout architect of that as well.

Opal rolls her eyes. “Oh, Asami, you weren’t ‘accessible’ the first five times I talked to you. And I got to talk to you . I wish they’d leave you alone.”

Asami shrugs in resignation, her accord unnecessary, implicit, long voiced-out. “The illusion of control,” she says wryly, returning to Opal’s initial comment. “Jiro wants me to meet this lord whatever but he practically handed me a script. Which I’m pretty sure my father wrote. I swear I’d be glad for him to go if -”

If she didn’t have to take his mantle, of course. Opal lays a soft hand on her arm. They stop just on the doorstep of the teahouse on the edge of the Beifong estate. “Look, Asami… I don’t want to sound - pushy. And I’m not saying you haven’t thought about it but… well, have you thought how much of a difference you’re going to make in his shoes…?” She pouts entreatingly. “Bright side, right?”

“Appeal to incurable innocence, I like it,” announces the voice of Bataar Jr at doorway. He pushes in between them to go slump on the divan in the outer parlour.

“Well, I don’t feel innocent,” Asami says as she unties her muddy boots, not in the mood today.

He huffs and they share a tenderly mocking glance.

“It was a compliment, Asami.”

The United Kingdom of Nations had always been in a tug of war between the two ancient powers of whose blood it was constituted, out of which had emerged in defiance an enlightened, enterprising spirit neither offensive like the Fire Nation nor lofty and ancient like the Earth Kingdom.

The first queen was the daughter of the first king, who had been installed by the Fire Lord to take care of a colony secured but longer particularly prized since the exhaustion of its mineral reserves. A century or so later, the second ascended after her brother the King died in the conflict that preceded secession from the Earth Kingdom after a temporary reabsorption. The third queen remained the namesake of Yue Bay after annexing all its islands. A fourth did not exist, yet.

It’s Sunday and Asami has been moved to read history.

And scarcely in its long history has their country had an unmarried regent, is what she (re)discovers poring through the archives in the central library for...

...Inspiration. So she’d like to tell herself, but now she’s sparing only guilty glances to her notepaper, most of her attention sucked into the record books and papers she had spent the afternoon searching out.

The task at hand is simple. The quiet misery it represents, the uncertainty that mounts each time she considers it (the heavy certainty that its completion will symbolise), on the other hand, are enough that two hours in the library have yielded about as many words. Somehow being in here still holds more appeal than facing the Longyang delegation before they leave, though she’ll have to at some point, eventually.

Asami is here to sit and mull, to be frank, which is the closest thing to peace and quiet for her these days. The last of the autumn leaves stick to the domed window in the rain - autumn already.

She’s good at avoiding people. For the most part.

Midnight after the day that her personal hell had broken loose, Asami was finally alone.

Thirty minutes alone with her thoughts almost feels like too many, her hands clenched painfully over the handlebars in the cold; so if not for the terrible risk that her imminent crash represents, it might actually feel welcome.

As it happens, it’s sudden, frightening and very unwelcome. More frightened is the look on this unsuspecting jaywalker's face, and more unwelcome is the bang as his head hits the only street lamp lighting this alley.

“I am so sorry!” Asami dismounts faster than she can think, the image of the figure in the dim light branded on her mind.

She rushes to the man - and she’s the one practically paralysed; steeped to the neck in the panic that hits ruthlessly. Where had her mind gone? Nowhere fast: Lien was right, she was in no state to be driving (well, that was why she had taken her bike. Anyway-)

As she kneels and schools her breath the second jolt of dread reroutes her mind - here is a sure fire way to attract attention. Not the good kind, she hears her father’s retinue of specially vetted PR coaches in her mind, as if there is a good kind.

At least it’s late and dark and fairly empty on this street. Dark enough for her to have missed the shadowy figure. So she consoles herself, and steadies her voice.

“Are you alright?”

Asami reaches tentatively for him. The young man sits up, declining her hand as though he hasn’t even noticed it (she realises he probably hasn’t), rubbing the back of his head where it had made contact with the metal. Asami’s hand curls in the air before her, helpless. The man shakes his head and blinks.

Blinks.

Asami’s heart quails. What are the chances that he would recognise her? He looks young, smart - his uniform tells her he must have to remain... well-versed on current events (her chest roils painfully again, the wound fresh.) She deliberates whether to confess everything right now and have it over with. And meanwhile, he braces himself on his hand, and his eyes leave her face at last.

They go straight down - he’s embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, a little breathless, feeling her own face colour. Her tentative hand returns, and she sets it gently on his arm this time.

If there had been much irritation on his face, she only catches the last of it. He straightens his spine and his expression, then screws his eyes as if to recover his senses, slightly disoriented. “It’s - it’s okay.”

She extends her hand properly to help him up, willing silently that he would speak more. That he won’t have recognised her face. Won’t go selling some story of being run over by the Princess sneaking around in the middle of the night, sketchy, under cover of dark - well, just like -

There she goes again. Asami refocuses.

He’s tall. She takes her hand from his grip. Closer to the light she finds that it’s a face she knows.

It’s a good in, or a good way to get even before he… realises anything.

“Wait, I recognise you…” His eyes widen just as hers do. “I’m sorry,” she says, for the hundredth time, but this time it’s inquisitive.

“Do you… did you ever play for the Fire Ferrets?” Some of Asami’s agitation settles at the absurd happenstance: this feels slightly less like an accident of pure inconvenience. Her mind scrambles for his name.

He shrugs and rubs his nose. “Uh, yeah.” Then he sticks his hand out, the getsure a little delayed. He clears his throat. Only when he raises his eyes to hers does she notice it’s the first time he has done so since she pulled him up. The light falls awfully favourably on the planes of his face. “I’m Mako.”

Asami’s turn to come back slow. She shakes Mako’s hand. “Asami.” She snatches her hand back, clasping both in front of her chest now. “Mako. Are you - you’re sure you’re alright?”

The vague daze of his response tells her probably no. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“I promise, this isn’t like, a habit of mine…” Asami laughs, out of nowhere, a rush to explain herself (not very well) under his slightly abashed gaze.

He laughs a little too, and smooths the shoulder bag at his side, as if making to leave. “Really? Uh, maybe you should teach me how to ride one of those, you know, to be safe.” She has the distinct impression that jokes are not his forte; but that this isn’t his first attempt today nonetheless. Something makes up for that. She smiles wider. He remains slightly absent.

