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somethingpoetichere · 4 years

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speechless- caliban x reader imagine

a big ole prom cheese fest with some cinderella inspiration thrown in. a little angsty but DAMN will give you the feels. OC is Sabrina’s mortal cousin but a member of the Spellman household.

you say you'll be down in five

the smell of your perfume is floating down the stairs

you're fixing up your hair like you do

i know that i'll be a mess

the second that i see you

you won't be surprised

it happens every time

it's nothin' new

Doctor Cerberus’s had the best pancakes in all of Greendale- not that you’d ever fess that up to your Aunt Hilda. Dr. Cerberus placed your order down with a smile, patting your head as he raced back to the kitchen.

Your happiness was short lived, though, as Sabrina’s band of younger friends raced into the diner. You groaned as they shouted your name, dropping your fork unceremoniously. Was nothing sacred?

“Have you seen Sabrina? It’s urgent!” Harvey panted.

You moved to answer that no, you hadn’t seen her all day, and really, she ought to start telling someone when she decided to drop off the face of the earth- when someone slid into the booth across from you.

“I just dropped her off at the Spellman residence, she’s likely to be there all day.” Caliban replied, stealing a french fry off your plate.

Harvey glared. “And what were you doing with Sabrina? Why should I listen to you?”

Roz and Theo rolled their eyes, and you reached out to smack Harvey’s shoulder. “Turn down the testosterone for a minute, Harv. He just told you where Sabrina is- who is capable of making her own decisions, however stupid they may be.” You ignored both Harvey and Caliban’s protests, shooing the trio out with a huff as Caliban and Harvey continued their stare down.

You met Caliban’s gaze as you returned to your long-awaited pancakes. “Miss me, princess?”

You eyed him drily. “Not particularly. Why are you late?” 13 minutes late, to be exact. Not that you'd been counting. Caliban was usually never late to your daily... meetups? That didn’t feel like the right word. But for the last two months, Caliban had met you here at exactly three o’clock, and in exchange for holding off the infernal trials- or whatever they were called- you told him about your mortal life. Stories, histories, that time Andy Simmons found himself with a slashed tire after he’d dumped your best friend. Anything you could think of, really- and Caliban was easy to talk to. Almost too easy. You didn't really understand his fascination with the workings of mortality, but couldn't really bring yourself to press him too hard.

“Aw, was the little princess worried about me?” He crooned, pausing to order from an approaching Dr. Cerberus.

You took a moment to observe him. He spoke animatedly to the man as he ordered his usual- a burger, chocolate shake, and a side of fries. His blonde hair was artfully tousled, as if he’d just walked off the catwalk and not sprung straight from some hell-bound mission with Sabrina. You were always fascinated by the contrast between his hellish leather outfit and Caliban in mortal fashion. Clad in a simple pair of jeans and california sunshine shirt, he looked fresh off the surf- sunkissed and everything, with a smattering of barely-there freckles on his nose.

“See something you like?” He teased, drawing you from your reverie as he tucked the menu away and shrugged off his faded denim jacket- a new addition to his wardrobe that you’d selected when he dragged you to the mall last week.

“You’re avoiding the question.” You huffed, fighting back a blush as you kicked him under the table.

His features schooled into a serious expression, eyebrows furrowing sharply. Caliban’s features were decidedly strong, jaw and cheekbones so angular that even the light shied from them. You rarely liked to be so poetic, but really- did he have to look so effortlessly perfect?

He deflated a little. “The plague kings have been on my case about the next challenge. An escape is desperately needed.”

“And I’m the escape?” You arched an eyebrow at him, suspicion evident on your face as you sipped your shake.

“Darling, you are my salvation.” He grinned mischievously. “Now what's this ball Sabrina has been telling me about? Is it a courting event?”

“Prom?” You laughed. “It’s not a ball, so to speak, but it is a formal thing. Everyone dresses up in gowns and suits, spend the night dancing, usually the punch gets spiked, then someone throws a rager somewhere, and then Tommy Michaels gets found in the bushes outside the police station- for the third year in a row. Everyone makes a pretty big deal out of it.”

“And do you go alone?” He continued, thanking Dr. Cerberus as he placed down his order- who paused to throw you a conspiratorial wink that you pointedly ignored.

“Most people go with dates.” You explained. “Why?”

“No reason beyond pure curiosity.” Caliban smiled, “now tell me about your day, princess.”

it's always on a night like tonight

i thank god you can read my mind

'cause when you look at me with those eyes

“Do you want to go to prom together?” Caliban asked, leaning against the doorway of your bedroom with an alarming air or normalcy that did not suit the question he had asked.

“Prom?” You sputtered. “Why on earth would you want to go to prom?”

Caliban crossed his arms, eyeing you expectantly as he knew you were avoiding the question. “You said it’s a pretty big deal. Sabrina said it’s quite important. Would you want to go?”

You eyed him with barely concealed suspicion. “I mean, I was planning on skipping. I don’t have a dress or a date.”

“Well, I can take care of both of those things. All you have to do is say the word.” He smirked.

You could hardly believe your own hearing. What was with his sudden interest in a mortal school dance? “Why do you want to go to prom with me all of a sudden?”

“Can’t I just want to take a beautiful girl to a dance? You’re part mortal, princess. I imagine it would be nice to have one night outside the realms of hell. I realize my experiences outside damnation are... limited.” He spoke softly, and for a moment you could see the vulnerability in his eyes. Caliban, for all his pride and charm, was nervous. To ask you to prom.

The thought almost made you laugh.

“I’d love to go to prom with you, Caliban. But what about tickets? I think it’s all sold out.”

“Like I said, princess-“ he winked, all traces of former vulnerability gone as it was replaced with his usual troublemaker smirk- “leave the rest to me.”

i'm speechless

starin' at you standin' there in that dress

what it's doin' to me ain't a secret

'cause watching you is all that i can do

and i'm speechless

you already know that you're my weakness

after all this time i'm just as nervous

every time you walk into the room

i'm speechless

You’d spent the better part of the next day at the mercy of Hilda and the Weird Sisters, who were all too delighted to wreak havoc on you. Your entire body was scrubbed and perfumed, your hair had certainly never been so clean and tamed- the soft curls cascading down your back, expertly twisted at points with silvery pins- and your makeup looked so effortless that it almost looked like Prudence hadn’t spent nearly two hours on it. You’d been poked, prodded, and pinched to the point where you’d almost damned the whole thing and stormed off to hell.

But it was all worth it when you reached the top of the stairs and met Caliban’s gaze. A giggle escaped your painted lips as he froze, jaw slack in awe. Your silvery blue dress glittered like starlight in the low light of the foyer, just long enough to trail behind you on the staircase as you descended to greet your date. For a fleeting moment you’d wondered how he’d known your exact measurements- but you supposed that was Caliban for you.

You wobbled slightly on the last step- the glass heels he’d conjured weren’t the most practical, certainly. Caliban lunged over, catching you in his arms effortlessly as you nearly tumbled.

“Careful, Cinderella.” Caliban grinned softly, delicately placing you back on your feet without releasing you from his arms. “You look... you look radiant, princess.”

His voice cracked on the term of endearment, and you were overwhelmed with an unexpected surge of affection for the clay prince.

“How do you even know about that mortal fairytale?” You asked with a breathy laugh, reaching up to fix his tie. Caliban was gorgeous, for lack of a better word. His black suit fit him perfectly, and you smiled at the silvery handkerchief tucked into his suit pocket- a subtle attempt to match your dress.

“It’s your favorite, and I figured if I was going to do this- I was going to do it well. I mean it, though. You look beautiful.” He smiled again, finally retrieving his hands as he ran them through his hair. A nervous tick of his, you’d noted.

Why the heaven was he nervous?

“Thank you.” You blushed, hating yourself for it as he chuckled. “I have something for you. A mortal tradition.”

You pulled the boutonniere from the hidden pockets of the dress (a wonderful touch on Caliban’s part), a simple white rose surrounded by an array of baby’s breath. Caliban eyed it curiously as you reached up to pin it to his lapel.

“You said you wanted a mortal night.” You whispered, doing your best not to pinch him with the pin. You chanced a glance at him, and his expression nearly took the air from your lungs. There was no trace of mischief or smirk on his face- his eyes were warm and lips tugged up ever-so-softly at the corners. You quickly looked away, fighting back another blush. What was happening to you?

“There.” You grinned victoriously at your accomplishment, gently straightening his coat. “All set.”

“Not yet.” Caliban hummed. “I’m afraid your aunts are here to take pictures.”

You turned to face an exuberant horde of admirers- even Zelda and Sabrina looked thrilled- and fought back a groan.

“The things I let you drag me into, Caliban.”

it started when you said hello

just did something to me

and i've been in a daze

ever since the day that we met

you take the breath out of my lungs

can't even fight it

and all of the words, out of my mouth without even tryin'

“Just to prepare you, I turned down a few guys and told them it’s because I have a boyfriend- so you better stick to that story if you don’t want your face in a punch bowl.”

“Who wouldn’t want such a violent girlfriend?” Caliban smirked, hand moving to rest on your thigh from the stick shift. He’d chosen a blue chevrolet convertible for the night- a decidedly vintage pick that perfectly suited your outdated little town.

You scoffed, rolling down the windows to let in the cool evening air. “It must be why they’re all in love with me- knowing I could beat them up.”

“It is most certainly a kink of mine.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you, sparking a laugh.

You reached over to smack him on the shoulder. “That’s because you’re sick, Caliban.”

“Love-sick, princess.” He crooned, gripping your thigh tighter through the dress as you felt your heart rate spike.

“You better watch those wandering hands in there, or Miss Wardwell might have you exorcised for demonic behavior.” You grinned, not daring to move his hand in the slightest.

“You’d be a horrible girlfriend for enjoying that.” He laughed, and you felt your lungs constrict as he tossed his head back. Caliban was always handsome- you weren't blind- but tonight he’d been managing to take your breath away a little more than normal.

“You’d be a horrible boyfriend for leaving me dateless, but I’m sure I could find Tommy or Vick to console me.” You teased, hand moving to rest on top of his.

Caliban’s gaze went dark. “Good thing you’re mine then, princess.” He spoke firmly, gaze hot on your face as he moved to take your hand in his. He brought your hand to his lips, softening slightly as he kissed them, his words a grazing whisper against them. “If only for the night.”

Damn him.

The moment was broken as he pulled to park at the little reception hall tucked into Moon Valley, and he disappeared in a flash and reappeared outside your door. He opened the door with a flourish, extending his arm to help you out of the car with a brilliant smile. “After you, mademoiselle.”

Caliban was so... different, tonight. While always mischievous and wild, he so rarely seemed so weightless. You had certainly never been so girlish and nervous. It was if Sabrina had plucked you out of your infernal daily lives and tucked you into the pages of your favorite Cinderella storybook.

If only for the night.

and i'm speechless

starin' at you standin' there in that dress

what it's doin' to me ain't a secret

'cause watching you is all that i can do

and i'm speechless

you already know that you're my weakness

after all this time i'm just as nervous

every time you walk into the room

i'm speechless

Moon Valley Estate had been pristinely decorated- the storybook theme the prom committee had picked decidedly less cheesy in actuality than it had seemed on the flyers. You admired the fairy lights and lanterns hanging from the trees as Caliban led you up the carpeted stone steps, stopped only by the lingering prom photographer who informed you that you were late- but Sabrina had called and ordered him to stay put (of course she did).

“How late are we?” You asked with a nervous smile, tugging on Caliban’s arm- that you hadn’t let go of since you’d taken it, not that he’d mentioned it.

“Well-“ Caliban began, smiling as the doors opened to a packed ballroom full of your peers all turning to look at you- “I’d say we’re fashionably late.”

You barely stifled a groan.

Even the music quieted a little as everyone craned to look at the pair of you- whispers and wide eyes following you as you descended the staircase.

“You planned this.” You hissed through your smile. “And you are so, so dead for this.”

Caliban moved his hand to the small of your back, gently guiding you towards the center of the dance floor as he basked in the hushed whispers that followed you. “I’d be glad to continue our night in Hell, princess- I didn’t know you moved so quickly.”

You took the opportunity to elbow him sharply, although your words lacked the bite you'd intended. “I’d like to skip to the part of the night where I ditch you to get really drunk on spiked punch, and then throw up on your tux.”

“Prince Charming is hardly deterred by such things. I’m offended at your lack of faith in my dedication here.” Caliban grinned, extending a hand out to you as he bowed dramatically. “Would you allow me this dance, my lady?”

Your answering laugh was wicked- a decidedly unladylike noise at the decidedly un-Caliban-like behavior. “The perfect opportunity to step on your feet- how can I pass up such an opportunity, my lord?”

Your wit died on your tongue as Caliban placed his large hand on your waist, using the other to gently grip yours. He guided you expertly across the dance floor- and you hardly noticed the floor clear for you.

He spun and twirled you around, pausing for just a moment to dip you. It was fanciful and fast and fun- something that positively took your breath away, and not just from the dancing.

You could hardly contain your giddy laughter as the music died, the song drawing to a reluctant end as Caliban slowed. “I didn’t know you could dance so well!”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, princess.” He smiled, hand still tightly clutching your waist. “But the night is still young, and so we dance.”

yeah, baby, mmm

it's always on a night like tonight

i thank god you can read my mind

'cause when you look at me with those eyes

And so you danced.

You spent the night in his arms, lifted and tossed and spun to your heart’s content. You’d certainly never felt so carefree- and never so content as you did in his arms.

Caliban never grew tired- you reckoned it was some infernal making, but his smile never dulled nor did his arms loosen around you. He smiled at you and your clumsy feet like you weren’t just Sabrina’s cousin- neither divine nor half as damning. In Caliban’s eyes- you had always been more than enough on your own.

Or had you been?

As midnight drew closer, the couples around you grew more restless- be it the spiked punch or the weed you knew had been smuggled into the bathrooms. Whatever it was- you were itching to make a break for it, and the slow song starting up was a perfect exit.

“One last dance?” Caliban crooned, sensing your readiness to leave before the night got dicey.

You smiled breathlessly, tucking yourself further into his arms as you rested your head against his chest. He smelled like ocean- something salty and windswept and altogether Caliban. “Tonight has been perfect, Caliban, thank you.”

“Thank you,” Caliban chuckled, burying his face in your curls, “for a mortal night like this. I can see why you love it the way you do- this life.”

“It’s not always perfect,” you mumbled, pulling back slightly as you entwined your hands behind his neck.

His arms encircled your waist, bringing your face closer to his. His breath fanned your face as he smiled at you- a small one, devoid of all mischief but just as sinful. “No, but you are.”

“So cheesy tonight, clay prince. No smoothness for me- no charm?” You teased gently, playing softly with his hair at the nape of his neck.

“I fear my heart can only speak with honestly tonight, fair princess.” He waxed, voice poetic as it so often was on his dramatic tangents. “Your lips are so quick to scorn and quicker still to wound me- I wonder if such wicked, bitter things could still taste sweet?”

He leaned in closer- if that was even possible- eyes warm as his hands moved to caress your waist. “I wonder....”

And he kissed you, his lips burning as they moved against your own. You responded in turn, brain melting through your shoes as he enveloped you.

Caliban was the first to pull back, smiling softly down at you as he did so. He opened his mouth to say something- when it clicked in your head.

You turned and ran, the clang of midnight echoing behind you.

i'm speechless

you standin' there in that dress

girl, it ain't a secret

'cause watchin' you is all that i can do

oh, i'm speechless

you already know that you're my weakness

after all this time i'm just as nervous

every time you walk into the room

i'm speechless

You found yourself tucked into your favorite booth at Dr. Cerberus’s- ignorant of the curious looks you received at your gown, tear stains, and single shoe. A steaming mug of tea sat before you, but it felt cold in your hands. You felt hollow.

You cursed yourself for falling for the infernal prince- the challenger to your cousin’s throne, the demonic entity surely to be satisfied once he knew your heart was in the palm of his damned clay hand. After all- you weren't Sabrina.

And that had been fine. You loved your foolish, brilliant, damning cousin. You had never been envious of her- even now, even like this. You had never needed to be special- you’d seen what it had done to Brina. But tonight you’d caught a glimpse of that fairytale- and it stung to know that a mortal girl could hardly be enough for a prince.

Even one of hell.

“You lost this.” A miserable voice filled the air, heavy and soft as the owner slid into the booth across from you.

You glanced up in shock, quickly moving to wipe the tears from your eyes that threatened to fall. It was Caliban- looking similarly disheveled, tie undone and shirt partially unbuttoned and untucked. He ran his a hand through his hair, slouching into the booth.

