#‘‘let’s send the script he sent me to the animation team while we’re at it I trust him more than I trust my life’’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seokiloquy · 4 years

Text

Catch Me If You Can - Nishinoya Yuu

AU: Penpal / Travel

Warning: Manga Spoilers

Word Count: 7.6k+

How could he not have fallen in love with (Y/N) back then? The foreign transfer student that regaled stories of her adventures around the world with swinging arm movements and an indistinguishable accent that had been muddled over years of travel. She was a sun among stars. A linguistic animal lover that had a passion for learning and adventure. No one could resist her charm, not for long. She was expressive, loud and boisterous. But when given the chance, the outgoing girl will always sit quietly and listen with a kind smile on her face. How could anyone not want to know her?

It was nearing the end of March in 2014 when they last saw each other. Despite it being the beginning of spring, the sun was shooting down warm golden rays of light that (Y/N) happily bathed in. Nishinoya sat next to the excitable girl, looking at the various pins she had stuck into her worn down and faded hat, tired after years of travelling and use. It was spunky, out there, it suited her quite well. In her hand, she fiddled with a keychain that he had just given her moments prior. A small enamel volleyball that he had a duplicate of.

“I’m going to travel the world,” she said, leaning back against the stairs of the gym.

The graduation ceremony was long. Despite that, the volleyball team had gathered in their gym to send off the 3rd years, announcing Yamaguchi as the new captain, and making everyone cry. The 1st years were the worst, only getting to spend one year with their beloved elders.

Nishinoya smiled, stretching his legs along the steps to lay down beside her. “Where are you going to go first?”

She hummed, “I think I’ll go to Australia, I want the accent back.”

Nishinoya laughed and watched as the traveller held up the chain to her nose.

“I want to meet as many people as I can, get some new experiences,” she sighed before shooting up from her spot, nearly launching herself on top of Nishinoya’s relaxed position. Her eyes seemed to be twinkling as they looked into his, “I’m going to write you letters.”

How could he say no to that smile?

For three years they sent letters back and forth. Occasionally sending a care package, typically coming from (Y/N), who always seemed to have money to spare for the best quality of shipping. Nishinoya was always eager to open her letters. The words on the page would dance in his mind, creating beautiful images of the girl he remembered as she continued her travels. He would feel his heart squeeze with every package, carrying various treats and pictures for him to enjoy. Nishinoya always wanted to travel despite never having the funds to do so. Because of this, he lived vicariously through his long time crush’s adventures, holding every gift he received close to his heart.

He saved every last picture, letter, and gift. Yearning for when he would find the next one sitting snugly in the mailbox of his family home in Miyagi. 3 years since the day they graduated they had been exchanging letters, and 4 months since he last heard from his (Y/N), who had suddenly stopped. 4 months he waited.

Nishinoya waited desperately for her next reply, but it never came. Leaving him anxious for months as his family tried to calm him down. Nothing worked. Nishinoya spent most of his free time walled up in his room, ducked under the covers of his childhood bed, waiting.

It wasn’t until his grandfather, Mineo, knocked on his door that something happened.

It was the 2nd of July 2017 at 3:28pm.

“Eh, Yuu, there’s something in the mail for ya,” the old man teased, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

Running out of his room, nearly knocking over his laughing elderly grandfather, the youngest Nishinoya ran out of his house, through the gates and to the mailbox. From the corner of his eye, he could see the mailman down the street. Inside the box was a neatly packaged envelope. He pulled it out gently, trying his best not to fold or mark the clean paper.

Once at the dinner table, family surrounding all sides, excitedly waiting for the boy to open the letter, Nishinoya let out a deep breath. His heart was pounding, gripping onto his ribcage like a prisoner wanting to escape. His hands shook, making the paper let out a desperate fluttering sound. He read the front of the paper.

The letter was sent from Australia. Particularly a city named Mutitjulu, which he didn’t bother to try and pronounce as even in his head, the English word seemed to only be a muffle of sounds. English wasn’t something he was good at anyway. He continued, staring at his name that was scripted on the front in a familiar style. One that he’s been reading for years.

“Well, what are you waiting for Yuu? Open it,” his mother pressured. She was excited too, tired of her son’s heaving and hawing over the past four months.

Taking in another wavering breath, Yuu opened the envelope gently and pulled out the crisp piece of paper. As he opened it, a wad of cash fell out, sprawling across the table his family sat at.

His grandfather laughed, “What is this? Some sort of ransom?”

“You’re not given money when you get a ransom note, let Yuu read the letter first,” His father chuckled as he watched his wife gather the money in a neat stack also grabbing the stiff paper ticket that had landed before her.

The first thing on the page was the date, followed by (Y/N)’s handwriting.

14 August 2014

Dear Yuu,

Australia feels like a home I wasn’t born into. It’s hot and my hair hate’s the humidity, but it’s a beautiful country. The accent makes it all worth it. While writing this, I sit at the bottom of one of Australia’s many sites, Uluru, a giant rock that would make you look like a worm in comparison. There are flies everywhere, and we’re painting stones in dotted patterns. I painted a lizard.

I’ve spent the last week in the outback with a group of born Australian’s working with Kangaroos. They are the funniest creatures, easily aggravated in the wild, but these ones have become used to humans over the years.

A man named Joshua has become my companion for the week. He’s taught me a lot, I can’t say it all in a singular letter, but here’s a funny story. One kangaroo, lovingly named Swipe, stole his hat on a particularly hot day, hiding it somewhere we never found. I had to give him my hat. When you see him, please, ask for it back, I miss it and will have more pins to add later.

Oh right, the money and the ticket. Well, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but I wanted it to be a surprise. By the time you get this letter, it should be about mid-summer of 2017. You know how you’ve always wanted to travel the world? Well, I’m picking out your stops. You won’t be able to contact me, that eliminates the fun out of it. But, that’s your mission.

Come and catch me~

Love,

(Y/N)

Nishinoya had to give it to her, Kangaroos were soft. And even in the heat of the Australian winter, he desperately wanted to snuggle up to them and bury his head into their chests. He had jokingly told Joshua that he wanted to be a joey in his next life, to which the Australian born man laughed and slapped his back.

It seemed as though, despite (Y/N)’s appearance in Mutitjulu having been 3 years prior to his arrival, that she had planned out his whole trip. Getting Joshua to walk him through every landmark and location in Australia that she had visited on her solo trip.

He was a tall man, tanned to a golden ochre colour from his days working under the blistering sun, and you could tell he did hard physical labour from his well built physique. Nishinoya would stare at him occasionally, mostly jealous of his overwhelming height.

The two men were visiting the Sydney Zoo, watching a gigantic alligator eat a whole chicken when Nishinoya asked the older man a question in broken English. He still needed practice.

“Did you help plan everything?” he asked referring to his tour around the continent.

The Aussie shook his head, making his messed up sandy coloured hair bounce. Turning away from the reptilian show, the tanned man looked at Nishinoya with a large smile.

“She did it all herself. Every last detail. You wouldn’t believe it when she told me her plan, she was going to burst!”

Leaving their suitcases at various hotels over the 3 month period and grabbing the bare minimum so they could trek through the day felt new to Nishinoya. He had spent his whole life in one location, only ever needing to carry around a bag or two wherever he went. Joshua carried around a leather satchel everywhere. At every location they stopped at he would reach into it and pull out a photo that (Y/N) had taken while there, handing over to Nishinoya.

“Keep it, I’ve made copies,” he said when Nishinoya tried to give them back.

Noya bought a photo album after that, carefully storing the photos in the slots that were available. He would flip through the pages until late when the birds started singing. The late nights staring at your photos led to beautiful dreams of hiking through forests and petting koalas together, holding hands and watching the sunset. He wanted that. Minus the gigantic spiders.

It was at the end of September when Joshua barged into Nishinoya’s room early in the morning and threw something at him.

“Oi! Get up, get packed. You got more than just a plane to catch.”

Noya, still tired from a long night of drinking — likely being Joshua’s way of sending him off — groggily grabbed at whatever had been bounced off his head. He rubbed his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the light that Joshua had so graciously invited in beyond the curtains.

Groaning, Yuu turned his attention away from the bright sun and onto what laid in his hand. A familiar hat, worn out and covered with pins, it’s original colour faded into a dull grey. Next to it, a letter. His spine shot into a straight position as his fingers gently separated the lip of the envelope from its body as quickly as possible. Just like the one before, money, plane ticket and a letter. A noise in the corner of the room caught his attention, Joshua was stuffing Noya’s clothes haphazardly into his suitcases, throwing a change of clothes to the side for him to wear.

“Get changed Cobber, we got to go!”

Joshua steered the tourist onto his plane, not letting Noya take a detailed look at the ticket. At the gate to the airport, Nishinoya was pulled into a strong hug by the Aussie, who rambled into the shorter man’s ear about how he would miss his foreign wisdom and poorly constructed sentences (which had improved over the months).

Before he knew it, Nishinoya was on a plane, reading the note you had sent back for him.

21 February 2015

Dear Yuu,

You like dogs, right? Well, I sure hope you do. I’ve spent the last few weeks in Yukon, Canada (specifically Whitehorse) and HOLY! It is freezing up here in the wintertime. Luckily the group I’ve been working with provides the proper gear you need but still, it’s frigid. So be ready for that. Margaret will help you out. That’s not actually her name, but she says her real name is too hard for us to pronounce.

Anyway, dog sledding. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried it. It’s such a freeing feeling. Oh, and I might have given one of them the keychain you gave me. I’m sorry, but he was so sweet and I wanted to give him something of mine. His name is Mateus. Be sure to give him pets for me!

Make sure to spend that money well~

Love you,

(Y/N)

Although October wasn’t technically winter, the northern hemisphere was cold, too cold. Bundled up in thick layers, covered from head to toe, Nishinoya laid back in the tall snow, rubbing the bellies of eager huskies that rolled around next to him. Yuu laughed and one jumped at him, pushing his shoulder back into the snow and licking any visible skin he could reach.

“Ya! Mateus, please!” The dog backed off, sitting in the man’s lap, panting happily.

Nishinoya sat up, petting the friendly dog’s head with his thick glove. His other hand moved the collar so he could admire the given jewelry. The metal had oxidized, making it look brown and blue. The volleyball has definitely looked better but Nishinoya wouldn’t complain. The dog whimpered at his new human friend as he played with the chain.

Noya looked the husky in the eyes, “Awe, I miss her too bud.”

The dog whined again and pushed his head up against Noya’s hand. He obliged to the canines request, rubbing the space behind his ears. The dog lolled his head to the side, then let his body completely fall over Noya’s lap. The other’s came closer, joining the lazy dog puddle that made itself home around their new companion.

“If you keep letting them do that they’ll never let you leave.”

Margaret was a kind woman, older and a bit worn after years of working. She was ruff around the edges but as soon as she got a good look at Noya’s photo album (which now also held (Y/N)’s letters) she swept the young man into a bone-crushing hug, telling him about the memories she had from years prior. Noya listened to every story earnestly.

“She’s a natural,” she said. “Hopped onto the sled, grabbed the reins and off she went! Over the hills through the trees and the wolves listened to her every command.”

Margaret’s movements were a shadow of the girl he remembered. Large and unapologetic. He took a sip from his hot chocolate as he watched the woman’s arms wing in fluid motions. The fire that was lit next to them cast a shadow behind her, like a puppet. Other volunteers around the lodge watched in awe as she continued telling her of (Y/N). Just how did she manage to make everyone fall in love with her, would there be any room in her heart for him? Everywhere she went she seemed to take someone with her and Yuu couldn’t help but think he’d be left out. It nagged at him.

On the last day of his stay in Whitehorse, Margaret sat down next to Nishinoya and handed him a neatly wrapped pile.

“You know, I sometimes wondered why (Y/N) asked me to make duplicates of her photos. But after spending these past couple of months with you, I can understand it. You’ve got yourself a keeper.”

At the bottom of the pile of photos was the letter, sent back to Margaret from his next location. The woman patted his shoulder.

“You better pack up soon, I’ll drive you to the airport.”

3 September 2015

Dear Yuu,

I know the cold must have been ruff. Haha, get it? Ruff? Well, don’t worry, cause where you’re going next it’s all summer and sun (with the occasional thunderstorm but a little rain never hurt anybody).

The Florida keys are hot. I’ve been spending a lot of time either at the beach or indoors where it’s airconditioned, but It’s been a lot of fun relaxing in the sun here. I found a restaurant, tucked in behind the white fences of a narrow road just by the waterfront. It has a large sign saying “CASTAWAY” I think it’s fitting with the whole nautical theme. It has high ceilings and gives off a wood cabin by the lake sort of feel. All the workers are nice, I’m writing this while talking with them.

I recommend the honeybuns!

Love,

(Y/N)

The honey buns were delicious. They weren’t even something you had to order, but Nishinoya did anyway, every single time. Joe, the owner, along with his wife busted the bar table that Nishinoya sat at. He was the only one in there at the moment flipping through his photo album, adjusting all the photos in place, making them look orderly. Without looking, he reached for one of the many bread buns that sat in the woven basket next to him.

“You know Noya, there’s more food other than the honey buns,” Joe chuckled as he snatched the bun filled basket out of the grasp of Noya’s clingy hands, making said boy pout. Joe laughed again before slipping a laminated piece of paper his way, “Read the menu kid, you might find something worthwhile.”

Joe, despite his outward appearance being that of a beer drinking food lover (which he was), was an avid deep sea diver. Often going with Miranda to collect underwater treasures that could be used as decor for their restaurant.

Nishinoya nodded, thanking the kind man as he began to read. The words gave him a bit of a headache. English, definitely something he’s improved on since beginning his journey but still makes him run circles in his head. He rested his chin on the counter, squinting, hoping the change in sight would magically turn the English into Japanese. It did not, and after 5 minutes of continuous grumbling, Miranda came his way.

“Noya, sweetheart, take a look at the drinks would ya?” she laughed, towel and plate in one hand, flicking the back of the page with a long spindly finger from the other.

He flipped the page over.

The (Y/N) Special

“What is this?” he asked pointing to the only spot on the page that had kanji characters mixed in with the English alphabet.

Miranda smiled, leaning her elbows onto the counter. Flicking a chummy finger toward the page she explained, “That right there, is a drink (Y/N) made up on one of the nights she was here. She jumped over the counter and made us all one, then gave us the recipe for later.”

Joe came their way with a cheeky smile, “Give it a go. It’s got a bit of alcohol in it but not a lot, fine for a midday drink.”

Yuu gladly took the drink created and named after his beloved adventurer and gave it a big gulp. It was cold and sweet with a bit of lemon, perfect for the everlasting hot weather in Florida. He could imagine lounging at the beach or by a pool with (Y/N) sleeping peacefully by his side as he drank this, both of them soaking in the sun’s warmth. Noya sighed happily, resting his head in the palm of his hand.

“Hang in there kid. I don’t think there’s that much alcohol,” Joe teased as he flicked Nishinoya’s forehead. “Don’t go dozing off just yet, we’ve got your next letter.”

Noya didn’t even realize that Miranda had left, only just seeing her as she came back out from the restaurant’s back with a box in hand.

The pictures were of her in various places, just like all the others. Now mostly at the beach or at his current location. He didn’t hold himself back from admiring the images of your summer glow as you posed happily for the camera in your bathing suit. One image of your face stuffed with honey buns make him cackle outright. At the bottom of the box was a small corral and your note.

18 June 2016

Dear Yuu,

Oh YUU~ please don’t be mad at me! I know you probably wanted to see me first out of all our friends but I couldn’t help myself. Brazil was already on my list and where else would I go besides Rio de Janeiro?

Hinata has grown so much since high school, you’ve got to see him play. You should be proud of your Kohai, he’s gotten pretty amazing~ His roommate, Pedro, was really nice too he likes OnePiece and Spiral Knights. Reminds me of Kenma a bit. They were both kind enough to accommodate me for my stay. Oh, Oikawa showed up too.

Be sure to give Hinata a hug for me~

Love (Oh so very much),

(Y/N)

Had they still been in high school, Hinata would’ve probably blabbered about everything upon Nishinoya’s arrival. But, as you had said, Hinata had grown and thus, he learned some restraint. Managing to respect the wishes of his travelling upperclassman who insisted that he kept a tight lip about everything until Noya had begun his travels in Rio.

Noya, on the other hand, was rather discouraged that his past teammate had gotten to spend months with his girl. His girl? His girl. He grumbled, crossing his arms with a haughty huff.

Nishinoya had arrived in Rio in February of 2018, getting the chance to hear all of Hinata’s stories from the beginning of his appearance in the hot city. Heitor, Hinata’s teammate for a tournament they played a couple of months prior, listened carefully to Hinata’s ramblings as he switched back and forth between languages, translating as much as he could. Nishinoya also often found himself admiring Heitor’s coiling hair. A complete opposite texture from his own. (Y/N)’s appearance seemed to be news to Brazilian man as well, but both listened with rapt attention as the carrot head rambled.

Noya got really pouty when his friend showed him the pictures though, mostly fixating on the one that had Oikawa, Hinata, and (Y/N) all making strange faces at the camera.

“Shoyo, must you torture me like this?”

Hinata only responded with a large smile and wiggling dance.

Heitor and Pedro had become Nishinoya’s closest companions after Hinata left for Japan. Nice, Heitor’s newlywed wife, reminded him of Saeko, making her his go-to whenever he needed to rant to someone. She never understood a word he said, but would always give him a pat on the back and a warm smile. Luckily, Pedro had managed to pick up some Japanese during his time living with Hinata, making the learning curve of figuring out Portuguese a little easier.

At the near 3 month mark of his stay in Rio, Pedro came out of his room with a box that had Nishinoya’s name printed across it. “It. Yours,” he tried to say with heavily accented Japanese, which the streaked blonde man was thankful for.

The name across the top had obviously been done by Hinata, the messy script made it that evident, not that Noya could easily read it anyways. Just like the others, the box held a few remaining photos that Hinata didn’t give him during their time together and her letter. The envelope had a small crease in the top corner, likely from Hinata’s rough handling, but he was eager to read it despite its mediocre condition.

Pedro sat down next to Nishinoya, taking hold of the photo album, and offered to put them in order. Before he did though, he took his time flipping through the pages, listening to Nishinoya as he tried to explain what was happening in each photograph. Pedro smiled.

“I spoke to her quite often, she learned Portuguese rather quickly, I was surprised,” he paused for a moment, watching the memory that played in his mind from the photo he had taken of you and Hinata playing volleyball on the beach. “She is quite an amazing person.”

Despite not being able to fully understand what Pedro had said, Nishinoya could hear his feelings.

Why did she have to be so magnetic that even a near stranger felt her gravitational pull?

With an almost sad sigh, he gave Pedro a nudge and began to read the letter. It was filled with glitter. That was new.

31 December 2016

Dear Yuu,

HAPPY NEW YEAR! I might be a bit tipsy but that’s okay! I’ll write this anyway.

New years in France is filled with alcohol. I shouldn’t be surprised but the wine is surprisingly sweet? And you know me, I can’t restrain myself when it comes to sweets.

Paris is beautiful by the way. I can’t wait for you to see it. Danon has been an amazing tour guild. He even gives me a discount on the coffee from his family’s café. Despite being in the more expensive part of town the café is rather quaint. When his parents are out Donon lets me choose the music, it’s typically 70’s dance and pop music, like ABBA. Who am I kidding, It’s mostly ABBA. Sometimes other customers join me in dancing, Danon can’t because he works but I see him grooving behind the counter. I think I made it a tradition.

Ooh, I also made another friend, her name’s Brielle, she's just lovely.

It’s beautiful here Yuu~

Love you loads.

(Y/N)

Was Nishinoya jealous when he met Danon? HELL YES HE WAS. The man was their age, and undeniably handsome, clean quaffed brown hair and perfect skin. Nishinoya spent his first few days in Paris giving the other man the side-eye.

That’s how it was, until one Friday evening, when Nishinoya walked into the café he was stopped frozen at the door.

“Ah Noya, my friend! Come join us!” Danon called over the music once he saw the shorter man enter.

In the Frenchman’s arms twirled a beautiful young woman with dark skin and braided hair that swung at the middle of her back. ABBA was playing, Noya noticed as he entered, weaving through the dancing couples of men and women alike. Danon and the woman met him halfway, and Danon, being the gentleman he is, bowed slightly as he gestured to her.

“This is Brielle. I’m sure (Y/N) must have mentioned her in her letter.”

Brielle laughed, waving her hand dismissively, “The two of us only got a moment together, a week at most. But she did talk about you Nishinoya. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

They spoke in English, with French accents, but Noya was thankful for the familiarity, although it did make him notice his own mangled accent even more.

“So what’s happening here?”

Danon laughed, “It’s (Y/N)’s night! What else?!”

The day slowly turned to night and the Eiffel tower began to glow outside the window. Nishinoya tried his best to dance in the sensual duets that took place in the middle of the floor, but more often than not, he went behind the counter, taking Danon’s parent’s place and giving them a chance to take centre stage. Out of the pairs, his parents were the most infectious. But anyone could look Danon’s way and see that he and Brielle were a match made for the night lights of Paris.

Towards the end of May, Nishinoya sat at one of the tables next to the chalk wall, sipping slowly at his tea. Danon came out from the back, giving his mother a rub on the shoulder before sitting across from the Japanese tourist. He placed a clean stack of images on the table between them. Before pointing to the chalk wall with a melancholic smile.

“She wrote you a message up there, ‘see you soon’, she said that a lot about you,” the taller man slid over the stack.

Noya slowly flipped through the photos, pausing at one that captured a moment of Danon holding (Y/N) in his arms as they danced, being perfectly framed by the Eiffel tower behind them. Noya gripped the photo a little tighter. His heart clawed at his insides again. That nagging feeling was back, making the palms of his hands feel sore and warm. Danon’s voice pulled him out of it easily, the man was a siren.

“She is a remarkable woman. If I had the same opportunity that you have right now,” he trailed off, pausing to take a breath, “I would follow her off the edge of the world if she asked me,” Danon took the photo out of Noya’s hands, giving it a fleeting look before tucking it into the album that rested open on the table.

Gulping, Noya met the man’s eyes across the table.

“Aren’t you with Brielle?”

Danon smiled, “I am. (Y/N) introduced us. Brielle knows of my infatuation but trusts me and I can’t thank her more for it.”

“You two are beautiful together,” Noya said, looking up at your name on the wall. He took another long, slow sip of his tea.

“As will the both of you. If you manage to catch her that is.” Danon spoke softly, joining his new friend in staring at their crush’s smooth writing on the wall. “Can you do me a favour, Noya?”

Nishinoya hummed, continuing to look up.

“Love her for the both of us, okay?”

8 May 2017

Dear Yuu,

A kind old man was nice enough to let me spend most of my time with him and his dog at their home in Hamburg, Germany. He’s a potato farmer! But sadly he injured his back working, what a spine breaker. Anyway, I offered my help farming in exchange for a warm bed and food. He was happy to help! Oh right, his name is Adal. He’s a bit of a grouch but I know he’s secretly a softy.

I managed to get to a few places around Germany before settling down there for the rest of the trip though. My favourite by far is the torn down Berlin wall. It’s covered in graffiti and art and it’s just filled with so much history. It’s overwhelming but seeing the broken wall is just such a beautiful sight. I don’t even think I can put it into words.

Don’t let Adal be too mean to you~

Love,

(Y/N)

Nishinoya knew what you meant by the wall being overwhelming. It felt like he had the memories of generations pushing down on his shoulders all while a swell of happiness and relief seemed to lift his chest upwards. It was a sight to behold.

Adelina was a kind but blunt woman in her 40’s. Their initial interaction was a shocking one that left a bitter taste in both of their mouths. Noya, a stranger that had shown up at Adal’s doorstep that was in the middle of vast farmland was greeted with a less than welcoming hello.

“Is Adal here?”

In broken English, Adelina responded, “Adal is dead. What do you want?”

After explaining his now new predicament to the resilient woman, she had broken into a gasp eyes wide as she rushed up the stairs of the house. She nearly tripped coming back down, holding a box that was covered in dust and set it down on the wood table in the middle of the large room visible from the door.

She had sighed while she blew off the dirt, “You must be Nishinoya, correct?”

Taking his shoes off at the door, he entered the premises. Adelina had gestured for him to take a seat in the chair across from her and the box. Nishinoya was understandably nervous at the time, desperately wanting to bite his nail or crack his cold knuckles, but he resisted.

“Adal was my father, he died last year and left everything to me,” she started. “I only met (Y/N) once but she was a kind woman from what I remember. Managed to break that old man’s shell. Not many can do that,” she laughed, tucking a greying piece of hair behind her ear.

Nishinoya listened to every word patiently. Adelina wasn’t a great storyteller, she often had to cycle back, remembering events that would have been told earlier on, and sounded rather monotone as she recounted them. For what it was worth though, once she got on the right track, she seemed to be able to recall every detail word for word despite the stories not having been from her own experiences.

“I know the plan was for you to work in the field, but I sold off the farmland not too long after he died,” she said, placing a glass of water for him on the table. “If I had thought a little further ahead, I probably would have waited until after your visit,” she scoffed sadly at herself. “I guess my mind was a bit preoccupied.”

“No, no. It’s alright. I’m the one showing up unannounced. You probably didn’t even remember the plan until I showed up.”

That night, Adeline offered to take Nishinoya on a grand tour through Germany.

“I should at least fulfill some duty that I was given, he would want me to,” she said, giving him a rare smile. “Diese Dinge passieren, und das Leben geht weiter.”

Despite having given him most of the pictures in the box on the first night, the letter remained untouched until after spending three months in the woman’s care. At the airport, Adeline thanked Noya for visiting and wished him well.

“Chase your dreams,” she said, sending him off with a final wave.

1 September 2017

Dear Yuu,

Somehow a little town at Italy’s ankle has made me believe that gods exist on earth. Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but these architects did an amazing job. The buildings are all colourful and beautiful to admire. Especially during the sunset. The whole town is cast with a warm glow.

I’ve been staying in Sorrento, (imagine if I was writing this from Torino! Haha). A small town by the bay known for its beautiful view of the water and 14th-Century architecture, very picturesque. I spend most of my time down by the bay, I’ve gone so often that I’ve even made friends with some of the fishermen. They even offered to take me spearfishing out in the bay. Their boats are beautiful but on windy days I definitely prefer the land.