Asami - relief, concern and the slightest excitement mingling - stops him from leaving with a grip on his forearm again. “Hey, no. Let me get you some water or something. I wanna make it up to you.”

It turns out Officer Mako had been on his way home from a late shift. Many of his shifts were late; he didn’t mind staying back at the precinct for the night shift. Hewas a probending champion, from the world tournament Asami had followed obsessively in her teens. Only her recurrent concern interrupts the incessant questioning once this has been cleared up.

“Asami -” Mako looks her squarely in the eye, the wobbliness of a moment before gone. The grip around her glass tightens as he speaks her name - her name unadorned - for the first time. She has to wonder if it’s such an intimate thing for any one of these others milling around in the garden behind this tavern, crowding it with ghostly breaths. “I promise I’m fine.”

“Anyway, what happened?” She swallows and takes a draw of the peppery tea she had bought herself along with Mako’s, opting wisely against another real drink this weekend. “You guys were amazing.”

Mako shrugs. “Grew up.” He wipes his mouth. “Nah, I figured it was time to get a real job, you know, full time.” His eyebrows flash knowingly. “Bills are year round. So you were quite the probending fan?” His brow arches again.

Asami shakes her smile away. “Why does that surprise you? You hardly know me.”

“I don’t know you,” he says plainly. “And I’m not saying it does, you just seem…” He rubs the back of his head where he had bumped it again, a glance over her person so gentle it feels barely conspicuous; even though she’s waiting for it, open for it - even though they both are vibrantly aware of it. She stiffens a little, in her crisp slacks and her neat suede jacket.

Mako’s eyes fall briefly with his attention (the twitch in his jaw tells her it’s the pain, poor thing) but then as he returns it almost immediately, there’s a smile that turns sheepish. Asami thinks about his gaze on her face, as it rests there, again, long, despite his vague diffidence. She doesn’t know by what miracle he’s failed to recognise her - or if he has - but it’s difficult to disentangle that anxiety from the other one sparking up her stomach.

“Okay, I know that you had more than your fair share of fangirls back in the day,” she says, sukcing her tongue. “Not that I was one of them.”

Mako rolls his eyes. She wishes badly that it were light enough to see his face properly. He changes the subject a little awkwardly. “So what about you? You were in a rush tonight. I know I’m off duty, but I’m pretty sure you were past the speed limit back there.”

She gives him an incredulous look. Alright, he definitely doesn’t know who he’s just threatened to ticket. His question, however, can leave her nothing but sober. “I don’t know…” she tries, frowning.

“You seemed off.”

“I thought you didn’t know me.”

He laughs.

Asami can’t join him. “Well, yeah, bad night.” She picks at a calloused spot of skin on her forefinger with her thumb. Someone’s elbow knocks hers at her side, but she continues to look down.

From the corner of her vision she still registers the slow nod that Mako gives, clearly wondering if he should expect her to continue. She decides a kind stranger is perhaps the best person she could find tonight.

“Um, family problems. My dad, he… he dropped a real bombshell on- on me today. So I’m a little cut up right now. I was distracted.” She shrugs, feeling defiantly noncommittal as soon as she turns her thought fully to the situation, not allowing it to creep up on her again. She takes a long sip of her lukewarm tea.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Mako says. So laconic. She isn’t deterred by his terseness, but she won’t leave him feeling awkward.

“Yeah. I just... need some time. You definitely don’t have to hear it.” She sighs deeply, giving him a reassuring nod, to which he smiles wryly. “Private drama.” Terribly public private drama. The casual dismissal serves to stamp on it in her mind, like calling it small will make it so. But she’s already gone, back a quarter of the clock, back to her father’s huge study and a sheaf of papers heavy as lead. Her breath is a little short.

“It’s alright, actually,” Mako says suddenly. “My life’s a little short on the drama right now.”

She has to smile at him even as her insides churn. “Well, it’s a pretty big deal. I don’t know what to feel about it, but I’m not happy. And - ” She looks to his eyes for understanding, to know he’s with her so far, and happy to take what she’s dealing. “I’m not sure how it’s all gonna work out right now. My father, he’s not an easy man. He’s not the man I thought.”

It’s not much of a weight off her shoulders but she finds she can breathe easier for the admission.

Mako nods conspicuously. What else can he say? She lets the chatter and the clink of glasses around blur her thought momentarily until he speaks. “That’s… tough. I’m sorry. Is your mom in the picture? Siblings?”

She meets his eyes and shakes her head. “Actually, my mom died a long time ago.”

And he can’t know the particular poignance of that fact to her present agitation: he’s going to see the tears in her eyes and close right up.

Mako’s eyes do jump, but then he takes her hand. “I’m sorry,” for the third, most heartfelt time. And then he says, “I lost my parents, too. I was eight.”

It’s not what she expected. “You did? Oh.” She sets her glass down instantly, her other hand coming up to clasp over the one he has taken. The laughter of a rowdy group behind them flares and she leans in, wanting to shield their moment.

“They were killed by firebenders,” Mako explains; and if he hasn’t long made peace with the fact, it doesn’t show on his face. Asami’s gut twists again.

“...My mother, too.” Should she be amazed? She has to leave it at that, of course, no matter how tempting it is to pour her heart out.

That leaves her with his hand in both of hers. Asami squeezes, takes her hands back and clasps them in front of her. His gaze is light and long and strange again. For a second it practically bares her, but it’s too light for the moment, and too long for the man who she was quite sure was blushing under her gaze a minute ago.

“Are you alright?”

“Just a little dizzy,” Mako admits, finally.

She pushes away the glow that keeps jostling with the heaviness in her chest and brings him back with a grasp on the wrist. “Hey, I think it might be best if we took you to see a doctor, just to be safe. You can hop on my bike.”

She’s concerned about the adrenaline just in case he isn’t all right, so she tells Mako to put her arms around her and close his eyes. That way he can feel the breeze and relax. There’s a night clinic out by the big Four Elements near midtown, not too far from here.

Anyway, she remembers that her history tutor had claimed it unusual, that so few of their rulers had been unmarried. In the Earth Kingdom it was perfectly acceptable for kings at least to keep concubines, though the highest-born of these were effectively queens by another name. Not so different in the Fire Nation, only there the female Fire Lords kept many lovers, too.