Caliban held the glass slipper out to you, regretfully placing it on the table when it was clear you would not accept it. It was silent for a moment- the tension in the booth nearly drowning you as you swallowed the hurt building in your throat.

“What do you want? Come to gloat that the game is up? That you won?” You demanded, the anger sounding hollow even to yourself.

Caliban looked momentarily stunned. “What are you talking about? I’m here because my date left me on the dance floor after I spent the entire night trying to win her heart and- like a fool- believed she could love me back.”

“What are YOU talking about!” You forcefully demanded back, slamming the mug down so hard on the table it spilled over the edges. “I’m here because my date faked this whole night- these whole two months- as some plot to get at my cousin somehow, and I’m here looking like a fool because even though I knew that from the beginning- I went and caught feelings for him anyway!”

“You thought this was all all a game?” Caliban roared, suddenly every inch the infernal prince you knew him to be. Your froze in momentary fear- you’d never seen his eyes burn like that.

At the look in your eyes, Caliban softened ruefully. “See? The worthless demon, going and screwing everything up. How could you love a monster like me? How could I be worth it?”

How could he not be worth it? You looked back on the last two months and the night with a heavy heart. For all his faults, Caliban was always kind to you- listened to all your trivial bullshit with genuine interest. He walked you home after spending hours together in this booth- offering his coat in the cold or rain- and a kiss on your cheek as he bid you goodnight. On weekends he’d let you drag him all over town, and at night he’d sit through the drive in with you, buying too much popcorn and always managing to piss off the cars next to you. He made you laugh until your sides ached, smile until your face hurt, and compliment you “just to see that pretty blush of yours, princess.” You’d never been as happy as you’d been these last few weeks.

And then tonight. He’d gone through all of this trouble to bring to life your favorite mortal story- he’d even conjured glass slippers. He’d been the perfect gentleman- your very own prince charming, you thought to yourself with a watery giggle. There was an unpleasant sinking in your chest as you realized you’d gone and messed up big time.

“You love me?” You asked quietly, forcing yourself to meet Caliban’s eyes. He looked... defeated, almost- and you felt your heart splinter further.

He seemed surprised at the question. “I... I thought if I took this night- the most mortal night I could think of- and made it perfect, that I could show you. That you would see me as something other than the clay prince. I love you. I love how weightless you make me feel. How I don’t have to pretend around you- how you make everything so easy when it’s not. How I’ve lived through so much, but never felt as alive as I do when you lean your head on my shoulder. Gods, I don’t deserve someone as perfect as you- but I’ve been trying to be better. I never wanted you to see this- to see me- as a game.” Caliban trailed off at the end, his words hardly a whisper as he stared down at his hands.

You moved out of the booth, steeling your resolve as you slid into the seat beside him. He eyed you curiously, the question dying on his lips as you took his face in your hands.

“I love you.” And you kissed him, hard and long and full of all the emotions you knew you would never be able to put into words the way he could. He responded in turn, arms wrapping around you tightly as you smiled into the kiss.

And for once, it was enough.

-------

please please please give me some feedback I was super unsure about this one!!

#caliban #prince caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader #sabrina morningstar #sabrina spellman #theo putnam #coz #roz walker #harvey kinkle #nicholas scratch #the weird sisters #ambrose spellman #zelda spellman #hilda spellman #sabrina spellman imagine #caos #caos season 3 #chilling adventures of sabrina

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deathloveshischicagopizza · 3 years

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We Remain "Previously On" Timeline

I've decided to move the timeline up for... well, mostly for convenience to be honest, but also to help match up the Moon Phases. Apologies for any inconvenience/misunderstanding! (ALSO THIS IS 100 PERCENT NOT GOING TO INCLUDE ANY REAL-WORLD EVENTS FROM THE LAST 5 YEARS SO DON'T EVEN WORRY ABOUT THAT)

Previously on... Vampire Diaries...:

2017 AD:

26 May (Fri, New Moon): Delena meet, Grayson and Miranda die

4-8 September (Mon-Fri, Full Moon-Waning Gibbous): S1E1 “Pilot”, S1E2 “Night of the Comet”

11-15 September (Mon-Fri, Last Quarter): S1E3 “Friday Night Bites”

16-17 September (Sat-Sun, Last Quarter): S1E4 “Family Ties”

21-23 September (Thurs-Sat, New Moon): S1E5 “You’re Undead to Me”, S1E6 “Lost Girls”

30-31 October (Mon-Tues, Waxing Gibbous): S1E7 “Haunted”

1 November (Wed, Waxing Gibbous): S1E8 “162 Candles” (which is already incorrect even if the episode took place in 2009 because Stefan was born in 1846 so he would be 163 not 162, so I’m just changing it to be “171 Candles”)

27-30 November (Mon-Thurs, First Quarter): S1E9 “History Repeating”

30 November-3 December (Thurs-Sun, Full): S1E10 “The Turning Point”, S1E11 “Bloodlines”

7-9 December (Thurs-Fri, Last Quarter): S1E12 “Unpleasantville”

16-17 December (Sat-Sun, New): S1E13 “Children of the Damned”, S1E14 “Fool Me Once”

2017-2018 AD (transitioning/new year):

27 December-2 January (Wed-Tues, First Quarter-Full): S1E15 “A Few Good Men”

2018 AD:

12-13 January (Fri-Sat, Waning Crescent): S1E16 “There Goes the Neighborhood”, S1E17 “Let the Right One In”

30 January (Tues, Full): S1E18 “Under Control”

9-10 February (Fri-Sat, Waning Crescent): S1E19 “Miss Mystic Falls”

16-17 February (Fri-Sat, New): S1E20 “Blood Brothers”, S1E21 “Isobel”

22-25 February (Thurs-Sun, First Quarter): S1E22 “Founders Day”, S2E1 “The Return”, S2E2 “Brave New World”

2-4 March (Fri-Sun, Full): S2E3 “Bad Moon Rising”, S2E4 “Memory Lane”, S2E5 “Kill or Be Killed”

7 March (Wed, Waning Gibbous): S2E6 “Plan B”

11-13 March (Sun-Tues, Last Quarter): S2E7 “Masquerade”, S2E8 “Rose”, S2E9 “Katerina”

19 March (Mon, New): S2E10 “The Sacrifice”

30 March-2 April (Fri-Mon, Full): S2E11 “By the Light of the Moon”, S2E12 “The Descent”, S2E13 “Daddy Issues”

3-4 April (Tues-Wed, Waning Gibbous): S2E14 “Crying Wolf”, S2E15 “The Dinner Party”

9-10 April (Mon-Tues, Last Quarter): S2E16 “The House Guest”, S2E17 “Know Thy Enemy”

13-14 April (Fri-Sat, Waning Crescent): S2E18 “The Last Dance”, S2E19 “Klaus”

28-30 April (Sat-Mon, Full): S2E20 “The Last Day”, S2E21 “The Sun Also Rises”, S2E22 “As I Lay Dying

22-30 June (Fri, Waxing Gibbous-Full): S3E1 “The Birthday”, S3E2 “The Hybrid”, S3E3 “The End of the Affair”

31 August (Fri, Waning Gibbous): S3E4 “Disturbing Behavior”

2-5 September (Sun-Wed, Last Quarter): S3E5 “The Reckoning”, S3E6 “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, S3E7 “Ghost World”

15 September (Sat, Waxing Crescent): S3E8 “Ordinary People”

21-22 September (Fri-Sat, Waxing Gibbous): S3E9 “Homecoming”

30 September (Sun, Last Quarter): S3E10 “The New Deal”

10-11 October (Wed-Thurs, New): S3E11 “Our Town”

20-21 October (Sat-Sun, Full): S3E12 “The Ties That Bind”, S3E13 “Bringing Out the Dead”

22-24 October (Mon-Wed, Full): S3E14 “Dangerous Liaisons”, S3E15 “All My Children”, S3E16 “1912”

27-28 October (Sat-Sun), Waning Gibbous): S3E17 “Break On Through”, S3E18 “The Murder of One”

3 November (Sat, Waning Crescent): S3E19 “Heart of Darkness”

9-12 November (Fri-Mon, New): S3E20 “Do Not Go Gentle”, S3E21 “Before Sunset”, S3E22 “The Departed”, S4E1 “Growing Pains”

17-18 November (Sat-Sun, Waxing Gibbous): S4E2 “Memorial”

26-28 November (Mon-Wed, Waning Gibbous): S4E3 “The Rager”, S3E4 “The Five”, S3E5 “The Killer”

29-30 November (Thurs-Fri, Last Quarter): S4E6 “We All Go a Little Mad Sometimes”

8-11 December (Sat-Tues, New): S4E7 “My Brother’s Keeper”, S4E8 “We’ll Always Have Bourbon Street”

12 December (Wed, Waxing Crescent): S4E9 “O Come, All Ye Faithful”

2019 AD

5-8 January (Sat-Tues, ~New): S4E10 “After School Special”, S4E11 “Catch Me If You Can”, S4E12 “A View to a Kill”

Recent Events: TVD Season Four (2019 AD)

9-10 January (Wed-Thurs, New Moon): S4E13 “Into the Wild”

11-12 January (Fri-Sat, New Moon): S4E14 “Down the Rabbit Hole” and S4E15 “Stand By Me”

12 Jan: Elena flips switch / burns house down

20 January-15 February: S4E16 “Bring It On”

20 Jan (Sun, Full Moon): “it’s only been a couple days” convo

15 Feb (Fri, Waxing Gibbous): “going back to school” convo / adventure, Elena’s party, Carolena fight, Klayley get “close”, Delena go to NYC

16-17 Feb (Sat-Sun, Full Moon): S4E17 “Because the Night”

16 Feb: Elena / Damon explore NYC, Bonnie completes Expression Triangle

17 Feb: Klaroline spat while burying bodies, start of Beklena road trip

5 March (Tues, New Moon): S4E18 “American Gothic”

Beklena were on the road for about 2 weeks before Willoughby

Beklena find Katherine / interrogate her

Elena goes to meet “em” at the gazebo

#timeline #we remain #tvd #the originals #the vampire diaries #timeline fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #elejah fanfic

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kokobussy · 4 years

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neon.

pairing: yoongi x reader, mentions of jin x reader

warning: general smut, bareback, brief cockwarming, cheating, oral sex

summary: Yoongi has loved you for ten very very long years, every part of you, and he’s kept it to himself all of this time.

inspiration: neon by yukika, and i’m here by kim kyung hee

10 years.

Min Yoongi has been in love with you for 10 long years. He’s loved you through your awful 20’s where the world was cruel and unkind to the both of you. He’s loved you through your saddest moments, where you didn’t think you could make it through another night of pain. He’s loved you during every one of your experimental phases so far, like that one time you tried to cut your own bangs or when he thought he could DIY platinum blonde hair on a budget. Instead, at the sight of your uneven bangs and Yoongi’s damaged remnants of hair, the two of you decided to shave it all off in solidarity; or that other time where you swore keeping a pet snail was a good idea. While neither of you still really don’t know what happened to her, you could only assume the snail ran away, never to be seen or heard from again. Yoongi has loved you through reckless nights where you consumed as much pizza and cheesy ramen as you could or got permanent ink scarred into your skin, despite your lactose intolerance and frowning bank account.

He’s loved you through graduate school and the constant questioning of if you were doing the “right” thing, if all of this was really meant to be your path and if not then what was? He’s loved you through all of the unpredictable and turbulent events life has thrown, an attempt on life’s part to try and make you ugly and bitter. Thanks to family, friends, and Yoongi, you weren’t ugly and bitter and neither was he; for that much he was grateful.

In short, Yoongi has loved you for ten very very long years, every part of you, and he’s kept it to himself all of this time.

He’s never been good with feelings. He’s never really ever been good at expressing himself fully or saying what’s on his mind. Often enough his words, half-formed and barely thought out, end up hurting people more than actually resolving situations. Words are...difficult. They’re intricate and mischievous, pulling the rug from underneath your feet when you think you’ve got it right, and they never seem to be enough. Despite the intimate moments the two of you have shared over the years, delicate scenes that if one squinted could seem romantic to anyone, like the long walks around Namsan Park where you held hands and told each other secrets or visiting the Spring Flower Festival in Yeouido and cuddling against each other, Yoongi could never find the right words to say to describe how he felt for you.

At the same time, as much as he wanted to tell you, he didn’t want to tell you. He’s your rock, the one you go to whenever life swallows you into an unending stormy sea, and you’re his whenever he feels like he might drown. Yoongi didn’t want any of that to change. He didn’t want your friendship fading out because of his feelings. The two of you were always there for each other in a way that Yoongi could never find in other relationships, platonically or otherwise.

Sure, you’ve had partners because of Yoongi’s cowardice, but he couldn’t be angry or upset. Without speaking to you about it, how could you know how he felt? Yoongi had partners to quell the pain and upset boiling inside of him, but relationships born out of spite never lasted long; especially when those partners eventually found out the reasons for Yoongi’s inattention.

Because the two of you depended on each other for just about everything, neither of your relationships ever really went well. Yoongi would be more than eager to drop just about everything for you if you needed him. He’d leave in the middle of dates with a series of excuses if you were going through a tough time. He would even cancel plans last minute just to help you with a paper or provide moral support for a job interview gone horribly wrong. You, in turn, were no better. You went out of your way to spend as much time as you could with Yoongi outside of part-time jobs and school. You’d plan elaborate gifts and celebrations that paled in comparison to what you provided for your partners at the time. You threw birthday parties speckled in green with green cupcakes to match just to see Yoongi’s gummy smile. You bought his first mixtape and did whatever you could to get people to listen. You threw a party when that promotion eventually turned into a contract with a record label, still filled with the same green cupcakes that Yoongi loved. You bought him reminders of memories the two of you have had, like the cowboy hat mug or the pomegranate painting you made yourself. You drew him mementos of your time together, like the Spring Flower Festival memories you made or a piece inspired by his songs. You gave him all these things even when you barely remembered your partners’ birthdays and he barely remembered his own anniversary dates.

Looking back on it now, Yoongi wishes he was strong enough to say something; strong enough to create healthy boundaries so you weren’t so dependent on each other all of the time. So he could deal with this in a normal way and finally get over you.

Yoongi remembers the day, the hour, the minute you told him. It was in the middle of a museum with carefully curated artwork that didn’t really matter to him.

All that mattered was that it mattered to you.

Usually he would sit there with you for hours while you sketched emotions and patterns that he couldn’t really understand. At first, it all seemed like fake deep art to him, but gradually his opinion changed. After explanation upon explanation and passion alighting in your eyes as you spoke, Yoongi learned to love it. Maybe not as much as you, but it was enough.

Although these visits were usually filled with a lonely silence that accompanied watching someone work, Yoongi didn’t mind. He didn’t mind because of the fact that he could watch you here without it being too weird. He could watch you swell with inspiration and creativity that blossomed so violently and passionately that he could only stare on in awe.

It was during one of these visits that you told him. You told him so suddenly, so abruptly, that Yoongi briefly spiraled into anger, a vicious thing that reeked of green. That anger that had built so quickly, dissipated just as fast when he saw how happy you were. You were practically glowing in the streams of autumn sunlight coming through the large window panes.

So Yoongi smiled.

He smiled so hard that the corners of his mouth ached. He smiled so hard that his face felt stuck even when he pulled you into his arms and spun you around in celebration. He smiled some more when he hugged you to him for a while; hugged you as tight as he could without hurting you, just so you wouldn’t be able to see the tears that started welling up in his eyes.

After three long years, you were finally getting married to Seokjin, and Yoongi’s happy for you. Really.

In fact, he’s so happy that he’s out at a bar tonight with a few good friends of his, drinking his sorrows away and trying to bury them in some 27-year-old bear with something to prove.

Despite its tragic origin, the night has been going relatively well so far. It was Hoseok that decided a night on the town would get Yoongi’s mind off of this. Off of you. It wasn’t that Yoongi had been a wreck since you told him, but he was...well a wreck. Yoongi didn’t sleep much. He went wedding dress shopping along with your other friends and family and helped his close friend, Seokjin, write his wedding vows. Seokjin has been Yoongi’s childhood friend for 15 years. He’s known you for 11 years. You and Seokjin met at one of his green birthday parties on his 26th birthday. Because of these friendships with both of you, Yoongi has been in the middle of the wedding and assisting both of you with everything that either of you needed. The only people who supported Yoongi through this was Taehyung and Hoseok. Taehyung who readily agreed to the outing and, with Hoseok right at his side, dragged Yoongi out of his sad messy apartment to King, a local gay bar.