Don’t let the marlins get to close, they’ll stab you~

Love you,

(Y/N)

“Eh, Noya! You did great! Let me take a photo for you.”

Donte was a middle-aged man that owned a boat by the pier. Often spending his weekends fishing for marlins to feed his family the following week. His hair was dark brown and mousy, slowly fading to grey at the sides of his hairline that trailed down his jaw into a patchy scruff of a beard that never seemed to grow. Quickly, the ageing man grabbed Noya’s phone off one of the seats in his large fishing boat and angled it to face the other man.

“Say: sorridi!” he cheered.

Noya dropped his borrowed trident like a spear on the tiled concrete and kicked up his left leg onto the large metal cleat at his side and balanced the weight of the large marlin between his arms. The fish’s mouth hung open, but Noya smiled into the camera of his phone, yelling out ‘sorridi’ as the photo was taken.

“Ah good. C’mon, I’ll treat you to lunch.”

It was during lunch when Donte began to entertain Nishinoya with some stories of (Y/N)’s visit. The big one was how we decided on the name of his boat. He explained that at the time, his ship was brand new when she visited, with (Y/N) being the first to book a time to experience marlin fishing on the new vessel. At the time the name hadn’t been printed on the side, and when Donte had mistakenly tripped over a loose line it sent him into the cold water of the bay. Despite being able to swim, the visiting woman had immediately pulled out the rope ladder tying to the side of the ship and dived him.

Donte laughed as he recalled floating in the water with (Y/N) staring at him with an irritated expression. “I can swim you know?” he said, making her grumble and paddle to the ladder she had set up moments prior.

“The water is nice, but you better get out soon,” she had teased. “Don’t want the marlins to attack.”

“Thought that ‘the Mad Mer’ was fitting. She did look like a goddess while swimming after all.”

The description made Noya smile happily.

Donte was starting his next story when Nishinoya felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Asahi had sent him a message.

We’re all meeting up today.

Are you coming?

A cheeky grin pulled on the corner of Noya’s face. Swiping his phone across his screen and clicking, without sending a word to his friend the image was sent.

Woah, Noya!

Are you still following those letters?

Nishinoya chuckled.

You bet!

Donte nodded his head in Noya’s direction and took a large gulp of water and a bit of food from his plate. “Who you talking to?”

“Ah, an old friend. Sent him the picture of the marlin.”

On his final day, after packing up all his clothes, Nishinoya flipped through the new photos he collected. His favourite had been taken on the same day that she had dived into the water to help Donte. It was of (Y/N) in a flowing white dress, arms spread wide open, with the sun setting in the background making her dress glow. This photo closed out the passage of Sorrento, Italy.

30 March 2018

Dear Yuu,

Hazyview is quite the sight. It’s full of green trees and large expanses of grass. Rolling hills turn into mountains with sharp cliffs and rounded tops. It’s a sight you’ve never seen before.

I got to travel around a bit before settling in Hazyview so I could learn about all the languages they speak. It’s so interesting! I swear some of the people I met probably thought I was some foreign nut job, but I had fun

Working at a sanctuary for elephants is such a rewarding experience. I wish I could have stayed a bit longer to help. Luckily they primarily used English to communicate because of all the immigrating volunteers they get, but even the diverse collection of language there was amazing. But that’s not the point. Elephants. Elephants are the point.

We managed to save a baby and his mother from poachers! The little guy was rather clingy, and I got to name him!

Work your hardest~

Love,

(Y/N)

Nishinoya was relieved when he was able to practice his English again with fluent English speakers at the sanctuary. Nearly two years of practice has shown some improvement.

Jabulani was the man that greeted him when the helicopter landed at the sanctuary. His arms were wide open and his smile was big, showing off his pearly white teeth.

“Welcome!” he yelled over the sound of the helicopter’s blades spinning.

It took a couple of days for Nishinoya to get the chance to interact with the large beasts. That time was spent settling in, getting a tour, and learning about the protocol that was held in high regard at the sanctuary (for good reason).

When Jabulani, nicknamed Jabu, introduced Noya to the various elephants that were being rehabilitated he was brought to a pause at one.

“His name is Shino?”

“Ah yes. You’re (Y/N)’s friend. I almost forgot. She talked about you a lot.”

Noya made a large gesture with his arms, throwing them in the warm air. Then he adjusted the old button filled hat on his head to block the sun.

“When (Y/N) said she named a baby Elephant I thought I was going to be small! She named it after me, and he’s that big?!”

Jabu laughed at Noya’s pain. Giving a hard smack on the back. Earning a groan from the slightly saddened man.

“Don’t look at it like that. Think of it this way,” He said as he grabbed Noya’s shoulder, straightening his back. He gestured to the elephant’s trunk that started sprinkling water over its head. “She must think highly of you. Think you can reach great heights like the trunk of an elephant.”

“That height is mediocre when giraffes exist.”

The throwaway comment earned Noya another hard smack.

“Don’t say that around the elephants. They’re sensitive creatures.”

Occasionally, at night when everyone was lounging around the common area, eating food and relaxing, Nishinoya got the chance to listen to Juba and his friends speak in their native tongue. Zulu was something he had never heard prior to coming here, and as he listened to them converse fluidly without tripping over any syllable or sound he couldn’t help but realize why you appreciated the complexities of language so much.

The last letter was short, and when he opened it a picture slipped out. You wore Karasuno’s classic colour; black. You were in a waving salute, your two fingers in the motion of pointing away from your forehead. The back of the black tracksuit was visible thanks to your slightly turned position. You stood on the steps of the volleyball gym, the doors were open. The letter was sent back to Hazyview recently.

9 April 2019

Dear Yuu,

What do you think? The newest job suits me, huh? I managed to race through school while I waited. World Cultures, I’m excited.

See you on the first day of school~

Love,

(Y/N)

April 20th of 2019 was the first day of school. Nishinoya had flown in from Hazyview the night before, greeted by his parents who pestered him about all of his adventures on the way home. Still wide awake with jitters of excitement, Noya rambled about every moment and story, flipping through his nearly complete photo album.

He was wide awake until he wasn’t. Despite his eagerness to wake up early to the following day and hopefully ambush you in the morning before classes started, he managed to sleep through most of the day. When he finally did wake up he was groggy from the jet lag but forced himself to change into something more presentable than plane clothes. Be grabbed your old hat, oxidized keychain and his photo album before rushing out.

Once he got to the front gates he breathed in deeply. It had been years, and the nagging feeling had returned to his chest. Students gave him weird looks as they left the school grounds.

How could he not have fallen in love with you back then? But how could he be so naive to believe he was the only one? He thought of Danon in that moment, letting the words replay in his head. Over and over again. For the both of us.

Taking one last breath, he ran towards the old gym he remembered. The doors were slightly ajar and the welcoming sound of air-filled balls bouncing off the wooden gym floor made his heart race. He screamed as he kicked the doors wide open.

“(Y/N)!”

A high pitch screech followed.

“Noya? What the hell are you doing here?”

Despite the change in hair, now back to his natural black, Ukai hadn’t changed a bit. The squealer, Takeda, held his chest tightly as he stood straight, recovering from the sudden scare. The players on the gym floor began to murmur, they’d ask their coaches questions later.

“Sorry, Takeda, Ukai. Do you know where (Y/N) is?” Noya asked, gripping his belongings tightly. “I thought she was going to be in here.”

Takeda let out a shaky laugh, “You haven’t changed a bit, Noya. But did you maybe consider she’d be in the girl’s gym?”

Ukai sent Takeda a confused look, to which the bespectacled man waved off as if saying ��I’ll explain later.’

Nishinoya began bouncing on his toes, ready to move. Wearing a smile, he yelled a loud ‘thanks!’ as he bowed, before running out the double doors.

The girl’s gym, though not one he visited in his past often except for those moments he went to see (Y/N), brought a familiar feeling. The sound of balls ricocheting off of solid surfaces greeted him as he stood outside the double doors, waiting, scared.

Then he heard your voice, heavily accented but pronouncing every word with a sense of style with accuracy. Soothing and sharp with a bit of a raspy bite from years of hysterical laughter and yelling.

“Tiny Hinata! Natsu, can you do me a favour real quick?”

Slowly, he pushed the doors open.

Nishinoya didn’t even see the young orange-haired girl lift the old polaroid camera to her face. He was too busy enjoying the old familiar feeling of his girl’s hands holding his back, hardly even hearing the smack of objects fall from his hands and onto the floor. He melted. Noses brushed against each other as she pulled him into a kiss that was worth the years of patient pining. He let out a breathless laugh when she pulled away, letting his head fall back for a moment as she used her hands to lift him back into an upright position. His hand came to rest on her shoulders, massaging them gently to fully know that she was there.

That nagging feeling finally crawled away, chased out by an eruption of warmth in his stomach.

“I finally caught you, (Y/N),” he said, wearing a dopey grin.

“Took you long enough,” she teased, hitting his arm.

Picking up his belongings that he had dropped suddenly, he held the brim of her old hat between his fingers and slipped it onto her head. Back where it belonged.

The photo was a pretty one, fitting perfectly into the last page of his album.

So this onshot comes from a prompt in my writers notebook that I’ve been wanting to write for over a year. And when talking to one of my firends we got really into multiple different idea’s and then dragged Kiwi into it. So this one is sort of collaborated.

I hope you liked it! it’s the longest thing I’ve written so far and it’s about the length of a regular two or three parted story. - Bacon

Posted: 03/07/2020

#Haikyuu x reader #Nishinoya Yuu #nishinoya x reader #Haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #anime x reader #anime #manga x reader #manga

56 notes · View notes

thosekidswhohuntmonsters · 4 years

Photo

Can’t Loose You

Summary: The avengers are calling in anyone who has experience with Thanos, and that includes the guardians of the galaxy. However, when a conference call with Tony Stark goes badly that’s when Peter realizes how much he has to loose. How there’s just certain things, maybe even certain people, that he just can’t live without. Suddenly Peter realizes that he just can't loose you.

Word Count: 3829

Rating: v spicy, deff 18+

Song Pairing: Fooled Around and Fell in Love

Author’s note: god this is something I wrote a long, long, time ago. still, I think you guys are going to really like it! I think after this I am officially caught up on all my marvel fics!!

♡if you enjoy this fic you’re welcome to leave a reblog/like/comment! feedback is not only welcomed but encouraged!♡

Peter getting genuinely mad was not something that normally happened. Sure he got into fights with Rocket or even the occasional fight with Gamora, but nothing super serious. They would be solved within an hour or so, and soon replaced with “We’ve been married for forty years” bickering.

Not today though, Peter was truly mad. He slammed the door shut as he left his room, “Have I ever told you that Tony Stark is a huge dickwad”. The Avengers were calling in anyone who had experience with Thanos, which meant he had to video chat with them.

Raising an eyebrow you said, “What happened did he say his gun was bigger than yours?”. Peter laughed dryly and gave you a bitch face, letting you know he was truly angry.

Raising his hands up in anger he said, “No he didn’t (y/n), but he insulted us all!”. You’d placed down the book you’d been reading, giving Peter your full attention. Trying to ease his anger you asked, “Have you talked with Steve he’s much more-”.

Peter cut you off, “He said we were inexperienced, that I don’t care enough about you guys and put your lives in danger!”. You had expected something like that to annoy Peter, but not make him fuming.

You walked over to him, “Why did he say that Peter?”. His anger only grew, and he avoided your gaze. He punched the wall, “Doesn’t matter, the asshole said it! I care about you guys so much!! We’re family and-”.

This time Peter was cut off by Rocket, “ I think we all know who you care about Quill”. You felt yourself blushing as Rocket tried to subtly hint at you but failed. The rest of the team had walked in, done running errands for the day.

Peter pointed a finger at Rocket, “Don’t start with me right now I’ve seconds away from calling you the “r” word!”. Rocket just rolled his eyes, and took Groot to go sit down with him.

Gamora asked, “Maybe Tony was referencing your trip to Morag with (y/n)”. That was one of the missions that the team could never forget.

Drax added, “Oh yes, that was the time where Peter made a huge mistake and got (y/n) seriously injured”. Gamora turned sending daggers at Drax while he looked confused. That mission was something Peter hated talking about.

You and Peter had been sent to Morag to retrieve an ancient script that the Nova Corps needed. It was supposed to be the classic run of the mill mission which is why only you and Peter went.

Morag was an oceanic planet, and only housed various species of animals. The script was located in a sea cavern, but you had a map telling you directly where it was.

Rocket had given you and Peter special equipment to breath underwater. The mission couldn’t get any simpler.

You and Peter easily found the cavern, and it was amazing to be underwater but have everything be clear as day. Peter smirked watching you take it in, “Guess swimming with the fishes ain’t so bad in this case huh (y/n)”.

Smiling back you said, “As long as either of us don’t go belly up”. This caused the both of you to laugh, you were the only one who was able to share Peter’s sense of humor.

Being from Earth helped greatly, Peter had first found you on Xandar. You’d been a shield agent sent to help handle intergalactic communications.

It had been love at first Footloose reference, except both of you hid your true feelings from each other. Settling for friendship in order to not lose everything. Peter knew he needed to keep you in his life no matter what.

Peter swam ahead of you, entering the cavern. The script was right in front of him, “Uh houston have a problem...this was too easy”. He turned around expecting to see you roll your eyes or try not to smile at his joke.

Peter grabbed the script and shoved it into it’s waterproof case, slinging it around his back. Quickly he jumped back into the water, wanting to make sure you were okay.

His eyes widened when he saw you being dragged down deeper by a huge shark like creature. As he sprung into action Peter said, “We’re gonna need a bigger boat”.

He wondered why you hadn’t yelled for help but then saw the various scratches all over your helmet, the bastard had cut the communication cord.

The creature was thrashing around, going behind and infront of you. Peter noticed you motioning to your suit, and he realized the air tank had been punctured by the creature's teeth.

He had to do something quickly before your air supply ran out and the creature dragged you out of range. It was a risky shot but he took it anyway, firing an underwater gun the Nova had given him.

At last second the creature had moved, but Peter still hit it. He swam over to you watching the creature sink to the ground. Blood clouded the water around you, turning it from a light blue to a dark red.

Peter’s smile faded when he saw you clench your side, realizing although he’d hit the creature he’d also hit you. Things got worse when he saw your eyes begin to close, your mouth opening.

With all of his strength Peter carried you to the surface, swimming as fast as he could. The entire time he talked to you, “We’re gonna get out of this and you’re gonna wake up and give me that classic smirk”.

As he dragged you out of the water he continued, “That look where you pretend to be mad at me but we both know you find me irresistibly charming and when you think I’m not looking you finally smile”.

He quickly placed his breathing peace into your mouth while with the other hand he applied pressure to where you’d been bleeding.

Peter shook his head, “Come on (y/n) you can’t quit on me yet, you still owe me that drink from when I beat you in pacman!”. His smile returned when he watched you open your eyes and begin to cough.

With all your strength you said, “We both know I let you win Quill”. Somehow he found himself smiling, god you were just as stupid as him.

Peter was scared you’d heard everything he’d said, but maybe you’d be too out of it to even remember. He called for Rocket to come meet you with the Milano, and he carried you aboard.

That had been one of the worst memories of Peter’s life, the moment where he almost lost you. In that moment he realized how he didn’t love you like a friend, he loved you loved you.

That had been the exact moment Stark had brought up on the phone, and it made Peter furious. Speaking up you said, “We all know that wasn’t Peter’s fault, we had thought the water was clear”.

Peter shook his head, “I should’ve checked thoroughly, I was too cocky”. You could’ve checked the water more thoroughly too. Peter lowered his head, “I should’ve known something was up when you weren’t right behind me..I thought you were just enjoying yourself”.

Softly you asked, “So Tony did bring that up? Peter he’s made countless mistakes himself...we’ve all come close to losing someone!”.

Peter looked at you, “But I can’t lose you (y/n)!”. Gamora patted Drax on the shoulder, signaling for them to both leave the room. Loudly he asked, “But Gamora we were about to see if Peter would finally adm-”.

Gamora shut him up by pushing him forward, thankful he hadn’t finished his sentence. Peter’s anger had finally left him, but he was now filled with guilt. You took a step closer to him, “And you won’t Peter”.

He shook his head, “But what if-”. Walking over to him you took your hands in his, trying to stop your dirty mind when you realized how huge they were.

You looked into his eyes, “Peter you’ll never lose me, I’m like the terminator-”.

Peter smiled softly finishing your sentence, “You’ll be back”.

You could always make each other laugh at the most fucked up times. Peter still held onto one of your hands, and you blushed when you realized it.

With his other hand he picked your chin up to meet his gaze. Peter’s eyes looked deeply into yours, “You’re so beautiful (y/n)...”. You bit your lip with all the attention he was giving you, feeling your own feelings for him start to surface.

Smirking you said, “Peter Quill, are you trying to seduce me?”. Peter also found himself smirking as he pulled a remote out of his jacket pocket. Before pressing the button he said, “If I were trying to seduce you, there’d be music playing”.

His face lit up when , “Fooled around and fell in love” blared through the ship's speakers. He pulled you into his arms whispering in your ear, “Peter Quill doesn’t try to seduce women, he does seduce women”.

I must have been through about a million girls

I'd love 'em then I'd leave 'em alone

You rolled your eyes, smiling when you thought he wasn’t looking at you. One hand rested on the small of your back while the other held your hand in his.

Teasingly you said, “You don’t seem to be able to seduce any women lately”. You’d been happy that lately Peter hadn’t brought any women back to the ship because every time he did it broke your heart.

I didn't care how much they cried, no sir

Their tears left me cold as a stone

Sarcastically he said, “Bit of a dry spell lately” the both of you knew that wasn’t it. Playing along you replied with, “ I thought Starlord never had dry spells”.

Peter’s heart raced hearing you call him that, it was a huge turn on, but it felt more intense coming from you. Together your bodies swayed to the beat, “Been awhile since you’ve brought anyone back”.

You laughed, “Since when do you keep track?”. Peter was happy you weren’t looking at him, that way you couldn’t see his blush. Trying to play it cool he said, “I just want to make sure you don’t beat me”.

That was a lie. Peter noticed every time you brought someone back to the ship because it just confirmed his own insecurities. He pushed down his feelings by distracting himself with women, but it just made it worse...they weren’t you.

But then I fooled around and fell in love

I fooled around and fell in love, yes I did

You rested your head against his chest, causing his breath to hitch. He couldn’t explain it but every time you touched him it was like the first time anyone had. Things just felt right with you.

Softly you said, “I don’t think that’s a contest either of us would win”. Peter heard the hurt in your voice and thought that maybe you’d felt the way he did. Slowly Peter spun you out, but instantly missed the feeling of having you so close.

Ah, but since I met you baby, love's got a hold on me

It's got a hold on me now, I can't let go of you baby

Peter dipped you, feeling his own desire growing looking down at you. You just smiled up at him, your eyes so inviting. Feeling nervous for the first time in his life, he quickly brought you back upright.

When Peter saw the happiness leave your face he realized that he just had to go for it. He found himself laughing, realizing what Drax had said earlier was right. There are two types of beings in the universe; those who dance, and those who do not.

Confused you looked up at Peter and asked, “What are you giggling about?”. Peter looked down at you with love in his eyes. He moved his hands to your hips, “You and I both dance”.

You were even more confused, “And? We both eat and drink-”. Peter’s smile grew, “That’s not what I’m saying...I’m trying to say that…”. Peter knew that once he told you he loved you everything would be out on the line, but he couldn’t pretend anymore.

Peter moved one hand to cup your face, “I love you (y/n)”. You stood there for a moment, unsure of how to react. This was something that had played out in your head almost a hundred times, but now it was happening.

When you saw how happy he looked any doubt you had vanished. Smiling you said, “I love you too Peter”. Peter just smirked, and you knew something fun was about to happen.

He picked you up into his arms and yelled, “If the ship is a rockin’ don’t come a knockin’”. You threw your head back in laughter along with Peter.

Not wanting to miss the opportunity Rocket yelled back, “Finally!! Groot you owe me 10 units!”. Rolling your eyes you realized they’d been betting on how long it would take you and Peter to finally tell the other how you felt.

You didn’t care though, you were in Peter’s arms. He closed the door to his room with his foot and smiled smugly, obviously proud of himself. Joking you said, “Real sexy Quill”.

Peter crashed down onto his bed, you on top of him. Once again his hands found your hips as he kissed you passionately. Peter couldn’t help himself, as the kiss continued he moved his hands to cup you ass.

You shook your head, “Someone’s eager”. Peter only gripped your ass tighter causing you to squeal. Smirking he teased, “Someone likes it”. The man wasn’t wrong, you did like it.

You loved his big hands running up and down your body. Leaning back you pulled your dress over your head, and Peter watched you while licking his lips.

Eyeing you up and down he repeated, “So beautiful..so fucking beautiful”. Feeling daring you put your hands behind your back and slowly took off your bra.

Peter’s mouth feel agape, and he felt himself getting harder. Before he knew what he was doing he brought his hands up to cup your breasts. You threw your head back and moaned, loving the way his calloused hands felt against your skin.

As Peter began to suck on your nipples you bucked your hips, it felt so good. He moaned, “You’re going to be the death of me (y/n)”. Peter only stopped sucking to take off his shirt and pants, needing this just as badly as you.

You ran your hands up his chest slowly, marveling at how toned he was. Raising an eyebrow he smirked, “Like what you see?”. You started to slide down his boxers, “Something tells me I’ll like the full package better”.

He didn’t know how but you caused him to swallow hard, stunned for a moment. Peter was experienced, this wasn’t his first rodeo...but just something about you did it to him. Made him feel like up until this point he didn’t even know what pleasure felt like.

You slid your body down so you face now rested above his extremely hard member. Peter just looked down at you, feeling the desire in his stomach grow like hunger.

Slowly you slid down his boxers, watching his member spring forward. You bit your lip, “Fuck Peter”. It felt so good to hear you say his name like that, and it made his member pulse.

Slowly you licked up his shaft, watching his eyes widen. When you got to the tip you sucked the precum off of it, moaning. You kept eye contact the whole time, “You taste so good”.

Peter moaned loudly, everything you did made him feel like he was going to explode. You kissed your way back down his shaft, knowing what you did next would drive him wild.

You began to suck on his balls, one of his more sensitive areas. He threw his head back, “Oh fuck”. No other girl had ever done that, it was like you were made for him.

Before taking him in your mouth again you said, “I want you to look me in the eyes baby..it turns me on”. Peter nodded his head, watching you intently.

You took as much of him in your mouth as you could while your free hand massaged his balls. Peter had never been more turned on in his life, especially knowing that you were enjoying this too.

You started bobbing your head up and down, obscene sounds leaving your mouth. Small moans and groans kept escaping Peter’s mouth, this had never felt this good before.

Finally you took him out of your mouth with a “pop” of your lips. Peter brought your head back up, kissing you once again. You smiled knowing that he didn’t care about tasting himself.

While kissing you Peter turned you on your back. With a devilish smile he said, “My turn”. Peter pulled you towards his face by the backs of your knees. He teased you through your panties, running a finger up and down your slit.

Your breath hitched and he noticed, “So wet for me already”. Your panties were practically soaked, and he loved it. He loved knowing you felt as good as he did, needed this just as badly.

Slowly he took your panties off, you were fully exposed to him. His hot breath teased you further as he whispered, “I wonder if you taste as good as you look”. With one hand he spread your folds, exposing your clit fully.

He sucked on it as he groaned, “You taste even better”. The way he moaned against you sent vibrations all over your most sensitive area. You threw your head to the side, damn he was good at this.

With his tongue Peter traced patterns around your clit, occasionally taking it between his lips and sucking deeply. The amount of pleasure you were feeling was insane, no one had ever made this feel this good before.

Peter would dart his tongue into your entrance, loving the way it made you moan. Instinctively you ran your hands through his hair, tugging at it. This caused Peter to moan making your clit vibrate.

Gasping you said, “Oh Star-” but then you caught yourself. Peter brought his head up, “What did you just call me?”. You were scared it might’ve turned him off, but you’d always thought about calling him Star lord during sex.

A devilish smirk returned to his face, “You’re an awful liar”. You found yourself smiling taking in how blissfully happy Peter looked. You waited until his face was buried between your thighs again, “Star lord”.

Peter moaned loudly, feeling his hard member twitch. He moved his body back up and hovered over you, “You’re such a tease (y/n)”. He tried to look angry but failed miserably, the boy was head over heels in love with you.

Smirking you asked, “Am I not supposed to call my commander Star lord?”. He closed his eyes as a moan escaped his lips, maybe heaven was real. You found yourself smiling, he was such an idiot.

Slowly Peter ran a hand down your body, spreading your legs once again. He kissed you passionately on the lips before kissing down your jaw and neck. Peter massaged your clit with his fingers, “Say my name again”.

As you moaned, “Star Lord” he finally inserted a finger inside of you. You moved your hips up towards him, needing more. Peter was leaving obvious marks all over your skin, wanting everyone to know how good he’d made you feel.

He started to pump his fingers in and out of you slowly, driving you wild. Begging you asked, “Star Lord..I need more”. Reluctantly, Peter took his fingers out of you, but not before bringing them to his lips.

Peter licked his fingers clean as you watched with eyes wide open. Holding your gaze he said, “I could taste you all day”. You couldn’t contain yourself anymore, you needed him so badly.

Letting go of his hair you said, “I need you inside of me”. Peter didn’t need to be told twice, he brought his body up to hover over you. You pushed him onto his back, “I have a feeling you’ll enjoy the view”.

You turned around, slowly sinking down onto his member. Peter closed his eyes and moaned loudly, feeling you stretch around his walls. You arched your back as you began to ride him, bouncing up and down.

Peter spanked your ass, “Fuck this is perfect”. His back rested against the headboard of his bed. With his hands gripping your hips he started thrusting inside of you. The room was filled with the sounds of your loud moans.

You loved the feeling of Peter filling you up, “Oh god”. Grabbing a fistful of your hair he pulled your body back, your head resting in the crook of his neck.

With this new angel Peter went even deeper inside of you, hitting your g-spot. Peter loved looking down at you and see you coming undone. Holding his gaze you said, “I’m so close”.