The Kingdom of Nations, ever the deviator.

The queens regnant were in fact even fewer and farther between than unmarried regents: just a handful in a millennium, and none since the full departure of the Fire Nation from their lands. Most of them still married young. Asami frowns. The memory of their histories swirl in her mind as she crosses her arms and lays her head over the book.

She casts a weary glance to her notepaper. It isn’t blank, at least: she’d managed to scratch out the date. 13th Day of the Eleventh Month, 178 A.G.Almost a year.

Asami chews her nail.

The doctor turns to her awkwardly, fumbling through half a bow. “Er, Your Highness, Princess.” He clears his throat. “Your bike is waiting outside, if you wouldn’t mind… Back entrance, we don’t want to cause a scene, of course.” He gestures helplessly to the door. Asami assures him on his way as best as she can, practically ushering him out in.

Then she turns her sinking face on Mako.

He looks like he’s about to pass out for real this time.

“Wait, maybe, I think - Asami, I do have a concussion.”

Asami can’t help her burst of laughter. As it passes she comes back to him and softens. Then panics.

“Actually... well, maybe now’s not the best time…” She raises her hands, placating. Mako shoots straight up in his chair, blinking, his face white. Asami winces.

“Wait, you - I -” He closes his eyes and exhales through his nostrils.

Asami almost smiles behind the curled fist fluttering before her nervous mouth. “You don’t have to say anything,” she continues gently. The words flow, whatever she needs to calibrate their realities and ground him right now. “I just...I like to go out and clear my head sometimes. It’s not a big deal. I didn’t mean to hurt you, of course. And I - I liked talking, it was just easier…”

Eventually one of his eyes cracks open. Mako scrutinises her blankly, there’s the slightest of creases in his brow. Asami just wants to reach out and smooth it. She bites her lip.

“Wait. I just - need a moment-” He eyes her almost warily.

“Asami,” she says. “You can call me Asami.”

His brow knots again as if to say, are you sure? Trepidation mixes strangely, sharply with a bubble of affection. Asami breathes and tries not to smile again. Then she gives in. Seconds fly and fly.

“Mako?”

He blows out a long breath, finally. Asami follows his line of sight to the newspaper on the bedside, the one with her father’s face on the cover.

“I’m an idiot.”

Outside it’s chillier than ever. She pulls on the gloves some attendant at the clinic had found for her, which she had accepted with gratitude. “I never forget my gloves.” Except today, naturally - she feels dismal.

Mako lags slightly behind her. When she looks to him, he still seems a little rattled. Her sadness vanishes at the sight of him; his apprehension vanishes at her grin.

“Where to?” Asami smiles. “Don’t give me that look. I’m taking you home. Mako!”

Asami closes the book with a slap before returning to her draft, sending particles of dust into the air. Enough procrastinating. She pushes it to the corner of the desk beside her work gloves and turns to the clippings she had found to help her craft her words..

She takes up her pen for the first time in an hour. I am glad to share the news of my engagement, to which my father has given his enthusiastic consent.

Her fist lay clenched on the wad of papers, the torn confidential seal from the thick folder in her other hand.

“How could you?” Asami’s voice is so much smaller than she’d have liked. The bitterness in it doesn’t cut but trembles. She can see the pitying cast of regret swim in her father’s eyes, darkening all the time that he gazes on her.

Asami doesn’t want pity for her to be the condition of his regret.

She pushes her chair back from the table, the friction of the legs on the polished wood of her father’s study loud and harsh. Her fists fall in her lap and she breathes. Questions and more questions clamour for space in her head, her heart breaking over and over above them - making enough of a din that none manage to come to the fore. She remains speechless. She puts her pounding head in her hands.

The news broke before any of her father’s people could get to it - it was one of the tabloids in the city, the Daily Spirits or something like that, that worked faster from their crummy downtown offices than anyone in the palace could. Hot off the press! A Royal Scandal: King Hiroshi in bed with the United Brotherhood. A fresh investigation reveals the king’s pet project is not as clean as…

Innocent he obviously wasn’t, but she had searched desperately for the signs of his ignorance in the seventy-page report. It detailed the fruits (and fruitful it was) of a private corruption investigation into Future Corp, the brainchild of her father’s favourite school friend - of them both, many said - and benefactor of his royal investment, the holdings built on some of the family land that had paid their House’s way for centuries.

For years the court had thought him too close to an organization that swam in rumours of extremist sympathy almost monthly. Despite such concerns it had been something the press were more loath to capitalise on, painting him rather as the poor widower, the brave resilient King.

Now all that was effectively vaporised: Future Corp’s most loyal customers, it turned out, were the United Brotherhood.

The very United Brotherhood that targeted anarchist benders and republicans alike in the name of establishing a kingdom, a haven, of non-benders and non-benders alone. Arms were not supposed to be on Future Corp’s production line, and yet that’s exactly what they had been making, and shipping straight to the headquarters of the Brotherhood militia.

Then the death knell, on page seventy-two, underlined twice by their head press secretary in the copy that circulated the entire court: the detective who combed through the company’s finances had traced the funding of the under-the-counter weapons straight to the King’s private purse.

Asami’s head had not stopped swimming since she closed the file on page seventy-two. She had had no idea there had even been a private investigation. She saw emergency meeting with the President on the daily programme that Lien handed her when she woke up, something she definitely had not planned herself, and then she had gone straight to her father’s secretary to do the hard work of finding out.

By the time her father can give her the time of day, it’s twilight.

“How could you?”

He’s spent the last half hour saying this is not how he wanted her to find out, as if the issue here is her finding out.

“Asami, you have to understand…” He takes a strange breath as he changes his tack. “It’s not a bad cause. It’s our cause.”

Her head shoots out of her hands. “It is?!”

He takes the seat opposite her and she represses the urge to leap out of her own. Her father’s eyes narrow. “They aren’t bad people, you know. They protect the likes of us from - from...” He swallows as though he’s about draw a weapon he he wishes he didn’t have to. “The men who killed your mother. They’re gone now, and we have the Brotherhood to thank.”