Together they grabbed drinks, danced, and toasted to new beginnings. As much as Yoongi didn’t want to view it as an end, as a life-changing moment, it seemed the rest of his friends wanted to. This was the somehow “end” of your single life and the birth of your married life as if the two weren’t one and the same. After a few shots of vodka, Taehyung wandered off with a twunk and hadn’t been seen since. The only thing he left Hoseok and Yoongi with was a text that had an okay, eggplant, and street emoji for context.

On the other hand, Hoseok surprisingly remains at the bar with Yoongi, quietly sipping a beer and trying to make his dearest friend laugh. Sure everything hurts, but it isn’t the end of the world. Yoongi laughs along with some of Hoseok’s jokes and tries his hardest to enjoy the time his friends dedicated to him. Just like he got over being bald for a few months and getting an ear infection from a “piercer” in your old college apartment during a rager, Yoongi will get over this too.

After it’s all said and done, everything will go back to normal because...it’ll have to. Because there won’t be any hope left. Eventually Yoongi will find closure and a love that will be entirely reciprocated. He’ll be able to spend all of his energy and adoration on someone who was able to accept and return it.

Now that you’re gone, he thinks, I’ll really have to find someone.

A voice just above his ear brings him back to the here and now, “Something wrong?”

Yoongi blinks back to the present, away from painful memories and missed chances, and looks up at the man that’s been trying to flirt with him all night. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s incredibly handsome with a hot dad bod to match, but he’s not you. He doesn’t have the comfort that you bring or the glint in your eye just before you say something so incredibly horrid, but funny that Yoongi can’t help but laugh at. It has nothing to do with the physicality of it all; nothing to do with men versus women and so on. It is only that Yoongi’s heart is thoroughly taken by you. “M’ fine,” he says with a smile, lifting up his glass to drink the remnants of a cheap whiskey sour with far too much ice, “Just had a little too much to drink.”

The Bear laughs accordingly, not really caring about what Yoongi’s actually saying, and pulls at the belt loop in Yoongi’s jeans to force the two of them closer. Yoongi welcomes the touch, welcomes the desire that he sees in the Bear’s eyes, and leans against him entirely. This man’s touch, no matter how horny it is, distracts his aching heart; helps him run away from his chaotic feelings and frustrations. “Hopefully not too much,” the Bear says into his ear, nipping at the lobe. As this handsome stranger whispers filthy promises into Yoongi’s ear, whispers of pounding his ass into the mattress and bending him in half, Yoongi thinks he can do this.

He can give himself up to the universe and have a good time without thought or consequence. Although the timing is right, although there’s a condom or two in his wallet, although he thoroughly prepped just a few hours before leaving the bar, there’s something holding him back. A feeling that tells him he shouldn’t run off with this guy, not right now, not when something more important is about to happen. But Yoongi promptly ignores the feeling and is just about to kiss away his doubts and fears when he catches a glint of light on the Bear’s leather jacket.

Something makes Yoongi look down at his phone on the counter to see exactly why the screen is lighting up just as he’s about to get lucky. He finds a familiar number glaring back at him, with poop emojis to match. It’s not an ex-boyfriend, ex-girlfriend, or ex-partner calling to plead for him to take another chance at their disastrous relationship — which surprisingly has happened far too many times — it’s you of all people.

The sight of your name has Yoongi pulling away from the man in front of him and disappearing to a dimly lit bathroom in the far corner of the bar. He barely manages to answer before it goes to voicemail, clamoring into the red-lit men’s room and staring at the thoroughly soaked sink in front of him. Despite the way he’s starting to slightly sober up as the pain returns, thoughts of your wedding on his mind again, Yoongi is happy to hear your voice.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?”

It should be a simple enough inquiry, but it isn’t. While you’ve always been a night owl, you should be getting as much rest as you can. After all, you do have a busy day ahead of you. By now you should be asleep and wrapped in a series of blankets, but you’re not. Yoongi, having a big part in the wedding, should also be resting, but instead, he’s out with his friends and vaguely picking up on the whimpers in a stall to his left. What clues him in to the fact that something might be wrong is the tick in your voice.

It’s a tick he’s heard, pointed out, and fixed plenty of times. A tick that lets him know that you may not be doing too well. You hide your emotions just like Yoongi does, behind vague words and false reassurances. After years of knowing you though, Yoongi can always tell when you’re upset. That tick, that foreign accretion in your voice, mimics a performance that you can’t fully commit to. Maybe to someone like Seokjin or Hoseok, it might take a while to pick up on, but Yoongi has it down to a science.

That tick allows Yoongi to keep the conversation moving from small talk to jokes as he prepares himself for the cold January night he’s about to embrace.

“I’m at King right now with Tae and Hobi. Is everything okay?”

“Oh! You’re out right now?” How you don’t hear the grunts and moans steadily increasing in volume is a mystery to him. Why Yoongi didn’t simply go outside is also a mystery to him. “Don’t worry about it,” you continue, seemingly unaware, “You better not be late!”

“No, no,” Yoongi says hurriedly, a glimmer of small hope rising in his chest at the idea of seeing you, “Where are you?”

Yoongi’s already running his fingers through his disheveled and club influenced exterior. He fixes the wild mess his black hair has become, buttons up his shirt a bit, and tries to hopelessly and unsuccessfully take off the eyeliner Taehyung insisted on him wearing. But after a few minutes of fussing, he gives up entirely. It’s good enough for the night he’s been having and he doubts that you’ll even notice or care what he looks like anyway. Although he’s trying to have a conversation, the sound of skin hitting skin and moaning only grows as, Yoongi hopes, someone cums. He really should’ve just stepped outside.

“Yoongi it’s no big deal, really. Have a good time,” you insist, “and make sure you’re not late for my wedding, asshole. It’s like 1 am! Promise me you won’t get home too late.” Yoongi stares into the mirror, rolling his eyes at a pathetic mewl that leaves the stall, and makes up his mind right then and there, “Yeah I promise.”

As soon as his phone beeps, Yoongi rushes out of the bathroom to the bar where Hoseok has just started to talk to the Bear about a basketball game unironically. “What’s going on,” Hoseok asks, taking in Yoongi’s now neat appearance as Yoongi’s coat is taken off his shoulders and returned to its owner’s.

Yoongi pulls his arms through the trench coat in record time, wrapping the scarf that was buried in its massive pockets around his neck. As Yoongi settles his tab, Taehyung appears at Hoseok’s side, positively glowing post-coitus. “Had a nice time?” Yoongi asks, smiling when Taehyung curls around him all spent and happy. The puppy simply nods, looking over at the Bear who watches the two of them curiously. “What’s happening,” Hoseok asks, more demands, as the pair look at him, “Why are you leaving?”

“You’re leaving?” Taehyung and the Bear ask in unison, both with equally sad pouts on their faces.

“Nothing and yeah,” Yoongi answers hurriedly, signing his receipt and trying to do math in order to leave a decent tip, “it’s just—”

“Y/N?” Hoseok finishes, looking almost bored.

When they make eye contact, Hoseok’s gaze isn’t accusatory or upset, it’s filled with a tangible worry that has always been there since Yoongi revealed his feelings for you to him in confidence.

For a moment Yoongi thinks of all the talks and arguments they’ve ever had about you. They were mostly about how Yoongi should do something. How he should step up and say how he feels rather than sitting on the sidelines and remaining emotionally constipated. Even if it didn’t work out, at least you would know and Yoongi would be free.

“It’s not good for you,” Hoseok would say, “you deserve better.”

Looking at him now, Yoongi can tell that Hoseok isn’t mad at him at all. He’s just disappointed and honestly, Yoongi would rather have an angry Hoseok than a disappointed one. While he appreciates every bit of his friends’ concern and while he definitely needed to talk about boundaries, Yoongi needs to get to you. “I’m sorry,” is all Yoongi can offer, kissing Taehyung’s temple, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Even though Hoseok huffs and mumbles something snide under his breath, he still leans into the hug Yoongi gives him and Tae and the Bear who had somehow become a part of the whole thing. Then Yoongi is off and rushing down the streets of Yongsan-gu the one sanctuary the two of you have always had. It’s the only place you could be.

It’s a shitty hole in the wall.

As long as you’ve been coming here, the owner hasn’t changed or updated more than she’s had to. It’s small, crowded, and the entire place smells like heady broth, but it’s been a home for you since college. You never knew the name, and still don’t, because the owner refused to give it one. The only thing you had to go by was landmarks whenever you went to the shop and the feeling of familiarity and home that guided you. What makes this place home is the fact that it never changes. No matter how many scars you gathered from bumping into things or tripping in your life; no matter how many times you cried your eyes out when you dealt with your family even from abroad; no matter how many days went by that could only be accounted for by feeling and glimpses of events; this place never changes.

Yoongi is another thing that hasn’t changed in all the time that you’ve known him. Despite the trials and tribulations, the unending struggles he’s had to go through, Yoongi has remained your ever-present and diligent friend and you’re incredibly thankful for him.

There’s a flash of movement by the door, faster than the people walking by on the street. You can see Yoongi come to a stop from presumably running, leaning on his knees and heaving out of breath. He wipes sweat that probably isn’t there and waves off the people who gawk at him on the sidewalk and ask if he’s okay. Although you told him not to come, a small part of you knew that he would anyway. He’d come without even knowing what’s actually going on with you. It makes your heart swell, makes you giggle at the sight of him waving off a few stragglers, but it also makes your heart ache. Yoongi shouldn’t have to drop everything for you. He shouldn’t have left his plans to make sure you were okay. Of course, you’re happy to see him, but you’re also sad you ruined his night. You manage to compose yourself, looking back into your empty bowl, just in time for Yoongi to get himself together and come through the door.

All signs of exhaustion fall from his face when he sees you sitting at the bar in your usual spot. “What are you doing here,” you grin, pretending to be surprised. Yoongi sits beside you and greets the owner, an ajumma, with a slight nod and a big smile. She leans over to pinch his cheek, smiling at the way he winces, before going to prepare his usual order.

For a while the two of you sit there in silence, listening to the clanging of pots and shuffle of shoes as Ajumma cooks in the back. Even though you ruined his night out, having Yoongi be here with you in this moment steadily begins to calm you down. He’s always been able to do this; to help you relax even when everything seemed to collapse around you. You can only hope that he feels the same way around you too. “So,” Yoongi pipes up, leaning against the counter to get a good view of you, “why the hell are you up right now? You’re getting married in like 3 hours.” It’s actually 9 and a half hours, but who’s counting? When you flinch at the question, Yoongi’s smile quickly fades. He wracks his brain for any number of problems that could’ve occurred to make this much of an impact on your big day. Jin’s too rich for it to be money, too carefree for it to be something you wanted but didn’t get, and too traditional for any outrageous plans to go entirely wrong. Jin wanted two simple weddings, one traditional in Korea and the other traditional according to your home country. You had readily agreed to the idea so what could possibly be wrong?

But before he can ask any more questions, Yoongi can see the tears welling up in your eyes as you ask, “What if I’m making a mistake?”

If Yoongi was a weaker man, he’d say yes. He’d say you’re making a mistake because you could have him instead. You could be with someone who cares for you deeply and knows you inside and out. You could be with someone who doesn’t cringe when he has to buy you tampons or makes fun of you when you go on one of your famous pointillism rants. You could be with someone who doesn’t complain when you grab at their jacket and demand physical affection or who always forgets why you naturally lean to the side when you’re trying to see without your glasses on. You could be with someone who doesn’t point out the way you eat nearly everything with your hands and always end up with sauce on your shirt. You could be with someone who quells your worries easily without much effort. You could be with him.

Yoongi would say all of these things if he didn’t care about whether or not it’s the right thing to do, but Yoongi isn’t a weak man. He’s a strong man, who cares about you more than anything or anyone, and he’ll do anything to make you happy.

“You love Jin so much, Y/N,” Yoongi says, sighing a bit like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “You’re just scared and it’s okay to be scared. I think you’re just getting cold feet.”

You should never be afraid to be with the one you marry forever. It should be a joyous occasion, something that you celebrate and joyously scream to tell everyone over. It’s something that should make you cry from happiness and not fear, but he doesn’t say that and neither does Ajumma who drops your respective bowls in front of you and heads back into the kitchen.

When you don’t respond right away, your eyes lost in the swirling heat of your kalguksu, Yoongi tries again and swallows the lump forming in his throat as he goes. “You said yes for a reason. You’re just second-guessing yourself which happens to people all the time.”

Then why am I so scared, you want to ask, then why do I feel like this is the worst mistake I could ever make?

You nod along with Yoongi’s words anyway and try to will away this foreboding feeling that fills your bones. You’ll be married in 8 hours now to the supposed love of your life and maybe 8 hours from now the nerves will disappear altogether.

The two of you eat three heaping bowls of noodles each in silence before leaving Ajumma a hefty top and bidding her farewell. By the time you begin walking home, Yongsan-gu’s crowds have begun thinning out greatly for a Friday night. There are stretches where people are scarce, where no one is really around, and it feels like it’s just the two of you in the entirety of Seoul. Yoongi comes up with ridiculous jokes just to make you laugh and maybe hams up his performance for that little ugly snort he knows you’re capable of making. He tries to ignore the way you hang onto his arm as you both walk to the bus stop; tries to ignore the way it makes his heart flutter when you look at him with each red crosswalk.

But this time, just as you can see the bus stop in the distance, his eyes find yours when he feels them once again on his person. You don’t refrain from looking or pretend like you hadn’t been the entire time. Your eyes stay there, trained on him as if deciding something for yourself that Yoongi can’t see.

When you arrive at the stop, it seems you’ve made your decision. “Remember my apartment,” you ask, still looking at Yoongi. Of course, he does. How could he forget?

With all of the wedding planning and general chaos that came with booking multiple appointments, cleaning out your apartment had somehow slipped through the cracks. The two of you have been working on moving your things out bit by bit, packing up or throwing away memories to move into Jin’s big condo. Jin had helped you move here and there, but it was really Yoongi who did a bulk of the work. Jin had fancy businessman meetings to attend to with fancy co-workers while you and Yoongi had more...freelance work that could be done anywhere at any time.

Although movers did most of the heavy lifting, you still had to pack the small things and say goodbye to your old life. After being there all week, why would he suddenly forget? “Duh,” is all he responds with, waiting for you to get to the point. “Can we stay there tonight?”

It’s a stupid idea.

You were just worried about him late a few hours ago and now you’re risking throwing your 50k wedding out of the window for a sleepover. You could be late for pictures or miss the ride over from morning traffic or any number of things that could greatly impact your big day. Although these concerns swim through his head, Yoongi sees the desperation lurking in your eyes, the absolute need for an escape, and he realizes he could never deny you. “Don’t blame me if you’re late,” he shrugs, a smile breaking out when you grin, “and you’re paying for the Uber.”

The ride to your apartment is uneventful and silent as tension fills the small car. Yoongi isn’t sure what you’re quietly pondering as you watch the scenery change on your way to Mapo-gu, but he knows better than to pry. After 20 minutes of silence, the two of you arrive at your old building. You both find your way upstairs, all the way to the 7th floor, and head into apartment 708 in that same silence from Ajumma’s shop.

Of course your apartment is empty. The once familiar space, filled with knickknacks and various posters, is now hollow. After 10 years of living here, the only thing that remains now is the ugly mustard couch you won in an arm-wrestling match with a neighbor and the cheap red blanket Yoongi won at a fair for you that sits on top of it. Although you’re proud of the story of the couch, used it as a talking point for guests whenever they came to your apartment, you ended up giving it away to the next tenant. The couch faces the window with neon purple lights reflecting off of its strange color. Your heavy boots echo off the walls, amplifying just how woefully empty this space is, as you follow the couch’s line of vision to the window.

When you first moved in, your landlord swore it was the best view in the entire complex, but the only thing that took up most of that view was a giant purple neon sign for fortune-telling. The sign was simple in nature. It had a vulnerable palm, a crystal ball with a question mark in the middle, moons and stars, and a script that said “Destiny Awaits”.

At first, it made for good aesthetic Instagram pictures and a comforting landmark to stare at during fights with exes, but eventually it became a nuisance. Its purple gaze stared into your apartment and never left you in the complete darkness you desired now that you couldn’t have it. Whether it was day or night, the sign was on and blaring, even when no one was there. Occasionally you’d go by the small shop and ask for the light to be turned off, but it was never open when you went. Then you realized you hadn’t really seen anyone venture in or out of the space. Soon you complained about its invasiveness, its unending lights, and it bothered you to no end. Even now, your apartment is alight with its purple haze.