Peter was holding on by a damn thread, just as close to the edge as you. To your surprise he moved his hand to rub your clit, “Cum for me (y/n)..cum right now”.

Between Peter rubbing your clit and his words, you were sent over the edge. A tsunami of pleasure washed over your entire body, wave after wave of pleasure hitting you. Peter only rubbed your clit faster.

As he looked down at you and how beautiful you looked, Peter felt his own orgasm shake throughout his entire body. It was like a bomb had gone off inside of him, every nerve in his body exploding with ecstasy.

Together you rode out your orgasms, yelling out each others names. It was one of the most intense moments the both of you had ever felt. It redefined what pleasure meant.

Finally when he caught his breath Peter moved you so you were now cuddling his side as he laid down on his back. He looked so blissfully happy, a look you mirrored. Peter giggled, his happiness overflowing, “That was awesome”.

You rolled your eyes, but found yourself smiling. Nuzzling into his side you said, “It’s never felt that good before”. His expression softened, his eyes now filled with love.

Looking down at you he smiled, “I think this is what love is”. Love was something Peter Quill thought he’d never be able to feel, but you changed all that.

If this was love...he could get used to love...hell he never wanted to feel anything else. Peter kissed you on the forehead, and just enjoyed being blissfully happy with the love of his life.

♡ thank you for taking the time to read this, you’re a babe♡

Forever tags: aka some amazing people: @moonlessnight14 @sexyvixen7 @angieptt @painkiller80 @becca-dolan @team-heichou @thatpeachybandgirl @allthesesonsobitches @buckybarneshairpullingkink @couldabeenamermaid @taeeemin @littleredstarfish @nali67 @only4wakingup @mcenziehughes

*if there is a line through your name that means that for some reason it won’t allow me to tag you*

*forever tags are always open*

#Peter quill #peter quill x reader #peter quill smut #peter quill imagine #peter quill one shot #Chris Pratt

249 notes · View notes

duhragonball · 5 years

Text

Dragon Ball Z Movie 7: Super Android 13!

Movie 7 premiered on July 11, 1992, after episode 147 and before episode 148. The original title is “Dragon Ball Z: Extreme Battle! The Three Great Super Saiyans.” That may be the most coherent movie title I’ve come across so far.

We open on footage of 17 killing Dr. Gero in his lab. Toei went out of their way to reanimate this whole scene, although the Z-Fighters aren’t in it. I’m pretty sure that big energy blast at the top is Vegeta blasting the door open, but he’s not actually shown.

And the Z-Fighters ought to be standing at the doorway, watching 17 finish Gero off, and yet they’re completely out of sight. You’d think their shadows would be visible here.

But Gero’s supercomputer in the lab’s basement is still hard at work. We first learned of the computer in Episode 143, because Cell credited it with his creation. And it was destroyed in... Episode 145, because Trunks and Krillin wanted to make sure it didn’t send any more surprises after them later. So yeah, we’re not even ten minutes into this movie, and we already have a continuity issue.

In the anime, the supercomputer just has a tank with the embryonic Cell next to it. But in this movie, that’s nowhere to be seen, and instead there’s three chambers, like the kind that once held 16, 17, and 18. What could be inside?????

And here’s the title screen.

This movie’s pretty thin on story. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, because it’s got plenty of action, but there’s not a whole lot for me to write about. As far as I can tell, this is set in some possible scenario where the good guys beat the androids and maybe Cell too, although it sort of looks like Cell just stone cold never existed in this movie’s world. So the gang is in the big city just sort of relaxing.

This is Trunks’ movie debut, but it seems kind of weird having him just stand around and kill an afternoon with the others. He seems to feel even more awkward about it than I do. If the androids are beaten, why hasn’t he gone back to his own time? Instead, he’s tagged along with Master Roshi, Krillin, and Oolong for some beauty pageant. They wanted to get good seats for ogling the girls, so they showed up super early. Krillin tells them to quit being lecherous pervs around Trunks, but earlier he was the one going ga-ga, so yeah.

The punchline here is that they ended up getting the date of the even wrong, so they stood in line for nothing.

Meanwhile, Goku and Gohan are helping Chi-Chi at the store, because women be shopping, amirite?

Outside, these two mofos show up and just start walking through everything.

I mean literally. If a bus gets in their way they just rip right through it.

Pretty sure they could fly straight up to where they’re going, but they take the escalator instead.

Then they open the elevator shaft, fly up it, through the car, and then rip their way to whatever floor they want.

All of this so they can shoot at Goku from the floor below where he and the gang are eating dinner. This whole assassination attempt seems kind of poorly thought out. If they were going for stealth, why were they so sloppy about getting this far? If they didn’t care who saw them coming, why didn’t they just smash right through to this floor and attack directly?

They manage to save everyone on the floor from the blast, though, so no worries. Goku suspect the attackers are here for him, so he tells everyone to get as far from him as possible.

Sure enough, the pair follow Goku, and he deduces pretty quickly that they’re more of Dr. Gero’s androids.

It takes a while to get the introductions made, so let me get this out of the way here. This one is #15, he has a hip flask and he likes to drink out of it.

And this one is #14. He looks like some sort of reject from the movie Highlander. I’m not sure why their skin looks that way.

Gohan insists on helping, even though Krillin says there’s nothing they can do at their level, and even though Chi-Chi wants him to come home for summer cram school. Gohan refuses, on account of his dad’s life being more important. So Chi-Chi tells Krillin to go after him and make sure he’s okay.

Back at the lab, the supercomputer activates a third android, #13. Why not just send them all out together? Is this just because #14 and 15 are having trouble? Because they haven’t really gotten very far into the fight yet.

Trunks tells Goku that they should take the battle to the polar region up north so civilians won’t get hurt. There, 14 and 15 manage to do a pretty good job working over both of them.

Then 13 shows up. The good news is that he’s more talkative than the others, but the bad news is that he doesn’t have much more to say, really. Practically every one of his lines is just a restatement of how they were sent by Gero’s computer to kill Goku.

That’s pretty much the whole problem with this movie. The villains are just... more androids. Are they cooler androids than the ones from the anime? Well, I guess that’s a matter of taste, but they don’t really have the personality of 16, 17, and 18. They might look cooler, but they don’t have character arcs or anything like that. 14 hardly speaks at all, and 15 just has that hip flask and a loud costume. 13′s got his hat, and not much else.

This is where the Funimation dub really came to the rescue, becaue they dubbed the Movie androids with a lot more flavor. 15 was really sassy, and 13 had this beligerent redneck persona to match his costume. My favorite line from the dub version is when he says “I was programmed to kill your ass”.

We get none of that in the Japanese version. These three are all business, and there’s not much to say here that wasn’t covered by #16-20 in the anime. Dr. Gero hates Goku, they were built to kill him.

The only real twist I can see in this movie is when 13 explains that Gero’s desire for vengeance was “transferred” into the computer. So now the computer hates Goku just as much as Dr. Gero did. Maybe that’s a distinction without a difference. In the dub, the computer was just a plot device to explain how the androids got turned on. Team Four Star’s abridged version of this movie had Gero upload his consciousness into the computer when 17 killed him. I liked that idea, because it allowed Gero to actually be in the movie, albeit as a stationary object. But the original Japanese script seems to be proposing that the computer itself could be the mastermind this time around. Except it never speaks or does much of anything through the whole film. It’s basically an even crappier Dr. Wheelo, if that’s even possible.

On the other hand, it sort of explains why the computer went out of its way to send 13, 14, and 15 into action. In the anime, it’s strongly implied that they were considered failures, either scrapped or put into storage. Gero probably wouldn’t have bothered to use them again, not after all of his later models failed, but if the computer hates Goku too, then it might be desperate enough to try to hurt him with whatever it has on hand.

So they keep fighting. Trunks has to handle 14 and 15 by himself, and it doesn’t go well.

Then Vegeta shows up to save Goku from 13′s finisher. Standard speech, no one gets to kill Kakakrot except me, yadda yadda.

So 15 goes after Vegeta, and now we have an even three-on-three fight.

Now, you might be wondering why they haven’t all gone Super Saiyan yet. Well, to answer your question, I have no idea. I get the impression that these three androids are far weaker than their anime counterparts. I mean, these would have to be the third string, or why else would Dr. Gero have left them on the shelf when he needed help? Goku, Vegeta, and Trunks never would have survived against 16-20 without their Super Saiyan forms, so the fact that they hold their own so long here tells me these three ain’t all that. It still doesn’t explain why they waited this long to turn up the juice. When they do finally transform, Krillin exclaims “They’ve done it!” like it was hard.

I suppose that’s the other explaination. Movies 5 and 6 both seemed to imply that the boys can only transform when they’re backed into a corner. So maybe Movie 7 is going on the same reasoning, but that’s kind of dumb, since we’ve had Super Saiyans for a while now and everyone ought to be familiar with how they work. Hell, Trunks and Vegeta transformed immediately when they fought Frieza and 19 respectively. They can all do it at will.

I take it back, Gero’s computer is way better than Dr. Wheelo because it has colorful blinking lights, so I can actually distinguish it from the rest of the scenery.

For some reason, Goku still has trouble with 13, even in Super Saiyan form, so Piccolo shows up to lend a hand. This seems kind of underhanded for a show that emphasizes fighting one-on-one.

As for Vegeta and Trunks, they dispatch their respective Androids pretty easily.

But then 13 reveals that YOU JUST ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD. Turns out that when you destroy 14 and 15, some of their components will automatically float up and enter 13′s body, giving him a power boost.

So then he turns into this big blue monster with red Vegeta hair. Well why didn’t the computer just build him like this in the first place? Why bother with 14 and 15 at all?

So yeah, he kicks everyone’s ass, and no one can even put a dent in the guy.

With the rest of the Z-Fighters down, 13 just tees off on Goku, eventually knocking him into a lake.

Krillin spends most of the movie convinced that he’s too weak to help, but then at the end he finally steps in to save Goku, and that’s pretty cool. He eats an energy blast for his trouble, but that’s how it goes.

This gives Goku a chance to try the Spirit Bomb, which we haven’t seen him use since it utterly failed to kill Frieza.

The others try to buy Goku time. Trunks in particular gives a speech about how he’s from the future, and 13 doesn’t exist in the future, and that’s because Goku must be destined to kill him here and now. Pretty sure that’s not how it works, but whatever.

13 tries to shoot at Goku, but Piccolo manages to suplex the big bastard. He only gets him halfway over, but that’s enough to ruin 13′s aim, so good enough.

Then Piccolo calls for Goku to show him the power of a Super Saiyan, and Goku obliges by transforming.

From the sidelines, Krillin points out that this won’t work, because you can’t create a Spirit Bomb with a malicious heart, and this apparently means that Super Saiyans just can’t do it at all. I have no idea where Krillin is getting this from. Goku learned the Spirit Bomb technique directly from King Kai, who invented it, and Goku’s the first Super Saiyan to appear in a thousand years. He is singularly qualified to know whether or not this will work. With all respect to Krillin, he has no idea what he’s talking about.

So what ends up happening is that Goku’s body sucks the Spirit Bomb into itself, so now Goku is surrounded by a glowing yellow ball of energy.

Is this a good thing? Is this what Goku meant to do? Was he just going to try a vanilla Spirit Bomb until Piccolo told him to turn Super Saiyan? Who knows?

Anyway, 13 just dives right into this mess and tries to attack Goku anyway, but everytime he punches him his fists get all messed up.

Then Goku makes this really angry face and he looks like Vegeta to me.

He punches a hole through 13, and he explodes. Fight’s over.

Then the computer just... shuts down? That’s kind of convenient. Maybe it figured it couldn’t do anything else now that all of its androids were destroyed, so there was no point staying active? Maybe its power was connected to 13′s? Oh well.

Everyone’s okay, but they all go to the hospital instead of looking for senzu beans. Krillin’s still trying to explain how Goku did that trick with the Spirit Bomb.

But Goku himself has no idea, so what chance do the rest of us have?

But where are Piccolo and Vegeta?

Just floating around on a chunk of ice, nbd. The fish jumps, so it’s over.

And that’s it.

I don’t know. From a story perspective, this one’s pretty weak. It’s just a warmed over follow-up to the androids arc, with 13 as a cheap knockoff of Cell. Movies 5 and 6 at least tried to raise the stakes with Cooler. Sure, he’s just Frieza’s brother, but he had a fifth form, and his cyborg form was tied into a whole machine planet. Turles was just another Saiyan invader, but he had the Tree of Might thing going for him. 13 really didn’t have anything like that.

Honestly, I think they could have done better by having 16 be the main villain. We never got to see 16 fight any of the good guys, so they could have done a movie where an evil 16 cleans their clocks. At least then it’d be a familiar face.

Nevertheless, I do enjoy this movie, just because it doesn’t skimp on the action. The bad guys show up about 12 minutes in and they fight pretty much non-stop for the rest of the film. It’s a good movie in that regard. If you just want to see a bunch of DBZ characters have a good old ruckus, this one’s got you covered. It’s bright and colorful and you can follow the action without any trouble.

But you definitely want to watch the dub version. It’s just a lot more fun.

30 notes · View notes

thelittleredheadedmusician · 5 years

Text

To Roast or Not to Roast

It’s been a hot sec since I wrote a DC fic but I got an idea about the batkids being asked to participate in a schwanky roast of Bruce and it turned into this! Some light internal angst with a happy ending. Gen Rating: PG Words: 1856 AO3

Dick frowned down at the invitation. The thick envelope made of paper that cost more than most kids in Gotham paid for their notebooks had fallen out of the pile of bills and magazines and postcards when he’d grabbed his mail. It was heavier than anything else in the stack with the cardstock it contained and slipped right out when he’d grabbed everything. He had carried it as though it were likely to explode at any moment or contained deadly poison or was a carrier of smallpox and living in Blüdhaven and having a return address of Gotham those weren’t wholly out of the realm of possibility.

When he’d finally reached his kitchen Dick dumped the rest on the counter and just held the cream envelope in his hands, studying it with narrowed eyed suspicion that only increased as he read and reread “Gotham City Chamber of Commerce” in the upper left corner.

Finally, Dick opened a drawer, pulling a steak knife from within it and tore through the top of the paper. He slipped the invitation out and carefully read the script.

You are cordially invited to a night honoring Gotham’s great businessman and philanthropist Bruce Wayne

The night will feature a four-course meal and conclude with a roast of our guest of honor.

Please RSVP with the card enclosed.

Dick felt his eyebrows raise as he read the invitation again. A roast. Bruce was getting a roast. Bruce agreed to a roast. Bruce agreed to a roast after Alfred pressuring him into it and making the Chamber of Commerce agree to donate a rather large sum of money was more likely. And running his own investigation to make sure he wouldn’t wind up literally on a spit Dick was sure.

He chuckled and shifted the cards to find the RSVP and hope they hadn’t skimped on return postage when he noticed something odd. There was another piece of paper, nicer still than anything he had in his printer but not the same thick cardstock of the invitation. He unfolded it curiously and frowned as he read.

Dear Mr. Grayson,

We hope that you are well and hope to see you in attendance. We are writing to ask if you might consider being one of our special guest speakers for the night. As Mr. Wayne’s eldest son we thought that you might bring a unique and entertaining perspective to the stage. We have also reached out to Mr. Drake-Wayne and Miss Cain-Wayne and greatly hope the three of you would consider speaking.

We await your reply on the matter.

The Gotham City Chamber of Commerce Lucy Plumber Events Chair

As he finished reading Dick let the paper fall onto the counter. He went to collapse on his couch, fishing his phone out of his pocket. They wanted him to speak at Bruce’s roast. They wanted him to roast Bruce. Not that he couldn’t, he did all the time it was quiet easy after all these years and well brooding in a dark cave while dressed as a bat kind of made you an easy target. The question was did he want to roast Bruce in front of these people?

It was one thing to tease Bruce and make fun of him when they were in their masks because that wasn’t Bruce, that was Batman. Batman deserved it more often than not and had bigger things to worry about than Nightwing making fun of him in front of a gang of would be arsonists. Batman was used to having his protegee complain about him with various members of the Justice League and Titans, most of them had just about as much right to complain.

It was another thing to tease Bruce to his friends and family. They got it. They either grew up with the guy too or had been sidekicks themselves. There was a something that came from growing up in the shadow of heroes and really only people who had done that understood it. So yeah, him and Babs or Tim or Cass ragging on Bruce in the cave was allowed. They’d earned that right. Bitching about him with Wally or Roy or even Jason and Steph – when they were on speaking terms – was allowed too.

Standing up in front of a room full of Gotham’s elite and making fun of the man that, to them, saved Dick? Yeah, no. Ok, yeah he did save Dick that was true but he didn’t need a bunch of rich snobs thinking he was some ungrateful circus brat, he’d dealt with enough of that those first couple years after high school thanks. Besides, they didn’t deserve to hear Dick’s jokes. Not the ones about Bruce. They wouldn’t understand. He didn’t want them to understand. Those were personal.

Besides, what was he going to say? “You know how you grow up and people tell you you’re ‘one of a kind!’ and all? Yeah, Bruce never said that and for proof please let me point to the three others who are apparently just like me and even with changes to the costume some still think we’re a singular person!” Or, “People always tell me ‘you’re so well adjusted!’ and yeah I am for a kid who watched their parents die. For a kid who was raised and trained to fight crime by a man in a Kevlar furry suit? Well the verdict’s still out.”

Dick could just say no, he wouldn’t do it. Hell, Dick should just say no. It just… He didn’t know. It bothered him. Everything about being asked bothered him.

He kept playing with his phone, spinning it around in his hand, as he thought when he finally remembered why he’d gotten it out in the first place. He checked the time as he unlocked it and yup, Tim should definitely be awake by now. He hit the call button, lifted it to his ear, and waited.

“Nnngh. Whu?” Tim’s voice was muffled when he picked up and maybe Dick underestimated how late the kid could sleep in on a weekend.

“Good afternoon Timbers,” he couldn’t keep the tease out of his voice, not that Dick tried.

“’M on the west coast. ‘S still mornin’,” he protested. Dick winced a bit, he hadn’t realized it was a Titans weekend so yeah maybe Tim got some slack.

“Sorry.”

“’S fine. What’s up?”

“Well I was going to ask you about something interesting I got in the mail-”

“If Steph sent you a live bat it you should blame Jason,” Tim interrupted quickly and Dick paused.

“Um. No. What?”

The younger boy sighed and Dick could just see him scrubbing his hand down his face before pushing it back up to push his long hair back. It was a movement he did often and one that often prompted a remark about haircuts from Alfred. “I dunno. Harper got her and Cass really into Les Mis and then she and Jason ran into each other on patrol the other night and he caught her belting out One Day More or something? I really don’t know. She was talking really fast, you know how Steph gets. Anyways, they started talking and Jason told her something about how Victor Hugo sent his fiancée a live bat in the mail and she thought it was hilarious and well we all remember what happened when she found those websites were you could send people glitter and gummy dicks and poop.”

Dick had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He did remember that, vividly. Tim and Cass both had a fine coating of glitter over their apartments for weeks after that, though with all the pranks and Cass being Cass there was normally glitter coating their apartments. Dick had gotten the gummy dicks sent to him and work and truth be told they’d been pretty good. Bruce had received the elephant poop. At the office. And Tim had seen and told Kon who’d told Clark and then there was an article in The Daily Planet and Bruce had been forced to give an interview to a very amused Viki Vale about the whole thing when she made a very compelling argument about the failings of a Gotham paper not being able to report on Gotham news and the importance of the press and well there’s a reason she and Lois go toe-to-toe on scoops.

“There was no live animals, though that would have been preferable,” Dick admitted once he was sure he wouldn’t burst out laughing if he opened his mouth.

“What did you get then? A dead bat?”

Dick snorted. “No. At least not today. I got an invitation to a roast for Bruce. And to roast Bruce.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Apparently, you did too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Neither do I,” Dick admitted. “I don’t know what I’d say. I don’t know what I’d want to say.”

“You could say no,” Tim said levelly. “I haven’t even seen it yet but I’m probably going to. Too bad they can’t ask Jason since he’s legally dead and all, he’d love this. Or Barbara. Let her roast him, she’s good at that.”

Dick smiled and shook his head, imagining those two tag-teaming. It wasn’t hard, they did it on the comms some nights and it was some of the most vicious and scathing remarks he’d ever heard. Thankfully, it was rare they were levelled at him. There had been times though and those had been rough.

“I don’t think any of what they’d say is fit for the general public,” he said dryly.

Tim gave a noncommittal hum. “Steph and Harper. They’d just rip into him for being a rich white guy.”

Dick sat up straight. “That’s not a bad idea Tim.”

“What? Have Harper and Steph do it? Um, I still haven’t seen this thing but I’m fairly certain they asked us cause we’re his kids but not like an actual child like Damian.”

“No, I know exactly who it should be. Thanks. Have fun with your friends this weekend, I’ll come to the Manor for dinner sometime this week.”

“Um ok? Bye?”

“Bye!” Dick hung up with a smile.

He pushed himself up over the back of the couch and grabbed the letter off the counter. There was an office number under the signature and while there was a chance she wasn’t in today Dick figured that being Events Chair meant you worked weekends. Besides, it’s not like he couldn’t just leave a message.

She picked up on the second ring and Dick’s smile grew. “Hi Lucy,” he pushed as much charm as he could muster into his voice, “this is Dick Grayson. I just got your invitation to Bruce’s roast and while I’m honored that you invited me to speak I just don’t think I’m the right person for the job. However, I do think I could put you in contact with someone who is. Have you reached out to Bruce’s cousin? Kate Kane? She’s a delight and if her barbs at holidays are anything to go by I think she would be perfect.”

#dc comics #dick grayson #bruce wayne #tim drake #batman #nightwing #fanfiction #my fic #writing #own writing #batbros #the batgirls are better than you

29 notes · View notes

neshabeingchildish · 5 years

Text

Lady and the Tramp

I do not know why the chapters of this story suddenly got so long! I’ve just been unable to stop writing lately. Stress writing, mostly, which I hate to do because sometimes, that can send the story off track. Of course, it can also ignite some of my greatest ideas. Unfortunately, I never know until after y’all tell me what my stress writing came through with. 😭 At any rate, I definitely will cover the conversation later. I didn’t have the place in this chapter to do so. Your reviews are keeping me sane.

Lady and the Tramp

After the sophomore summer, Charlotte knew that she wasn’t going to be able to make anymore trips home. The amount of lab work that she would be doing, the conferences and a lot of the other workshops and stuff she had to do would pull most of her time and being Jasper’s #1 Fan would take the rest. He had several competitions, matches, and games. She was skipping every boxing match, because she didn’t want him doing it in the first place and had even told him that he should go back to kite disc, but without him, the school’s team dissipated and he didn’t have the time to commit to the league again.

Whenever it was Dodge-a-leen time, though, Charlotte was in the stands in brightly colored high waisted leggings with a Big Dog T-shirt, tied up in the back, and dog makeup on her face. She could do that deep voice barking that the fans often did, but she gave it a shot. With her tiny voice, it always stood out and everybody began calling her “Little Dog,” which Jasper loved, because that was his girl. She… had mixed feelings about it. She didn’t know that she cared for the nickname “Big Dog.” Henry used to call him that sometimes, but this was different. This nickname had come about from something that she still found embarrassing, though Jasper never had taken it as such. And also, she felt like Little Dog was a hop, skip and jump from being his bitch, and well… She guessed as long as nobody ever said THAT, she was fine.

Besides, he still called her Chef’s Kiss and she now called him F Sized. She didn’t explain it to other people, as it started out as a little inside joke during one of her sexy study sessions with Jasper. He couldn’t get the answers right, therefore wasn’t allowed to touch the parts. That was how it worked. A was her backside, B was her chest, C was down there, and D - he was able to take her hand and put on his down there. But, if he wasn’t getting the answers correct, there wasn’t touching. She moved or stopped his hand if it was going to the wrong spot. He was struggling with the mock test and began grumbling about how he’d “cockblocked himself with stupidity.”

While stupidity definitely was a turn off, Charlotte hadn’t viewed Jasper as stupid in a long time and she certainly hadn’t called him that ever since finding out that his stepdad did. Whenever he called himself that, she verbally redirected him. This particular study session, he said, “I have a humongous head with a stupid tiny brain in it.”

“You’re not stupid and if you were, your brain wouldn’t be smaller.”

“It is though. You know brains develop differently when kids have trauma, remember?”

“Yeah, but…” She fumbled over her words and managed to say, “I love your fun sized brain!” He loved that compliment. Fun Sized Brain was his new handle on Twitflash because of it.

“I appreciate that you said fun sized, because that is actually exactly what I think of your cute little body as!” She frowned. He smiled and explained, “Because you’re petite.”

“I got it.”

“You have a full sized heart, though!”

She smiled and shook her head, “See, I would have called yours friend sized, but I dig that full sized still fits the alliteration scheme.”

He took her hand and placed it on himself, “Mm hmm, and what is this sized?”

“Fuck sized,” she said, without a pause and they both started laughing. “By the way, the answer is D, so I’ll count that as correct.”

“I don’t remember the question…”

The only person she told the meaning of Jasper’s F Sized nickname was Henry, and she’d said, “Because his brain is fun sized, his heart is friend sized and his manhood is fu…”

“Let me stop you there, Champ,” he said, laughing and shaking his head. “I’m glad that you two fixed everything. You’re not worried that it might go off track again?”

“No, we’ve done a lot of work together to make sure that we’re actually on the same page and have the same goals for us. PLUS, I got us affirmation journals. We decorated each other’s and we keep them, filling them up with greatness as we see it - like the good things we notice about each other, the positives that we see and the accomplishments made by one another. If we have negative times, one can invoke the affirmation journal and either read in it to reaffirm ourselves OR, if we’re that much in our feelings, the one of us that hurt the other will read affirmations to the hurt party. We haven’t had to use them… much, and we’ve both written a whole lot inside of them.”

“So, you two just carry around paper books and write every good thing in it that you can think about each other, so that if you argue, you’ll have the positives on record already to counter the bad feelings?”

“Bingo!”

“That’s… brilliant. Your idea?”

“Sort of. It was my idea to make it into this type of practice, but that was motivated by how Jasper got me not to break up with him. He let me see his life goals journal and I saw these really beautiful things that he’d written about me and it changed my heart. So, I thought of this idea for us to make a part of our love culture.”