Asami’s tears leak before she can stop them. It’s not that invocation, not the memory, it’s that this - the vicious way he’s guilting her - is the proof that her father is too far gone to be saved. “I lost her, too, you know. The United Brotherhood -” she spits the name, “they’re killing people - your subjects - in the name of the country, in our name. You -” Her nails dig into her palm and she forces her hand open. “You don’t care, you’re - you’ve practically beensanctioning it.”

There’s nothing placatory about her father now.

“You are being insolent. Do you see what’s happening out there? There are people calling for our removal. The benders have long been allied with the anarchists, they’re not sure what the point of effete leaders like us is exactly.” He snarls. “You would be wise to take less for granted. I am simply protecting my place - your place. How can we serve if we aren’t here to do so? Do you want to end up like your mother?”

She could cry. There is one thing endangering his precious legacy; and it’s the beast of revenge that has infested his mind.

“You’re not much of a king. You’re a zealot.”

Hiroshi claps his fist on the table. “Leave. We’ll talk about this when you’re in less of a state.” His teeth are clenched.

Right, there’s damage control to do. For all his insane defense, her father knows he’s made a grave mistake.

Asami needs air, needs to be far away from the chaos already wracking the palace. But she grinds her heel in the floor, unmoving. “Mom would have hated you for this.”

The paper forgotten again, she comes eventually to the last of the fading oil portraits in the reference album, many of which are accompanied by grainy pictures made with the earliest sliding cameras. The first clear photograph belongs to her grandfather and his wife, printed in fading sepia. Then there’s her parents, not long after their wedding by the look of it, and one of all four together. Her parents again, after their coronation.

Asami’s focus rests on her mother’s smiling face. She thinks about what the next few entries will look like, how she will be in none; what she thought of marrying into the royal house, of being in these pictures.

She won’t think of him.

“Where are we going? Is it a surprise?”

“Oh,” Mako flashes her a nonchalant sort of smile, “seriously, nowhere special.” His mouth twists in concentration as he continues down the street, eyeing for somewhere to park. He’s very careful in her car, more wary of the paces he goes through as he turns or shifts the gear than Asami thinks she has ever been. “You said you wanted to see where I grew up, right?”

They’ve come to a part of town she’s never had much reason to venture in, though she remembers a couple of blocks back a school she had visited on a charity job a few months ago. They park on the corner of a grocery market and Mako leads her down a steep alley she hadn’t noticed between the densely packed outlets, hopping down the last few paces where the slope has been tiled into wonky steps.

They emerge on a bustling, sunlit street. She recognises it, not by name or even the specific appearance: this is one of the old migrant settlements dotted around town; crowded and more organic than the neighbourhoods delineated in the original city plan. It would have been a slum twenty years ago. Asami smiles at Mako.

“I remember my mom used to bring us here,” he says, as they pass by a small bakery with a floury handprint on the window. A bell barely audible over the drone of the ovens tinkles when they enter. Asami buys a small parcel of cakes and they sit outside on an elevated section of the kerb in the shade of a tree.

“They’re better this way, I think,” Mako says, picking up a cake as Asami is about to.

“What are you -”

He produces a tiny flame in his other hand like a blowtorch, and heats around the edges until they’re brown. It crumbles and melts in Asami’s mouth, the burnt aftertaste heavenly.

She’s impressed. “Experiment,” she explains, holding a finger up, picking up an unburnt cake. Mako watches with mild affront as she affirms his statement for herself - she’s unable to help her merry scoff at his frown. “Wow, you’re right,” she laughs. She feeds him the rest, as cavalierly as possible with her heart in her throat.

There’s a hapless energy to his nostalgia. “I don’t really - recall,” he says, when Asami asks if it was the same old woman at the counter in there. A couple of vendors pass, carting their wares and calling them out into the muggy air.

A dog comes and curls in the spot in the shade next to Asami, and she feeds it before it can make a fuss, though Mako gives it a wary glance.

“Bolin and I - after mom and dad died, we had to leave, just to survive. My parents didn’t have much of a network in the city. They met here but they had only come for work, in the beginning.”

“What did they do?”

“They both started in the factories. My dad was an earthbender - pretty good money here since there aren’t that many benders. Mom was in the kitchen stalls at the market, and she worked as a clerk too once they made her a manager.”

He doesn’t want to know if she finds that quaint, and she doesn’t know how she finds it either. Foreign - that’s all. She has to wonder, no matter how premature the thought feels, how they might have found her.

“Where did you and Bolin go afterwards?”

“All over,” Mako says cryptically. “But across the station, that’s Triple Threats turf.”

“I read about them,” Asami says. She draws the scarf over her bound hair further up, feeling her head throb in the heat already. It’s uncharacteristically warm for the beginning of spring, but then, it feels like it could never be winter here.

Mako cups her hand with the cake in it this time, and scorches it deftly so that all she feels is a quick ring of warmth in her palm, though the touch of his hand is warmer. First he finds her eyes for her assent; Asami is touched at his forethought.

He continues for a while as she absorbs the sights and sounds with his commentary. “There’s a bookstore somewhere around here that my mom loved. Also there weren’t so many cars before. Over that way is Dragon Heath -”

Asami pulls the name that those words evoke to the fore of her mind like a thread. “Isn’t Crooked Chao from around here?” There was a time she knew every name in probending within a hundred miles of the city. And this fellow was as notorious as they came, dodging his way out of multiple cheating scandals scott free, who knew how.

Mako smirks. “We trained together once. I prefer Toza’s place.” At that Asami turns to him, a sly smile playing on her lips. He reads it in an instant and returns her playful tone. “Oh, I’m sorry, you have to be able to lightning bend to visit Crooked Chao’s den.”

Asami’s eyes widen. “You can lightning bend? Where did you learn that?”

Mako is unreadable for a second. “Just a job.” He scratches his chin. “So have you ever-” He puts his arm around her shoulders to draw her out of the way when someone drags their rusty bicycle across the pavement behind them. Asami feels it all the way down to her fingertips. “Have you ever been down around here before?”

“Just up where we parked. I told you about my engineering program,” she reminds him. “We do school visits to get the kids into it. I visit the girls on the scholarship sometimes, it was one of those trips.”

“They must love that,” he says, with genuine admiration.

“They’re so much fun.” Asami smiles as she glances around again. “I think a few of them are probably from around here.”