It wasn’t until you’d lived there for a few years that you actually managed to get inside of the place.

You’d just come back from a rambunctious night with Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung, and a few other friends. You and Yoongi walked hand-in-hand, trying to guide each other back to your apartment with drunken giggly steps. As you walked by the building that was the source of your complaining, for the first time in three years you saw the lights were on inside and people were sitting there, muted and transfixed on its decorations.

It didn’t take much to convince Yoongi to come inside with you. The only thing that bent him towards your will was the promise of takeout the minute you arrived at your apartment. You approached the counter where a young woman sat, popping gum between her lips and scrolling through a feed that disappeared the minute you walked up. She looked annoyed as you pondered what the best service would be for you and Yoongi, but didn’t say much. By minute five, she was tired of you and picked a service before holding out her hand for the money. You gave her cash, waited for the change, and once she gave it, the woman returned to her feed without so much as a goodbye.

So there the two of you sat, whisper-yelling inside jokes and staring at the artifacts that covered the shop. The place smelled of incense and spirits, an old musky scent that lived within the seats of the waiting room. The rug beneath your feet was old, frayed like many people had walked through at some point in time. As Yoongi checked his phone and you viewed your surroundings, you noticed the patrons hadn’t really looked at each other. They held almost entirely still except for the occasional blink or their eyes moving from one object to the next. It was eerie, creepy even, and made you stir uncomfortably in your seat.

When the time finally came, you were itching to leave. Most of the patrons had gone only to be replaced by more lost souls that wandered in. “Number 14 & 15,” a voice had called from the back. You and Yoongi looked around for a moment until you made eye contact with the woman at the counter who had begun to stare, unamused. Her eyes widened in exasperation, gesturing to your signed copy of the receipt. When you looked down at your own receipt, now crumbled in your hand, and unfolded it, you found the bold numbers 14, 15.

You don’t remember everything the fortune-teller said or how exactly he said it. What you do remember is the fortune-teller predicting sad-endings for the both of you.

He said that you and Yoongi would always be entwined, but you’d always cause each other great pain. He said that you should be honest with each other and that you should tell the truth. Or something like that.

You hadn’t really listened because it didn’t make sense. As far as you were concerned, the two of you were always honest with each other. You missed the panic in Yoongi’s eyes at hearing those words, the way he quickly sobered up at being called out by a random stranger because you were distracted by the fortune-teller’s pointed stare. By the time you made your way out of the small shop, Yoongi’s hand no longer holding yours, the encounter had already been forgotten. At least by you.

As a couple stumbles on the street, breaking up your thoughts, you can hear the raised voices of an argument. There isn’t any real way to know what they’re talking about besides opening the window, but you refrain. Instead you turn around to find Yoongi leaning back against the couch and checking his phone. It’s then that you realize you’ll never have nights like that again.

Random late nights where anything is possible and the entire world is your oyster.

You hate change.

You hate everything about it and yet here you are, throwing your life violently forward without any preparation. But you were prepared weren’t you?

You had a few years with Jin. A few years to clue you in on the fact that this day was going to come eventually, but you thought you’d have more time. You hate being scared; hate the feeling of being unsure and confused. Although your mind is in turmoil you can’t help but think, why didn’t you just stop the entire thing? Life doesn’t end when you get married so why does the idea of marrying Jin upset you so much so suddenly?

Looking at Yoongi now, as he taps through petty text messages from Hoseok, you come into his space and slowly take off his glasses. Yoongi stares up at you, eyebrows bunched in confusion, but says nothing. You envision him 10 years younger. You envision a time where it was only the two of you in this tiny space; a time where tiny succulents and feminist literature filled this tiny space; a time where things were different and life was filled with unpredictable potential no matter the pains that came with it.

Although you’re staring at the ghost of a famous singer instead of a big-shot producer, although he is staring at an art therapist instead of a famous illustrator, Yoongi is still Yoongi and you are still you. That much is certain. As you say goodbye to old dreams and memories, you can feel the moisture of vulnerability and fear streaming down your face.

The only thing that’s familiar in this moment, that calms and grounds you, isn’t your old couch or apartment, it’s Yoongi himself.

The touch of Yoongi’s hand as he fingers curl around your wrist, his worried gaze never leaving your eyes, and his ever-present faith in you no matter what you do. Your legs feel shaky as you take him in, stumbling a bit in front of him. Yoongi shoots up from his seat with raised hands and prepares for a fall that never comes. It’s tempting to give in; to close your eyes and succumb to whatever feeling has brought you up to this point. From the open streets of Mapo-g and the small space of the cab ride to the slow elevator and the inside of your old living room to standing here in front of Yoongi and asking for things, you’re not quite ready for. As Yoongi stands and envelopes you in a soft and comforting embrace, your fear begins to subside, and any worries or negative thoughts that plagued your mind disappear.

So the two of you stand there in the middle of your old apartment, holding onto each other like for comfort on both sides. The air seems to still when you pull away and stare into each other’s eyes. Soon the comings and goings of late-night traffic and the arguing couple who’ve begun to scream at each other seem to disappear. Everything around you, inside the apartment and outside, seems to be frozen in time. The only thing that seems to remain unaffected is the purple sign outside.

While the idea of everything coming to an abrupt stop should be scary, it’s actually a relief. It’s something that you’ve been longing for all night, but suddenly now have. In this frozen moment, anything is possible. You’re capable of anything and no one in the world can judge you for it because like the cars, the traffic lights, the arguing couple, they are also frozen.

You feel stuck under his gaze, closer than you’ve ever been in the past 10 years. Not physically. No, there have been times where the two of you have fallen asleep together or bumped into each other or even simply held each other in fear of something greater out there.

You’ve never been honest.

There’s something here, between the two of you, that makes you curious. Something that you’ve noticed occasionally, but could never have the courage to stare at outright; like a speck floating to and fro in the very corner of your eye. Staring into his eyes now, you see a passion and a pain that’s never been there before. At least you’ve never noticed it. You see something that he can’t have; something that pains him to see. It hurts you. You hurt seeing that hurt and everything in you wants to will it away. Yoongi doesn’t deserve that. He deserves everything in the world and if you could, you’d give it to him.

With this closeness, you can see the way his eyes linger on your lips. You can see the way they hover there for a time before making their way up to your eyes. Everything feels right between the two of you like you’re meant to be here in this moment together. You’ve never felt safer.

It’s only when your lips part, briefly sticking together in the mess of chapstick and balm, that you realize you kissed. Although this revelation hits you so hard that your heart nearly stops, you reunite with him once more. Yoongi kisses you like a man dying of thirst, desperately holding onto you like a lifeline, as if he’ll float away without you.

When the two of you pull away, pressing your foreheads against each other, a strange sense of relief comes over you. You smile at the feeling of his hands clinging to your waist. You smile at the wet teary sound of Yoongi whispering, “I love you.” You smile because all this time some part of you always knew. The way your heart flutters whenever you see him. The way you can’t stop smiling at the mention of his name. The way your eyes always seem to gravitate towards each other naturally. You’ve always felt some sort of affection for him. Right now you don’t know whether it’s love or a simple infatuation. All you know is that you don’t want to stop kissing Yoongi. You don’t want him to stop holding you or grabbing at your coat.

With 10 years of fantasizing about this very moment, about holding you in his arms and kissing like the way actors do on movie screens, Yoongi wants to kiss your skin, every inch that he can find, and suck those dark brownish-purple marks into you. He’ll have to work for it sure, it’s not like hickies show up easily on brown skin, but it’ll be worth it.

It’s then that Yoongi realizes he can’t mark you up. He can’t own you fully nor can you own him, the way you both want to. No matter your decisions today, you’re still engaged to be married. You and Jin belong to each other in a way that leaves no room for Yoongi. He would always be on the outside looking in, even if he continued to be as close as he is now.

As Yoongi’s lips make a burning hungry path from your lips to your neck, your coat slides off your shoulders and onto the floor in a pool of black wool. You palm him through his pants, letting off a small moan at the feel of him hardening underneath your touch. You lift your arms all too easily when Yoongi’s fingers curl around the ripples in your shirt. He pulls it from its sanctuary in your pants and finds your lips again. Even though his own morality or lack thereof distracts him, Yoongi’s hands still seize your breasts the second they’re exposed to cold air. You let out a small whimper as he toys with your nipples, pulling and twisting at them until you’re nearly writhing in his arms. With the slight duck of his head, he pulls one nipple into his mouth and teases the other with the bluntness of his index finger. You must’ve run out of Jin’s apartment on a whim and sent a text, short and sweet, about visiting an old friend at an even older noodle shop.

A thick wave of heat comes over Yoongi at the thought of you rushing here to see him; to embrace him. Even though he knows that you really sought his company in need of emotional support, he can’t help but indulge the feeling. The way your body comes naturally to him without any awkwardness or hesitation; the way your fingers flex as they grab onto his shirt; the way you close your eyes in pleasure while announcing your delight to Yoongi over and over; it makes Yoongi’s cock throb right in his jeans. It makes his cock yearn for the wet heat your voice promises if he continues. It makes his cock twitch in anticipation of what you could possibly feel like wrapped around him. While he tongues at your chest, his teeth bite and lick a hard and unyielding nipple into submission. You hold onto his arms to keep yourself steady, head tilting in ecstasy as the assault on your chest continues, and moan louder. You moan loud and often enough that Yoongi begins to build a pattern against both of your nipples, switching off when the other felt too lonely. Yoongi continues until you’re squirming. Until you can nearly cum from the effort he’s putting into your chest alone, but then he suddenly stops.

He turns away from your bust, finally giving you a break, and moves on to press kisses all over your torso. Yoongi begins to savor every inch of your brown skin, breathing in the scent of you. As much as he wants to explore, you push his head down gently until he falls to his knees. It’s there, on his knees, that Yoongi begins pulling and undoing your belt buckle to get at you. You hold onto his shoulders now for balance, still panting and dizzy with pleasure, and wiggle out of your pants when the time comes.

You come to a halt when a pair of faded yellow polka dot underwear come into view. It’s not like you were expecting to have a late-night rendezvous with your college best friend tonight or ever. There is a hole in the garment, specifically on your right cheek, and there are still some remnants of lace on the edges. You’re just about ready to turn away from the embarrassment of it all, but then you remember who you’re with right now. You’re with Yoongi. Yoongi who knows you inside and out. Yoongi who probably couldn’t care less about the underwear you’re wearing. Sure enough, despite your initial horror and upset at your choice of underwear, Yoongi ignores the atrocity altogether and leans in to kiss the small stretch marks around your hips. The same stretch marks that you complained about Jin not liking years before. The same stretch marks that led you and Yoongi to rub coconut, almond, castor, and olive oils onto your thighs in a span of two weeks. It took a combination of him and your other friends swearing that there’s nothing wrong with them for you to finally settle down. Yoongi distinctly remembers that it wasn’t Jin who comforted you nor did he say much when you’d panicked about the marks. So Yoongi kisses them out of spite and nips a larger one to draw a moan out of you as if that will get back at Jin’s ignorance in some way.

Yoongi hurriedly pulls your underwear off your hips and, with the help of you shifting slightly, tosses the pair away from the two of you. Looking down at him now, staring at the tuft of hair on your mound, you wonder how many times he’s imagined this; how many times Yoongi has pictured this exact moment where he would taste you for the first time

He couldn’t have possibly pictured it’d be here, in the tomb of your college days, or that you’d be wearing a ring that weighs heavily on your hand in the stasis of this moment. Yoongi grabs your leg and hauls it over his shoulder, guiding your trepid hand to his hair for something closer to hold onto, before diving into his late-night snack. His tongue meets your slit without hesitation as he begins to devour you whole.

The tip of his tongue outlines your pussy with careful strokes. The firm appendage flickers against your labia, teasing the sensitive tissues there, before exploring the rest of you. You whimper pathetically as you watch him, core clenching on nothing when he looks up at you. Little bundles of pleasure wash over you as Yoongi tastes you for the first tongue, tongue briefly sliding into your core and wiggling. Then his tongue flattens against you and his hands press into your hips to move forward. Your fingers curl around his black tresses as you begin to grind against his tongue, chasing the butterflies of pleasure that kiss your stomach with each movement of your hips. As you find yourself getting lost in the feeling of Yoongi’s consistent and heavy tongue, you feel a gentle prodding at your hole. A finger glides its way into your heat without any resistance. “Yoongi,” you whimper, squeezing those tresses in your hands, “more.” After his lips wrap around your clit like a vice, another finger finds its way alongside the initial one. There is no warning when you feel those two fingers bend slightly and whisper come hither against your walls to that fleshy bundle inside of you. All you feel is the fluttering of your stomach, the heated gasps of air as Yoongi eats you until your leg shakes with effort. He eats at you until you’re gushing around his fingers; until the burning of his hands on you becomes too much; until you’re cumming with a cry on his tongue.

You shake as Yoongi slips his fingers out carefully, licking every last drop and leaving thankful kisses wherever he can. Although when he pulls away he looks a mess, hair in disarray and exhaustive red kissing his cheeks, he’s the happiest person that’s ever been between your legs. When you see a hint of a smile as he looks up at you, you pull him up instantly and kiss him hard. He nearly falls over with your effort, a huffy laugh dances across your mouth. As your tongue glides across his lower lip and into his mouth, all you can taste is your cum and a taste that’s purely Yoongi.

“Wait,” you pant, eager to keep the sloppy kiss going but clearly distracted, “wait...you didn’t...” is all you offer before you’re dropping to your knees.

Your actions mirror his, undressing him as hurriedly as you can so you can get on with it. Yoongi can’t help but think about how beautiful you are right now, even when you’re marveling at just how hard he is in his jeans. He could’ve kept going, kept tasting you forever, but you seem to have other ideas. In an attempt to assist, Yoongi kicks off his shoes and motions over to yours. It takes you a second to realize that your boots are indeed hindering you and they soon come off with a bit of effort. With your speed, he’s just as bare as you are, save for his shirt and a pair of socks. Your eyes can’t look away from his cock no matter how much you want them to. The rigid length is just as pale as he is with a pink hue on his engorged tip. His balls hang heavily, begging to be touched and caressed. If one looked too fast, in a hurry to experience pleasure, they would miss the mole at the base of his cock. They would miss the way Yoongi’s breathing changes under the admiration; the way he gasps when you sweetly kiss the head of his cock. His cock is beautiful.

Yoongi’s head falls back when you begin licking at his length, slowly but surely taking it into your mouth. He goes to run his fingers through your hair, but then he remembers. He remembers all the times you’ve talked about the intricacies of your curly hair; all the times you insisted he couldn’t touch it or mess it up. So instead he palms the back of your head, hoping that this is okay, and doesn’t force you down on him any harder or faster than you’re willing to go. His hips thrust shallowly on instinct, but he allows you to pick up your own tempo; to swallow him on your own time. It isn’t long before you’re picking up speed and bobbing your head at a steady rhythm, drawing noises of pleasure from him. Yoongi finds himself far more willing to watch you seek pleasure from him than him taking it from you.

When you pull off of his cock to tongue shyly at his balls, Yoongi can see the bright purple of neon lights reflecting off of your skin. He moans at the foreign feeling of your tongue flicking against him and tries to palm at your head a little harder. As you pull away to look up at him, tugging at his cock to keep him going, Yoongi swears he can see the purple words “destiny” reflecting in your brown eyes. From this angle, it seems impossible, but before he can really get a good look the words are gone. He’s never forgotten about visiting that place with you, the fortune-telling shop that’s seemingly never open. He’s never forgotten about enduring the old man’s warnings regarding being truthful to each other. In the end, the old man was right.

There’s no way that this will ever be a normal relationship, no matter which path either of you chooses. Whether you and Yoongi made something work, consequently canceling the wedding, or if it all faded to pieces, you marrying Jin anyway, your relationship has now been forever changed.

The shitty thing is, Yoongi can’t make himself care. Yoongi is selfish and mean and cruel and deserves all the horrible things that have happened in his 30 years of life, but he doesn’t care. All of those things led to this moment; led to being with you and being held by you right now. He’d do it again, a thousand times over if that meant that he’d get to experience this night again. This would probably be the first and last time the two of you could be united in this way.

Before he realizes it, your mouth finds his length again. Yoongi gets lost in the feeling of your tongue caressing any part of your cock that you can reach, from a prominent vein or two to his slit. Your fingers reach behind him, a little cold, and roll his balls in your hand with care. The attention has his knees buckling and stomach rolling in waves. It’s beginning to be too much, he can feel the end drawing very near and he’s nowhere near ready. It’s when you lap wetly at his tip and when you give a slightly hard pull to his balls, that Yoongi can’t take it anymore. He pushes your head away gently causing you to drop your hand and move from him, confusion all over your features. In a flurry of movement, Yoongi sits down on the couch and spreads his legs, slowly jerking his cock in his hand as he watches you kneel. “C’mere,” he whispers, biting his lip.