“This is so stinkin’ cute. I can’t even bear it!” Henry said with heart eyes. “Ugh. I gotta find myself a lil’ nerd girl.”

“Find a lovable jock,” she advised.

“Jasper’s considered a jock, now?”

“I mean… he’s involved in the athletics program. Let me show you something, I think you’ll appreciate this..” She dug around for a book then showed it to the video call she had open with Henry. It was a red leather bound book with various rocks attached to it, kinda like it was bedazzled, but not with sparkly rocks, and the title was scripted on in some of Charlotte’s nice scripting: Jasffirmation Journal.

Henry gasped, “You did a fun pun!” “I did!” she cheered.

“That’s a nice journal. What are all those rocks?”

“Those are various forms of jasper that I procured myself on an excavation assignment.”

“You’re freakin’ awesome, Char.”

“I definitely agree with that, but thank you!”

“I gotta see what his looks like,” Henry said and texted Jasper to ask him to send him a pic of the affirmation journal he kept for Char. Within minutes, he received it. “OH MY GOD!” Henry said. Charlotte just smiled as Henry fawned over the realistic sketch of Charlotte with stars in her hair and coils that spelled: I’m Charstruck. “He did a fun pun too!”

“We worked with you and Ray for way too long,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” he said, putting his phone aside. “Man, Jasper’s drawing is amazing. Is he taking art classes?”

“No. He’s a tattoo artist, though. Remember?”

“OH! He finished his apprenticeship. That’s cool. Will tattoos money put him through school?”

“One of his accounting major frat bros has helped him with his budget, which I used to do but hadn’t had the time to try to reorganize it, so this guy did. Jasper gets some funds from his fanbase, and he gets free stuff from local businesses and companies - like he’s got all this merch that he basically is a walking ad for and I keep telling him to see about talking to someone about sponsorship, but he’s just happy to get free stuff just for being popular and likable. I’m like, you can get paid to get free stuff for the same thing, Dude! So, he is doing just fine.”

“Does he have any tattoos? I’m not gonna get a tattoo from somebody who doesn’t have a tattoo, just on principle.”

“He’s got a few little ones,” she said.

“Really? What of?”

She smiled and sent Henry texts. She had photos of Jasper’s tats. The one on his arm, which was a blend of a lion and a bull with touching faces (because those were the animals of their zodiac signs and he’d designed the drawing), a Captain Man symbol on his left wrist, small enough to cover with a watch, if he had to for work or something, and the back shoulder that had Lady and the Tramp characters. “Dude… what?” Henry said, “Two of these are kind of big and why in the world did he get Lady and the Tramp tattooed on his body? Does Jasper realize that these are permanent?” “Yes, he does. He’s not an idiot. He got Lady and the Tramp because of the whole Big Dog, Little Dog thing. Lady and the Tramp is us.” She blushed.

“Awwww, well then it’s cute. I thought that he just liked the cartoon or something.” It’s shocking that he doesn’t have your name or something on him.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Does he and you just didn’t show me?”

“No. But… he’s mentioned wanting to get a tattoo of me over his heart. I don’t know how he can. His chest is an erogenous zone for him.”

“His… OK! That makes all those hickies on his chest make more sense now!”

“Those what?” Her eyes were wide. How the heck did Henry know that she’d put hickies on Jasper’s chest? They DID discuss their sex life!

“I saw hickies all over him one time, senior week and he wouldn’t say anything about it to me. And scratches on his back. Is his back an erogenous zone too?”

“No. I just used to have a real problem keeping control of myself when I was finishing. But, he actually likes that kind of stuff, so win-win, I guess. Why are we so casually discussing this?” she wondered.

“We’re friends and it’s normal.” She nodded. She hadn’t really thought to discuss stuff like this before outside of Jasper, but it came out surprisingly smoothly when talking to Henry. She was able to talk a little more about things with him. But, they wouldn’t be able to see each other in person for a while. Their schedules were simply too demanding. She hated it, but it was one of the things that she’d mentally prepared for whenever she first left home.

Women make up 56% of the college population. 25% of college seniors are virgins. 32.5% of college relationships are long distance. 1 in 4 college students have an STD. 63% of college women hope to meet their spouse in college. By senior year, 72% of college students have hooked up. ⅓ college students have been on fewer than 2 dates. Quick Facts: One of the top reasons college students break up is cheating. College students prefer short-term, casual relationships over long-term relationships because it allows them to focus on their academic and career goals. Most college couples break up around spring break, summer vacation, and right before winter break. 28 % of married college graduates attended the same school, but only 2% of North American marriages are comprised of high school sweethearts.

With numbers like that, it was really easy for me to believe that with Jasper’s personality and follow through that we couldn’t possibly be a part of that 2%. And even if we had been, what about those other stats? How much of it would be applicable. Wouldn’t one of us hook up with someone? Wouldn’t someone cheat? Wouldn’t we break up? For a first time relationship to be the last one that you’ll ever have, these possibilities become more or less likely dependent upon what stage in the relationship I was in. It was a fluctuating scale, to be honest. But, by junior year, I definitely felt like I was in a confident place.

Jasper makes me proud, all of the time, His thinking has become much more critical. His plans make more sense. His ability to manage his time has improved. He’s been calling himself a “Textbook Leo,” which has been annoying, because the traits that you didn’t see before, it’s like he tries to make sure that he has them now. That’s fine for some things. Silly for others. But, he’s very focused and he’s going to be a very accomplished man. I believe that with all of my heart.

One of the last times that Henry was able to visit was whenever Charlotte first moved into her new apartment after Rush Week. Jasper helped her to pack, but got the pledges to move all of her things. The apartment that she found was closer to Jasper, in a nice sized townhouse style apartment within walking distance of the frat house, but of course, the guys had to go to another side of town to grab her things from her previous dormitory. Jasper’s little brother was responsible for overseeing - making sure nobody damaged or tried to steal anything, holding on to the keys of her dorm, and personally handing them to her after her things were cleared out and he’d locked up. Charlotte liked him. She was the reason that Jasper had selected him and he was closer to her than to Jasper, but only because it was hard to get close to Jasper, especially now that he believed himself to be a king.

Henry helped Charlotte to unpack, wishing that he still had that hypermotility. Dang, that would have made this a breeze. Charlotte had a lot of stuff and she was very particular with how she set things up. One area that he was intrigued by looked like a shrine of sorts, with a shelf in the middle, and she hung a photo of her and Jasper above it. “What is that?”

“My gift center,” she said, setting things there from a box marked Gifts From Jasper. “I keep stuff that Jasper gives me in an exposed and visible area. It helps the room to have a good attitude.” He made a confused face, but didn’t want to even ask. “I can feel the energy in these gifts, because I know the motivations and the emotions behind them,” she explained.

“You becoming all metaphysical on me?”

“Not all, but I definitely feel like… energy is something that can be manipulated by certain objects and intentions. Like, you ever meet someone and you can just feel that something is off about them? That’s how I was with Casper and I was absolutely correct about her, even though for a whole year she was nothing but pleasant to me, I knew that there was some negative vibrations there.”

“You do like tarot cards and stuff?” He asked.

“No. I don’t know enough about that area of spirituality and I honestly don’t feel like committing the time to learn.”

“Dang. I was gonna ask you to do a reading for me,” Henry joked.

“We can go to one. There’s a girl in the BSU that does them. I feel like she’s the real deal. She grew up in Louisiana in this matriarchal witch family. Though… I don’t know if witch is the right word. I can’t remember what she said. Jasper might, though. He’s fascinated by that stuff. They have an entire segment on the radio show for African spirituality and diaspora practices.”

“I… we should get a reading, just as a gag.”

“You don’t do it as a gag!” She complained, shaking her head.

“Okay, we can do it for real, then.”

“Well, I’ll have to see if she’s available. She has an online business, where she prepares spells and herbal roots and oils and jewelry and stuff. I’ll check her prices for the readings.” She grabbed her phone and Henry kept unpacking. They were bringing the empty, broken down boxes to the recycling bin whenever Jasper’s truck pulled up. They heard him before they saw him. The truck was always so loud, but it was old and cheap, so that was why he had it. He didn’t want to spend a lot of money on something that he only planned on driving for now. Charlotte began buying her reliable but affordable car in high school. She made regular payments on it to try to help build her credit and by the time she was ready to leave for college, it was paid off. It was a metallic gold hatchback and had horse decals on it. Jasper’s big orange truck had all kinds of bumper stickers and window stickers that he’d peppered it with. Henry turned up his nose, “Why is it orange?”

“That was the cheapest thing that he could find when he was looking, and he loves it. He says that he’s always gonna have orange vehicles, now.”

“WHY?”

“Probab;y because he’s an attention whore,” she said.

Jasper had a pretty booming speaker system in the truck and was blasting music, because that helped him not to hear the troubling sounds that the truck made. He turned off the car and got out with a little box, “Hey, Henry!” he said and waved at him. “Chef’s Kiss…” He slid the box to Henry and wrapped his arms around Charlotte. “Did New Henry give you your keys?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Did who?” Henry asked.

“His little brother,” Charlotte said.

“His name is Henry too?” Henry asked.

“No,” Charlotte said, but left it at that and asked, “What’s that?”

“A homewarming present,” Jasper said and took the box back. It made tiny whimper sounds and she noticed it had holes in it.

“Housewarming, and Jasper, is that a living creature?”

“You don’t have a house. You have an apartment, and no..” he opened the box and said, “It’s TWO living creatures!” She looked to see two very adorable puppies with collars and tags… “Lady and the Tramp!”

“Wow. All I got you was a cake.”

“I prefer cake,” she said, then to Jasper, “Jasper, you cannot just give people responsibilities as a housewarming gift! I don’t have time to raise two dogs!”

“I’ll be here like everyday. All you’ll need to do is be happy to see them when you get home.” She bit her thumbnail and stared at him, displeased. That was what that face was. He knew that much. He handed the puppy box to Henry again, pulled out his life goals journal, unlocked it and made an X on the list, which made Charlotte smile, in spite of herself. “I am willing to take on all of the responsibilities parts of them. I’ll make sure they’re fed and clean and…”

“You need to make sure that they know how to use the bathroom before they are moving in here, Dude. I’m not cleaning up dog poo from any surface of my new apartment.”

“That’s fair,” he said. Henry was already petting the boxed puppies and taking photos when Jasper reached for the box. “I’m gonna let them run around in the back of the truck while I’m here. That’s where I got the dog house, anyway.”

“The…” Charlotte looked and saw the doghouse that she didn’t know where the heck he thought that he was putting in her apartment. She turned around and went into the apartment, leaving both dudes and both dogs outside.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell her that they’re both girls because I couldn’t find a male Schnauzer for Tramp. I don’t think she’ll like me naming a girl Tramp, but it’s symbolic.”

“I don’t think that Charlotte likes animals,” Henry said, climbing into the back of Jasper’s truck. “And, she seems more like a cat person, right?”

“She just doesn’t have the time to raise them, but she’s gonna love Lady and the Tramp, once they’re ready to be civilized.”

“She didn’t love Katelyn. She barely acknowledged that she was alive and Katelyn was effing adorable.”

“She took care of Katelyn all of the time! You just weren’t there to see it,” Jasper fussed.

“Why are you getting pissed?”

“I’m not. I’m just irritated that you’re acting like you still know her better than I do.”

“That’s not what I’m… I’m sorry. How are you doing? What season is it for your sports?”

“Wrestling season is October until March. Boxing events usually begin in March. I have Dodge-a-leen practices all year, but tournaments are late spring, usually. Thinking about reviving kite disc for good on campus and just having it be among frats and stuff. I miss it, but I had to give it up. I’d give up anything for Charlotte.”

“Is… that why you felt like you had to give me up?” Henry asked. Jasper gave him a look. “I just felt like we could all still be friends. Whenever you left for college, you were really on this ‘of course we’ll still be friends’ thing, but we haven’t talked out what happened.”

“What’s there to talk out? I apologized and you said, NBD.”

“I said NBD because you apologized, but that doesn’t mean it was resolved. Especially because you told me that I never reached out to you, then when I did, you weren’t available,”

“So, I was supposed to wait for you to decide that you had some need for me? I have things to do, too. Maybe I’m not saving Swellview, but I’m not sitting around waiting to mean something to you, either.”

Henry set The Tramp down and clasped his hands together, “I’m still the same dude who was willing to give up Kid Danger for you. I’m still the same person who took on a full shift at Cactus Con so you could be on a date! I’m still…”

“You’re still the dude who was having wet dreams about my girlfriend right before we got together and acted like I was being an asshole for not wanting you to sleep in the same bed anymore!”

“Okay. Okay. Well, I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable…”

“Being friends means respecting boundaries. This is the woman that I plan to marry. Your friendship makes me uncomfortable, but that’s not why you and me fell out. You and me fell out because whenever I expressed to you how I felt about it, you talked to me like I was a dumbass, and you accused me of mistreating Charlotte!”

“You were mistreating Charlotte!”

“That wasn’t the way to say it! When I’m trying to tell you what I don’t like or don’t want to happen and you respond that way, it makes me feel like not only did you not care about my boundaries, but you used her pain to try to attack me because you didn’t like me setting those boundaries! And… That’s just fucked up to do to both of us, yet I’m the only person who apologized for my behavior that night. I’ve been apologizing to people for standing up for myself for too long. I know myself better and I deserved better.”

Henry nodded his head and collected Lady to pet her and help him feel better. “That is a lot to process. That makes sense. I think you’re right and I never realized any of that before now, because we didn’t talk about it. But, no matter what kind of dreams I had about Charlotte years ago, mind you… I’d never try to do anything with her and even if I had, she’d shoot me down and probably clobber me. She’s been dickmatized by you since Day 1.”

“I don’t like…”

“I mean, she’s been enamoured with you. Most of the time we talk, it’s about your relationship and how much she loves you. I envy that and I would love to have that with someone, but that someone would never even cross my mind to be Charlotte. And I will sleep in my van before I make you feel that uncomfortable again, or before I won’t hear you out when you’re telling me about boundaries, or before I go without just kickin’ it with my bro for all this time. I’ve got an empty spot where you’re supposed to be, in here, Dude.” He pointed all of his fingers to his heart.

Jasper smiled and said, “You know how she got into her whole energy/vibrations thing? She was researching what Jasper meant, because she had this idea to gift me some Jasper stones and she wanted to know more about them. So, she read somewhere that Jasper is the “Supreme Nurturer,” a stone of grounding and stability, providing comfort and security, strength and healing. Its presence balances the aura to a level of wholeness and peace, and acts as a reminder that one is not here on the physical plane simply for oneself, but to bring joy and substance to others… and she said, “Babe… That is SO you!” And I cried and I started looking for the perfect ring… and she started looking into stones and energy and all that stuff.”

“She’s right, though, That is so you. Why do you think I miss you so much?”

“I missed you too.. I just couldn’t let go of my pride until you seemed like you really cared about what I was trying to tell you that I cared about.” They smiled at each other, then hugged it out.

“So… Did you find it? The perfect ring?”

“No. I think I may have to have it made.”

“Does she know that you’re looking?”

“I haven’t confirmed anything, but she’s the smartest person I know, so maybe.”

“Well, I won’t say anything, but damn it, I’d better be included on however it happens… Unless it's a private just you and her typed thing.”

“I’m trying to find the perfect way too…” Jasper admitted. “When you’ve been doing great things for somebody for a while, it’s hard to outdo yourself.”

“Yeah, the stuff that she brags on you about, I honestly don’t know how you can possibly top them, but you keep doing so, so…” Henry shrugged and sniffed around, “What is…”

“LADY!” Jasper said and Henry looked down at the puppy who peed on him.

“That’s awesome…” he said, sarcastically.

It was good for Jasper to have Henry back, The dynamics of their friendship had definitely changed, as Jasper was less determined to lay himself down for Henry, but he still loved him and having him and Charlotte around when it was time to meet his dad was encouraging. It was a 4 hour drive, so Charlotte drove the way to get to Henry and then Henry drove the rest of the way to Mr. Dunlop’s place.

Whenever they pulled into the address that had been given to Jasper online, the first thing that Jasper did was take the dogs to make waste. Henry and Charlotte were going to take them for a walk while he met up with his dad and not be too far away, in case he had to call on them.

Charlotte was carrying Lady because, “She gets excited and runs off too much,” but, they both had leashes, so Henry was confused, but didn’t bother.

Charlotte kept looking at the house, no matter how far they got from it and checking her phone. Henry realized that she probably was in protective mode. Whenever she thought her Jasper was in trouble, she was one feisty little woman. “Hey! Remember that time that Ray punched Jasper out and you came in and on sight, beat him up with your backpack?” She gave him a blank stare, unsure of why he was bringing that up. He smiled awkwardly. “That was funny to me… Albeit, terrifying.” He shut up.

“Trample, where you goin,’ Sis?” Charlotte said and Tramp turned around and came rushing back to her. “Here,” He said, handing Lady off to Henry.

“Last time I held her, she peed on me.”

“Dude, that was months ago.” Charlotte said, dismissively and picked up Tramp.

“They can walk and we have leashes, why do you keep holding them?” He asked.

“The musty lady in the apartments let her dogs free run beside her and one of them got hit by the public bus!” Henry gasped in horror and cuddled Lady close to himself. “Yeah. That public bus near the apartments is scary. I don’t want them to get used to just running around, unless I live somewhere with an open area and minimal vehicles. A college town is kind busy for that.”

He nodded, “Okay, okay… But… We’re not in town right now and I haven’t seen any vehicles since we got here. Let’s just let them use these for now and if something happens, we pick them back up.” She nodded and let him put the leashes on the girls and walk them. “Are you worried about Jasper, Dude?” Whenever she was worried, she was a little more high strung. She nodded. “His dad seems like he wanted to meet him. I think it’s probably going well.”

“Yeah, but… Jasper just got to where he’s able to balance his issues out with his current situation and I just don’t want anybody shaking him up and throwing him off of his center.”

“That’s not gonna happen as long as he has you. From how I understand it, you’re his center.” She took a deep breath and looked at the house again. “Let’s go back and see if we can check on him,” Henry suggested.

A dark skinned woman with a huge afro, in draping, colorful clothes and a lot of jewelry opened the door and smiled at them. Charlotte and Henry glanced at their car in the driveway, then the house, then the woman. Charlotte asked, “Is… Is Jasper Dunlop here?”

“Yeah, he’s here.” She said and opened up to let them inside. “They’re in the meditation room. Mind taking off your shoes? Also, we’ll bring the dogs out back. It’s fenced in and covered. Hawks won’t get to them.”

“Hawks???” Charlotte shrieked.

“Hawks WON’T get to them,” Henry repeated. “Thank you,” he said. “She’s kind of an anxiety mom.”

The Black woman said, “Well, I can make you some relaxation tea. It was helpful for Jasper. Passionflower with a little lavender and chamomile. You’ll calm down and also sleep like a baby tonight.”

“I… Are you a witch?” Charlotte asked.

“You can say that. I’m a healer, a practitioner of Hoodoo herbalism, tribal holistic care and divination.”

“Oh! Like your friend from Louisiana,” Henry said to Charlotte.

“They have a deep history with spirituality and healing in Louisiana, but I’m from Oklahoma. Descendant of African slaves and Native American slave owners, if you can believe it.While we were recently expelled from tribes as members, you can’t illegalize blood, therefore the magic of all of my ancestors is within me,” the woman said, nodding her head as she released the dogs from their leashes and helped them through a doggie door. “I began to seek out the meanings of my dreams and found a mambo who connected me to my roots. I began practicing, only first to see if I really had a gift, then years later, as a believer. It’s how I met Jack Leigh. He wanted help from some things and a friend told him about me. But, then he saw me and forgot what he wanted help with and asked me on a date, instead.” She laughed.

“I can see why,” Henry said.

Charlotte mumbled, “I can see why Jasper’s mom hates me.”

The woman shook her head, “Is there anybody that woman doesn’t hate?”

“Herself?” Henry tried to guess.

“I wish that were true. That’s where she has to begin her healing and until she does, none of her intentions will be corrected.”

“Are you Jack Leigh’s wife?” Henry wondered.

“I am so sorry! I never introduced myself. Adanna Blackfoot.” She shook both their hands and led them to a sink in the little side area of the kitchen that looked out into the backyard. Charlotte could see the doggie enclosure. There were all kinds of plants and flowers growing on the fence surrounding them. The three of them washed their hands and talked a little while. Charlotte was fascinated with Jasper’s stepmom, though she said she didn’t feel that was a fair title, because she only knew Jasper from afar and word of mouth. But, Charlotte still wished THIS was the woman who’d raised her man. He’d be so much more in love with himself, and not just faking it. They eventually made it to the meditation room and Jasper was happy to see them. “Sorry, was I taking too long?”

Charlotte met him with a hug and a kiss, “I was worried about you, but Adanna eased my mind.”

“She and Uncle Rox would be great friends,” Jasper said.

“Uncle Rocks?” Jack Leigh repeated, confused, because Jasper didn’t have any uncles by that name.

“My uncle Roscoe,” Charlotte said.

“Roscoe Bolton?” Jack Leigh asked. From their faces, he could tell that was who they meant. “Wait a minute… You mean to tell me that your fiance is The Bolt’s niece?”

“Uncle Rox just became infinitely cooler because he is known as The Bolt. Say more, right now!” Jasper said, excitedly. Charlotte was more on the we all just glazed by that F word, huh?

“Hell, The Bolt introduced me and Adanna! What’s he up to? I haven’t heard from that fool in years.”

“Still a fool,” Charlotte and Henry said, but Jasper had said, “He’s the best!” Charlotte looked at Henry and said softly, “So… did you hear him say…”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Okay. Tell me something,” she said and laughed a little. Fiancee? Was that how Jasper had described her? Because… YEAH - they most definitely were most likely gonna get married. She certainly hoped so, but they hadn’t discussed it in a solid form yet. It was more like how kids discussed graduation… an event that you look forward to and you know it’s happening and even have certain elements and dreams about it that you must include. But, not knowing what college you’d attend, what your GPA will be, what major you would choose. It was like, sure marriage was a real possibility, but it wasn’t something he’d asked her to do or something she had started preparing for - things that she associated with being a fiancee… Everybody was looking at her and she rewinded her mind a little to try to recall what they’d said in the background while she was in her thoughts. Think he’d mind if I got his contact info? “Uh, no. I’ll give him a call and verify, though…”

“Small world,” Henry said.

“It’s a huge world, but everything is definitely connected,” Adanna said, pouring the new brew of tea for the additional guests.

At some point, after a lot of laughter and stuff, Henry said, “Hey… Adanna, do you do like readings?”

“Not professionally,” she said. “I’ve limited it to friends and family, loved ones, for personal reasons.”

“Oh,” he said, sadly. “Char and I have been trying to make an appointment with her friend, but our schedules never line up with her available spots.”

“Well, for the two of you, of course, I would.” She said and smiled, getting up to retrieve her cards. Charlotte was staring at Jasper, still thinking about the F word and wondering what happened before they made it in. He’d definitely been crying at some point. He had his ‘crying bags’ under his eyes. He was in good spirits now, but she wanted to know what went on when she wasn’t there to protect and comfort him. He looked back at her and made a confused face. He was wondering what she was thinking about. She mouthed ‘I love you,’ to him and watched the smile on his face beam. “I’m so lucky,” he said out loud. Jack Leigh smiled at the two of them. Beautiful couple. Wonderful boy. He’d really messed up missing out on shaping him.

#A Chasper Fic #chasper #henry danger #hd fanfic #Nesha HD Fics

2 notes · View notes

take-me-tom-hiddleston · 6 years

Text

A Dark Place

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan

Rating: Mature (strong language, no smut)

Genre: Angst/Comfort

Word Count: 2,205

Prequel to Burn Up in Your Atmosphere by @captainrogerrsbeard and @murder-daddy-bucky; It works as a oneshot, though, too!

Summary: Chris stays behind the scenes to serve as Sebastian's moral support during the filming of his pinnacle scene in The Winter Soldier. He quickly realizes just how much he is a force to be reckoned with.

Read on ao3 or below the cut!

Notes: Just a quick thanks to @captainrogerrsbeard and @murder-daddy-bucky for letting me contribute to their epic Evanstan story!I hope you all enjoy this little tidbit of angst, comfort, and slowly brewing romance, told from Chris's point of view.

Today was one of the very rare days that Chris wouldn’t be needed on set of The Winter Soldier, but he found himself there anyway. He couldn’t do anything to really help, but maybe he could at least prove to be some sort of moral support.

Sebastian had been anticipating this scene since the moment he finished reading the script, and Chris could sense his growing nerves over it for the past week. He couldn’t blame him, though. Seb was the newcomer in this film. Even with The First Avenger under his belt, between Chris, Scarlett, Mackie, and Robert Redford, he was still by far the most inexperienced with the film industry. And while Chris and everyone else who had worked with Seb were already impressed with his talent and work ethic, he knew Seb still felt the pressure to prove himself as a professional film actor.

Then, of course, this scene was easily one of the most emotionally raw and vulnerable of the whole damn film. The turning point. The moment when the audience’s perception of Bucky would turn from unyielding villain to tortured victim.

And Seb only had three short lines to do it.

He had complete confidence in him, though, and Chris was excited to see him tackle something so gritty. Despite them being close in age, Chris couldn’t help but feel an almost elder-like protectiveness of him. He knew in his bones Sebastian was ridiculously talented, despite not having a whole lot of opportunities to show it until now, and he wanted the world to see how good this relatively unknown artist was. Cause he once they did, his inevitably long and fruitful career was Seb’s for the taking.

Chris stood just behind the empty directors’ chairs as the crew finished up getting the set ready. He glanced over to where Seb sat shirtless on the set chair. He was talking scene details with the Russos and Robert, while one of the makeup artists flitted around him to touch up some of the extensive scarring on his shoulder. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but he wagered they were addressing the short yet brutal physicality of the scene.

Chris looked closer. He could tell Seb was already sinking into Bucky’s…rather messed up psyche. He looked tired, like he’d stayed up most of the night, despite going to bed early. His blue eyes were heavy with dark circles and his mouth was downturned in a way that Chris wasn’t particularly comfortable seeing. Up until now, Seb was normally so full of smiles and general light-heartedness. Even during their intense combat scenes so far, he would joke and laugh with Chris in between takes. But then again, being an emotionless assassin didn’t require quite the same amount of mental preparation as being a tortured prisoner of war.