She’s thinking out loud now. “I just - never really thought of coming just to visit. I mean - I’ve never sat on the kerb before…” They both laugh and Mako pulls the slipping scarf back over the crown of her head.

“You must think I’m so -” She holds her palms out and shrugs, trusting him to understand.

Mako frowns, his eyes glinting with humour. “Mm, well. You took me to thehospital for a little bruise.”

Asami’s face falls in indignation before she laughs. “Hey, I was worried about you.”

“Okay, Princess.” He bites away his smile at her embarrassment.

“What if - what if you, like, passed out on the street and some car ran you over?”

“Then it would have been my time.” He gives her nothing, but the affection is evident in his gaze. Asami shakes her head, rearranging her long skirt to let the faint breeze skim over her legs. She shares some of the water in her bag with him.

When she puts the bottle away she wipes the condensation from her hands on her the skirt. “You know, I thought I knew the city but I don’t. Well, I know a map of it.”

Mako is watching her thoughtfully. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t get a chance.” She sighs in dejection - he guesses correctly.

So after that they go everywhere.

First the bookstore, where Asami balks at the fact that he reads history books for fun , and Mako asks her why in the hell he would want to look at a crime novel after a grueling week detectiving at work. The bursting bazaar in the old tradesmen’s district that Asami’s only ever smelled from the outside; where the fruit is twice as large and five times as cheap as what they import in the palace kitchens; and where Asami learns, for all her skill with numbers, that she can’t barter for her life. The uptown bars where she reserves a balcony seat, orders drinks from the top shelf and makes him guess their names; names all the flush clientele in the saloon below and makes him guess their dirtiest scandals. The smoky clubs where neither of them are supposed to be, where it has to be dark and they have to be ever so close lest someone that shouldn’t recognise her.

Asami leafs back through all the records she dusted off relating to the Fire Nation specifically. And to the imperial family, to him. She needs a refresher, someone else’s read on this, with her own mind all blocked up with resentment and fatigue. She rifles through the more recent clippings - there’s one about Asami’s own graduation...

No whisper of the Asami’s now rumoured former flame Fire Prince Iroh, though sources close to both prince and princess tell us it’s officially a day for the famous young couple. This week the dashing prince sails back to the Fire Nation, carrying the hopes of all the city’s bachelorettes...

Where a month ago she might have looked on this as a bittersweet memory, here in the library she feels her stomach churn at the thought of Iroh. This is the simple trigger. Oh no - she’s going to hate him. And she hates more the inevitability of the fact. Of all the things to encourage such surety.

She never wanted to, but she’ll hate him for what neither of them are really to blame for. For being convenient, for letting Asami consign herself to a future of regret and alienation. Forget love. They may just have to work on like, on a mere cordiality, if Asami can’t get her head straight in time.

A shame, because they had been more than cordial for a long time.

“Asami.”

He approaches her with a polite smile. It’s been a while - the last time they had met properly had been the gala where Emi met Rajiv, a minor noble from Kirachu Island, and now they are at their engagement party (though granted, Emi works fast.)

After a drink she leads Iroh to the dancefloor, where he’s happier, uncharacteristically, to trip over his feet while he talks about his latest campaign.

She smiles up at him. “Don’t they teach a proper waltz in the Fire Nation?”

Iroh laughs congenially. “You sound like my sister.”

“Well, we are cousins.” They laugh in unison - an old (though not forgotten, apparently) inside joke about the long tradition of intermarriage between their kingdoms that had been a great deal funnier with the distant potential prospect of another.

“You’re breaking my heart, Asami.”

The comment confuses her, until she remembers and perks up. “Wait, I taught you this dance!” She gives a sheepish snort, a little ashamed, but not truly affected by the lapse in her memory.

“We went to that resort at Chameleon Bay, remember - that trip with your flying society during winter break.”

“Right! I was crazy about you.”

The memory suddenly fresh - and farther than ever. It’s in her very tone, the wistful indifference of the words that would have cost her her entire dignity that winter. The same can’t be said for Iroh, whose bearing stiffens somewhat, in a blink, at her blase remark.

Su and Baatar’s anniversary soiree is at seven o’clock at their sumptuous mansion. They married at the end of spring, like Asami has always wanted to.

Smaller though it may be, Asami much prefers this house to the palace, with its experimental modern architecture and sumptuous gardens. Mako is here - not reluctantly, but not quite eagerly either - so dapper in the suit Asami picked out for him that if he were on anyone else’s arm she knows she’d be stupidly jealous.

“You should have more of your clothes tailored,” she says, pulling him by the cuff to take his hand.

“I do have them tailored, I just do it myself. So tell me who’s who.”

The band in the corner picks up to a pleasant if bland tune, the perfect conversation accompaniment. Asami guides his gaze across the room.

“You know Opal from last week. Those are her parents,” she nods in the direction of their hosts. Perhaps the parents she wishes she had - so easy and free-spirited that their slightly overbearing nature is almost liberating. “They’re doing these huge construction projects down in Zaofu - that’s why she’s Duchess Zaofu, the real Beifong estate is down there… But they had some land up here too and he loves working with the university…”

“That’s Bataar Jr.” Mako knows about him; Bataar and Asami are frequent companions. “And then…” She scans around. “Oh, the twins. Wing and Wei. I bet you can’t tell them apart.” She takes a glass of wine from the waiter and sips disdainfully as Mako looks where she directed him, before continuing. “They’re campaigning to have metalbenders included in probending,” she says unenthusiastically, a purist.

Mako frowns and they share a scoff of fervent dismissal, insisting over one another how metalbending isn’t separate from earthbending. Asami giggles into his sparkling eyes, before turning and finding the most distinctive shock of hair in the mill of heads.

“That’s Huan. He’s… he’s still in school doing art, but he loves his amateur theatre too. Now he’s directing a dance reinterpretation of Love Amongst the Dragons with two empresses in the lead,” she says fondly.

“I’m sure you recognise Emi and Iroh.” She nods towards the stately pair deep in conversation with one of Bataar’s friends by the elaborately draped table with the cake.

“Remind me who’s older.”

“She is, just barely. And she could be the Fire Lord tomorrow, she’s got the chops. I went to school with Iroh,” she says mildly, almost as an afterthought.