“No way,” you answer, face entirely serious, “I’m not coming over there.”

Yoongi’s hand stills, his eyes open wide, as he tries to assess what could’ve made you upset. “W-what?”

“I’m not coming over there until you take your socks off, Yoongi. That’s weird.”

When you break out into a smile, laughter following along soon after, only then does Yoongi laugh. After his socks are removed, you briefly stand to settle into his lap. Your arms come around his neck as the two of you adjust, eyes meeting for a moment. The two of you maintain that contact as you slowly sink down and take everything Yoongi has to offer. It’s enough to fill you, to keep you satisfied, and that’s what really matters. From this angle, his cock reaches deep enough inside of you and comfortably stays there as his hands settle on your hips, encouraging them to move against him slowly. As you go along with his guidance and soon begin to form a steady cadence of your own, Yoongi wraps his arms around your middle and kisses you with as much passion as he can muster. You moan against his lips, let out a soft cry that he swallows, and try your hardest to kiss back with the same amount of love. No matter how much you try, it simply can’t be matched.

Instead, you increase the speed of your hips, bucking faster against him, to break away from this breathless kiss and pull Yoongi down to your chest. He follows your hands, leaning down slightly to pull and bite a nipple into his mouth as his hips meet your downward strokes. In almost no time, your cries bounce off of the empty walls of your apartment as you hold onto Yoongi for dear life. While you should be embarrassed at the volume, shy of your old neighbors who could definitely hear you, all you can think about is Yoongi’s hips picking up your slack as you reach euphoria.

You can feel his cock sliding against you. You can feel the weight of it against your g-spot. You can feel Yoongi pull away from your nipple and switch to another. You can feel the rising tide of unspeakable pleasure in your stomach. As Yoongi begins to pound into you as best as he can in this position, your nipple falling out of his mouth consequently, you can hear whispers of “I love you”s that you don’t and can’t return. You bury your face into Yoongi’s neck as you keep moaning and crying and chasing that wave. As his hips begin to slow, that wave begins to recede and your orgasm unwillingly dials back. At first, annoyance fills every fiber of your being, especially when Yoongi nudges you with his shoulder so that you pull away, but when you look at him fully you’re mesmerized. While he continues at a newly slowed pace, Yoongi himself appears serious.

You can see the look of resignation, of acceptance, that you can’t entirely understand or place. You can also plainly see the love in eyes, the adoration, and pleasure that lies within them; love that you’re not sure you can return. Yoongi makes sure to remember every inch of your face, all of your moans and the way your lips feel against his. He wants to make this last. He doesn’t want to face the horror, the rejection, the ultimate separation that you’ll both tunnel towards after this moment. As he claims your lips, Yoongi pulls out entirely, ignoring your whimpers and pleading. He maneuvers you to lie down on the couch before repositioning himself between your legs once more. From this position, you can see Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow in concentration as he slides his length back into you, grunting a bit at the feeling.

When you look at him, you can see a look of resignation, of acceptance that you can’t entirely understand or place. You can also plainly see the love in eyes, the adoration, and pleasure that lies within them; love that you’re not sure you can return. “I love you,” Yoongi says, as if reading your mind, “I’ve always loved you.” He leans down to give you a chaste kiss before his hips set a fast pace. The sudden speed and harshness have you clawing at his back in desperation, your previously subdued orgasm coming back with a vengeance. You moan filthily into his mouth, moan louder when he pulls away to pant into your neck. That wave rises again, faster and stronger than before, leaving you entirely helpless. Your back aches, your toes curl, as your hips try to keep up with his. Eventually, the two of you find a sort of rhythm, a steady give and take that has you both crying out in unison. The sounds of your love-making seem deafening now in the empty space, the sound of skin on skin ricocheting off of the walls. “I’ll always love you,” he grunts out, grabbing at your tight curls and pulling; you’re too lost in pleasure to complain, too far gone to yell at him for touching your hair. It’s when his hot breath hits your ear that you realize his words have the after taste of a promise. He promises that he’ll always love you, no matter what the future holds for the two of you. When Yoongi pulls away slightly, your sweaty foreheads together come together for the last time, closing your eyes tightly to focus on his unrelenting pace.

All you can see is purple as your orgasm crashes over you like a tsunami. Your body jerks at the warm splash of Yoongi painting your walls white, your moans mingling together again. When he’s finally spent and rested, he collapses on top of you in a tired heap. Well not entirely. Yoongi remains on top of you and slightly shakes with effort as he tries not to crush you under his weight. “Lay down,” you mumble, reaching up to run your fingers through his sweaty hair. Yoongi hesitates and instead moves to the side to nestle into you. After more maneuvering, the two of you rest comfortably on your sides. It’s you who pulls the ugly blanket down from its place on the couch and places it over the both of you. It’s you who continues to stroke Yoongi’s hair as he begins to fall asleep, cock still buried in the warmth of your silky walls.

As you both rest, time begins to catch up with the two of you. People begin to walk the streets and call loudly at or for each other. Cars honk and screech to a halt at changing traffic lights. The street lamps flicker briefly before continuing their nightly patrol. Everything seems to go back to normal except the two of you.

“Thank you,” you whisper suddenly, hips slightly wiggling at the feeling of cum sitting in you. When Yoongi wakes up from his half-asleep haze and looks up at you, you aren’t looking at him though. You’re looking at the sign outside, eyes filled with the overbearing nature of realization and muted acceptance. He grasps your chin, turning you towards him, and places one last kiss on your lips.

The kiss seems to last ages and Yoongi finds himself getting lost in your embrace once more. It’s Yoongi who pulls away and sees the far-off pained look in your eyes that you’re trying to hide and actively failing at. It’s Yoongi who falls asleep first on your chest, relishing in the feel of your fingers scratching at his scalp.

It’s only Yoongi who wakes up alone the next morning without any good morning text from you and a series of demanding texts from Hoseok asking why he’s late. It’s only Yoongi who arrives hurriedly to the venue, at 8:47 am, just in time to take a few pictures alongside Jin and his other groomsmen. Jin taunts him for being late while Hoseok looks on concerned, but Yoongi is too busy looking for you. It’s only Yoongi who stands at the altar behind Jin and Hoseok and Namjoon, waiting patiently for any sort of signal that the wedding is off; even if it’s a frantic guest explaining that you simply can’t go through with the whole thing.

It’s only Yoongi who is shocked, hurt, and confused when he sees you walking down the aisle looking as beautiful as ever with Taehyung at your side in lieu of parents, your wedding dress fitting you perfectly. It’s only Yoongi who has to smile for the quick pictures the photographer takes, has to pretend that last night never happened, as the crowd cheers when you and Jin say, “I do.” It’s only Yoongi who’s always loved and always will love you. You could never love him the same way.

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blurglesmurfklaine · 4 years

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Christmas Eve With You (Let It Snow)

Summary: It's Christmas Eve in Lima Ohio, and Kurt has a lot to do: find the perfect gift for his dad, make a life changing decision, and--after an unexpected turn of events--escort pop star Blaine Anderson around town. You know, the usual...Based off of Netflix's Let It Snow

A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy Kwanzaa to you all!! I personally celebrate Christmas and it's my favorite holiday and I've never written a Christmas Rom-Com AU so I decided last minute to write one lol. Relatively short, part one today, part two to come hopefully before the New Year!

Read on AO3

***

Congratulations!

We are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted into the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts. With an acceptance rate of less than 4%, NYADA is one of the top tier schools for those wishing to perfect their

Kurt tore his eyes away from the page and slowly drew in a deep breath. He didn’t need to keep reading. He had practically memorized the damn thing in the first hour he opened the envelope. He began folding up the acceptance letter for what must have been the hundredth time and opened his desk drawer, tucking the letter underneath some old papers where his dad would never find it.

He pulled on his coat and any other winter wear necessary to make the freezing train ride to the swap meet bearable.

He would probably come home later and read the letter just one more time, scouring it to see if it had the answer he needed, but right now he had an elf to find.

***

“I’m looking for a Townhouse Moments Christmas Elf number forty-three.” Kurt explained to the man at the swap meet while this year’s crappy pop Christmas song played on in the background. “I ordered it online ahead of time, but they gave me number forty-two.”

The vendor simply looked at him with an almost bored (and definitely condescending) expression. “Listen, kid. You and every other collector out here are looking for this guy, and I don’t have him. You’re not gonna find it. Not on Christmas Eve.”

Kurt sighed, the background song seeming even more annoying than usual. Seriously, the swap meet couldn’t find any holiday music better than some lame Blaine Anderson single? “Look, I really need this figurine. My dad’s Christmas kind of depends on it.” He explained desperately.

The vendor shook his head. “Like I said, I can’t help you.”

Kurt angrily huffed and shoved the figurine he’d brought with him back in his pocket. “Merry Christmas,” he muttered under his breath before heading back to the train station.

At least the train had a stop near the Lima Bean. There was nothing quite like sitting with a warm cup of coffee in your hands while watching the snow fall down through the frosted windows.

***

Blaine stepped up from the platform onto the train, immediately searching for a seat in an area that wouldn’t be too crowded. He rarely got a chance to walk through the world without being gawked at like some Zoo animal, and he wasn’t about to have that ruined by an overexcited fan.

It’s not that he wasn’t grateful for everything his fans provided him, but sometimes it got to be a bit much and he needed a moment to just… retract from all the pandemonium.

He finally spotted a somewhat secluded area and headed towards it. Before he could make it, though, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me,” a voice called out from behind him.

Blaine sighed before reluctantly turning around to face a boy, probably around his age, with pale skin and a nose slightly pinked by the cold they both just entered from.

The boy looked slightly startled, as if he had just realized who Blaine was, but remained calm.

“Look,” Blaine started. “I really don’t feel like taking any pictures right now.”

The boy pursed his lips and glared at Blaine. He then extended his hand out and Blaine looked down to see he was just returning his phone that must have fallen out of his coat pocket.

“You dropped this,” the stranger said with a bit of sting in his voice as he shoved the phone back into Blaine’s grasp.

“Oh,” Blaine replied lamely. “Sorry, I—“

Mystery boy scoffed and held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t bother.” He muttered, then turned around to find a seat.

Fair enough, Blaine thought.

Just as Blaine was about to head back to find a seat of his own, the boy whipped around, apparently not quite done with him yet. “And by the way,” he began. “You don’t even know anything about me. I don’t care for your trashy pop music, I’m not one of your Blaineiacs who swoons at just the mention of your name, and I’m definitely not the type of person who would just throw myself at someone just because they’re famous.”

“I never said—“

Once again, Blaine was cut off, but not by the (admittedly attractive) boy. The train suddenly jerked forward and the momentum sent the strange boy flying backwards into Blaine’s unsteady arms.

Blaine felt his breath hitch, caught off guard by the suddenness of it all. He looked down and caught the boy’s gaze, realizing he had some of the clearest crystal blue eyes Blaine had ever seen. Awesome. The universe throws a super cute guy into your arms and it’s someone who thinks you’re a complete asshole.

As soon as it happened, it was over. Before either of them knew it, the train was on its way, steady enough so that the pale boy had the balance necessary to shoot himself out of Blaine’s arms like a repelling magnet.

His face flushed bright red and he gaped at Blaine for a moment. “I–That wasn’t—that was the train,” he said in a huff before whipping around and heading to his seat on the other side of the train car.

Blaine followed him with his eyes the entire time.

***

Not even ten minutes into the ride, Kurt felt the train slowly come crawling to a stop. “No,” he pleaded under his breath. “Please, no, we’re so close to the Lima Bean,” he whined.

But sure enough, the conductor’s voice came over the intercom and loudly announced that the train would be stalled indeterminately due to the recent snowfall.

Kurt sighed and looked longingly out the window towards the Lima Bean. This was ridiculous, he could see the rooftop to his favorite coffee shop just over the snow-covered hill. There was no reason he couldn’t make it there without incident.

He drew in a steadying breath before standing up and heading towards the doors. Unfortunately, before he could completely escape the defective cab, another figure came up in front of him and unintentionally blocked his path.

It so happened to be none other than the Blaine Anderson. Of course it was Blaine. Of course it was the idiot celebrity who thought everything revolved around him.

“You headed to that coffee shop, too?” Blaine asked without turning back to look at Kurt, using his clover hand to block out the morning sun as he stared off into the distance.

Anderson only kept trucking on forward as Kurt followed his lead—coincidentally, of course.

“I’m not following you,” he felt compelled to say. “I also just want a decent cup of coffee.”

Blaine gave him a charmingly warm smile and hopped off the platform into the soft snow. “Of course. Then, I suppose, you wouldn’t mind keeping me company.”

Kurt followed his lead and hopped off the train, beginning to trudge through the snow after Blaine—again, completely by chance that they were headed in the same direction.

“Fine. Just know that this is completely coincidental!”

“Deal.”

***

“Deal,” Blaine said. “So, uh, do I get your name? I mean, it’s only fair since you already know mine.”

“Yeah, because everybody knows your name, right?”

“I–no-! That’s not what I meant…”

The pale boy narrowed his eyes slightly at him and looked him up and down like he was deciding whether or not to trust him. “Kurt,” he finally answered. “Kurt Hummel.”

Blaine extended his hand out and Kurt stared at it for a second before taking it. “Blaine Anderson—because I’m not going to assume anybody knows my name anymore.” Blaine noticed the corner of Kurt’s mouth twitch up, barely noticeable. “Nice to meet you, Kurt.”

They walked on for a few moments in silence before Kurt spoke up again. “Why did you even take the train into town?” He asked.

Blaine shrugged. “I wanted to get away from the tour bus for a while. It felt real being in there. Surrounded by real people.”

Kurt chortled. “If the train made you feel real, the Lima Bean is gonna blow your mind.”

***

Kurt and Blaine stood in front of the long awaited coffee shop, both staring up at the broken and incomplete sign at the top of the building. The worn out block green letters should have obviously spelled out “LIMA BEAN”, but time and weather had taken out the L.

“Say it to yourself,” Kurt instructed Blaine. “Out loud.”

“Ima Bean?” Blaine said questioningly.

“I’m A Bean.” Kurt said dismally. “Because nobody in this town is—or ever will be—anything but a tiny bean in the universe… at least, that’s what we would say growing up.”

“That’s… morbid.”

Kurt simply shrugged before heading in through the doors. “It’s the truth,” he grumbled, remembering the letter burning a hole in his desk drawer and knowing he could never ever let it see the light of day again.

The Lima Bean was empty for the time being, but Kurt knew it would be filled with McKinley high teens in no time.

The couple silently made their way to the counter and Blaine took note of the barista who was… not exactly someone he imagined to be working at a coffee shop, but a job was a job he supposed. The barista had his head down, showcasing his unique haircut (a mohawk) while he began to take their orders.

“Welcome to the Lima Bean,” he sighed before slowly upturning his head. “What can I…” Just as Kurt had expected, Puck’s eyes grew wide upon seeing Blaine. “Get for you today…”

“Uh, Puck.” Kurt started timidly. “This is Blaine… I didn’t expect you to be here, I thought you’d be preparing for your long awaited Christmas Eve Rager?”

Puck pouted. “Uh, yeah… so my parents flight was delayed ‘cause of the snow, and they caught me setting up for the party. Decided I should come to work instead. But!” He held up his index finger and his face lit up. “I convinced Sam to let me have it here! So if you’re free tonight, just come on down to I’m A Bean.”

Kurt stifled a laugh at his friend’s wild antics. “Sure thing, Puck. Though, at this point,” he jerked his head towards Blaine. “I don’t know where this day will take me.”

“Been there… anyways, what’ll it be?”

***

“Order for Kurt!” Puck called out.

It was both their orders, but they’d decided it’d be best if they didn’t use Blaine’s name. It turned out to be a good call considering the fact that a group of Titans and Cheerios walked in as soon as Kurt and Blaine sat down.

Kurt got up and shortly returned with their coffees and pastries.

“Are you going to actually finish all that?” Kurt asked, referring to the small mountain of food Blaine had ordered including a tomato and mozzarella panini, a snowman cookie, a breakfast biscuit, and his medium drip.

“Yeah, I don’t like to waste food. It’s like a charity thing for me.” At Kurt’s unamused look, Blaine rolled his eyes and gave his real explanation. “We uh, didn’t grow up with a lot. It feels kind of wrong to throw out a meal when I remember the days we didn’t get one.”