Eventually, Joe and Anthony returned back to their seats, sending Chris an excited look his way. Robert returned to his starting place behind the armored door, and Seb repositioned slightly on the edge of the chair. His weary eyes flickered to Chris’s. Damn, he looked rough.

Chris sent him a little nod of encouragement. Seb’s lips pulled up in an appreciative, but pitiful little smile before his gaze fell down to his lap.

“Everybody ready?” Anthony called, the final medical and bodyguard extras going to their starting places, raising their guns at him. Seb rolled his shoulders a couple times and cleared his throat before looking back up and nodding.

He then trained his vacant, devastated stare just slightly off from the camera. Chris raised his eyebrows.

Then, cameras started rolling.

Robert, Grillo, and a group of tactical agent extras walked through the door towards Seb. Robert took off his glasses, tucking them into his suit jacket. “Mission report,” he commanded. Seb didn’t move. “Mission report, now.”

Nothing.

Chris felt the tension rise throughout the room as Robert walked forward and leaned in, his gaze narrowing at an unmoving Seb that refused to look him in the eye.

Robert suddenly reared back, his hand roughly backhanding him across the cheek. Chris visibly flinched as the loud crack of skin meeting skin reverberated throughout the room. Seb’s head flew to the side as he let out a small pained grunt, and Chris could see the actual redness of the impact on his cheek. Jesus Christ. He wasn’t surprised they decided to go for a genuine strike, but…that was rough.

Seb slowly turned his head back towards Robert, his eyebrows furrowing and expression contorting. “The man on the bridge…,” he quietly murmured, eyes dropping for a second before looking at Robert for the first time. “Who was he?”

“…You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

His eyes drifted in thought, the pitiful confusion Bucky was feeling so palpable in Seb’s eyes it was painful to watch even from where Chris stood. He glanced at the camera, seeing the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the tension in his jaw. “…I knew him.”

Robert sighed before pulling a chair up and sitting down to get on Seb’s eye level, almost like he was trying to explain a complicated concept to an unknowing child. And Seb looked upon Robert with such pained, confused innocence, he almost did look like a sad child looking for any semblance of an answer he could find.

“Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century.” Seb turned his head down, gaze on Robert intensifying and breath slowly picking up as he continued to speak. “And I need you to do it one more time.” He swallowed hard and looked away, like he knew deep down that he wasn’t supposed to be helping the likes of Alexander Pierce, but he didn’t know why. “Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to give it a push.” His gaze remained on Robert, but turned distant, like he was seeing straight through him, his muddled brain struggling to reveal long covered memories. “But, if you don’t do your part, I can’t do mine. And Hydra can’t give the world the freedom it deserves.”

There was a palpable silence. Seb blinked, struggling for words. “But I knew him.” Then Chris leaned in as Seb’s face crumpled with crippling confusion. Joe and Anthony shared a quick unspoken look before looking back to the scene.

Robert sighed, clearly put out by Bucky’s struggles and reluctance to acknowledge him. He stood. “Prep him.”

A small glint of fear passed through Seb’s eyes. Bucky knew what those words meant.

The extra looked between Robert and Seb. “…He’s been out of cryo-freeze too long…”

Robert turned to stare hard and uncaringly at the broken man before him. “Then wipe him, and start over.”

Fuck, the look on his face. It was…haunting. A mix of fear and pain and confusion that it damn near took his breath away.

Two scientist extras moved in on Seb, definitively pushing him back in the chair and holding out a mouth guard for him. He took a deep breath, letting his fear be replaced with bitter resignation as he accepted the guard. His eyes burned in anticipation as he bit down hard, his jaw straining under the pressure. His torso shot ramrod straight against the chair as the eventual CG cuffs would wrap around his arms. His sweat-slicked chest began heaving, frantically waiting for the pain.

Chris glanced at Grillo. Even through Rumlow’s tough exterior, he was clearly struggling to watch, and Chris couldn’t tell if that was an intentional character decision or Grillo’s personal discomfort at the scene coming through.

The camera steadily moved in on Seb as his panic increased. And right when it had lined up to directly capture his face, he let go.

Chris could feel the scream bubble up within him, starting with a violent intake of breath through his nose. It traveled upwards into his neck, each and every muscle and vein tensed and skin turning red from lack of consistent breath. His bright blue eyes widened, shining with tears and blood chilling panic like a caged animal.

The blood curdling noise that ripped out of Seb’s throat left Chris wide eyed and frozen, every muscle in his body tensed. It cut through the air of the set like a deadly knife, the scream feral, wild, and excruciating. For a split second, Chris forgot Seb was acting and every inch of his body was covered in horrified chills.

Robert and Grillo left the room with the rest of the tactical team, leaving Seb’s violent screams unendingly echoing through the air.

Anthony and Joe shared another look before somewhat quietly calling for cut.

When Seb finally stopped screaming, Chris was fairly certain the whole room let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. He was breathing hard, gasping for air as his body relaxed on the chair.

He sat up and immediately let his head wearily collapse into his hands as he took out the guard and caught his breath.

“…I think that’ll do,” Anthony said, looking almost breathless himself. Seb stayed where he was, running a shaking hand through his hair. The rest of the cast and crew quietly tried to shake everything off and reset. “Really good job, guys,” he called.

“Seb?” Joe gently called, “Are you good for another take? You can take a minute if you want.”

He took a labored breath through his nose and slowly sat up, “No, I’m good,” he weakly called, though he seemed anything but “good.” Seb ran a hand across his tear-streamed cheeks and visibly tried to shake himself out of the dark place he’d just plummeted into. When no one said anything, he trained his exhausted eyes to the Russos and repeated, “Seriously, I’m good. Let’s go again.”

They took his word for it and called for places. As everyone prepped again, Seb’s gaze slowly slid over to Chris.

They locked eyes. Something stirred in Chris. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly; all he knew is he longed to go over there and comfort his friend. This had been much more difficult to watch than he could have ever anticipated, and he knew Seb had to be deeply struggling after tapping into something so horrific. On the other hand, though, he also felt…stunned and full of pride for his friend. Chris knew how talented Seb was, always had, but, this was…Jesus, this was a whole new level. The kid deserved everything the world had to offer and then some.

Chris sent him a small smile, but he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. Seb grimaced before tearing his eyes away to reset.

And then he did the scene again. And again. And again.

Eventually, Chris couldn’t stay any longer and had to leave Seb to it, and they continued that scene for the rest of the day. But watching it for so long had put Chris into a funk himself, and he couldn’t seem to shake it. He just felt…well, disturbed.

When he knew they had finished for the day, Chris couldn’t stay away from Seb’s trailer. He lightly knocked before putting his hands in his pockets.

There was a few moments of silence before Chris heard Seb walk over to the door.

Needless to say, when he opened the door, Seb looked worse for wear. He was all out of costume and back into some comfortable clothes, but his downtrodden expression radiated sheer emotional and mental exhaustion. Chris did notice a little life spark in his eyes and the sight of him, though. “Hey, Chris,” he quietly greeted, a small weak smile on his lips. “Thanks for being there today.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “It meant a lot.”

Chris smiled and brushed it off, “Oh, yeah no problem. It was nothing.”

Seb shook his head. “It was definitely not nothing. Seriously, thank you, having you there for support really helped.” His gaze dropped shyly. “Meant a lot.”

“…How are you doing?” Chris asked. “That was some really intense shit back there.”

Seb put his hands in his pockets and leaned up against the door frame. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He didn’t look all that okay. “Just tired, I guess. Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, uh, I was just going to ask if you wanted to maybe grab a drink? Might be good for you after the day you’ve had, but uh…if you’re tired, I’ll just leave you alone. Another time,” he said, trying to brush it off like it was no big deal. And it wasn’t. But that didn’t mean Chris didn’t really want Seb to say yes.

Something Chris couldn’t place flitted through Seb’s eyes as he took in a breath, “Uh…yeah, actually. I guess I do need to get out of my own head for a few hours. Thanks. Let me just grab my wallet.”

Chris smiled, not having expected Seb to take him up on his offer. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

Seb quickly returned, jacket on and slipping his wallet in his back pocket. Maybe Chris was imagining things, but he did seem to have ever so slightly more life in his step.

The two men shared a small smile. “Let’s go.”

47 notes · View notes

dreamofawonderfullife · 6 years

Text

Virtue and Moir's post-Olympic party still going strong

Eight years ago, Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir's first Olympic gold medal was celebrated with a parade through Ilderton.

This time, the ice dance stars are flipping the script.

“It’s our turn to say thank you to everyone,” Virtue said this week from Halifax, where the cross-Canada Stars on Ice tour launches Friday.

The skaters are going to throw a bash for fans. The early target is the August long weekend in Ilderton, by the arena, right near the Moir clan’s backyard.

“Alma and Joe’s house, it’s a pretty good green room for a party,” Scott said, referring to his parents’ place. “I want to get some good people in there, some bands, and we want to give back and raise some money for charity. We’ve been so blessed. The London and Ilderton community has always given us such great support.”

They have been in demand these past two months since their PyeongChang return. Their winning appeal — and the fascination over their relationship status — landed them on Ellen’s talk show, giving the Canadians some well-earned publicity in the massive, yet hard-to-crack, American market.

“It was a lot of fun. There was so much energy, and we can always frame that in the context of what it means to the sport,” the 29-year-old Virtue said. “It’s good for ice dance and figure skating any time we have the chance to broaden that audience. We’re thrilled to do that. By no means was that ever a goal of ours. We just wanted to win the Olympics. The added benefits of whatever happened afterward, that’s just icing on the cake.”

Lately, the questions naturally have turned toward their future. What’s next?

Virtue is becoming a budding businessperson. She is the face of Nivea’s skin care line in Canada and has a keen eye for endorsement opportunities. When she’s not taking over TV networks for a day, she’s on the cover of another magazine.

She works hard to build strong relationships with companies and media partners.

Moir, who comes from a highly-regarded family of figure skating coaches, is helping out at the Ilderton club. It wouldn’t be surprising to see him eventually reach Brian Orser-like status, overseeing some of the best skaters in the world.

“I think the neat thing about our partnership is we’re so connected in what we do and the majority of our career has been intertwined,” Virtue said. “That’s been so incredibly special and we’ve talked at length about what that means to us. We’re also such different people pursuing such different things off the ice and it’s been nice to dive into various business opportunities while watching Scott passionately delve into the sport and setting up a competitive school. I’m so proud of him, much the same way I get support from him.”

“We still have that touchstone together always with skating. That will and always be the No. 1 priority.”

The tour — which arrives in London Sunday, May 6 — is booming. Ticket sale are “pretty insane”, according to Moir, and they’re preparing to perform in front of packed houses.

The skater, who famously skipped mandatory practice for the Olympic closing gala, couldn’t wait to start working on their show programs (which include Michael Jackson’s You Rock My World and, of course, the full four-minute Moulin Rouge free dance that clinched gold in South Korea).

“I was excited to come on tour. I never felt that way my whole career, and I love to skate,” the 30-year-old Moir said. “It usually kicks in a couple of days later, once you get rolling, but something stirred with us. It’s the cast we have here. There’s a great energy, and we’re seeing the impact of what the Canadian team accomplished in February. Back home, the numbers at the club are good. We have six dance teams and I’m proud to say we have eight boys skating at Ilderton.”

“I want to help them. I miss home when I’m gone. I miss being a contributing member of my family. That’s important to me. I do have a ton of projects, but I want to be involved in the lives of my nieces and nephews. I need to get back to that a little bit.”

He plans to visit schools, inspire young people and become a mentor, on and off the ice.

“I’ll focus on that the next couple of years, while I can, before people forget my name,” he said. “We’ve been lucky to be successful and have a bit of a platform. I think it’s my job and our duty to make sure we’re good role models, talk to kids and help them shape their lives through sport and extracurricular activities.”

“To me, that’s what being Canadian is all about.”

It’s not about the Internet meme that followed Moir since Games end of him standing up at the women’s gold medal hockey game, beer in hand and complaining to the referees.

“If there’s one athlete that doesn’t want that viral attention, it’s Scott,” Virtue said with a laugh.

Moir remembered talking to Olympic skeleton champ Jon Montgomery, still famous for chugging from a pitcher of beer on the streets of Whistler after his victory in 2010.

“He couldn’t shake that,” Moir said. “His corporate relationships, they just saw him as a beer-drinking party animal when that’s not really Jon at all. He’s a great athlete and person. I like to have a beer, but I also have to be mindful of what 13-year-olds see when they watch the Olympics. I want them to see sport moments. I try to stay away from that other stuff and I have Molson Canadian sending me fridges.”

“I don’t need to be on TV reacting to every single event. After that game, I did kind of shut it down. At the curling game, I was sitting between my parents being very well-behaved.”

Virtue and Moir were an important part of Canada’s Olympic viewing experience. It felt like they were on TV continuously, from the CBC documentary and commercials they did as lead-in, to carrying the flag at the opening ceremonies, through their performances and right until the end.

“Starting the Games by carrying the flag, that was an Olympic moment by itself right on par with competing,” Virtue said. “And then you go right through to the exhibition gala on the closing day.”

“We got a lot of Olympic time, which is awesome.”

They don’t get enough credit for their leadership in bringing together the Canadian figure skating team to deliver that first team gold — the one that made Patrick Chan an Olympic champ.

“I didn’t necessarily take that lead in Sochi (2014) and I regretted it,” Moir said. “After that Olympics, I talked with Meagan (Duhamel) and Eric (Radford, the pairs skaters who retired from competition Wednesday) and they were in the same boat. We felt we weren’t aggressive enough in our approach to the team event.”

“This time, we were. We talked about it a lot, sent emails. I’m pretty outspoken and maybe the guy branded as the captain because of it, but it was a complete team effort. Meagan drove the gold-or-nothing train. Because of Stars on Ice, we’ve travelled and lived together, grew up together and that was a special team feeling no other country had.”

“We relied on building each other up instead of cutting each other down, and we never let up.”

It turned into an old-fashioned blowout. By the time Virtue and Moir got on the bus to go perform their free dance, they found out the Canadians already had clinched gold.

“That was a different feeling,” Moir said. “Here you are, nervous and getting ready, and you look at your phone and find out you’re Olympic champion.”

But there was still extra motivation.

“For me, with all the Russian doping allegations, I wanted to crush them,” Moir said. “I didn’t want the Russian team to be able to say, ‘Well, oh, one of our pairs teams wasn’t here, so we lost (a nail-biter)’. We wanted to say back to them, ‘Yeah, are they going to skate seven times, because we beat you by eight points.’

“That whole event reminded us of how great Canada is. We do sport for the right reason. That win-at-all-cost mentality really brings us down. It was a tough year for amateur sport that way and we needed that at those Games.”

“I’m very passionate about that because that’s something we have to protect, clean sport.”

When controversy overtakes the Games, it ruins the stories the athletes want to tell. Virtue and Moir were able to make theirs shine through on their biggest stage.

“Tessa was really mindful of that,” Moir said. “She had that vision. It didn’t feel forced. Maybe when you’re younger, you’re playing the Olympian card, trying to prove yourself and it feels like you have four minutes on the ice to prove it.”

“We didn’t feel like we had to do that this time. We just knew that here it is, this is Tessa and Scott, we love what we do, we love each other and it’s a really authentic story.”

“People grabbed onto it and that has been fun for us.”

The partnership — and party planning — rolls on.

RYAN PYETTE

#article #very very very interesting article

122 notes · View notes

thrashff · 7 years

Text

30 Days of Therapy

Pairing: Min Yoongi x OC (female)

Synopsis: Min Yoongi has a lot of issues, but doesn’t everyone? Fortunately for him, it only takes thirty days of therapy to fall back in love with the world—and maybe even a girl while he’s at it.

Warnings: Depression, angst, anxiety, dissociation, depersonalization disorder—basically a lot of mental health issues and coping mechanisms and everyone tries to deal as best as they can. If you’re triggered by any of this, please please please don’t read this. Also, cursing.

Word Count: 20k (ish, please don’t hate me)

A/N: Istg this wasn’t meant to be so long -___-; I was possessed, possessed I tell you!

Disclaimers: Canon compliant, takes place around October 2017. I know that the official schedule says they’ll be in Japan and Taiwan, but this is a fanfic. Let’s suspend reality for bit, yeah?

The words at the beginning of each segment are from Chuck Palahniuk’s Lullaby. Plot has nothing to do with the novel, but they touch on a few of the same themes. Apart from that nothing really, except the quotes felt like they fit.

Enjoyyy~ <3

#ProtectMinYoongi

[“We’re the culture that cried wolf.”]

Day 0

Anger fucking management.

Yoongi has turned the idea over and over in his head countless times and it still doesn’t sit well with him. He doesn’t even have anger management issues; what he does have an issue with is stupid fucking Jungkook thinking it was a good idea to bait him into a game of chase by taking one of his external hard drives as hostage.

How was Yoongi supposed to know that pushing that chair out of his way would break the entire mirrored wall of the dance studio? He wasn’t, that’s how. Because it had been an accident—one of those freak of nature things that tended to just happen as an accumulation of bad luck and maybe even worse karma, which Yoongi was now of the personal belief he had a lot of.

But, of course, no one had believed him. Nope, not Yoongi; not the moody, unstable problem child in their already strange pseudo-family. If it had been Namjoon no one would have batted an eyelash, instead saying something about the “god of destruction” fondly and letting it slide. If it had been any of the maknaes, people would have petted them on the head and sent them off with a stern warning. Of course, Seokjin would never break anything he could see his own reflection in, and Hoseok was far too superstitious to be anything but careful around mirrors. That left practically everyone thinking the worst of him, sending him to a month-long crash course in anger fucking management.

The mere idea makes him angrier than Jungkook’s stupid stunt.

[“Until you deal with your real personal issues, you’ll never be able to control yourself.”]

Day 1

A long week later, their crazy schedule finally winds down enough to be adjusted. Enough to free up most of his evenings from 8-10PM for 30 days of therapy that he’s 100% sure he doesn’t even need. But still, here he is, trudging into the function room of a university office building on a Thursday night he could be spending at the Genius Lab instead, black facemask over his nose and mouth and bucket hat pulled low over his eyes, Manager Sejin frowning as he trails after him.

Yoongi tries to soothe himself with the fact that he’s lucky to have talked himself out of one-on-one sessions. Yoongi would dance, wear make-up, preen in front of the cameras, put on animal ears fans brought him—hell, he would even make a fool of himself on national television; but the one thing he would not do was talk about his feelings to a stranger for two hours every night.

Group therapy wouldn’t be so bad, he tries to convince himself, albeit a little half-heartedly, as he walks through the empty halls, leather shoes clacking on the polished linoleum. At least he won’t be the only problematic one in the room—if his problems are even that bad to begin with. For fuck’s sake, doesn’t everyone have issues?

He lets out a little scoff at yet another double standard that it seemed only applied to him, pausing right in front of the double doors with “Dr. Kim Yejun” taped on the front. He takes a deep breath to steel himself and finally pushes them open. Thirty days. It’ll be over before he knows it.

[“The story behind the story.”]

Yi Jihoon is six foot five and built like a brick wall, broad shouldered and barrel-chested, but he’s already in tears as he introduces himself and explains that he hadn’t meant to trash that bar when he caught his girlfriend cheating on him. He’s a good person, honest. He can’t even remember the incident, blacking out with rage. That doesn’t count, does it?

Nae Minjun looks like a rat and is just as twitchy, all of 19 years old and constantly flicking his fingers over a battered, gunmetal Zippo lighter that has seen better days; flick, flare, snap. He’s in therapy because he’d thought breaking into a garbage dump and starting a 25-foot bonfire there had been a good idea. He also doesn’t look the least bit repentant about it.

Dong Gunwoo looks like an average, middle-aged, stressed-out businessman, still dressed in an exquisitely tailored suit from the office. Indispensable to his company, they’re sending him to therapy because no one is willing to work with him thanks to his tendency towards violent outbursts over the smallest infractions.

Sam Lee is the only girl in the group. She looks like she’s in her mid-twenties, same as Yoongi, but in South Korea it’s always hard to tell. When it’s her turn to introduce herself, she merely shrugs and tells them she’s here to make the rest of them look sane and normal in comparison. Yoongi smirks behind his facemask at that. Dr. Kim doesn’t look entertained.

Then there’s Yoongi, the idol with the “unhealthy coping mechanisms.” Manager Sejin cuts in then; they won’t mind signing this non-disclosure agreement, would they? Of course not. A standard contract, they can spare ten minutes to read through it. Yoongi is fine. Yoongi is normal. He’s just been under a lot of pressure lately and is eager to learn how to deal with his feelings in a healthy manner.

Yoongi doesn’t know why he had even bothered to speak at all. His management team would take care of it. He’s already half hoping that Manager Sejin will attend all of his sessions with him.

By the time all the documents were signed (it took Minjun three attempts before he gave back a copy that wasn’t burnt at the edges) and Dr. Kim had finished his introduction speech on how anger was normal, healthy emotion, forty-five minutes had passed and they were allowed to take a twenty minute break.

Yoongi stands, stretching his sore legs (the new DNA choreography was no joke). Interrupts Manager Sejin and Dr. Kim’s hushed conversation to ask if the perimeter is safe, if he can step outside for some fresh air. Manager Sejin nods—no, he doesn’t need to take security, they’re the only ones in the building. Yoongi bows, taking his hat off and slicking his silver-blue hair away from his forehead. A quick glance around the room tells him Jihoon is attacking the stale donuts with a vengeance, Gunwoo is talking heatedly to someone on the phone, and that Minjun and the Lee girl have disappeared.

He sighs and makes his way to the exit, pulling his facemask down to take in a couple of deep lungfulls of the crisp fall air, the feel of it enough to calm the constant stream of complaints he’s muttering in his head. He loves this time of year—leaves changing, the world slowing down to make way for winter, the scent of cold heavy on the air.

Although he doesn’t quite remember it smelling so sweet and… pungent?

He scrunches his nose, frowning, already following the odd smell. He turns the corner of the building to find Lee leaning against the chain link fence lining the building’s perimeter, her hands shoved into the pockets of an oversized knit cardigan the color of snot, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She raises an eyebrow at him, and Yoongi stops in his tracks. Of course he isn’t used to the smell of cigarettes—none of the Bangtan boys smoke them. And if anyone on the production team does, they do a good job of hiding it.

He makes a face. “Those are bad for you,” he tells her bluntly.

She laughs, and it’s an odd sound that stays ringing in his ears afterwards; somewhere between a chortle and a cough and a bark all at the same time. He doesn’t know if he likes it or hates it. “You could say that about anything,” she points out. Her hair is ragged at the ends and several different shades of brown under a black bowler hat; heavy vintage eyeglasses on the tip of her nose, catching the lamplight.

Yoongi decides she could be pretty, if he squinted a bit and looked past the baggy clothes. They weren’t even oversized in a fashionable way—she looked like she had gotten dressed in the dark in a thrift store that carried nothing but the worst of the 90s.

“Besides,” she continues, seemingly oblivious to his scrutiny, the unkind thoughts in his head. “We’re all here because we’re bad for society. Don’t fit the status quo. Measured and found lacking. What’s one more bad habit they need to fix?”

Her tone is balanced, even. Like she’s telling him something she’s said a million times before. Yoongi can tell—he’s used to reading from a script.

He probably shouldn’t, but the smell of the smoke she’s exhaling smells sweet to him and he walks over, leaning on the fence and mimicking her posture. Lord help him, but it’s nice to be around someone who isn’t falling all over herself, asking to take a selca together. Someone who isn’t perfectly polished, the way everyone is these days. She isn’t exactly a ray of sunshine, but he finds he doesn’t quite mind. Neither is he.

Lee just watches him from the corner of her eye, smoking her cigarette in silence.

“So what are you really in for?” he finally asks, unnerved by the quiet. His studio is always full of music and home is always filled with people. There are always so many things to do and not enough hours in a day to get them done and he tries and fails to remember the last time he’s simply stood and done nothing—not even speak.

She lights another cigarette, taking a deep drag. They both watch the smoke dance in the heavy air for a few moments, until Yoongi chances a glance at her face. Her expression is almost entertained, as if he had made a joke that only she was in on. “Like I said, I’m here to make the rest of you look good.”

He snorts and turns back to watching the empty concrete parking lot in front of them. “Yeah, like you’re worse off than the sociopath or the pyromaniac.”

“Everyone has problems,” she laughs. “You’re only here because you forgot to be perfect for five minutes and actually let yourself feel something.”

Yoongi starts at that. He’s used to being the one doing the psychoanalyzing, not the other way around. If anything, he had expected it to come from Dr. Kim—not one of his fellow fuck-ups. He won’t admit it, but she’s right. It had felt good to throw that chair out of his way, to hear glass breaking; it had felt even better to chase Jungkook down like prey, a growl in his throat and his limbs pumping to chase after him. The thrill had been different from being on stage, which was all carefully calculated and choreographed down to the twitch of his lips and the movement of every finger, but it had been a thrill nonetheless. It had been the first honest thing he’d done instead of said in ages.

He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t notice she’s been watching his expression change, his emotions dancing on his face in a way that he isn’t used to showing around people, especially strangers.

She laughs again, starling him. That odd, barking laugh that slides into the empty space between their bodies like a bridge, like something familiar and warm and alien all at the same time. She ditches her cigarette butt and crushes it under a booted heel.

“Weird, isn’t it, when you realize being alive and feeling alive are two different things?”

She pushes her glasses back up her nose, throws him one last look over her shoulder as she makes her way back towards the doors.

“See you inside, popstar.” She says the last word in English, her accent clean without any hint of Korean.

Yoongi stares after her, wondering why his heartbeat is suddenly loud in his ears.

[“The story of how we met. How we got here.”]

Jungkook is the one to pull the door open when the van returns to pick them up. Grinning wide from ear to ear, slightly oversized front teeth prominent, an apology in his eyes.

“Hello, hyung! I’m here to treat you to dinner!” he greets, leaving Yoongi with no other option.

The older boy narrows his eyes at him, but he’s too spent to give him a full-on glare. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” He hasn’t quite forgiven Jungkook yet, but after spending two awkward hours opening up to a bunch of strangers, he has to admit he was glad to see a friendly face. Even if it does belong to the person who had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

Jimin’s head appears over Jungkook’s shoulder, eyes wide. “Was it that bad, hyung?”