Mako leans into her just a little and asks teasingly, “Does she scare you?”

“Of course not. She’s intense, like her mom,” Asami adds, to make the situation objective, smoothing the front of her jade green dress casually. “I always got on with Iroh better.”

As if on cue, Iroh turns and catches her eye. Then he strides over to greet them. Asami introduces Mako, slinking her arm into his. Iroh glances between them before shaking Mako’s hand.

It’s not until a couple of hours later, reveling in Asami’s laughter as she drags him away from a lively, normal (Mako’s words) group of Opal and her college friends, that he learns about Asami and Iroh.

“You… you dated him?” Mako’s face falls despite his best effort. He smooths his expression with an effort. “The Fire Prince ?”

“You don’t keep up with the Daily Spirits, do you?”

She laughs, a tipple or two from wine drunk, slipping some of the pastry in her hand into his mouth. Mako chews absently as his brow furrows again without the careful conscious smoothing.

“When I was studying, until he left to join the Imperial Air Force. It was just a college thing.” She smiles, grasping his chin. “You jealous?”

“Of course not.”

She recognises his mimicry of her earlier immediately.

Maybe she doesn’t quite expect it; Mako’s immediate lightness in spite of the obvious displeasure. She takes him by the arm again. “Are you having fun ?”

He gives a noncommittal shrug, just to tease her. Asami huffs in exasperation, before it dissolves back into laughter. She pulls him behind one of Su’s florid sculptures in the hall, Mako grumbling half-heartedly; leans up to whisper in his ear. “What, you’re not having fun?” She bumps her helpless smile up into his, watching his warm eyes flutter, “let’s make this a little more fun.”

He straightens momentarily, bright red, when she kisses him; kisses his neck. A moment to close her eyes and find her bearings, while they remain snickering into each other’s shoulders, so that Asami can orient them to the nearest of the myriad guest rooms in this huge house.

It hadn’t been long before the party that their secret relationship stopped being very secret.

Asami supposes she had known what she was doing: official duty or not, broad daylight or not, the shoes you wear to a function as public as the yearly Spring Festival are a statement, so getting security to let through an attractive young man to keep on your arm for the rest of the celebration can be nothing but.

Afterwards, she makes a thoughtful decision to sit quiet through the noise - pointed whispers between various personnel when she runs past them on the staircase. She declines her father’s oblique request to talk about it, sending his messenger back wide-eyed, and calls Opal (who already knows) instead to tell her how she didn’t dare go anywhere near public relations office today. She does glimpse Jiro glaring at her back in the mirror when he thinks she can’t see; and even Lien approaches her before she goes to bed the next day, somewhat confusedly. Asami apologises for any confusion, and explains that she met Mako when he was assigned to her security detail by the very helpful Chief of Police when one of her usual people had fallen ill halfway through an outing, yes, and she took to him instantly.

The real furore is outside the palace.

“You know, you’ve finally given people something about my family to root for again,” she chuckles, sitting in Mako’s apartment late in the evening, having told Lien she would be at the Beifong estate that night.

Mako, still mortified, holds the newspaper someone apparently handed him this morning up gingerly. “What, by -”

“Infiltrating our ranks! And you’re a heartthrob !” Asami laughs, helping herself to the final sip of the bottle of wine on the coffee table between them. Then she turns serious, more cognizant of what she’s saying with the evidence of her lack of sobriety in her hand. “I’m sorry. It’ll blow over, I promise. I just wish…”

“What?” Mako says, nudging her knee when she trails off.

“I just want to protect you.”

He looks down sharply, embarrassed. “I’m telling you, Asami, this is the most interesting my life has been in - maybe ever…” She can tell this unnerves him, though, but the reassurance is enough to placate her for now.

“How was work, Mako?”

“Like I said, interesting. You know they don’t allow press in the station.” He smirks. “And my boss… not too impressed,” he admits. “So if you’re worried about me losing perspective -”

“Shut up,” she says, rising and taking him by the shoulders; smiling, ready to kiss him as soon she can bear her weight down somewhere.

Mako uncrosses his legs so that she can straddle him, but he’s pensive as she waits for his gaze again.

“What about you? How is it with… I know you’re stressed,” he says, sounding reticent despite the firm phrasing.

Asami shrugs, letting a hand fall to her side again, before she lifts it to tuck her hair back. “I haven’t spoken to my father about anything, if that’s what you’re asking.” She sighs. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen. And I hate it. It feels like…” she sighs, resolved to the fact, “they’re waiting on me to fix it or something, and I’m only - making it worse, apparently - and I don’t care…I want a break.”

She smiles fancifully once her attention rests on his face again. “They do this speedboat race on Whaletail Island that I’m dying to try.”

Mako perks up. “I’ve been wanting to go forever!”

“I’ll take you. Before the summer’s up.” She has no idea when or how, but she’s determined to figure it out.

He looks hesitant. “I’ve been saving up for a while, actually, I don’t really - I guess I wanna deserve it, you know?”

Asami feels a little foolish then. He doesn’t believe in being whisked away on a whim, rightly so - and she’s still learning it’s not always an option, not for everyone. “Right, of course.” She can’t help but droop.

He must feel the strain she’s under, though: maybe it’s something that he can’t quite know. He says after a second, “Well, maybe if the Chief lets me take my holidays all at once…” Mako tightens his arms around her.

Asami presses her cheek to his, pulling the strands of his hair between her fingertips. “I’ll make it special, I promise.”

Asami strikes a line through glad , a word weak enough it could possibly expose her, replacing it with… delighted . There. The pen she worries at her mouth is encased and nibbed in classic Earth Kingdom silver, the kind she’d spent the afternoon testing alloys of with Bataar Jr in his lab. It reminds her of what he had said the other day. Innocent.

Is it her, hoping for the unrealistic best as always?

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t tell me about this earlier,” Asami says, crossing her arms, but it’s more confusion and disappoint than ire that underscores her words. Any of that has been long subsumed. She scuffs a boot against the leg of the table between them in frustration.

Mako averts his gaze, clasping his hands together. He doesn’t answer for a moment, focusing on his drink. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was something that - would come into this…”

Which is fair, but it doesn’t sound entirely truthful; Mako, if anything, is overly cautious. He had asked what to call her, for crying out loud.