After a moment of processing, “Oh…” was all Kurt could pathetically offer, suddenly feeling like the biggest asshole in the world.

Here he’d been, making assumptions about Blaine when he really didn’t know anything about him. Kind of the way certain football players would do to Kurt.

Okay, so Blaine had kind of come off as a presumptuous dick, but now Kurt realized he himself was making that same mistake.

He watched as Blaine took a bite of the panini and the too full sandwich overflowed with cheese into Blaine’s upper lip. Kurt giggled. “You’ve got a little…” he pointed to his own mouth, trying to point out the stained area on Blaine’s face.

Blaine stuck out his tongue, but completely missed the area. “Did I get it?”

“Not at all,” Kurt laughed again. “But I’ll go grab you some napkins, your royal highness.”

As Kurt was standing up, Blaine opened his mouth to contest before noting the playful look on the other boy’s face.

“And add some more creamer to this bad boy while I’m up,“ He said, gesturing to his half full coffee.

Kurt was nearly to the condiment table when a hauntingly familiar figure blocked his path.

“Where you going off to, fairy boy?”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Azimio,” Kurt scoffed, trying to side step his long time tormentor.

Azimio followed Kurt’s move, leaving him in the same position he was not a moment ago. “Heard my boy Karofsky’s got a boyfriend over at Thurston high now.”

“Good for him.”

“That’s the farthest thing from good, my man. If it weren’t for you turnin him gay, we’d still have a winning offensive line.”

“I really don’t have any time for this,” Kurt lamented.

“Not so tough without your army brother to protect you, huh?”

Kurt opened his mouth to explain that he didn’t need anyone to protect him, but was immediately silenced by Azimio suddenly slapping the cup out of Kurt’s hand. Kurt flinched as lukewarm coffee splattered around him, the majority of it spilling right on his shirt.

“That’s for turning my best friend into a homo.”

“Hey!” Puck called from behind the counter. “Get out of here!”

“I am a paying customer!” Azimio argued.

“Read the sign, dickwad. Right to refuse service to anyone. That includes no good Lima Losers like yourself!”

Azimio rolled his eyes and angrily stormed out of the store.

As Kurt looked down his stained shirt, he could feel Blaine’s horrified stare burning right through his back. “Oh my god, Kurt. Are you okay?”

He turned around to face the other boy, still shaking with rage and that twinge of humiliation he always felt after scenes like this, no matter how hard he tried to push it down.

“You wanted real?” Kurt asked, feeling tears he would never let Azimio and Langanthal see begin to burn behind his eyelids. “How’s this? Only out gay kid in the entire town gets harassed on a daily basis—even publicly, as you just saw—finally gets an out when he gets into his dream school, and can’t even go because his dad is too sick to be left alone!”

Blaine reached out to place a comforting hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “Kurt—“

Before Blaine could finish his sentence, Kurt heard the table full of Cheerios become more chatty than usual, and he came to a startling realization. He quickly turned around, scanning the table to see that several of the McKinley High cheerleaders were whispering to each other and pointing at Blaine.

“Shit,” he muttered before facing Blaine again. “Restroom, back window,” he ordered as the head Cheerio stood up from the table and made a beeline towards them.

“What?”

“Just go!” Kurt ordered nudging Blaine in the right direction.

Blaine finally seemed to notice the onlookers and started to quickly walk towards the bathroom as one of the cheerleaders walked right behind Kurt.

He spun around to face her, a fake smile on his face. “Hello, there Satan—Santana!”

“Was that... Blaine Anderson?” She asked brusquely, staring down Kurt and crossing her arms.

Kurt raised his eyebrows before turning his head behind him to check that Blaine had made it to the impromptu escape route. He turned to Santana again and sighed, throwing his hands out in defeat. “Yes,” he said, feigning a trenchant dismay. “You caught me. Blaine Anderson is here, with me, at the I’m A Bean …” Kurt scrunched up his nose and smiled wryly at her. “And if you wait a few more minutes, I’m pretty sure TuPac is going to start a flash mob!”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. As she turned around her perfectly cooked ponytail nearly whipped him right across the face.

He watched her take a seat with the rest of the Cheerios and let out a sigh of relief before heading out to go find Blaine.

***

Blaine writhed and squirmed with all his might, but still wasn’t able to get enough momentum to hoist himself out of the window. He lay on his back, the top half of his body exposed to the bitter cold while the bottom half was stuck in the warmth of the I’m A Bean. The opening wasn’t big enough for him to turn around to get on his stomach. In that position, he could easily reach out for something and just pull himself out.

He he was straining to reach for the window to get some sort of leverage when he heard a giggle. And if he weren’t in the situation he was currently in, he might’ve taken more time to appreciate how beautiful that laugh was.

“Wow,” Kurt chuckled. “I wonder what TMZ would pay for a photo like this.”

“Not enough,” Blaine grunted, struggling for some sort of hand hold. “Now, are you— going to— help me— or not?”

Kurt rolled his eyes and headed over to Blaine.

He laced his arms underneath Blaine’s. “Alright,” Kurt said. “I’m gonna pull on the count of three, so brace yourself. One…”

“Wait, on three or after three?”

“What? Clearly on three, Blaine.”

“Wait, did that count as three?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Kurt tugged and Blaine slid out of the window with ease. The momentum of the pull sent them both toppling backwards—Blaine’s entire body on Kurt—towards the ground.

They hit the frozen ground with an “oof,” and immediately bust out into a fit of laughter.

“That went well.” Kurt giggled.

Still laughing, Blaine turned his body to face Kurt. “Yeah, we’re the epitome of grace.”

They settled into a surprisingly comfortable silence, both warmed by being in the other’s embrace. After a moment, Kurt cleared his throat and shifted backwards,as if he’d just realized the position they’d fallen into. He shuffled to his feet and brushed off some snow from his pants. “So, um, it was so nice—and super random and bizarre—to meet you,” Kurt said, shaking his head. “But I have to go. I have… things to do.”

Kurt headed off in the direction of his next destination, but not without Blaine following close behind. “Like what?”

“Like go meet my dad to watch my Jewish best friend play mother Mary in a multicultural holiday play. “

Blaine rolled his eyes. “Fine, don't tell me.”

“Oh, I only wish I were joking… Whatever, I have other things to do. Important things.”

“Like what?” Blaine pried again, hoping it was something he could accompany Kurt to. He was intrigued by him, and wanted to get to know him better.

“Like make the biggest decision of my life!” Kurt finally snapped, whirling around to face him. Blaine wondered for a moment if he had been too intrusive before Kurt deflated, like a cat un-bristling its tail. “I got into NYADA. It’s one of the best schools in the country for musical theatre, but it’s in New York and I can’t go.”

Blaine thought back to the incident that happened moments before he had nearly been discovered, then back to when he first met Kurt. No wonder Kurt was so wary of him.

“Because of your dad.”

Kurt gave a meek nod of confirmation. “He had a heart attack last year that put him in a coma for a few days, and now, he has… cancer… and we don’t know which way it’s going to go… I asked NYADA for a deferral, but they said I would lose my scholarship.”

They both stayed silent for a moment, neither quite knowing what to say after that. “Sorry for the huge downer,” Kurt mumbled. “I just… haven’t said that to anyone yet. Aside from kind of yelling it at you in the I’m A Bean a few minutes ago… Anyways,” he started up again, turning from Blaine and heading off into the snow covered terrain. “Merry Christmas, I gotta go.”

Blaine continued to trudge after him. “What, where?”

“I told you, multicultural nativity play.”

Blaine caught up with Kurt and sent him his most charming grin. “Sounds fun.”

***

“A hundred and fifty six piece elf village?” Blaine asked in astonishment as he and Kurt walked through the underpath of some trees.

Kurt let out a dry laugh. It sounded even more ridiculous aloud. “Some people’s dads collect coins, or artisan beer bottles; mine collects elves and their homes… So, what are your plans for the holidays?”

Blaine just gave him a halfhearted shrug. “I’ll probably just stay in the hotel room.”

“Christmas Eve in a hotel room?”

“I travel a lot. I’m used to it.”

“And I’m used to getting harassed by idiot meatheads, that doesn’t mean I like it.”

Blaine barked out a laugh, making Kurt’s stomach flip involuntarily. “I guess, just once… I’d like to stay in one place for a little while.”

Well, Lima isn't the worst place to spend Christmas Eve, Kurt nearly said before stopping himself and realizing he would look like a total creep if he did. He lightly shook his head, trying to bring himself back to reality. Head out of the clouds, Hummel. He probably has a girlfriend on the tour bus waiting for him.

“So why does your dad like Christmas so much?” Blaine asked, breaking Kurt out of his thoughts.

“Oh. I think… I think it’s because my mom passed away between Thanksgiving and Christmas.” He took note of the sympathetic look on Blaine’s face before continuing. “So now I think he wants to make Christmas this big and spectacular thing… for me, I guess. I used to love the little figurines when I was little, because I kind of looked like them. My mom decided to start collecting them a few weeks before she died.”

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Blaine said, adding a gentle hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “But that’s pretty sweet of your dad.”

“Yeah… I guess it is.” Kurt smiled warmly. “He’s a great dad.”

The two boys finally reached the peak of the hill. The view overlooked a beautiful wintry scene, complete with frosted evergreen trees and a meadow blanketed in fresh pillowy snow.

“Wow, it’s beautiful.”

Kurt scoffed. “Snow can hide a lot… it’s like the spanx of weather…” Blaine laughed and another comfortable silence fell between them for a moment. “So, where did you grow up?”

“New York. Queens. Growing up, you had to be tough and my brother was… I, on the other hand, was a little more sensitive… and I think that came off as weakness to the other kids.” Blaine shrugged it off. “But it was okay because I always had music.”

Kurt nodded and smiled understandingly. “I know exactly what you mean. The only thing that keeps me sane around here is the glee club. When I’m not singing, I don’t really feel… whole. It’s like—“

“Like you’re barely even a person.”

Kurt let out a little puff of air in astonishment. “Yeah… kind of exactly like that…” As they tread on, Kurt could hear the sound of ice softly crunching beneath their feet. “So uh, what do your parents think about your job?”

Blaine let out a short laugh that felt just the tiniest bit bitter. “Well, my mom supports me but… My dad doesn’t think performing is a real job. He’s really strict. He wasn’t too happy when I came out to him either, but he got over it… sort of.”

Kurt snapped his head up to look at Blaine, eyes wide as he processed the words he just heard. Came out, as in… “Wait a second, you’re…”

A smile tugged at the corner of Blaine’s lips. “Queer as a three dollar bill.” As soon as it was there, it faded. “But uh, it’s not something I advertise, you know? My dad thinks it’s better—safer, if I don’t.”

Kurt cocked an eyebrow, doing his best to push down the butterflies raging in his stomach. “Like a safer career move?” Why would Blaine’s dad care about his career if he didn’t even think it was valid?

Blaine shook his head. “When I was in middle school, before my first album, I went to a Sadie Hawkins dance with a friend; the only other gay guy in the school. While we were waiting for his dad to pick us up, these three guys came and beat the crap out of us.”

In an instant, Blaine felt Kurt’s hand on his. “I… I’m so sorry.”

“I uh, never pressed charges or anything. Just transferred and never looked back, which made sense at the time, but now I just regret not standing up to them.” Blaine looked right into Kurt’s crystal blue eyes as he came to a stop. “So if you ever get the chance to do what I didn’t, you should take it.”

***

They lumbered on through the snow, finally reaching the peak of a hill with a gentler slope than the last one.

Families stood huddled together while groups of children, wrapped up tighter than the presents under their trees, waddled to sleds and rode down the hill.

Kurt watched a smile crack Blaine’s face and he narrowed his eyes with a light suspicion. “What are you smiling at?”

“We should go sledding.”

“We don’t have a sled..?”

Blaine just picked up his pace to a light jog and headed towards a group of women huddled together. He faced Kurt, but kept up his jog in a backpedal. “Young moms; kind of my bread and butter.”

Kurt huffed out a laugh as he looked on at Blaine introducing himself to the star struck mothers. He offered to take a few selfies with them before shortly returning back to Kurt with—lo and behold—a sled.

A minute later they were at the edge of the slope and Blaine settled himself behind Kurt. Kurt felt his heart racing and if he was being completely honest, he couldn’t tell if it was because of the dropoff or the way Blaine was pressed flush against his back, his arms wrapped snug around Kurt’s waist so that he could take hold of the reins.

Blaine started to scoot the sled forward and Kurt felt his nerves kick in. “Wait!” He cried out.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just… despite living in a snow covered town for eighteen years, I’ve never actually been sledding before.”

Blaine leaned forward and rested his head in the space between Kurt’s head and shoulders. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

Kurt had absolutely no reason to believe Blaine—considering the short time they’d known each other—but for some reason, he found that he did. He believed he’d be safe with Blaine because he already felt safe with him. Safe enough to tell him about his mom, safe enough to confide in him about his dilemma with his dad, and now, safe enough to go sledding for the first time.

He nodded and felt himself pressing his cheek closer to Blaine’s. Blaine pushed them forward and off they went, down the gentle curve of the hill.

The air started rushing quicker and quicker against Kurt’s face, until they were riding at an enjoyable speed. Kurt felt Blaine’s arms close in a little tighter around him and he turned his head to smile back at the other boy, who graciously returned it.

The smiles were wiped clean off their faces when they faced forward once more and suddenly came into contact with a bump in the hill that sent Blaine tumbling backwards with an “oof.” Kurt managed to stay on, panic rising as he realized he had no control of the sled.

“Oh no. No no no,” Kurt yelped as he approached the sharp incline of a snow bank, unable to do anything to slow down or avoid the oncoming collision.

The sled went up the ramp and Kurt went flying, landing hard on a cleared path of snow he didn’t even have time to recognize as the road. He heard a harsh noise in the distance while he groaned and tried to gather himself. Kurt finally made it to his feet and the (now much louder and closer) noise finally registered as the revving of an engine from an oncoming car that was coming down way too fast for this weather.

The car seemed impossibly close and Kurt wasn’t sure he’d make it out of the way in time.

Out of nowhere, Blaine came racing across the road and practically tackled Kurt to the safety of the other side of the road.

The curly haired boy lay with his body pressed warmly against Kurt’s for a moment before clearing his throat and rolling off to the side.

Kurt let out a breath (of relief or disbelief, he really couldn’t tell) and watched it wisp away into the cold air. After the initial shock faded, Kurt turned his head to look at Blaine, who lay next to him looking just as dazed.

Of all the things he expected to do after a situation like this, feeling a smile start to curl on his lips definitely wasn’t at the top of the list. But Kurt took one look at Blaine’s (horrified) honey colored eyes and couldn’t help but think how ridiculous this whole situation was. Before he could help himself, he exploded into a fit of laughter.

Kurt felt an unfamiliar tingle in his chest—something light and warm, that he maybe only had a memory of. As his laughter grew and he watched a smile spread on Blaine’s lips, the glow spread down through his arms and legs and all the way down to his toes until his entire body felt sunny, despite being surrounded by mounds of snow.

#klaine #glee #wow look at me im writing!#kurt hummel #blaine anderson #merry christmas!#let it snow #fic rec

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wishingforatypewriter · 5 years

Text

A Tale of Two Friend Groups (Part 1)

Summary: Souma and Megumi arrive at the first rough patch in their relationship (Note: This is also chapter 6 of Between Us)

It was the end of the work week for Tadokoro Megumi. After five days of manning the kitchen at the Ritz Carlton on Central Park, she could finally attend to the tasks that meant the most to her—watering the fire-escape vegetable garden, writing letters to her family back in Tohoku.

But the most important item on Megumi’s to-do list was planning Fumio-san’s 85th birthday celebration. For weeks now, she had spent her days off phoning and emailing Polar Star alums from over thirty Totsuki generations. She had even gotten the likes of Doujima Gin and Ebisawa Reiko to RSVP yes.

Upon entering her apartment, Megumi noticed two things amiss. The leaves of her pepper plant needed trimming, and there was a stranger helping herself to tea on the living room couch.

“U-um, excuse me,” Megumi said as she approached the woman, torn between calling the police and offering her some dorayaki to go with her tea. “Who are you?”

“Oh.” The woman, dressed in a smart business suit, looked startled. She fumbled through her purse for an ornate looking envelope. “Pardon my intrusion! My name is Michelle. I work at the WGO office here in Manhattan.”

“I see,” Megumi said, nodding warily. “I wasn’t aware your organization was here as well.”