Yoongi glances behind him, watching as the rest of the group filters out into the night. Dr. Kim is standing in front of the doors talking to a still sobbing Jihoon, Minjun is sitting on the steps on his phone, fire flaring between his fingers every few seconds, Gunwoo is powerwalking to his parked sedan and Lee is leaning against a pillar, already smoking another cigarette. Watching him.

Manager Sejin places a hand on the small of his back, urging him to continue on towards the van. Two people from his security detail trails after them.

Yoongi shakes his head, irrationally annoyed all over again at all the fuss the situation has caused. He pushes Jungkook’s head back inside the car with one hand. “It’s fine,” he huffs. “But if you’re treating, I want lamb skewers.”

Jungkook’s smile returns, and he lets out a little sigh of relief at Yoongi’s lack of threats as he makes room for the new passengers. “Sure, hyung. All the lamb skewers you want.”

Yoongi tries to listen to him and Jimin’s conversation, but his chest is tight and he can’t help thinking back to Lee’s words. Mostly because they don’t make any sense. What the hell had she been talking about? He is alive, therefore he feels alive. Doesn’t he?

[“The trick to forgetting the big picture is to look at everything close-up.”]

Day 5

“I listened to your music,” Lee tells him, sitting cross-legged on a concrete parking block behind the building.

It’s a Wednesday evening, and over the last couple of sessions it’s become a habit, him following her out back and keeping her company as she smokes. Yoongi likes habits, likes patterns. He finds comfort in knowing that when they take a break, he’ll be able to follow her out back and stand or sit in companionable silence for twenty minutes out of a normally hectic day—starts looking forward to it, even. The quiet is strange, but a good kind of strange. Like an empty house full of old memories.

In any case, it’s a welcome reprieve from always being ushered from one thing to another.

Her dogeared, worn copy of Chuck Palahniuk’s Lullaby is sitting heavy in his jacket pocket. He’s already halfway through since she lent it to him over the weekend, despite it not being translated into Korean. She hadn’t said a word when she’d tossed it to him on Friday night, simply smirked and disappeared into the evening.

He pulls himself from thoughts of dead people on television laugh tracks and how unreasonably small that makes him feel. He stares down at her, slightly surprised by the admission.

Lee isn’t normal. Well, none of them in the group are, per se; it’s why they’re all there to begin with. But she’s a different kind of not normal. She has a strange, roundabout way of saying things, if she even bothers to talk at all. Instead she minds her own business, keeps her nose stuck in a book and smokes cigarettes the way other people breathe oxygen.

And if he thinks he’s plagued with indifference, Lee takes it to a whole other level. It isn’t that she doesn’t care about a lot of things, the way Yoongi more often than not found himself unable to—it’s that she cares about the strangest things to almost an obsessive extent. Over the course of their sessions everyone has opened up about their pasts and personal histories, thanks to the sharing segments led by Dr. Kim—even Yoongi. But Lee would sit there and talk passionately about a book or a movie that had been, in her words, transformative. The manipulation had been so subtle that not even Dr. Kim had caught on yet. She would talk about things she likes, not about herself or who she was. Never about that.

Yoongi should have found it exhausting, should have considered it unfair that he was playing by the rules and she was playing a completely different game. Instead he’d found it entertaining.

Most importantly, she has no idea who or what BTS even is. His pride had felt a little rankled when he realized she wasn’t just trying to be cool; that she really had never heard of them. But he was mostly just relieved. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t expect anything from him, not even small talk.

“Yeah?” he finally mumbles into the collar of his jacket. He stops himself from asking for her opinion, reminds himself that she’s still virtually a stranger. Her opinion doesn’t matter; their position on the charts does. That mentally settled, he doesn’t know why he’s still watching for her reaction.

She nods thoughtfully, taking a drag of her cigarette. “You have a habit of using your name in your verses.”

The observation startles half a laugh from him, his eyes going wide. “I do. Huh.”

She smirks, still staring at the side of the building like there’s a message hidden in the concrete cracks. “It’s… cute.” She scrunches up her nose, and Yoongi pokes her shoulder with his knee in retaliation. ‘Cute’ wasn’t his favorite word. “No, really!” she says, almost defensively, pushing his leg away with one hand as she glances up at him. It’s the first time they’ve made physical contact, but the moment goes by unremarked upon. “It’s like, if you say your name enough times, people will remember it. Remember you. It’s very subtle conditioning. I’m impressed.”

He shakes his head, fringe falling into his eyes. “Nah. My name just rhymes with a lot of things,” he admits, the corners of his mouth tugging into a small smile.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” He reaches a hand to the back of his neck, stretching out a kink there. He’s tired, and when he’s tired he’s distracted. He doesn’t know why she’s so talkative tonight but doesn’t complain. He thinks it might be because he enjoys the sound of her voice, but that would be weird, so maybe he just enjoys a conversation that has nothing to do with work. Yeah, that sounded about right.

“Being three people at once,” she huffs, pulling herself to her feet and turning to face him, shoulder propped against the fence he’s leaning on. It’s the first time he pays attention to her face, and he realizes he’s never seen her wearing make-up before. Her raggedy hair is pulled into a knot on top of her head, cat-eyed liner behind thick frames, artificial blush coloring her cheeks. Almost pretty, he thinks absently, but not quite. He’s used to being around idols, after all.

“What do you mean?” he prompts, unable to stop an eyebrow from going up.

“Min Yoongi, Suga, Agust D,” she rattles off, holding up three fingers for emphasis. “Which is the real you?”

He scoffs, staring up at the clear, cloudless night sky. “Different versions, same person—just like everybody else. You adapt depending on who you’re talking to, and I adapt depending on the situation.”

“Nah,” she says, staring up as well, as if she’s looking for whatever’s gotten his attention. “I’m only ever just me. It’s exhausting.” She gives a heavy, dramatic sigh. “You have it so easy, being a popstar.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks in annoyance. “Stop calling me that. I’m a rapper.”

“You’re a rapper in a seven-strong boy group that performs choreographed dances to the squeals of teenage girls. You’re a rapper and a popstar,” she corrects. He can hear the smirk in her voice, can feel his hackles raising at the mocking tone he swears he hears there.

He huffs, crosses his arms in front of his chest. Feels his face twitch with annoyance. “Thanks for clearing that up for me. And here I was, having a mild existential crisis over it.”

She laughs, and he wonders if the sound has become the third person in their conversations because she’s the only one who ever does it. “Pleasure to be of service.”

“Do you get off on psychoanalyzing everyone you come into contact with? Or should I feel special?” he asks, knowing he’s being short with her but not caring. Something about the whole conversation is just rubbing him the wrong way. He isn’t out here for her candor, he’s out here for the silence. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Suddenly he hates her, just a little, for not understanding. For not picking up on his tone and understanding that he doesn’t want to talk about it. For taking a sudden step into the space he wants from her.

Suddenly he hates her, just a little, because he doesn’t know which is worse: her silence or her opinion.

She scrunches up her nose again, making her glasses slide to the end of it. It annoys him, how she doesn’t adjust them immediately, like a normal person would. “Nah, just you.” And she’s grinning like it’s meant to be a compliment instead of slightly creepy.

“It’s fascinating,” she continues, a hint of excitement coloring her normally flat tone. “How much you must go through in a day. At what point do you push back? At what point are you like, stop, I don’t want to be this product anymore, I want to be a person again. How does it feel to be part of mass brainwashing? Perpetuating this impossible standard of being? Have you ever over-compartmentalized to the point that you lose track of the boxes, like you’ve lost against a street magician’s sleight of hand?”

Yoongi’s fists clench at his sides, his limbs shaking as she speaks. She’s rambling. Rambling as if he isn’t standing right there, listening to her talk about him like a specimen under a microscope. As if she’s known him for more than six days, as if she knows anything about how much he’s sacrificed to get to where he is. Who did she think she was, to pass judgment like this? To even talk about him when she had no idea who he even was two days ago?

“You don’t know shit,” he hisses, cutting her off. She turns to him, open-mouthed. He doesn’t realize that he’s looking that closely, but he can see that her pupils are blown, eating up what’s left of the brown in her eyes. “You don’t know fuckall about me, so don’t talk about it like you do.”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” she responds, voice low but still clear as a bell between them. “Just, you know, the idea of you.” She waves a hand through the air distractedly, as if that were sufficient explanation.

“I’m not an idea!”

“Everyone’s a concept.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Invention.”

“Look, Lee.” He spits her name like a curse. “I don’t know where you get off, but if you’re going through some weird bullshit existentialist crisis, don’t pawn it off by psychoanalyzing me.”

She hunches her shoulders as he takes an angry step towards her, a look of hurt passing over her eyes. She shakes her head. “I just-” She glances at the corner of the book, poking out of his jacket pocket. “I thought you got it. My mistake.”

Without another word she rushes back inside, leaving him shaking with anger, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

What the fuck had just happened?

[“We’re all of us haunted and haunting.”]

Day 6

It isn’t until Yoongi is lying in bed that night, starting at his ceiling in the dark and replying their strange argument over in his head, that he realizes he might maybe understand what she was trying to say. He’s tired—so tired that the last thing he wants to think about is conditioning and concepts and the capitalist machine he’s found himself a cog in, but here he is, thinking about it. All because some strange, possibly insane girl had said it was fascinating. That he was fascinating. Like all of it wasn’t just how things were, like they meant something more than plain old reality.

Sure, his reality was very different from a lot of other people’s. But he had worked hard for this. Any recognition at all was better than where he was seven years ago, physically, emotionally, artistically. He loves it, every crazy, impossible, unreal minute of it. What was she seeing that he couldn’t?

Sure, half of it is a construct, but isn’t that a given in the entertainment industry? With media in general?

And yeah, if he’s being honest with himself the line between Yoongi and Suga has been getting blurrier and blurrier with each passing day, but doesn’t that just lend authenticity to the stage persona? Suga had been his idea to begin with, a way to cope with having to market a polished, desirable version of himself instead of just, well, himself.

Suga is just Yoongi on overdrive. Suga is confident, self-assured; he doesn’t have time to listen to haters and their criticism, doesn’t care if they thought he was a sell-out. Suga hits his marks 110%, never misses a cue, mugs for the cameras and makes good music. Suga is consistent. Suga had struggled, beaten his demons. Suga’s better now. The best. Suga has the fans, the recognition, the spotlight. Suga knows who he was, what he stands for.

And Yoongi is….

His train of thought stalls, careens to a full stop. Who is he these days? Where the fuck were the lines drawn anymore? Are they still even there?

He knows Suga’s story by heart because it’s his; the underground rapper from Daegu who starved and worked his ass off for his dream and made it big despite it all. But thanks to the years of constant exposure, he realizes that the little things that make him Yoongi—how he curls up into a ball to sleep, his habit of biting his pens whenever he writes, the way he slips into satoori when he isn’t paying attention, every mannerism and every detail that make up who he is—somewhere along the line, all of those things have become Suga’s characteristics instead of his.

What is left of Yoongi? Suddenly something inside of him snaps, like a twig in a flame, and he understands. Suddenly, he gets it, what she had been trying to say in her weird, roundabout way. Being three people at once, she’d said. People expect certain things from two of the personas, Suga and Agust D. But does anyone really expect anything from Yoongi anymore?

Maybe the boys? They do, after all, know him best after all these years. It’s a dance as meticulously choreographed and practiced as any of their stages, coexistence and dealing with everyone’s individual quirks. But Yoongi is just Yoongi—boring, broken, and a little bit battered by life. It’s why Suga and Agust D were created in the first place, because people don’t want to know about him at all.

They don’t want normal, they don’t want real. Nobody wants average. They want him magnified by a hundred, the kind of gigantic presence to be expected from an idol. Hell, even his problems are always blown out of proportion, from how he deals with his depression to his sexual preferences.

Except her. Maybe. All she’d asked was which version was real, as if there was no possible way all three could thrive, let alone exist, in one body. She’d wanted to know about Yoongi himself. Not about Suga or Agust D.

The thought is slightly terrifying.

Almost as terrifying as it is frustrating, because he isn’t sure he can answer the question. Suga and Agust D had taken up so much of his time, so much of who he was, that he isn’t sure there’s much left outside of it all. And that’s okay, isn’t it? It’s not like he even really cares about much beyond his career anyway—why would she?

Yoongi doesn’t want to think about why, he’s just trying to survive what and how. Trying to balance where and when without failing everyone around him, without losing sight of his goals. Trying to stay in form without burning himself out. He doesn’t need to understand how he’s keeping his shit together—the only thing that matters is that he does.

He doesn’t want to understand at all, he just wants to be.

Which version of himself, he isn’t sure. He tells himself it doesn’t really matter to anyone else but him in any case.

No one but him and, apparently, the weird girl in his therapy group.

He groans and rubs both hands over his face, knowing that his thoughts are circling back and if he doesn’t stop them now, they’ll keep wearing him down until he wants to scream. A cursory glance at the alarm clock, glowing an eerie green on his bedside, tells him he’s been thinking for two hours straight now, leaving just four left before he needs to be up for a full day of shooting.

He scowls. He doesn’t need to be thinking about this shit. He just needs to play nice, keep his head down, clear therapy and things will go back to normal. Normal, where thoughts like this don’t keep him up until the wee hours of the morning. Normal, where he isn’t constantly daydreaming about running until his heart wants to beat out of his chest, laughing like there aren’t cameras trained on him at all times, screaming until his throat is sore.

He grabs a pillow and burrows his face in it. If he wants normal, the answer is simple. He needs to stay away from Lee.

[“The best way to waste your life is by taking notes. The easiest way to avoid living is to just watch.”]

“How’s therapy going?”

Yoongi looks up to find Hoseok standing over him, a small, mellow smile on his face in contrast to his usual hundred watt one. Yoongi grunts, continues his futile attempt at trying to stretch and touch his toes without pulling a muscle.

“Eloquent, as usual,” the taller boy quips, dropping down and spreading his legs, soles propped against Yoongi’s as he takes his teammate’s hands and pulls him towards him to help stretch him out. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“You sound like Jimin,” Yoongi complains, slightly breathless from being bent over. “It’s not. The doctor’s nice. He makes sense, anyway.”

“How are the other people in the group?” Hoseok asks, starting to go into his own stretching routine.

Yoongi shouldn’t feel annoyed, really. He knows Hoseok is just checking in, being a good friend and seeing how he’s doing, but after tossing and turning the entire night with thoughts of before and after and who and what going through his head, the last thing he wants to think about is going back to therapy that evening.

“Mental,” Yoongi decides, satisfied with it as the most accurate word to describe them, the entire situation. They have about half an hour left before rehearsals start, so he kills the time by telling Hoseok about Jihoon, laughs at ever being driven that insane over a girl, how Jimin should take it easy with flirting with fans before he falls for one. About Gunwoo, unable to filter his own mouth, and they laugh about how thank god Taehyung has learned. About Minjun setting fire to everything he touches, how Yoongi is getting a little paranoid and now wants to keep matches away from Jungkook, since they’re about the same age.

He doesn’t tell him about Lee. He doesn’t feel ready to talk about her just yet, doesn’t know where to even begin explaining what she’s like and how she’d sent his brain into overdrive. He’s closest to the rap line out of the entire group; there’s no need to worry Hoseok, who has a tendency to fret about the smallest things.

“Is it helping?” Hoseok asks, rising to jump up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Helping what?” Yoongi mumbles, getting onto his own in a much less energetic fashion.

“All the talking you must be doing.” Hoseok looks around the rehearsal space distractedly. “You won’t admit it but you’ve been kind of distant, hyung. Like you haven’t been all here lately.”

Yoongi scoffs at that, pulls his facemask back over his mouth. “I’ve been here the whole time, Hobi. And it’s not like I’m going to spill my life story to a room full of strangers.”

“But it’s so liberating!” At the confused look in his teammate’s eyes, Hoseok begins to laugh awkwardly. Yoongi remembers then, that the younger man has been to dark places, too. “You’ve never done that? Just sat next to someone and unloaded whatever was bothering you? It’s liberating. You walk away one problem lighter and they’ll just think you’re a weirdo.”

“You are a weirdo,” Yoongi deadpans, but Hoseok sees the fondness in his eyes when he says it and just grins.

“We’re all mad here,” he cackles, then claps a heavy hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, making the slighter man stumble forward a step. “All I’m saying is, try talking. If you’re going to be there, then be there. Don’t just sit around waiting for it to be over. We miss you. We want you back. A hundred and ten percent.” He flashes him another grin then saunters off to join Seokjin and Namjoon in the corner, acting like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb of feelings on his teammate.

Yoongi stares after him. Takes a deep breath, lets it out. Repeats this four more times before he’s calm enough to move, before he manages to make Hoseok’s words small enough to slip into the box in his head clearly labelled “Think About Later”.

The camera crew is entering, adjusting their lens and already the maknaes are preening in front of them. He shakes his head, clearing the leftover cobwebs, finally moving to join them. He doesn’t have time for this, he reminds himself. No time for thought, no time for an existentialist crisis. That could wait. It could all wait.

[“In a world where vows are worthless. Where making a pledge means nothing. Where promises are made to be broken, it would be nice to see words come back into power.”]

Lee is late. She’s late and it’s strange because every time Yoongi has come in for a session, she’s already sitting in the back, her nose in a book. She’s late and she slides into the room, rubber soles squeaking on the flooring in a way that has him cringing, fifteen whole minutes after they reconvene after break. She mumbles an apology to Dr. Kim, plops herself down in a chair and doesn’t even bother pushing the hood of her army green jacket from her head.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. If the label can move their entire schedule around to make time for these sessions, surely she can manage to at least be on time. He’s tired and he’s hungry and in the foulest mood he can remember being in. And because she wasn’t there, he hadn’t been able to spend the break outdoors. Sure, he could have walked out on his own, but she was part of the ritual. Her and her cigarette smoke and her awkward, borderline offensive presence.

Sure, he promised himself he’d stay away from her, but he was supposed to do it first, goddammit, not the other way around.

Yoongi hates her for being late. For making him wonder if anything bad had happened to her. For making him worry that something had.

He hates her for making him feel more than he already has to.

“As I was saying,” Dr. Kim continues. “I want to see how you’re able to relate and communicate to the people around you, so we’re going to split off into pairs. No pressure, just a regular conversation. Start off by telling your partner three things about yourself that they don’t know yet, then you can talk about anything else from there. At the end I want you to tell the rest of the group what you’ve learned about them.”

He folds his arms, cupping his chin between his thumb and index finger as he considers them. “Let’s make this easy, yes? We’ll divide by peer group. Minjun, with me. Jihoon with Gunwoo, and Yoongi with Lee. You have thirty minutes.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to complain, but Dr. Kim’s back is already turned, making a beeline for Minjun’s scrawny form.

He scowls, glaring at Lee from across the room. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t even looked up from playing with the frayed sleeves of her jacket. What the hell is she waiting for? He isn’t going to get up and go to her.

The sound of a throat clearing draws his attention, and Dr. Kim is staring at him pointedly. Yoongi sighs and gets up, dragging his feet and his chair towards the other end of the room.

“Hey.”

Lee finally looks up, her face bare and pale and a little green around the edges, odd and small under that ridiculous hood. “Hey back.”

Yoongi drops his chair, sits down with the back between his legs as he folds his elbows on it. “Are you going to take this seriously?” he asks her tiredly, trying to overcome his overwhelming need to take a nap.

“I don’t know, are you?”

His head snaps up at that, grey-black eyes taking in the challenge on her face. The rest of her looks ill, like she dragged herself out of bed to be here, but her eyes are still alight with something he can’t quite pinpoint. Well, now he was awake at least.

“I don’t like you,” he tells her bluntly, unmindful and uncaring of how the words will cut her. “There, that’s one thing you didn’t know about me.”

If she’s surprised by the information, she doesn’t show it. It’s a little heartless, even for Yoongi, but he can’t help but want to lash out, especially when she’s just staring at him. Like the words don’t hurt. Like she’d actually expected them. Yoongi doesn’t like the idea that he’s predictable.

Finally, she opens her mouth. “I’m on medication,” she admits, her voice subdued and distant, as if her mind is somewhere else. Suddenly her eyes are everywhere but him, but he can’t stop looking. “They, um, kind of make everything feel fuzzy, so it calms me down. But I tend to say stupid shit when I’m on it. Ask stupid questions. All the wrong things.” Her fingers continue to pick at her sleeves as she speaks. “I know that sounds like a copout, but I just started new ones this month and I’ve been trying to get used to them.” She meets his eyes then, finally. “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday.”

Yoongi just stares at her, unsure what to say, tongue shoved into his cheek as he bites down on it, trying to think.

“I was out of line,” she continues, sparing him from a response for the time being. “I have no idea what your life is like. No idea what you’re like. I was just, um, guessing. And I’m sorry,” she repeats, eyes downcast, her voice getting fainter as she goes on. “It’s stupid, but my brain makes up stories whenever I see something interesting and last night I just… you’re interesting and I got carried away and I’m sorry.”

His eyes narrow, studying her to see if he can tell if she’s telling the truth. She’s fidgety, that much is certain. Her eyes keep darting from one thing to another, as if she can’t focus on one thing for too long. Her lips are pale and there’s still that odd intensity in her eyes that wasn’t there the night before. It’s also the most words she’s spoken to him combined.

“Are you on them now?”

She laughs, and for the first time he’s glad to hear it. Doesn’t realize he maybe even missed it, a little, since last night. “No. No, I- um, I didn’t take them this morning so things are….” She gestures tiredly in front of her before bringing her hand up to massage the bridge of her nose. “Everything’s a little loud. A little, um, much. Do you know what I mean?”

“Not really,” he admits. He has no idea what being on medication for anything was like outside of the strict regimen of vitamins and minerals their nutritionist has them on, except that they were supposed to make someone better, or at least something to that effect. Yeah, he’d gone to see a doctor as a teenager, but all he’d done then was talk. He still has no idea what he’s supposed to say, how he’s supposed to react, so he says the first thing he can think of.

“But I liked it better when you weren’t saying sorry every five seconds.”

It was meant to be a joke, but instead she cringes, hunching in on herself under the oversized clothes. “Yeah. Yeah, that happens when I’m actually, like, all here.” She gestures at herself awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“Stop,” he groans, holding up a hand. He thought he would know how to deal with her, but now that she was like this, he was back to where he started: clueless and slightly annoyed. He chews on the corner of his mouth, trying to think. “It’s fine.” And it was. “You just have a weird way of asking questions, you know?” Because she did.

She smirks a little at that and taps her temple with her index finger. “It’s the voices. Can’t think with all of them sometimes.” His eyes go wide, and she giggles. Actually giggles, like a normal girl would. “Kidding,” she says quickly. “No voices. At least, not yet.”

He manages a small smile, then. God, this was so strange. “You’re kind of a mindfuck.”

She nods, eyes back to scanning the room. “I’ve been told. By countless mental health professionals, actually.”

“I figured it out,” he tells her, the words tumbling free before he can stop himself. She tilts her head at him, a question on her face. “Your question, I mean. I think I figured it out, anyway.” He shifts his weight, awkwardly casting his eyes around the room.

“I asked quite a few yesterday. And everything’s…”

“Much?” he suggests.

“Much,” she agrees. “Right now, at least. Which question?”

“You technically only asked one.” He can’t help but smile then, and her eyes suddenly look present, as if she’s finally able to focus on one thing and he’s it. It makes him feel a little special, because he likes to think she’s focused on Yoongi—not Suga or Agust D.

“Yeah?”

There challenge is clear and Yoongi feels his blood warm, rising to meet it. “Yeah.” She leans back into her chair, one leg bent and the other stretched out in the space between them, hanging on to his every word. “You wanted to know if I was still whole.”

“Whole,” she repeats, as if she’s tasting the word on her tongue for the first time.

“Whole.” He nods, unable to keep from smirking at the little victory. “I haven’t figured out the answer. But when I do, I’ll let you know.”

She grins, finally reaching up to fix her crooked glasses. “That sounds promising.”

“I don’t make any I can’t keep.”

“Three.”

“Mn?”

“That’s three things already.” She holds up three fingers again. “You don’t like me, you figured out the question, and you don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Only two are true.”

“The truth is subjective.”

He should feel guilty, still, but he’s pretty sure she means that he’s forgiven so he nods, leaning his cheek on his arm as they settle into the conversation more comfortably, awkward apologies out of the way. “What’s your version of it, then?”

“My life is boring,” she laughs.

“I highly doubt that,” he says, contradicting the almost-compliment with a roll of his eyes. “C’mon, hit me with your best shot.”

“Was that a Pat Benetar reference?”

“No, it was a BTS joke. Bulletproof?” She blinks, and he sighs. “My comedic genius is wasted on you. Who’s Pat Benetar?”

Her eyes go wide. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You’re not allowed to judge me, Miss I-Don’t-Listen-To-Min-Suga-Rap-Genius.”

“Is being a fangirl a prerequisite to being your friend?”

“We’re friends now?”

“God, I know right. Never bet against the universe.”

They stare blankly at each other for ten seconds before cracking a smile simultaneously. Yoongi knows he’s doing that thing again where his upper lip curls too far in, is using the smile that shows his entire upper row of front teeth and gums. He hardly uses it these days, but for some reason right now it seems appropriate.

“Go on,” he says. And she starts talking.

The rest of the session passes by with relative ease. He learns that Lee is a year older than him (“No, I’m not calling you noona”) and that she lives with two other girls in an apartment downtown. She grew up in the States, but moved to Korea when her parents cut her off. It was the cheapest flight somewhere far away, she explains. Now she works as a freelance translator. No contact with family, a handful of friends. Her time is mostly spent with books and music because according to her, “art is easier to deal with than other people.” Korea isn’t exactly the best place for someone with mental health issues, she adds.

Her life makes Yoongi feel sad for her, just a little, because it sounds so small compared to his, but her self-deprecating humor about it is enough to chase the feeling away.

He tells her about his own life, what growing up full-fledged Korean is like. About Daegu and how the world hadn’t made any sense until he first heard hiphop—how music is still the only language he can understand, can communicate in, even now. About his childhood piano teacher, and how he had such a huge crush on her (“Are you sure you don’t want to call me noona?”). About his failed attempt to learn to beatbox when he was fifteen. His family, and how good it felt to finally prove them wrong. About finally being able to bridge the gap and have them back, even though nowadays he could only manage to see them twice a year. About his new family, the people who have had his back when it’s really mattered.