Asami uncrosses her arms. Before she can continue, he speaks again.

“I guess I didn’t want to disappoint you…”

She shakes her head. “You know I don’t care about that stuff.” She stops him with a gentle hand on the shoulder, is sure to have his eyes for her firm reminder. “It’s not who you are. I know that.”

He sighs dismissively at that. “Oh, sure, but do they?”

The ready reminder makes Asami tense again. She can’t say the news of Mako’s connection with the triads surprised her upon the slightest reflection - she should have gleaned enough from the careful slivers of his past that he revealed from time to time - but the way it broke, to the world, did. It plasters papers that yesterday had carried adulatory pieces about their fairytale romance, or whatever; everything she tried her sometimes paltry best to pay no mind to, so that Mako wouldn’t, would have none of that on his shoulders.

Asami narrows her eyes. “I don’t care what they think. Neither should you.”

To her mild surprise and mild hurt, he lets his head cock and and laughs, not meanly. “That’s sweet. But it’s your job to care.”

It’s the worst job in the world, to care about what people think - appease their half-understandings of the world, of her world. Her father would have been adamantly against this from the start, of course, if she was on speaking terms with him. But she could guess his distaste at this news well enough, and found it laughably ironic. Cruelly, the world and the court were on his side - who in their casual injustice could pardon him despite awful and wilful transgressions, ensure him the cushiest send-off, while holding Mako under the microscope for things long and well beyond his choice and control.

Mako. She wants desperately to protect him.

Asami has a hunch deep and uncomfortable in her belly about where and who these triad connections had surfaced from.

The discomfort gnaws and gnaws at her, and when she learns at Mako’s later that night that he has received a telegram from one of her father’s secretaries - finally flares the anger.

But in the same breath that she’s never wanted more to drop everything and run, she knows with finality that it’s the last thing she can do. The one thing she can’t do. It’s heavy on her shoulders, on her mind - so heavy on her heart that she can barely keep her eyes open as she sits at the lake early in the morning with Mako’s side pressed all along the length of hers, feet dangling over the pier on the restricted side, lashes grazing his shoulder. He recounts, with brief searching pauses, the stories his parents told about the now faded murals on the embankment - a version of people-watching apt for the people-less scene here - while she pulls her fingers softly over the planes and sinews of his arm, the lines of his hand; feels her calloused fingertips catch on the fading burn scar on his wrist, again and again just to make sure this isn’t the last time.

President Raiko knows better than most people that PR is tricky. This awareness sits awkwardly between them when he requests a private meeting with Asami, without her father’s knowledge.

He coughs. It’s a stuffy room, boiling in the mid-afternoon heat like the glowing window is an oven door. And Asami is trapped in here.

She waits to sit so that he will have to, so he’s damn near sneering with discomfort by the time he does.

“Your Highness,” he begins, “we know there have been a lot of - tensions - around the court lately. Now, I don’t wish to impose anything on you -”

But you will.

“It’s unfortunate the position His Majesty has been left in. For us all,” he hurries to clarify. This language is odious. Why can’t he just blame her father like everyone outside this wretched establishment has sense enough to? “And so, of course, it looks a certain way when…” His fists clench on his thighs. He looks her in the eye with some gusto. “We don’t want any more associations with any kind of - anyone underhand.”

She has to admit to herself that she hadn’t expected him to be so forthright. She flashes hot inside.

Is a master at keeping it inside.

Asami stares unblinkingly. Raiko’s discomfort mounts and mounts.

“Your Highness, I only want to implore you… to consider that you have - a remarkable opportunity.”

The least she can do is make him spell it out. “What do you mean, Mr President?” She can play the fool if she wants, everyone is all too ready to believe it despite anything she achieves to the contrary.

Raiko looks a little startled, and he adjusts his glasses to give himself a moment. “Well, what I mean to say is…” He splays his fingers so that his hands make a triangle, oddly conciliatory now. It only grates on Asami. “You’re going to be the Queen of the Kingdom of Nations, sooner rather than later, as we all know now. I know you regard such a responsibility - a privilege - with the utmost gravity. And with it comes a chance you should not forsake.”

As he speaks, her anger wilts into despair. That, of course. She can’t contest that. A princess can do some things for herself; a queen - has no self. She can no longer keep her steely gaze.

Without it, Raiko is emboldened; every word splits her further. “To rebuild, to fortify. If you forge the right alliances,” his eyes shift to the side briefly, “well, it could save this monarchy.”

Maybe it doesn’t deserve that , is her final defiant thought. But queen keeps ringing in her ears like the sentence from a juror. It’s not a responsibility she can defy in good conscience. Nor is it one she can defer much longer, like every day doesn’t bring her closer to the dead end. She - they - were doomed from the moment she learnt of it.

That was the day she had known .

“Your father…?”

She fights to raise her teary eyes to Mako’s, the slightest rueful nod. It’s news that couldn’t wait, as much as she wants it to.

“I -” Asami coughs, turning down to swipe quickly with the back of her hand, before she finds she has nothing to hide under his unflinching gaze. “Yeah, I mean, not him, but everyone… Well, I guess it was a matter of time. It would be silly to think he could stay.”

She skirts around it, pretends like it’s all about him, when the core of the issue is that now it’s about her.

“So that means…”

Asami nods hesitantly, watching his eyes.

Mako frowns in consideration. “Well…” He looks about, before laughing a little. “That’s… certainly more of a promotion.”

Not a reaction she has yet had. Asami hides her face in her hands in her incredulity, but when she lifts it back up she’s laughing loud; Mako shrugging in the corner of her vision.

Then she sighs gravely, and Mako turns thoughtful again beside her. She answers his unasked questions, setting the facts out partially for her own benefit, now that his presence here can ground her out of delirium.

“Jiro - my father’s first secretary - he told me he’s going to face the press around this time next month, right after the official announcement. I read the draft of the release.”

Mako’s eyebrows rise, though he tempers his expression. “That soon?” He takes a sip of his bottle of beer, eyes pensive.

The implications are filing through his mind, while Asami looks pointedly away. She wishes she could brush his concerns off, had the power or the plans in place to do so. She tries her best.

“It won’t happen for a while, another six months at least.” Only in the voicing does it strike her how little a timespan that is. “These things take time. And not everybody considers this that much of a constitutional crisis, believe it or not. We have so many things to work out before - before I can succeed him.”