“How naive, Miss Tadokoro,” Michelle said with an airy laugh. “It’s natural that the WGO would have a firm presence in any place where magnificent food is being served.”

Off the top of her head, Megumi could think about a thousand places―starting with her hometown—that served happy customers beyond the WGO’s sphere of influence, but decided to save her retorts for more pressing matters. “May I ask what you’re doing in my home?”

“Ah, right. My supervisor is on the selection committee for the World Culinary Conference, and he asked me to deliver this invitation to Chef Yukihira.”

Megumi did all she could to keep her mouth from hanging ajar. The World Culinary Conference was a networking opportunity meant to connect rising stars to the gourmet world’s super elite. Less than ten percent of Totsuki graduates ever earned an invitation, and even fewer did so as young alumni.

“That’s amazing!” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “He’ll be so excited.”

“Excellent. I’ll entrust this to you, then,” the WGO underling said before handing Megumi the envelope and standing to take her leave. “Thanks for the tea.”

“Um, before you go...how exactly did you get in here?” Megumi asked.

The woman smirked at the question. “The WGO knows no barriers,” she explained before letting herself out.

When Souma came home from work that evening, just as Megumi was putting the finishing touches on dinner, the first thing he did was come over and start kissing her. Megumi smiled into it, almost forgetting the monkfish stew on the stove and the WGO envelope resting on the coffee table.

“Mail came for you today,” she said once they parted, trying her best to sound neutral. She didn’t want to risk ruining the surprise.

He didn’t end up opening it until close to midnight, after they had eaten dinner and made love and traded stories about the day’s kitchen mishaps and hard to please customers. It was one of those lazy, chilling-in-pjs evenings that she’d become protective of, given their increasingly demanding work schedules.

When he finally got around to pulling out the invitation letter, Megumi’s chest began to ache with a breath she didn’t quite notice she’d been holding. She admonished herself silently as she sat on her side of the bed, watching him.

“This is insane!” He turned towards her with those bright eyes, that full grin. “I got into the WCC.” Then he must have read something in her expression, or lack thereof. “Did you already know?”

Megumi smiled sheepishly. “A WGO agent came to hand deliver it earlier this evening,” she explained, before leaning over to peck his cheek. “Congratulations. I know how hard you’ve worked for this.”

“Thanks, Megumi.” Souma scratched the back of his head in that shy way he did whenever she praised him like this.

She kissed his neck a few times before glancing down at the letter. “So what are the details?”

“It’s going to be in Amsterdam this year,” he said. “Next month, on the weekend of the fourth.”

“Oh.” Megumi’s brow furrowed when she heard the date.

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said. Well, it wasn’t nothing. “It’s just...that’s the weekend of Fumio-san’s party.” She knew the dorm mother and all their friends from the Polar Star were excited to see them. It would have been the first time all of them got together since graduation. “But this is more important. You should definitely go.”

In the weeks leading up to the conference, Megumi would wish that she hadn’t seen the relief on his face as she excused him—that he hadn’t agreed to abandon their joint commitment quite so quickly.

She hated herself for the twinge of frustration that rose within her whenever he brought it up in conversation—I wonder who the speaker is? You think Nakiri and Hayama are gonna be there too?— as the act of resenting her significant other for doing something she literally told him to do smacked of a type of pettiness she hadn’t thought herself capable of.

The morning they rode the rickety A train out to JFK, prepared to fly out of different terminals, Megumi still nursed a belief that he would change his mind and return to Japan with her. He had always been able to read her mind before, to know what she wanted.

But after he walked her to her airline’s check-in, he didn’t buy another ticket. He just kissed the top of her head and asked her to call when she landed.

Then, Megumi speculated as she boarded her economy class flight, he probably went up to the first class lounge all WCC attendees enjoyed and drank top shelf bourbon and reviewed the restaurant proposal he’d been crafting after hours.

He probably didn’t think twice.

The conference hotel in Amsterdam was right on the water, and just as he was checking in, Souma saw none other than Nakiri Alice stepping down from a luxury yacht.

She marched into the lobby wearing oversized sunglasses and an all white pantsuit. In the past several months, Deconstruct Denmark had become a runaway success, and it definitely showed in the way the Nakiri heiress carried herself.

Alice gave a small wave when she noticed Souma. “There you are, Yukihira! I was hoping I’d be able to give you the itinerary.”

Souma gestured to the packet of conference materials he’d picked up at the reception desk. “You mean these?”

Alice laughed a bit. “Oh, no. I mean the social itinerary. It wasn’t easy, but I was able to find out who from Totsuki got invited to this thing. The whole squad is coming.”

“Wait, which squad?” While they were in school, there had been an incredibly large friend group that fissioned off into subgroups as needed.

“Labcoat Trio, plus you, Erina, and Hisako,” she explained. “That’s it from our year, but Isshiki, Kinokuni, Tsukasa, Kobayashi, Saito, and Momo all got invites too. Anyway, we’re all going out tonight after the opening ceremonies. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a rager.”

Souma considered this for a minute. Something about treating this trip too much like a vacation made him uneasy. “I don’t know. I mostly came here to pitch my restaurant idea.”

Alice chuckled a bit. “I see that Erina’s gotten to you. But where do you think you’re really going to get to know potential investors? In this world, you gotta work hard and play hard.”

Souma smirked a bit. “I’ll think about it.”

“Nothing to think about,” Alice replied. “I’ll see you tonight.”

A nostalgic feeling came over Megumi as she stood in the kitchen of the Polar Star dorm and cooked alongside Yuki and Ryoko. They had come downstairs early, before six, so all the food would be ready by the time guests started to arrive.

“I’m surprised you’re up so early, Yuki,” Ryoko teased, and Megumi laughed. Back in high school, Yoshino Yuki could always be counted on to sleep until noon.

The brown haired woman merely shrugged. “My sleep schedule has been all over the place since I started working on the cruise ship. Besides, Alice has been posting about the WCC and I literally can’t stop watching.”

“Isn’t it just a bunch of talks and business deals?” Ryoko asked with a shrug.

“Um, no!” Yuki turned her phone so her friends could see the Instagram photos herself. “At least not at night, anyway.”

“Oh wow,” Ryoko said. “They’re basically just club hopping at this point.”

“Right! I’m so jealous!” Yuki whined.

Megumi didn’t exactly want to look, but she did anyway. And when she saw the pictures of her boyfriend popping champagne in a smoky nightclub with Alice and company, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Lovely priorities.

“What’s the matter, Megumi?” Ryoko asked.

“Nothing.” But she kept scrolling, and the more she saw, the more this new frustration mounted. She stopped at an image of the six of them clustered around a table lined end to end with tequila shots—Souma next to Erina, probably daring her to take another.

She sighed, handed the phone back to Yuki, and resumed making her onigiri, squeezing the rice a bit more tightly than necessary.

“It’s okay if you’re a little angry with him,” Ryoko said with a knowing smile. “It’s perfectly normal.”

“Why would I be mad?” Megumi asked. “It’s a great opportunity.”

“But he already had plans with you.”

The executive chef shrugged, noting how much tension in her shoulders she had to push through in order to do so. “No one gets invited to that kind of event and doesn’t go.”

“Well, Isshiki-senpai didn’t go,” Yuki chimed in. “Personally, I think he’s insane for passing up the invite, but he said Fumio-san will only turn 85 once.”

“So it is possible, then,” Megumi said, mostly to herself. That was something. “We should probably get started on the cake.”

#shokugeki no soma #soumegu #sorina #soueri #between us #on casual commitments #love is complicated

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keener-esme · 5 years

Text

the bones you’re made of

ft: zig novak & esme song description: after zig mistakes esme’s attitude for anger towards him, she proves him wrong in an unexpected way, revealing a huge part of her past. date: march 12th location: the cemetery & esme’s favorite restaurant. tw: suicide, mentions of drug use/overdose

Esme had never liked treating this day like anything but just another twenty four hours. She didn’t want the sympathy from outsiders, and especially not the wayward glances from her own father who surely counted down to this day second by second, just to have another reason to resent his daughter. It had been three years since her mother’s passing and she still hadn’t been deemed worthy of forgiveness of the crime she didn’t know she committed. It didn’t sting as much as it did at first; Esme had come to terms with her own guilt over time, and while she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel faultless, it was a start. Knowing her father’s routine, he’d have already left her destination, leaving her to go it alone how she liked, so when the last bell rang, she headed straight for her car to get a good head start on the long drive ahead.

Zig While Zig felt as if he was slowly getting his game back after a night with Zoe a few days back, something about seeing Esme almost made him feel guilty for his actions— as if he did something wrong. Perhaps it was due to the fact that things between them ended in such a harsh manner, but reasons aside, he couldn’t help but call out upon seeing her walking his way. ❝ Hey. ” His brief greeting was ignored though, and she continued on to her destination without a second look, seemingly distracted by whatever plagued her mind. but, he took it as a sign that her anger from that day had not subsided. He followed closely behind her, his own rage now rising in his chest. ❝ Really ? You’re gonna ignore me ? Real mature. ” He rolled his eyes, grabbing hold of her wrist and cursing himself for even going out of his way to talk to her when he was the one who chose to end it.

Esme No. Not him, not today, she mentally begged, squeezing her eyes shut like he would dissipate into thin air when she opened them again. Instead she felt the fingers curling around her wrist, her entire body stiffening at the startling contact. It was too familiar and while he couldn’t have known the effects of the action on her, she still reacted in kind, ripping her hand away with wide eyes. “Don’t do that,” she faltered, slowly recuperating from the shock. She almost wanted to laugh at the audacity of his entitlement, staring blankly as if he would come to his own senses which was, of course, too much to ask. “I’m giving you what you wanted, and I’ve got somewhere to be.” She left him with, taking another step to reach her car door.

Zig held his hands up defensively as her wrist was pulled away, “Whoa, sorry.” He was almost taken aback by her coldness after he assumed things had been somewhat mended after their last conversation. “Yeah, but that was before...— I thought we were cool now.” If things changed again, he could only assume that she put two and two together about Zig’s Hastygram post and knew he hooked up with Zoe. He reached out to grab her again, only to pull back at the last moment, careful not to startle her like last time. “Are you mad about the post?”

Esme could feel herself flush at the retreat, quickly moving past it to avoid questioning . "We're fine, Zig." She sighed, both for the misunderstanding and for the mention of something she had diligently been trying to ignore, but even so, neither factor was the reason behind her dismissal. "I think you're an idiot for hanging out with someone like that, but don't flatter yourself. I'm not mad at you," she clarified, though her tone and overall demeanor could easily be construed as the opposite. "I just really have somewhere to be okay? We can talk about your mistakes later."

Zig still felt wary despite Esme insisting that she was not mad. “Do you actually have somewhere to be, or are you just blowing me off? Because it kinda feels like the latter right now.” He rubbed the nape of his neck, eyes cast downwards as he awaited a response. “If you don’t wanna talk you can just say so...”

Esme was easily growing tired of explaining herself. She knew the timing was strange, especially after they'd found such unexpectedly solid ground in the days prior. But her plans were time-sensitive and her priority in the moment, proven by the way she exclaimed in response. "I have somewhere to be and if you don't believe me, feel free to come along!" Guiltily, she left it at that, getting into the driver's side, assuming that was the end of things.

Zig sighed loudly before getting opening up the passenger door of the car and tossing his backpack in the backseat. “Fine, if it’s really that important...” It wasn’t as if he didn’t believe her at that point, he was more so curious as to what the pressing matter was. “So, where are we headed?”

Esme , though not terribly politely, had been kidding in her offer, eyes widening in surprise as she was taken up on it. "I was-" she trailed off, eyeing him curiously as he accompanied her inside the vehicle. "You'll see," she answered cautiously, hesitating a few more seconds before pulling out onto the road. "I hope you didn't have anything else going on today, we're going to be gone all night." She wasn't sure why she was allowing this but soon enough they were headed in the direction of her old city, the driver gnawing at her lip anxiously. She considered stopping somewhere neutral instead, throwing him off with a red herring and sparing them both awkward evening, but her foot stayed on the gas pedal until they were pulling into the tall gates of the cemetery, Esme expertly curving through the path and parking alongside the familiar row of stones.

Zig had an inching feeling that her offer was not meant to be taken seriously after entering the vehicle, but it was far too late to turn back at that point. "I love all night ragers as much as the next guy, but you know it's a school night, right?" Rather than questioning anything further, he let the topic go, knowing he'd find out what their destination was soon enough. It was difficult to read the mood of the car on the drive there, leaving Zig to sit in silence as he tapped away mindlessly on his thigh. He began to take note of his surroundings only after they started traveling into territory unknown to him, eventually leading into a cemetery. It was really one of the last places he expected them to arrive at, and he was far too startled over the current situation to say anything at the moment. Again, he chose silence, eagerly waiting for Esme to make the next move, or say something to ease the tension he felt throughout the car ride.

Esme could sense the shift in Zig's comfort, suddenly feeling the guilt creeping up on her for letting him tag along. It would have been easy enough just to explain her plans for the evening without dragging him down, but they were too far out to consider going back home now. Sitting in her car for a moment, she wondered if she was supposed to warn him of who they were there to see, not that it would lessen the awkward outing any. Undoing her seat belt, she slowly moved onto the grass, leading herself over to the stone in question and sitting on the grass facing it. "Kamusta mommy, ito ay Zig."

Zig followed Esme quietly until they stopped at a gravestone with a familiar looking last name on it. "Is this..." He was about to question the identity of the deceased, only to have it be confirmed by Esme's greeting. While he was fully aware that Esme was fluent in other languages, he'd never actually heard her speak anything besides English. "Uh... hi... Mrs. Song." Unsure of what to do, he gave an awkward wave to the tombstone before turning to Esme. "Should I... go?"

Esme wasn't sure if it was in poor taste to Snicker at Zig's greeting, but she found it endearing aside from the obvious shaky nature. "Good thing the first boy I introduced her to is so polite," she grinned softly, scooting aside as if it was a social event. "You don't have to. You can, I'm sure this wasn't exactly what you were expecting. Told you it wasn't about you."

Zig laughed uncomfortably at her own giggles, afraid that he was making a fool of himself in front of both Esme and her mother. “The first? Well now I’m starting to feel special.” He began to relax a bit after situating himself next to her and realizing that she was far more easygoing about everything than he was. “Yeah, but I go with the flow, y’know?” She hit the nail on the head with that one. This wasn’t what Zig was expecting at all, but despite that, he still wanted to be there for her. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you to tell me what was going on.”

Esme nodded, confirming this to be the maiden voyage so to speak. Part of her expected him to retreat back to the car and avoid the strange scenario he was forced into, but she could feel the strange relief wash over her when he decided to stick around. He didn't owe her this, especially with no warning, but she was grateful to feel his body beside her. "Good thing, I'm pretty full of surprises." Her shoulders pulled together in a small shrug, unbothered by his questioning now that she'd arrived on time. "I guess shock value is my thing. You are pretty pushy though," she added, smirking towards him.

Zig would be lying if he said he didn't feel the least bit out of place in a cemetery. As far as he could recall, this was the first time he ever actually visited one. He never had to deal with the passing of a relative, considering all of his were scattered across Russia and out of contact with him. "That you are," He agreed, returning her smirk with one of his own. Throughout his time of knowing Esme, he had often found himself to be astounded by whatever tricks she had up her sleeve that day. The girl knew how to keep it interesting, that was for certain. Perhaps that was one of the many reasons he found himself becoming attached to her. "Hey, I wouldn't have to be so pushy if you weren't so... you." He joked, his smile only fading when his gaze caught another glimpse of the grave and saw the date. He paused to confirm that the date on his phone matched the one etched into stone. "So it was today, huh... Do you always come here alone? What about your dad?" It probably was not the most appropriate time to bring the topic up, but Zig's curiosity got the best of him. For the most part though, it was the thought of Esme doing this alone every year that bothered him the most.

Esme, though surprised, was relieved in finding some of the tension dissipate between Zig and the situation. She wouldn't have blamed him for reacting less favorably or even waiting it out in the car but perhaps she didn't give him enough credit sometimes. "If you like me, you like all of me, right?" She trailed, unsure if she was asking him or herself. It was still a very fresh concept her, but admittedly she was getting used to the idea of his feelings. "Today is the day on the death certificate, but she'd been dead for a few weeks by then," she countered, feeling a brief frown forming. She didn't mean to but a bitter scoff left her at the mention of her dad, quickly shaking her head. "We have a routine, he sees her in the morning, I see her in the afternoon. I'm pretty sure the last time we were here together was at the funeral and if I was old enough to drive, that wouldn't have even been the case. He thinks it's my fault."