About how fame was just another uphill battle, but at least this time he had people pushing him towards the top instead of dragging him down.

She smiles at that. “You’re good with words,” she tells him. The first compliment, and she doesn’t try to buffer it. Gives it freely, making his mouth turn upwards.

He shakes his head, brushing it off. “I fight with a pen, not a sword. I damn well better be good with them, or I’m screwed.”

He never was one for false modesty.

[“This is the arms race of sound. You don’t win with a lot of treble.”]

Day 7

When he finds himself three compositions deep in the studio later that night (rather, early that morning), he realizes it’s the most alive he’s felt in weeks. That it’s the most himself he’s felt in even longer.

He wonders if this is what it feels like, to be seen.

[“Even absolute corruption has its perks.”]

Day 11

Yoongi likes habits, likes patterns. He finds comfort in knowing that when they take a break, he’ll follow Lee out to the back of the building and keep her company while she smokes. He likes knowing that when he makes a snide, sarcastic comment, Lee will just laugh at him, never taking it personally. Likes knowing that when he isn’t in the mood to talk, Lee will fill the space between them with talk of art and music and life, things that have nothing to do with his reality. Likes knowing that he can be himself without having to explain, without having to make who he is palatable. Likes not having to sell an amped up version of himself. Likes being Yoongi. Just Yoongi.

He likes knowing that the fire in her eyes still hasn’t dimmed, that her pupils haven’t been blown in days. Likes thinking that maybe it has a little to do with him.

For twenty minutes out of his normally hectic day, he has this. Cigarette smoke and a strange girl sitting next to him on a pile of dead lives in an empty parking lot. The conversation is strange. Her presence is strange. How he’s been feeling lately is strange, but a good kind of strange. Like waking up in the house he grew up in with the furniture all rearranged, ready for him to make new memories in it.

In any case, it’s a welcome reprieve from always being ushered from one thing to another. He’s happy to be in one place instead of in between.

[“No detail is too minor to note.”]

Day 12

“Someone looks happy today,” Jimin muses, smirking at Yoongi as he sits beside him at their make-shift lunch table.

“We’re at MNET. I don’t see any long faces here, do you?” Seokjin jokes, elbowing Jungkook in the ribs.

Yoongi doesn’t bother rolling his eyes at his teammates, simply returns to his bowl of noodles.

“No, I agree! Hyung was really good at rehearsals earlier, too!” Taehyung quips, talking around a mouthful of his own food. That, Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at, and Taehyung takes a nervous swallow. “Not that hyung isn’t always good at rehearsals!” he corrects himself quickly.

“Energy,” Hoseok jokes in English, eyes going comically wide.

“He’s been coming home before 2AM, too,” Seokjin realizes, his pert pink lips pursing into a small “o” of surprise. “And he hasn’t threatened anyone in a couple of days!”

“Speak for yourselves,” Jungkook mumbles. “He told me he’d string me upside down by my pinky toes if I used his body wash again.”

Everyone laughs at that.

“You are, as always, the exception to the rule, Jeon Jungkookie,” Yoongi tells him, snapping his chopsticks threateningly in the air between them.

“The last couple of songs you sent over were really good, Suga,” Namjoon tells him, voice low. “Have you been insfired lately?” The taller, gangly man chortles at his own joke, but even Seokjin, sitting next to him, shakes his head and pats him consolingly on the knee when no one else reacts.

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” Yoongi deadpans, reaching over for another piece of chicken.

“Yah, hyung has returned!” Hoseok lifts himself out of his chair into a dramatic pose, waving his bowl in the air. Jungkook and Taehyung chuckle, both their cheeks puffed up like chipmunks.

“Maybe we should all start going to therapy,” Namjoon jokes. Yoongi coughs, food going down the wrong pipe, and Jimin pats him on the back, quietly sliding a bottle of water in front of him.

It isn’t out of the ordinary, the whole scenario. It was normal for them to tease each other, but right then Jimin’s thoughtfulness, Namjoon and Taehyung’s compliments, Seokjin and Hoseok’s insight and concern—hell, even Jungkook’s reluctant acceptance, is overwhelming, and he can feel the emotion start to lodge in his throat.

He swipes the bottle hurriedly from the table, guzzling it down as he tilts his head back, willing the tears to retreat to where they came from.

“Poor thing,” Seokjin whispers to Namjoon as they all return to their meals and other topics of conversation.

“Eh?” Namjoon asks, oblivious to anything but his meal. Seokjin rolls his eyes and wordlessly hands him a napkin.

“Yoongi-ah,” he explains patiently, voice thrown low to avoid being overheard. “We should do something nice for him. Cheer him up. He doesn’t even need to be in that class, but he’s doing it anyway.”

Namjoon nods, realization dawning in his eyes. “Yeah, family dinner or something. Great idea, hyung.”

Seokjin smiles to himself. “I know.”

[“I need to rebel against myself. It’s the opposite of following your bliss. I need to do what I most fear.”]

“Yah, Lee.”

Yoongi jogs after her, catching up with her halfway down the main entry hall of the building. She takes out one of her headphones, pushes her glasses up her nose and pauses midstride, a now-familiar half-smirk on the corner of her mouth as she regards him.

“Yoongi. What is it?” she asks in English.

“Stop showing off,” Yoongi huffs at her, and they fall into step together the rest of the way.

He’s almost halfway through the classes, now, and the first night the studio trusts him enough to attend without security or an escort from the management team. It’s a strange sort of relief—he hadn’t appreciated being treated like a child, and it was mortifying that they knew him well enough to know he would skip them if no one was paying attention.

Granted, a car was still being sent to pick him up and take him back to the dorm, but he supposed he had a little time until then.

They push through the main doors, and Yoongi hands her back her copy of Lullaby. She accepts it with an incline of her head, sliding it into the pocket of her jacket. The days were getting even colder now. He loved it.

“Did you like it?” she asks him, already sliding another cigarette from her pack and putting in between painted lips the color of dried blood. Yoongi doesn’t realize he’s staring. “Yoongi,” she says, both eyebrows going up. “Earth to Min Yoongi,” she repeats in English, waving a hand in front of his face.

Yoongi automatically reaches up and grabs her wrist, catching it in midmotion. His hold is a little rougher than he intends, used to roughhousing with other boys, but her face just breaks into a grin, canines bared.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, realizing what he’s done and dropping her hand gracelessly. As usual, she doesn’t seem to mind and merely tucks it back in her pocket, fishing around for her lighter. “Anyway.” He huffs a warm breath into the cold air, watching it dance before ultimately dissipating. “It was confusing.”

“Was it because of the English?”

“I’m not that bad at it,” he says, a little too defensively, and she chuckles, clearly waiting for him to continue. “I didn’t know who was who for most of it.”

��Kind of a metaphor for life, though, don’t you think?” she quips in what he refers to as her Wise Mage voice in his head. “Do you wanna talk about it? Or if you have Friday night plans, that’s cool, too.”

He thinks quickly, glossing over their schedule in his head. He owes Namjoon a verse for a song, but that could wait until the following afternoon and they aren’t due to shoot until Sunday, so he shakes his head. “Yeah, I do.” He catches sight of a van pulling up into the driveway, knows it’s his ride. “Want to talk about it, I mean. There’s a coffee shop near our dorm. Let’s go.”

Her laughter follows him down the steps, and he pauses right before climbing into the car.

“It’s cute how you assume I’m going to follow you everywhere.”

He smirks, turning to find her right behind him despite her words, watching as she tucks her unsmoked cigarette behind an ear. “You’re already here, aren’t you?” She shrugs, scrunching her nose at him. “Might as well.”

She huffs a breath, glancing back at the building behind them where Dr. Kim is watching them from the open doors. “Yeah. Yeah, might as well,” she mumbles.

He rolls his eyes, grabs the front of her jacket and pulls her into the van after him, surprising a series of giggles and half-hearted complaints from her. He decides he likes this sound more than her laugh. Likes her more when she’s off her meds than on them, even if it means she’s just as sarcastic and snide and moody and melodramatic as he is. The driver slides the door shut and she twists to face him, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

“Min Yoongi! I never had you pegged for a kidnapper!”

“I have been practicing the culling song in my head,” he grins, code-switching.

She merely rolls her eyes at him, and they spend the rest of the ride talking about Streator and the morality of murder, the curse of power, and the strength of media. They’re both too engrossed in the debate (Yoongi, of course, in on Streator’s side, but Lee is adamant that he’s an unreliable narrator—that that was the entire point) to notice when they finally pull up to the back of his building.

“We die a thousand deaths a day,” Lee is saying. “But just because you can doesn’t mean-”

Yoongi never finds out the end of her sentence, because just then the van door slides open to reveal Taehyung beaming his signature rectangular smile at them.

“Surprise, hyung! I came to pick you—oh!” The younger boy falters, brow furrowing as he tilts his head at Lee. “Hello! We didn’t know you had a friend with you!”

Yoongi frowns and leans over Lee at the mention of ‘we’ to find Jungkook behind Taehyung, a surprised, wide-eyed expression on his face. “What are you idiots doing?” he complains.

“Seokjin-hyung made us family dinner!” Taehyung explains, the first to overcome his initial surprise. “Hello, I’m V!” he says to Lee, taking a step back to let her slide out of the van.

Lee bows, a look of pained awkwardness clear on her face as she took in the strangely dressed man in front of her. “Hi, I’m Sam Lee.”

“Are you a friend of Suga’s?” Jungkook blurts out, seemingly unable to stop himself. When Lee’s gaze lands on him he takes an automatic step behind Taehyung, using the older boy to shield him.

“She’s my groupmate from therapy,” Yoongi explains, still confused as to what the fuck was happening as he joined them.

“You never mentioned her!” Taehyung says excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he grinned at the unfamiliar girl.

“You never asked,” Yoongi deadpans, glancing at Lee to find a look of subdued amusement on her face. “We were just going to grab coffee-”

“But Seokjin-hyung made dinner!” Taehyung complains.

“Who gets coffee at 10PM,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, and Yoongi glares at him.

“I do, that’s who.”

“We have coffee upstairs! It’s Bangtan dinner, hyung, and it’s for you. You can’t not go!”

“It’s fine,” Lee says quickly, catching sight of the pained look on Yoongi’s face. “We can talk about the book another time.”

“But I dragged you all the way here, and the car just left.” Yoongi gestures at the space the van had just vacated, looking apologetic.

“Join us!” Taehyung suggests, puppy-dog eyes in full force. “We don’t have company often, but any friend of Suga-hyung’s is a friend of Bangtan’s!”

Lee scratches awkwardly at the back of her neck, eyelids fluttering closed as if she was willing herself elsewhere. Yoongi’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, this being the first time he had ever seen her around other people. She had been doing better and better throughout the week, but if their conversations about it were anything to go by, the two maknaes’ presence was undoubtedly overwhelming for her. He felt fully responsible, guilty, even, for putting her in this position.

He forgets to wonder why he’s so invested.

“It’s fine,” he says quickly, wanting to spare her. “I can help you get a cab and-”

“It’s fine,” Lee echoes, interrupting him. “It’s fine,” she says again, a little more forcefully. A little more resolved. “I can take a bus,” she informs them, attempting a reassuring smile that, sadly, came out as more of a grimace that was mirrored clearly on Jungkook’s face as he watched her.

Yoongi snaps at that, grabbing her arm and pulling her aside. “I’m not letting you commute home this late at night.”

“It’s fine,” she says again, looking a little dazed at the steel undertone to his words. “I’ve done it a million times before, it’s really not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” Yoongi tells her, finally releasing his grip on her arm as he mentally ran through his options. He really should have thought things out before dragging her across town. He can’t help but think that this was why it was so hard to have friends outside of his career. “Can you stay for 30 minutes? Just long enough to eat. Then I’ll ride a cab home with you. Or I can ask Manager Sejin for a car and drive you myself. Just….” He runs a hand through his hair. “Just give me a little time to figure something out, yeah?”

“But it’s Bangtan dinner,” she mumbles, looking unsure at what that was supposed to mean but still understanding that it was important. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” he snaps, glaring at her. “Don’t do it. Don’t hide. Not now.”

She smirks a little at that, the corner of her mouth curling. He shouldn’t feel so relieved at the sight of it, but he does. “I won’t if you won’t.”

“Might as well,” he responds, the clench in his chest loosening the tiniest bit at the resolve in her eyes.

“Might as well,” she echoes, staring blankly at him as he slid the cigarette behind her ear free and tucked it back into her jacket pocket.

“Come on,” Taehyung calls, his patience seemingly at an end as he shoved Jungkook playfully towards the building. “Seokjin’s been cooking since 8 o’clock, and I’m starving.”

“Yah,” Yoongi complains, glaring at their backs. “We’ll be up in a second.” He turns back to her, an eyebrow quirked up in question. “Thirty minutes. You only have to deal with them for thirty minutes and I promise I’ll get you home,” he repeats, more to soothe himself than her.

She nods. “Try not to sing the culling song over dinner,” she jokes.

Yoongi laughs. The first real laugh she’s able to startle out of him, and finally, the smile on her face reaches her eyes at the sound.

“I’ll do my best. But no guarantees.”

[“Are these things really better than the things I already have? Or am I just trained to be dissatisfied with what I have now?”]

“We have a guest!” Taehyung announces, almost tripping over himself as he stumbles out of his sandals in the doorway. “Attention!” he calls, cupping his hands around his mouth to magnify the sound. “Make yourselves decent, we have a guest!”

Hoseok pokes his head out of his bedroom, bare shoulder visible from the doorway. “Eh? What do you mean, a guest?”

“Suga-hyung has a friend,” Jungkook informs him, pushing past Taehyung, a look of panic on his face as he scans the living room for anything embarrassing his teammates had left out in the open. “Put a shirt on, hurry!”

Hoseok gives a little squeak and disappears back into his room just as Jimin emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, bare chest glistening with drops of water as he runs a towel through his hair. “What are you talking about?” he asks Taehyung, laughter bubbling around his words. “Hyung doesn’t have any friends…does he?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jiminie,” Namjoon chides, having overheard the loud conversation. He tosses Jimin a shirt as he passes him. “Of course Suga has friends. We just… haven’t met them?”

“This one’s from therapy,” Taehyung singsongs, throwing himself into an armchair and propping his bare feet up on the coffee table. “She’s cute, too!”

Jungkook makes a face, shoving books back onto shelves. “Sort of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimin asks curiously, slipping the proffered shirt over his head and dumping his towel back in his bedroom. “What does she look like?”

“Don’t be mean, Kookie,” Taehyung frowns, kicking a leg out at the younger boy as he walks past. “She looks like a cat,” he tells Jimin.

The blonde’s eyebrows draw together. “But Suga doesn’t like cats.”

The clatter of pans and plates echoes through the apartment, coupled with an exasperated groan from Seokjin in the kitchen. “Namjoonie, I know you mean well but I swear to god if you don’t get out of my kitchen I’m going to-”

“Okay, okay!” Namjoon emerges from the kitchen doorway, pouting as he holds both palms up in surrender. “Yah, you try to help someone…” he mumbles, plopping onto the couch and hugging a throw pillow to his stomach. “Everyone, be nice. And Jungkook, stop trying to tidy up. You’re making me dizzy.”

Jungkook slams the closet door closed, having just pushed a pile of dirty laundry in it. “But it’s a girl, hyung!” he whines, looking far younger than his twenty years.

“Is she a fan?” Hoseok asks, finally joining them fully clothed.

Taehyung shrugs. “Maybe?”

Hoseok hums, taking a seat on the couch next to Namjoon. “He didn’t mention a girl in his therapy group.”

“Maybe he wanted to keep her all to himself,” Jimin points out, waggling his eyebrows.

“None of that,” Seokjin chastises, finally emerging from the kitchen to set a pot of stew down at the table. “If Yoongi has a friend over, then we’re all going to be on our best behavior.”

“Yes, mom,” Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok and Jungkook respond in unison.

“Thank you,” Namjoon mouths, sharing a look of mutual exasperation with Seokjin.

There’s a warning knock at the front door, and Yoongi’s husky drawl filters through. “All of you better have clothes on,” he says. Another few seconds, and the door opens slowly. “Thank god,” Yoongi sighs, eyes travelling over each of his members as if mentally approving of their state of dress. “Everyone, this is Sam Lee. She’s in my therapy group. Lee, this is, uh, everyone.”

Namjoon, ever the leader, is the first to rise to his feet, cheeks already dimpling as Yoongi moves out of the doorway to let her inside. Automatically, everyone crowds behind him. “Two, three. Bangtan! Hello, we are Bangtan Sonyeondan!” they say in unison, giving their customary bow and greeting.

Yoongi’s heart warms at the sight, however unnecessary he feels it is. He glances at Lee, who’s just staring at them, looking shy of overwhelmed.

“I’m Kim Namjoon,” their leader introduces, extending a hand for her to shake.

“I’m J-Hope!” Hoseok beams next, flashing her a wink.

“I’m Park Jimin!” the dancer says, eyes already in crescents as he shoots Yoongi a smirk.

“Jungkook,” their youngest mumbles, giving a small wave from the other end of the living room.

“I’m Jin,” Seokjin introduces, smiling warmly at her. “Now get out of your coats and out of the doorway! The food is getting cold!” he calls over his shoulder, already bustling back towards the kitchen.

“He’s our mom,” Taehyung whispers conspirationally to Lee, smiling vacantly as he follows his teammates to the dining area.

“Nice to meet you all?” Lee says to their retreating backs, voice faint.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks her, slipping his coat off and leaning over her to hang it on his peg.

She seems startled by the question, but nods after a few seconds. “Uh, do I have to take this off?” she gestures at her jacket, and Yoongi realizes he’s never seen her without her oversized layers.

“It’s warm inside,” he points out, eyes narrowing at her. “What do you have on under it?”

“Clothes,” she responds. “Never mind, it’s fine.” At the incredulous look on his face, she shoves him in the shoulder. “It’s fine,” she repeats.

“You’ve said that twenty times in the last fifteen minutes,” Yoongi teases, watching her slip off the jacket. He’s a little surprised to find that she’s actually… attractive, underneath it. She’s wearing a black and white striped sweater dress, still two sizes too large for her frame, but it manages to drape nicely over the curves he hadn’t realized she’d been hiding the whole time. The way her black jeans hug her legs also doesn’t go unnoticed. It wasn’t a body that belonged to an idol, just…it belonged to a normal girl. Same as the countless other coordi-noonas they worked with on a daily basis. Still, Yoongi can’t help but stare.

“Help me,” Lee pleads, jolting him from his thoughts. “I didn’t catch everyone’s names.”

He laughs again at that, remembering that she had no idea who Bangtan was. He fills her in quietly on their short walk to the dining table, entertained at the odd situation. “Namjoon is the tall one with dimples. He’s a rapper. Likes to read. Seokjin is the eldest. Singer. Likes to cook. Jimin, the blonde one. Dancer. Don’t listen to anything he says. Hoseok, or J-Hope, but we call him Hobi. The one with the red hair. Dancer and rapper, occasional ray of sunshine. Taehyung, you met him downstairs. Singer. Don’t listen to anything he says either. Jungkook, official pain in my ass. Singer, dancer, rapper, golden child.”

She nods, looking a little green around the edges as they finally reached the table. Two empty seats were sandwiched on the far side, with Seokjin on one end and Hoseok on the other. Yoongi shoots Seokjin a grateful look at the obvious manipulation of their usual places, which the older boy just smiles knowingly at in return.

“Let’s eat!” Jimin cheers as the two finally settle in.

“Ready to be entertained?” Yoongi mumbles to her, and she shoots him an amused look.

“Everything looks delicious,” Lee says politely to Seokjin, who beams.

“It tastes better than it looks,” he winks, ladling food onto her plate.

“Except the rice,” Taehyung announces, making a face. “Who made the rice?”

“I did,” Namjoon says meekly, looking pale as he stares down at the bowl.

“How on Earth do you screw up rice?” Hoseok laughs.

“Namjoon, how many times to I have to tell you to stay out of my kitchen?” Seokjin complains, waving a spoon threateningly across the table.

Yoongi rolls his eyes at the display. Bangtan dinners were usually loud and chaotic, but it was clear that everyone was making an effort just by the fact that no one, not even Jimin, was on their phones. He makes a mental note to do something nice for all of them the following day. Maybe order breakfast or something.

He had to admit to himself that it was strange seeing all of his teammates around a new person without cameras pointed at them. At this point in their careers, slipping into the personas was almost second-nature, but after getting up before dawn to film and a dance practice shoved into their usual dinner hours, he was sure that they were all too exhausted to put up much of an act.

So when Namjoon starts asking Lee about her hobbies and the two start discussing their favorite books, Yoongi knows he’s genuinely enjoying the conversation. When Lee automatically gets up to help with the dishes after dinner, heaping compliments onto Seokjin, Yoongi knows their eldest is completely enamored with her. When she asks Taehyung what kind of music he listens to as they dry dishes and the two start belting out in unison to a Western song he doesn’t know, he knows that Taehyung will be asking to have her over again soon.

As they settle into the living room for tea and coffee and Lee asks Hoseok to show her videos of him dancing, Hoseok flushes but gives in, appreciating the interest shown in one of his passions. After watching the trailer for Boy Meets Evil, she admits that she’s never seen a BTS music video before, the team eagerly complies, to Yoongi’s inexplicable disdain.

When the first words out of her mouth when they show her Blood Sweat & Tears is “Park Jimin!”, he knows that Jimin’s going to be gloating about it for the next three days. And when Jungkook’s phone rings and she asks if he plays Overwatch (how she had been able to recognize the otherwise generic crescendo of notes, Yoongi has no idea), Jungkook spends ten entire minutes gushing to her about his favorite game—a complete 360 turn from the distance he had kept from her all throughout dinner.

But most surprising of all is Lee herself. She’s good at reading people, that much Yoongi could admit, but she isn’t that good. Not good enough to skillfully charm the pants off all his teammates without them even realizing it. He feels a bit cheated, if he’s being honest with himself; if he had known she would do this well around new people, he wouldn’t have bothered acting so concerned.

He feels like he had wasted precious energy making her feel comfortable when she was clearly getting along with everybody better than anyone else in recent memory. Why do I even bother, he thinks as he makes his way to the door to receive the car keys to a black sedan that Manager Sejin had sent over for his use. It’s only when he returns to the living room and finds her in the middle of the couch surrounded by six men avidly watching her go pink at their music video for Dope that he realizes just how inexplicably annoyed he is by the entire situation.

“How is this allowed on television!” she exclaims, the most emotional he’s ever seen her as she presses her sweaterpaws to her face, watching the first dance break. “Oh my god,” she breathes in English as Hoseok, dressed as a racecar driver, jumps on screen. “This is lewd! No, this is just outright rude. How are you not walking around with R ratings on your foreheads?”

“We should use that as a line in the next cypher,” Namjoon jokes, passing his bag of chips to Taehyung, who happily munched on them as he sat on the floor.

“There’s hip thrusting!” Lee cries, still fully immersed in the video, looking close to tears as she completely covers her face with her hands. “I could have lived my entire life without this torture,” she whimpers.

“Is it bad?” Jimin, ever anxious about their performances, asks worriedly from beside her.

Lee finally emerges from behind her hands, looking at him incredulously. “Park Jimin, you wash your mouth out with soap.” When the blonde simply blinks at her, she realizes she had slipped into English again and translates to Korean, explaining the phrase. “It is the farthest thing from bad!” she continues. “It’s just....” She finally looks around the room, at all of them watching her intently, and Yoongi can see her physically fight for composure. “It’s…very good. Very, very good. I feel kind of ashamed now, that I hadn’t heard about you guys sooner,” she admits, looking genuinely sorry for the fact.

“We’re happy to introduce you to the awesomeness that is Bangtan Sonyeondan!” Taehyung quips. “Does anyone else find it strange to introduce ourselves to someone?” he whispers loudly, leaning over to Jungkook.

“Your ego is getting to your head, V,” Jungkook laughs, pushing the other boy’s weight off him.

“We’re glad you like our music, Lee,” Seokjin grins, patting the back of her hand soothingly.

“Wait until we make you listen to RapMon’s Expensive Girl,” Hoseok grins. Namjoon promptly throws a pillow square at his face.

“None of that, or I’m asking for an earlier deadline for your mixtape,” their leader warns, which prompts a tirade of complaints from Hoseok about him abusing his power.

“I thought you said you listened to our music?” Yoongi asks, more than a little fed up as he knees Jimin out of the way to take a seat on the couch next to her.

“I listened to Agust D and your songs for Suran,” Lee replies, picking up on his bad mood. “And, um, War of Hormone, I think. I’m sorry?”

“Tch,” he huffs, turning back to face the television. He doesn’t know why he’s gone from feeling warm and fuzzy about the situation to being outright aggravated. He wants her to listen to his music. He was proud of his career. He just hadn’t counted on her listening to BTS in front of all of them, with matching music videos to boot. Hadn’t counted on how awkward it would make him feel, how hungry for validation. How hurt that she hadn’t paid him a bit of attention or a single compliment when she had given them generously to everyone else.

Besides, she was here to talk to him. He already had to share everything else with everyone, did he really have to share her too?

“Is Suga-hyung your bias?” Jimin asks playfully, leaning around Yoongi to look at Lee.

“Bias?” the girl repeats, looking clueless.

Namjoon rolls his eyes just as Seokjin shoots Jimin a look of warning. “It’s a kpop fandom thing,” he explains patiently. “Like, out of a group, who your favorite is. It’s nonsense, really. You aren’t required to have one. Hell, you aren’t even required to be ARMY just because we’re friends now.” Lee’s expression doesn’t change, so he explains their fanbase, the fondness in his tone evident.

“It’s Suga-hyung,” Taehyung whispers loudly again to Jungkook as Lee asks Namjoon about he deals with being the leader even though he isn’t the eldest. “I bet you 50,000 won on it.”

“Deal,” Jungkook replies immediately. “My money’s on Hobi-hyung.”

“Behave, you two,” Seokjin reprimands, throwing a pillow at the pair. “Besides, it’s clearly me,” he adds, settling back beside Lee and stealing her attention from Namjoon with a wink.