He smiles a little awkwardly, but the sadness is evident in his face. “I don’t know what I should say - congratulations?” He tries. “Good luck?” Asami shrugs, equally helpless. What she feels like is a commiseration but it’s the last thing she wants to see on his face; this flicker of defeat is enough to break her heart.

“I hope we can still go on that trip… I don’t know, before the summer’s up.”

“Of course!” Asami sighs. “I don’t… Not yet, Mako.” She says, almost pleadingly. Not yet what remains too fresh and immense to really conquer right now, but the silent agreement to think about it later is well understood.

She wants to take the moments she can, for as long as she can. Mako is here at their favourite spot to see the ocean and the city at once, with the beer he puckishly calls champagne, and he’s wrong, tonight is about his promotion, since that’s the one actually worth celebrating (she thinks, wryly not ruefully, with determination.) She toasts to him and ruffles his hair. It’s nearly morning now, she made it here a little later than planned. But she had been determined to make it - for him, she said, maybe because he might not understand just how much a respite for her each rendezvous with him is, breaths of pure air in her ever more suffocating daily life.

“So tomorr- today, is my birthday,” Asami says. To change the subject - he knows, of course. “Su ordered this special octopus from Ember Island,” she tells him.

“Well? Where is it?” He catches Asami off guard again and she rolls her eyes. Then he continues, reaching into his work bag. He’s going straight to work after this - always considerate, she knows, careful to work around Asami’s chokehold of a schedule despite the insistences that he has nothing important going on, anyway. “I got you a gift.”

Whatever Asami expected, it isn’t this, and she isn’t sure why. She softens immediately, turning her full attention to him. “You did…”

“It’s not much. I remember you said you wanted to read this. I’m sure you could find a copy, but - this is mine. I’ve had it ever since I had a place, and I marked out the parts I liked…Besides,” he smirks, “You should remember this stuff’s not all bad.”

Mako hands her the book she had found him with, the first time she met him not on time, in a cafe on the edge of town right at the beginning of summer. It’s a beautiful volume that collects the observations of some ancient imperial astrologers. Half almanac, half history book - but ‘more like legend’, as Mako had insisted, so she’ll let it pass.

“I want you to keep it. So, happy birthday.”

Asami, listening and brimming with love, knows better than to argue. The prospect of accepting something with this kind of sentimental value should daunt her, upset her with what she knows is coming their way - and it does. But accepting it nonetheless is just... that much more heartening. She wants every little piece of him that she can keep. Asami takes it, running a finger over the worn leather of the cover, before pressing it to her chest.

“Thank you,” she says. Mako kisses the top of her head, making her weightless, disarming her with the suddenness of her joy. It’s almost miraculous to be overjoyed in this moment from the despair she had felt at the proclamation that sealed her fate mere hours ago.

Asami smiles, though he can’t see it. “I love you, you know.”

It’s the very words that make him pull away, and then he kisses her lips.

Asami sighs onto the paper, careful not to smudge the ink when she slumps. Delighted - is a measured kind of word. A new business obligation kind of word.

Maybe all these words feel such a way not for their inherent quality, but simply being an instrument of this abject lie. She crosses it out.

I am overjoyed to share the news...

It’s a mere two months after the fulfilment of her tragic mutual understanding with Mako that Asami can find it in her to bite the bullet her father, Jiro, the Fire Lord, likely, and the entire court have waiting on a spoon for her.

Iroh is a pillar of strength and stability. Exactly what the country needs, what the court demands, - even if Asami is left blowing hot and cold. It’s just that whatever her personal misgivings are, they still leave one versus a million, and her thought turns naturally to the million. Would it kill her to be selfish once in her life?

He frames his offer in terms they both know suit her best: let’s get you some peace of mind. “Yes,” she tells him, torn in two. What she can’t promise is happiness, but if he can promise stability, then she can, too. He still loves her terribly, and resents the lack of reciprocity more and more, to the point that it will test that love very soon, if it isn’t already. “I love you, too,” Asami says, blinking away tears. And it’s not as if it isn’t true, right?

She puts the pen down, the gap between the first and last sentence filled, and stretches. It feels like a season since she started.

A season ago, she had said (a final test of her fate), “Don’t you love me?”

It’s supposed to be a rhetorical question, something to pierce through the confusion, his armour - but Asami finds suddenly that she doesn’t know the answer for sure, and doesn’t want to know. She has a vice grip on his wrist; and the white of his clenched knuckles on the parapet, stark against the grainy stone, tell her it’s not easy for him either. It’s a salve to her pain and an excruciating amplifier at once.

He doesn’t love her for asking , for sure - she bites her tongue a second late. That was so unkind to them both. He winced when she asked.

“I’m not sure how much that matters, Asami.”

She breathes a long breath through her mouth. He’s right, and he’s saying it and laying it out so she doesn't have to. Hold it together.

“You need to be okay , now and for the future. You’ll figure it out, Asami.” His voice is tight. “You can worry about being happy later.”

He uses his eyes to encourage her, they steel to brace the statement, lend it resolve. None of this quite obscures the pain and frustration in those clear amber eyes. But little of that frustration is at her, all of the pain for her. Again, that only makes it harder. Asami reaches up to kiss his cheek, so chaste she wishes she hadn’t bothered: it is not what they deserve.

“I know, I know. I’ll never forget you.”

The Royal Court Circular of The United Kingdom of Nations

14th Day of the Eleventh Month, 178 AG

The King is glad to announce the engagement of Princess Asami to His Royal Highness Prince Iroh of the Fire Nation, General of the United Forces. The King and the Fire Lord and their respective families are joined by both courts in extending their heartiest congratulations.

The Crown Princess says in an exclusive profile to be printed in the UKN Times this weekend (please see the press office for a copy Sunday morning):

“I am delighted to share the news of my engagement, to which my father has given his enthusiastic consent. I know that Iroh and I will continue to enrich the relationship we have nurtured since childhood. Words can hardly express my feelings at this time.”

#masami #irosami #asami sato #mako #[crying into my iced tea] i write masami fort he aesthetic #this is my Romance Novel fic. all the tropes #aka uptowngirl.mp3 #if you read it i will love u #**

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