Zig took a moment to think before slowly nodding his head and coming to the same conclusion, "Yeah, so I guess that's what this is." This was his way of trying to learn about every aspect of her and accept all of them. "Oh..." Was all he managed to muster up at her words. He was unsure if he should question the details surrounding her death any further, aware that this could be a touchy subject for anyone. "What? That's insane. Why would he blame you for something like that?" His eyes widened at such a revelation, suddenly feeling anger towards a man he had never even met before, but to let his daughter visit her mother's grave alone every year with no support whatsoever...

Esme wasn't sure what she was going for in unloading some of the heaviest burdens of herself onto Zig so early, but she had to commend him for handling them well so far. "It's a long story," she dismissed, instantly feeling guilty for the usual refusal falling from her lips. "No it's not, actually. She had really bad depression after I was born and maybe she thought taking more pills would make her feel better, so she took them all," she shrugged, a little remorseful for speaking so bluntly in front of the grave. "So I guess the way he rationalizes it is that if I wasn't born, she would have never gotten depressed. I was the one that found her, so I'm sure it didn't help that I couldn't save her."

Zig accepted her dismissive answer at first as she had already shared more than enough today— probably more than she was comfortable with, even. The day surely did not turn out as Esme expected, and he was the one to blame for that. The least he could do was ease up a bit and tone down his pushiness for a moment. It came as an unexpected surprise when Esme was willing to go into more detail about her mother, but he listened intently nonetheless. "That's some really twisted logic..." Both from her mother and father. "But it's still not your fault. What were you supposed to do?— I mean, do you think it's your fault?"

Esme wasn't sure what it was possessing her to divulge such long buried information, but she would go down fighting thinking it was simply the feelings surrounding the day and not the boy. There was no reason for it to be so easy to open up for him, something that felt cathartic once the words were to his ears. The question caught her off-guard, being one nobody normally asked her. She'd certainly thought about it, letting it weigh on her for the past few years with or without her father's silent insistence. "Sometimes," she admitted softy, turning her face away in shame as if the confession would make him agree with the blame placed. "Most of the time, actually. You don't get postpartum until you have a kid and I'm an only child and definitely wasn't an easy one to deal with." Exhaling in defeat, she took a pause to distract herself with the minut speck of dirt along side the gravestone in an attempt to get out of her own head. "I probably shook her wrong or something, I don't know," she concluded, moving away to stand to her feet. "Anyway, as fun as I'm sure this has been for you, I can take you back now. I know this was kind of creepy of me, sorry."

Zig felt a sinking sensation as she delved further into her own emotions, knowing the weight of her own guilt must've been a heavy burden to bear. As she turned away, he reached out a hand to gently grab her chin and turn her head towards his gaze once more. "Hey, look at me. It's not your fault, okay? It was never you fault. Your mom... she decided to do that all on her own. It wasn't you, or your dad, or anyone else. Do you really think she wants to hear you blaming yourself for something she did?" His eyes quickly darted to the grave for a brief moment, perhaps silently hoping that her mother would somehow give a sign that he was right in what he was saying. "You know you don't have to do that around me, right? Blow off your own feelings like that. It's like you said, if I like you, I'm gonna like every part of you, even the ones you might not like yourself," He pointed out, becoming a bit more comfortable with his own feelings now. "If you wanna stay here for a little while longer and have some alone time, I can call an Uber to take me back, or something."

Esme was suddenly much more nervous than she had been with her own thoughts, Zig's words trudging up a slew of unknown worry. She let herself face him, making the eye contact that was enough to prove to her that his words were frighteningly sincere. He was the first person to absolve her of the blame, her heart sinking in a mix of emotion from the exoneration. His words were adamant, and she tried to ignore the voice in her head taunting her that she didn't deserve his kindness. "Probably not," she choked out, not daring to follow his gaze. For all the unexpected words he'd brandished that day, his next sentiment struck her most intensely, only able to stare at him for a few moments blankly. "I do with everyone else..." she allowed, wondering why it was so inherently different with him. "It's fine, I come here all the time," she insisted, shaking her head at the notion of dragging him all the way out here to leave him fending for himself. Running her hand along the top of the grave, she murmured a quiet "Paalam mommy, mahal kita," before leading them the few feet back to her car. "I'm starving, do you have to be back right away or do you want to get food or something?"

Zig shook his head, "But I'm not everyone else." Esme must've known the same at that point as well (or at least he hoped she did). He was relieved to hear that he wouldn't have to find his own ride home though, as he'd already have to pay for transportation to his new job later. After Esme said her goodbyes, Zig leaned down briefly before murmuring a small "I'll take care of her. I promise," and following her to the car. "Now that you mention it, I could go for some food." He situated himself on the passenger side and buckled his seat belt. "Where do you wanna go? Driver's choice."

Esme "I'm learning that," she murmured to herself, very much aware that he had a different effect on her than anyone else. She was still deciding if that was a positive thing. She didn't quite catch his goodbye, already opening the door to let herself in and away from the heaviness she'd earned herself. She nodded at him once he was back beside her, already reversing back towards the gate with one last glance down the row they'd been occupying. "We're pretty close to my old favorite restaurant. They have fried ice cream and I pretty much lived there before we moved," she suggested, taking the memorized roads up to the familiar bistro a few minutes away. Again she took the lead, pulling into a spot and heading towards the front door of the restaurant that luckily wasn't as packed as normally.

Zig "How do you even fry ice cream?" He'd heard of fried ice cream before, but never got the opportunity to try it, but there was no better time to do so than now, right? "But that sounds good to me, let's do it," He agreed, watching his surroundings blur as the car was set in motion. After a short drive, the two entered the bistro and found a cozy booth to inhabit. "Nice place," He commented settling down in the seat opposite to Esme and offering a grin to the cheery waitress who offered to take their drink orders immediately after arrival. "Yeah, just water. Thanks." Strapped for cash until his paychecks started coming in, he planned on going for the cheapest options possible.

Esme "You don't ask questions, you just live in its world," she smiled. Happy that Zig seemed satisfied with her choice, she bound into her seat, warmly greeting the familiar waitress who didn't even bother asking Esme for her drink order, scribbling it onto her pad without needing to be told. "I haven't been here in like a year, I don't know what it says about me that they still remember." Once they were left alone, Esme was all too aware of their surroundings, the ambient lighting, the candles, wondering if this was a wise venue to invite someone she still walked the line on. She fiddled with her menu as a distraction, but it hadn't changed since she'd been there last and she already knew what she wanted. " I don't know about any of the meat or anything but they have really good fajitas here," she noted lamely, desperate to quell the silence until they were saved with the return of their drinks.

Zig was almost impressed with how the waitress was able to remember Esme's order after so long, letting out a chuckle at her words. "Kinda reminds me of how I am at Little Miss Steaks. It was one of the first places my family went out to eat at, and I haven't stopped going there since." While his family arrived in Toronto when Zig was two, it was only a few years later did they go out to eat a meal for the very first time. He recalled claiming that it was the best meal he ever had, and the feelings from that day still lingered apparently. "I'll probably just get a burger, I'm not really a fajita guy," He shrugged, knowing very well that his palette was rather bland. After their drinks arrived, he politely placed his order with the waitress and waited for Esme to do the same, curious as to what her usual was.

Esme "Never been," she noted, though she'd heard plenty about the infamous eatery. "Didn't Holly J work there?" She kept her opinions to herself regarding his choice; she obviously couldn't expect him to share her dietary habits and this would at least give her some insight into things he liked, not that she was curious to know more about him, right? When it was her turn, she rattled off her specific order of the wilted spinach salad, lightly salted with extra lemon on the side, no bacon, before offering over their menus. Inspecting her drink, she hummed softly, pleasantly surprised that it was spot-on to the bubble tea she favored, with the usual Boba switched out for pineapple pearls. "Do you like bubble tea?" She questioned, prematurely sliding the glass over.

Zig narrowed his eyes at the revelation, “Really? I thought everyone from Degrassi’s been there at least once.” At the mention of Holly J working there, he groaned before shaking his head. “Ugh, yeah. I always tried to avoid her section though. It was kinda creepy seeing her smile and take orders from people when she was always the one making them at school, I guess.” In his defense, he started eating there long before Holly J started working there, but it became a hotspot for Degrassi students only after she did. He listened to Esme’s order, fighting back a grin that threatened to rear its head. “That’s an impressive order,” He joked. Zig was never one to get fancy with his orders, so it was a bit amusing to watch otherwise. “I didn’t even know what a bubble tea was until just now, so no.” He picked the cup up, shaking it as he inspected the contents. “Looks like a smoothie. And what are those little balls at the bottom?”

Esme laughed. "Steakhouses aren't really prime real estate when you don't eat meat. Leave it to me to be the anomaly I suppose." She didn't know much of the former classmate but she heard from enough sources that she was a bit of a tyrant, so she could take Zig's words as truth. "What a polite way to tell me I'm insane," she smiled, knowing that her choice was less than conventional. It was amusing if nothing else to watch as Zig tentatively checked the drink, Esme chuckling to herself. "Didn't your parents teach you not to play with your food? They're boba, they're kind of like fruit snacks but they explode when you bite into them. Try it," she prompted, spotting the tray of food approaching.

Zig was a bit surprised upon finding out she didn't eat meat. He knew nothing about her eating habits up until now, and after realizing this, he also took note of the fact that this was the first time they ever sat down for a meal together. Could this be a date? "So, I'm guessing you don't wanna try my burger when it comes out then?" He responded playfully. "I don't think you're insane. Crazy, maybe, but not insane." While the choice did seem a little odd to him, he had no intention of judging her for it. "Fine, fine," He put the straw to his lips and tested the goods, pleasantly surprised at how much he enjoyed it. "Hm, kinda weird, but not bad," was his verdict before taking one more sip and sliding it back over towards Esme's direction to make room for the food that was now arriving. "Awesome," He thanked the waitress, then took a bite of his burger, smiling with satisfaction as he downed the first bite. "It's not Little Miss Steaks, but... it's pretty damn good."

Esme "Hard pass, but thanks," she responded, shaking her head and smiling again. "Spinach has more iron anyway." She wasn't sure there was much of a difference between the two adjectives and they weren't words that she ever accepted when directed towards her from someone else's lips, but somehow they were okay being used in jest from him. "Good," she nodded, pleased that he didn't hate the drink. Picking a forkful of her own meal, she scoffed playfully, waving his claim off. " I bet they don't even carry spinach there, no contest." This part of the evening wasn't planned and she certainly hadn't seen herself sitting down to a dinner with Zig, but there was something undeniable about how nice it was. A part of her felt guilty for brushing him off so many times, not realizing that it would feel just as natural to be in his company in a public setting. Sometime towards the end of the meal, the waitress returned, brandishing an enormous dish of the ice cream she spoke of before they arrived. "We didn't-" she began, interrupted with the waitress pointing towards the back of the restaurant. "It's from Claudia," she informed, retreating back and leaving the ice cream between the two teens.

Zig "Your loss." He wasn't aware of it at first, but he was truly enjoying his time with Esme. Even at the cemetery, every part of him wanted to be there with her— to comfort her so that she'd never have to go through days like this alone again. As things began to wind down at the end of the meal, the waitress brought out a rather large bowl of ice cream with two spoons place perfectly on each side. "Ooh, who's Claudia?" He asked, turning to the direction of where the waitress pointed. "An old friend?" He asked, offering the girl a polite way in a weak attempt to thank her for the ice cream.

Esme thought it to be just her luck, the universe making a cosmic joke at her expense when she had managed to turn an otherwise somber day into something worthwhile. "We used to be best friends, I didn't know she still worked here," she answered quietly, her overall tone shifting in discomfort. Another test of Zig's feelings, she supposed, one more sliver of her sordid past she wasn't willing to express. "There's a good chance this has rat poison in it, sorry if you die," she muttered, digging her spoon into a scoop regardless. "I don't know why she would send this, last I checked we were about as friendly as Zoe and I."

Zig could sense the shift in tone after Esme explained their past relationship. "Maybe she wants to make amends... with ice cream?" He followed her lead and shoveled a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, giving the other a thumbs up in approval. "You were right. This stuff's good, even with the rat poison." Though, when Esme mentioned Zoe, Zig's mood also changed as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Uh... why are you bringing up Zoe?"

Esme had very little to say regarding the other girl, but she knew one thing for certain, she had no intentions to repair what they once had. "She doesn't," she murmured, eyes trained on the dessert. She offered a weak smile at his approval, a little too out of sorts to find joy in it. "Because she's also terrible? I would much rather be friends with Claudia again than ever have to deal with Zoe a day in my life. I know you're friends with her or whatever, but she's the worst. She told me my funeral would be a social occasion once."

Zig “Well, whatever it is, I always appreciate free food.” When Esme mentioned his friendship with Zoe, a wave of guilt washed over him after he recalled what happened with her days before. He really had no reason to be guilty though, right? “I... well... about that...” Maybe it wasn’t the most appropriate time to confess, but Esme never really cared about Zig’s other sexual encounters. It used to bother him, but now it may play in his favor. “Me and Zoe... we went to a party together... and stuff happened.”

Esme "Don't get used to it, we're never coming here again," she laughed tensely, her spoon dawdling across the ice cream she'd suddenly become disinterested. She had hope for a moment that his next words to her were that he'd ended the friendship, the one relief she'd receive that day, but those hopes were dashed just as soon. "Stuff?" She pressed, ignoring the way her heart was sinking to the floor. There was no reason for her to feel so nervous. "That makes it sound like you slept with her," she prompted, giving him the out to prove otherwise. "But you didn't, right?"

Zig‘s gaze was focused on anything but Esme when asked to confirm what he meant. “I... yeah. But— I mean, it’s not a big deal, right? It was after we broke things off and...” He scrambled to explain his actions to her, suddenly feeling as if she may not be as cool with it as he hoped. “It was a one time thing and it was stupid...”

Esme could only stare back at the face behind the confirmation. All at once, it was abundantly clear that she held issue with his actions, her breath hitching in her chest. Before she could answer, her spoon stabbed into the scoop, bringing a heaping spoonful to her lips. "Oh." She nodded, no longer willing -or able- to meet his gaze, and instead distracting herself with a few stagnant, silent moments of eating. "You and Zoe," she repeated, another mouthful on the way.

Zig would be a fool not to see that she was certainly unhappy with this newfound information. “There’s no me and Zoe!” Before he could say anything else, the waitress came back with the check. He briefly checked the price before handing his waitress a wad of crumbled cash. “Keep the change,” He insisted. After she thanked them for coming and disappeared to tend to other tables, Zig was left to face Esme once more. “I’m sorry...”

Esme didn't budge at Zig's exclamation. It was no easy task to change her mind, and right now, it was convinced that his affections were diverting. She'd taken too long realizing that she cared to some caliber, and now it was too late. "You and I started whatever this is after we had sex at a party," she reminded, her feverish eating coming to a halt. "Why did you do that?" She questioned, nodding to the check being whisked away. Swallowing, she wanted to hear the apology, but it didn't make her feel any less betrayed. "You're allowed to do whatever you want. We're not together." Trying to hide the trembling hand, she reached for her car keys, sliding out of the booth. "I'll take you home."

Zig groaned in frustration, following her closely behind as she walked towards the exit and back to the car. “Yeah, but I want to be together, Esme. I wanted to be with you for so long and— ... you never wanted to be with me. That’s why I did it. I didn’t know how else to get over you.” He hoped his explanation would suffice, as he was being far more open and honest than he was comfortable with. “Forget it. It’s already getting late. I’ll just Uber to my job.”

Esme had no comeback for his raw admission, the words completely foreign to her ears. She knew he had feelings, something she was still trying to wrap her head around, but somehow it never crossed her mind until now that he would want more from it. "Well I'm glad you found a way to get over me." The claim hurt to say, and it made her anything but glad to hear that she may have missed the opportunity she didn't know she wanted. "Just get in the car, Zig," she sighed, seating herself inside.

Zig couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her words, frustrated that he wasn’t able to reach her in the way he intended. “Fine, whatever. Just keep doing what you always do— push people away until they can’t stand it anymore.” He opened the backseat door to retrieve his backpack and slammed it shut. “You know, I was stupid enough to believe that we actually made progress today.” He thought being brought to the cemetery was Esme’s way of slowly opening up to him, but now he realized it was only done to shut him up and prove him wrong. “I don’t have time for this. I gotta go.” And with that, he walked away into unfamiliar land, taking out his phone and calling transportation to his destination a couple of towns over.

#para #p:zig #zigncvak #tw:suicide #tw: drugs

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