“Why is no one betting on me?” Jimin demands with a pout.

Lee turns to him, looking a little lost in the conversation. “Well, Jin is the main dancer,” she says carefully. Everyone stares at her open-mouth for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.

“Oh my god,” Hoseok wheezes in English. “My heart!” he exclaims, falling on top of Jimin, who had slid to the floor in his fit of laughter.

Lee just blinks at Yoongi. “Did I say something wrong?”

He rolls his eyes and wearily gets to his feet. “Enough fun and games. I’m taking Lee home now. Say goodbye.”

“Boo!” Taehyung complains, throwing a handful of chips at him. “Can’t you guys stay a little longer?” he whines. “I haven’t even gotten to show noona my tie collection!”

“I’m sure Yoongi-ah will bring Lee over again,” Seokjin says, ever the mediator. He blows her a kiss as she gets to her feet after Yoongi. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sam Lee! Let’s eat again soon!”

She gives each of them a deep bow in turn. “Thank you for having me over, Bangtan Sonyeondan,” she says seriously. “And thank you for sharing your work!”

Hoseok flashes her a sappy smile from the floor. “Does everyone else feel warm and fuzzy? I do.”

Lee turns pink, and Yoongi tugs at her sleeve, jiggling the car keys in front of her face. “Let’s go,” he repeats.

“I have my key,” he says to Namjoon. “Don’t stay up.”

“Oooh,” Jimin singsongs, already climbing over Hoseok to stare after them, bellydown on the floor with his chin cradled in both palms. “Drive safe, Suga-hyung!”

Yoongi just rolls his eyes, tossing Lee’s jacket at her as he slips into his own. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles.

“Sorry that took longer than thirty minutes,” he tells her as they stand in opposite corners of the lift. “You looked like you enjoyed yourself, though.”

She nods absently, playing with the zipper pull of her jacket. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to talk more about Lullaby,” she offers, sounding genuinely repentant. “But you really don’t have to drive me-”

“It’s fine,” he grunts, feeling a bit mollified with her apology.

“Did Namjoon mean that?” Lee finally asks him as they buckle their seatbelts.

“What?” He doesn’t even bother to look at her as he backs out of the parking space.

“That we’re all friends.”

He glances at her then, at the wistful look she has in her eyes as she stares through the windshield. Not knowing what to say, he just shrugs and continues to pull out of the lot.

“Yoongi,” she says, her hand reaching out to rest on his on the gearshift, fingertips light as they brush the back of it. “Are we friends? I mean, I know I joked about it but….” She trails off, looking nervous. “I really want to be.”

It’s funny to him how the countless small touches they’ve exchanged before pale in comparison to this one. The first one he’s ever really paid attention to, because of the way it manages to dissolve the rest of the tension and annoyance in his body at their evening. One touch and a handful of words, and he’s gone all soft like, like some sort of… soft thing.

“Yeah,” he manages to croak, pulling his eyes away from her and back onto traffic. She hums, taking her hand back.

“Good. That’s good.”

We die a thousand deaths a day, she had said. Yoongi suddenly feels like he’s dying one of them.

[“Anymore, no one’s mind is their own.”]

Day 16

He wishes they would stop talking about her.

It’s been a week, almost, and none of them will shut up about her.

Of course Yoongi knows she’s cool. Different. Innocent, even. Appreciates that she’s so far removed from their lives and how much of a relief that is. As much as he loves the recognition they’ve received with this comeback, it was still nice to be able to take a step back and not be Bangtan, even for a little bit out of every day. Hell, even Namjoon’s girlfriend had been a fan before they’d met. So had Jungkook’s, if the little brat’s bragging was to be believed. Meeting Lee had been such a novel experience for everyone, and he tried his best not to fault them for it, but she was his. His friend. His reprieve.

Not theirs.

It doesn’t help him focus, either, when Hoseok keeps asking questions about her that he doesn’t know the answers to, or when Seokjin asks when she’s coming back over for dinner. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t want her back at their dorm, wants to keep her separate from that aspect of his life.

He’s glad that Lee never brings them up. Goes back to their routine without a second thought. Back to arguing about paradigm shifts and artist motivations and whatever the hell else she usually babbled on about. Back to the cold fall air, the smell of cigarettes and laughing that strange, barking laugh of hers. Back to looking at Yoongi like he’s the only thing she can focus on, to reaching for his arm as they walk outside like he’s the only thing keeping her tethered.

Back to making him feel like he’s wholly himself and not a construct like she had asked all those days ago.

Back to being his.

[“We’re landscaping the whole world one stupid mistake at a time.”]

Day 18

“When was the last time you felt alive?”

Yoongi looks up from his half-hearted attempt at writing lyrics in his notebook, finds her sitting right in front of him, her knees touching his. Half her face is hidden by a laughably oversized knit scarf, her glasses pushed to the top of her head, deep-set brown eyes watching him.

Dr. Kim had been talking about impulse control just ten minutes prior, about taking a few seconds to consider their actions before going through with them. Yoongi already knows all about that. About biting his tongue and reigning in his sharpness, simultaneously dulling the most unappealing aspects of himself to something everyone could love. About modulating his voice just so to make an entire arena of people erupt in cheers. All about how to use every muscle in his body to convey the right message, how to curb his impulses and stay in line.

Yoongi knows all about control. There was virtually nothing Dr. Kim could teach him in regards to that.

So when Lee asks about feeling alive he can’t help but feel a little confused at the question, at the niggling feeling in the back of his head that they’ve had this conversation before.

He slowly takes the pen out of his mouth and returns the cap. Closes his notebook and rests his chin in his hand, an elbow propped on his knee. Meets her gaze full on, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. “I literally sweat a gallon on the floor of the dance studio this afternoon. Does a heart rate of 195 count as feeling alive?” he asks her sarcastically, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

“Yeah, but did you have fun?” she huffs, reaching out and attempting to flick him on the nose.

He dodges expertly, sending her a half-hearted scowl. “Dancing is fun.”

“Work isn’t fun,” she insists. He usually hates when she refers to what he does during the day as ‘work’, even if she’s technically right. He doesn’t have much outside of his career, but he likes it that way.

“My work is fun. Just because you hate yours doesn’t mean I have to.”

“When you get paid to do what you love, doesn’t it make you love it less?”

He pretends to consider the idea for a moment before giving her a flat “no,” already uncapping his pen to write the words down before they run away from him again.

“I’m serious, Yoongi,” she complains, sliding his notebook quickly from him and hugging it to her chest as hostage for his attention. “When was the last time you had fun for the hell of it? When was the last time you took a break?”

“I have fun every day,” he snaps, trying to grab his notebook back but she just scrambles out of his reach. “Have you ever seen an episode of Run BTS?”

“Work doesn’t count.”

“Work always counts.”

“You’re impossible.” She finally tosses his notebook back into his lap, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t you want to take a break?”

He rolls his eyes at her. “It’s a Monday night and I can’t exactly go out to middle of Gangnam to do what, karaoke?”

“Okay, I’m going to let your outright insult of the great Korean past time that is karaoke slide.” She tucks another cigarette between her lips, lighting it expertly with a single smooth motion. “But why can’t you? Do you have to go back to the studio?” she asks, smoke trailing around the question.

He watches, wondering if he’ll ever get not be mesmerized by the sight. “Not really, but I’m not in the mood to play nice with fans.”

“Right. That,” she agrees with a little twist of her mouth. He laughs then, at the fact that she’s treating his being an idol as a secondary thing. Like the very real possibility of getting mobbed by sasaeng fans was a small inconvenience. “Well, we don’t have to go out to have fun.”

“Why aren’t you letting this go?” he whines, tossing his head back and shifting his weight to both arms as he leans back on them.

“Because I need to get out of my head for a bit, Yoongi,” she answers seriously.

He pulls his head back upright at that, tilting it questioningly at her. “Everything okay?”

She shrugs, visibly shrinking into her parka. “Yeah. It’s fine. It’s just….” She slides her glasses on with a swift nod of her head, lets out another puff of smoke. “I just want to do something fun.”

“Okay, you’re no longer allowed to say ‘it’s fine’. You say it so often the words have lost all meaning,” he reprimands, and she makes a face at him. “What do you feel like doing?”

A grin spreads slowly across her face then, and Yoongi feels his heart drop into his stomach. He doesn’t like the look of it. It looks like trouble, and trouble is the one thing, apart from going out in public, that he was definitely not in the mood for.

“How do you feel about going for a drive?”

[“The voice says, maybe you don’t go to hell for the things you do. Maybe you go to hell for the things you don’t do. The things you don’t finish.”]

An hour and some skillful manipulation later, Yoongi’s behind the wheel of a car, driving to the edge of the city. Lee’s suggestion to go for a drive had been reasonable, more so than the other possible requests he had feared, so he hadn’t hesitated to agree.

He tells himself that this was what friends did—give and take. He had relented because that was what they were. Friends. Not because he wanted her to feel better or anything like that. Not like he wanted to do something that would make her happy.

Her phone is plugged in to the stereo as she leans out of the window with her eyes closed, her brown hair whipping across her face as she sings under her breath to a Miso song, an already half-empty bottle of soju on her lap. It’s a small thing, insignificant in the grander scheme of things, but Yoongi finds that he likes this. Likes driving in the middle of the night towards nowhere with nothing but the road and music to occupy his thoughts. Likes the heat of a little alcohol in his system, enough to keep him relaxed without making everything fuzzy. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t done this before.

“If you could do anything in the world right now, what would it be?” she asks, breaking the comfortable silence they’ve found themselves in.

He glances at her, finds that she’s leaning on her arm as she smiles absently at him. He straightens his shoulders the tiniest bit under her gaze. “Play a sold-out arena,” he jokes, taking a random exit off the highway.

“Yah, you impossible thing, Min Yoongi,” she complains with a drunken giggle. “I forget that you’re famous, sometimes.”

“Good,” he responds, voice a little huskier than usual as he swipes the bottle from her lap and takes a sip.

“Good? It’s not a blow to your ego that I’m not part of the Min Suga fan club?” she teases.

He chuckles, blindly handing her back the bottle and watching her take a swig from the corner of his eye. “You’re a member of the Min Yoongi fanclub. That’s enough for me.”

“Of course!” she quips sarcastically. “Not that you’re greedy or anything, mister A to the G to the U to the STD.”

“Mister? That sounds nice. Say it again,” he grins.

“Mister Min Yoongi,” she sings to the tune of whatever song was playing. “Good with rap but sings way off-key!”

He laughs, the alcohol bubbling in his system. “Yah, I might just have to kick you out of the club for that.”

“Oh god, anything but that!” she says dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Where the hell are you taking us?” she asks, turning her face back towards the window.

“No idea,” he shrugs. “You said drive and I’m driving.”

“I love this,” she sighs dreamily a few minutes later, eyes fluttering shut against the wind. “Hey Yoongi, have you ever been in love?” she asks absentmindedly, sticking a hand out and waving it along the air current.

The question takes him aback for a second, makes him glance at her with his brow furrowed in confusion as he tries to think through his buzz. “Once. Maybe. I don’t know. Can you really call it love at fourteen?”

“Puppy love,” she giggles in English.

It’s unchartered territory for the both of them. He doesn’t know how she can still look so relaxed when he suddenly feels cold from the fall air whipping at them through the open windows. They’d talked about a multitude of other things over the last three weeks, but never their relationships. He’s always been guarded about it, used to prying eyes and overeager journalists that would jump on the slightest slip of the tongue, but he knows she isn’t fishing. Knows that she’s asking to get to know him better. He tries to calm down by reminding himself that relationships were a big deal to most people. Most people but him.

He absently wonders if there’s something wrong with him in that aspect.

“Have you?” he manages to ask, thinking it only polite to turn the question back at her if she had brought it up.

“All the time,” she admits, still smiling absently out the window. “It’s silly but I fall in love with the strangest things. The way light hits puddles of gasoline on asphalt. The way a stranger will coo over a baby in a stroller. The way someone mixes their sugar into their coffee….” Her voice trails off abruptly, as if she had wanted to say something else afterwards, but he lets it slide.

“That sounds exhausting,” he tells her, because it does. “How can you fall in love with everything all the time?”

“Because it’s easier than falling in love with just one thing,” she laughs, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She finally turns to face him, tucking her knees up to her chest. Takes another sip of soju, handing it over to him automatically afterwards. He drains the bottle, finds that the heat of it going down is soothing, almost as much as the sound of her voice. “Besides, don’t you think the world needs more of it?”

“The world can burn,” he tells her. “As long as I can make music, I don’t care if it burns.”

“Then you’re in love, too, Yoongi. Just with a thing instead of a person.”

There’s her Wise Mage voice again. He can almost feel the knowing smile on her face as she says it, as if she’s figured out some hitherto unknown secret of the universe and is imparting it on him. As if she’s figured it all out and is letting him in for the ride.

The roads are empty in front of them, nothing but streetlights and the occasional car zooming past in the other direction. He slows the car down a bit, chancing a glance at her. “How can you even tell?” he wonders out loud.

“That you’re in love?” He hums in the affirmative, and she turns, angling her shoulders back towards the window. “You just do, I guess. I mean, it’s never like in the movies, right? Not everyone gets love at first sight, or a great love for the ages. It just is, like it’s been there the whole time. Maybe one day you wake up and just know, you know?” She laughs at herself then. “I’m not making any sense am I?”

“A little, I guess,” he offers kindly. “I just… I’ve never been so I have absolutely zero input on this topic.”

“Don’t worry, Yoongi,” she grins, reaching a hand out to rub him on the arm soothingly. “You’ll meet a gorgeous girl someday and fall head over heels. Probably another idol, or a musician whose work you love. You’ll get married and have a billion babies and ride happily ever after off into the sunset.”

He cracks a wry smirk at that. He had to admit that he’d never thought about it much outside of having to write a verse for a love song, but watching a couple of dramas and romantic comedies had been enough inspiration then. How she had pictured it just didn’t sound like anything he wants, and he tells her so. “She can burn, too. I don’t want to end up with an idol. Or with a million babies. How the hell am I supposed to pay for college?”

She laughs as he finally pulls the car over into a dirt parking lot lined by trees. “You say that now, but when it happens you won’t have a choice.”

He reaches over her, grabbing an unopened bottle of soju at her feet and cracking it open with a relieved sigh. “There’s always a choice,” he corrects absentmindedly, downing half of it in one gulp.

“That’s true,” she relents, and he cocks an eyebrow at her.

“Did you just let me win an argument?”

“We were arguing?”

“Aren’t we always?” He rolls his eyes exasperatedly at her, and she giggles, swiping the bottle from him and taking a sip.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“It’s dark out.”

“Scared?”

He hopes she doesn’t see him gulp. “You wish.”

She grins and unbuckles her seatbelt, and in the next moment Yoongi finds himself trailing after her as she picks her way haphazardly down a dirt path through the trees, humming another song he doesn’t know under her breath, puffs of warm air trailing from their mouths as they trudge along.

It isn’t snowing, and Yoongi thanks his lucky stars for the fact as much as he damns them, because it’s cold enough out in the woods to feel like it is.

“Yah, Lee,” he calls after a few miles, pausing and propping his palms on his knees to catch his breath, a stitch in his side and the cold November air too crisp in his lungs, eating up the buzz he had managed to build on the drive over. “Hold on,” he wheezes, hating himself for getting roped into a fucking hike. He hates exercise, hates the outdoors. Hell, right now he even hates that their short trek is worth it, with moonlight filtering in through the gaps in the leaves to leave puddles of silver on the ground, making the layer of frost on the trees look like glass, crunching with every movement.

She skips back towards him, smiling down at the clutch of fallen leaves she’s collected, each the size of her face. “Look at these, aren’t they beautiful?” she calls over, holding them out proudly. The contented smile on her face quickly disappears as she takes in the way his hands are shaking, the way his lower lip is quivering, and the leaves flutter to the ground around her as she comes running.

“Jesus Christ, Yoongi,” she complains. “You’re freezing.” Without a second thought she loops her ridiculous scarf over him, tucking his hands into the pockets of her parka and covering them with her own, thumbs running over his knuckles.

“I t-told you it was dark out,” he complains, voice muffled under the fabric.

“You didn’t tell me you were so sensitive against the cold,” she reprimands, unzipping both their outer layers and taking a step closer. He leans automatically into her warmth, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Suh-says thuh girl who lives in juh-jackets,” he stammers out, and he can see her roll her eyes.

“We’re guh-oing to get eaten by a wuh-wild animal,” he continues to whine, tucking his head further into the scarf while simultaneously using his hands to pull her into him, hungry for the warmth that feels like it’s coming off her in waves. “The great muh-Min Yoongi, brought down by a bear. I hope it’s Kumamon.”

“That would make for a great headline,” she agrees, humoring him as she adjusts the scarf between them. “I can see it now: Popstar dies of mascot attack in Seoul.”

He just grunts at her, hands fisting in the fabric of her pocket, and her hands move to his back, rubbing small circles into it. He’s never realized how small she is until now. What was she, five one? Five foot two? Whatever her height is, she’s tiny and hot as a furnace as she stands against him, the top of her head barely reaching his chin as she rubs her hands up and down and around, warm breath tickling his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. He really should have dressed warmer, but it’s not like he’d known they were going to end up in the middle of nowhere.

“Is this okay?” she asks after a few moments. “Are you feeling better?”

Yoongi reminds himself that this indeed was okay. This was what friends did, right? They dragged each other out on drunken hikes in the middle of the night and used each other’s body heat to stay alive. The thought is so ridiculous he wants to laugh, but his face freezes against the wind that chooses that precise moment to pick up. He slouches further into the scarf just as she tilts her head up, temple resting against his cheek. He wonders if she has a fever, if he does and that’s why it feels so surreal to have her standing so close to him.

His reality was fucked up, in his opinion. Wasn’t he just hot and sweaty not that many hours ago, halfway to unconsciousness on the floor of the dance studio? Then he was sitting bored out of his mind, listening to Dr. Kim drone on in their therapy session, then tipsy as he drove mindlessly towards nowhere in particular. A couple more hours and he would be warm and blessedly in bed, and tomorrow he would be back in the studio, finishing the track he started the night before.

But for now… for now he’s standing in unfamiliar woods with nothing but shafts of moonlight glowing placidly on the path before him, regrettably sober in face of the cold as he considers the very real possibility that he’s going to freeze his ass off. That is, if a bear doesn’t get to them first.

Lee shifts, and he abandons the train of paranoid thought, comes crashing back to the present. The present, where he has her pressed against him, all warmth and curves and the smell of cigarette smoke and soju, rubbing life back into his torso. Where they’re just Lee and Yoongi, standing in the middle of the goddamn woods, her humming again under her breath.

Maybe reality isn’t so bad, he concedes.

He finally groans, sick of the mental battle he had just waged with himself for no reason. Be present, Hoseok had told him the other week. Like he had a choice when his present was currently freezing cold.

“If you tell me you’re falling in love with this, too, I might just have to leave you here,” he tries to joke, his jaw finally warming up enough to talk.

She laughs at that, her breath trailing across his collarbone like a caress. “Maybe,” she rasps. “But just a little bit.”

[“No matter how much you love someone, you still want to have your own way.”]

Day 25

Since their failed attempt at having a “fun night out,” Yoongi’s been paying more attention. More attention to the way more leaves are turning brown, to the way the tree behind the university building is getting more and more bare by the day. To his teammates and their unique ways of navigating through their strange world, how they slip in and out of their stage personas with ease and without giving up too much of who they are. To the way he reacts to certain stressors and how he deals with them without forfeiting his honesty with himself. To how proud he is of himself for the countless small victories he now manages in a day.

More attention to Minjun, who’s finally stopped carrying his lighter around. To Jihoon, who can finally get through a session without sobbing. To Gunwoo, who looks as stressed as ever but at least has stopped bringing his phone into the room.

To Lee, who’s the same except not. Who is, apparently, a human furnace under the oversized clothes. Who still wears the same vintage glasses, still wears lipstick the color of dried blood on Wednesdays and Wednesdays only, still smokes cigarettes like they’re the secret to a long and happy life.

Lee, who until now hasn’t caught up to the reality that he’s an idol. Who still treats him like a person instead of a popstar, like what he does is a job and like he’s whole and sane and normal underneath it all. Like he’s Yoongi. Like that’s all that matters.

And Yoongi… Yoongi is the same except not. He’s still moody and anxious and part of him still hates the stage as much as he loves it. Still as conflicted about his life and his art and still plagued with the same insecurities that have been hounding him since he had been old enough to want this life. Still Suga and Agust D and a member of Bangtan and a son and a friend and a brother. Still just as hard on himself and on his work. Still working just as fast and just as ruthlessly as the rest of them to keep the dream going.

But he’s paying more attention now. Was making more of an effort to be present. Was preening more in front of the cameras and fans as the rest, cracking more jokes and giving more input instead of letting the label make all the decisions. He’s fighting again, for the first time in what’s felt like years. To make the music he wants to, to say the things he wants to, to be the person he wants to.

He thinks he understands what Hoseok was telling him, then. What Lee has probably been teaching him this whole time. To fall in love with everything, every moment, instead of being a by-stander. To be present, no matter how overwhelming it is, no matter how much he wants to shy away from it for fear of people seeing through the façade.

He’s being Yoongi again. And for the first time, he doesn’t feel the least bit sorry about it.

[“Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can hurt like hell.”]

Day 28

“Hello, Mr. Min. Take a seat.”

Yoongi bows a greeting towards Dr. Kim as he slips into his office, does as he’s told on the worn brown leather sofa across him.

The office looks and smells the way he expects it to, the way he’s seen on countless movies and shows; a desk on one end, a sofa pushed up against the wall, the doctor sitting on an armchair across the coffee table. It smells like old books and potpourri, and he fidgets awkwardly in his seat, wondering why he’s so nervous for their first and hopefully only one-on-one session.

Dr. Kim smiles reassuringly at him, as though he knows it will help put him at ease. It does. He doesn’t know why but it does, and he allows himself to relax a little, slouching onto the couch cushions.

“How are you doing today?”

“Good,” he answers automatically. “Thank you for asking.”

The older man hums and nods at that, as though he had expected the answer, turning to look at what Yoongi assumes is his file in his hands. “I see here you were diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder when you were fifteen. How are you doing with that?”

“Good.” Yoongi winces at the repetition. Tries again. “I mean, I still have bad days, but I’m dealing with it better.”

“You have,” Dr. Kim assures him. “We’ve made leaps and bounds over the course of our sessions.” He peers at him over his glasses then, and Yoongi feels like the man is looking straight through him instead of at him. “To be perfectly honest I was apprehensive about putting you into group therapy. I wasn’t sure you would be able to open up around other people, progress with them, but your management was adamant about it. I take it you had a lot to do with that?”

Yoongi swallows, breaking eye contact awkwardly. “I’m not good with talking about feelings,” he admits gruffly, eyes squinting to read the titles on the bookshelf.

“Because you have a lot of them?” Dr. Kim infers, and Yoongi nods meekly at his accuracy. “The sessions aren’t so much about anger management than they are about impulse control, as I hope you’ve learned.”

Yoongi nods. “Figured that out the first day. The people in the group aren’t exactly… violent. Well, except for Jihoon, but that was a fluke.”

“And neither are you,” Dr. Kim says, glancing down at the file again. “The incident with one of your band mates… Jeon Jungkook?”

He leans forward, then, elbows on his knees as he rubs a hand tiredly over his face. “That was a fluke too,” he states, hating the way his voice sounds like it’s pleading with him. “We punk each other all the time. Kookie just went a little too far and I might have reacted a little too… strongly.”

“That’s all well and good, but it still got you here. Do you understand why your management had to send you to therapy?”

“Because I’m the most unstable out of everyone,” he says automatically. At the sight of Dr. Kim’s eyebrow going up, he clears his throat. “I mean, I tend to keep a lot in. I told you, I’m not good with talking about feelings.”

“Your bandmates said as much, when they came in.”

It’s Yoongi’s turn for his eyebrow to go up.

Dr. Kim just smiles. “Your friends Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok came in before you started therapy. They gave me a little more background about you, a better idea of who you are and how you’d been doing before all this. Out of concern, you understand. There is, after all, only so much doctors can infer from a patient. Talking to their friends and family always gives us a better picture.”

“They….” Yoongi’s eyes dart around, unable to focus on any one thing in particular but unwilling to meet the other man’s eyes just then. Still trying to wrap his head around the fact that two of his teammates had taken time out of their impossible schedule to look out for him. “I can’t believe they did that,” he finally admits, shoulders hunching.

“Are you surprised?”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah. Fuck yeah I’m surprised. What did they say?”

Dr. Kim leans back in the armchair, elbows on the armrests as he steeples his fingers together. “Just that you hadn’t been your normal self lately. That they felt a little hurt that you didn’t feel you could talk to them, but that they were glad you were going to get the chance to in therapy.”

Yoongi shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “Idiots.”

“Far from, Mr. Min. Mr. Kim and Mr. Jung were simply acting out of concern. It’s very reassuring to know that you have a good support system behind you. I don’t see why you’re reacting to this with anger. Could you explain why?”

Yoongi just keeps shaking his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “It’s just… they know better. They know I’ll go to them when I really need to.”

“Ah, but Mr. Min, the key here is turning to people before you need to. Before the pressure builds up and another unsavory incident occurs. You mentioned before that music is your primary outlet for your emotions?”

Yoongi nods. “I don’t know if you listen to rap, Dr. Kim, but it’s very aggressive. It’s been the best way to deal with my anger and anxiety. At least, that I’ve found.”

Dr. Kim just hums again. “I’ve listened to your music, Mr. Min. You’re very transparent with your lyrics. Far more transparent, in fact, than you are in person.”

“I told you, I’m not good with-”

“Talking about feelings, yes. But you understand, at least as an artist, how important communication is?”

“Of course,” Yoongi scoffs. “Words are the backbone to everything I am.”

“Communication isn’t just words, Mr. Min. A message can be relayed without a single word being said.”

“Look.” He leans forward again, dipping his head down and wrapping his hands around the back of his neck, already exhausted by the conversation. “I know there’s a lot of shit wrong with me. That I don’t exactly deal with things the way I should. That I go from happy and hyper one minute and quiet and reclusive the next. It’s just how I am, how I’ve always been. I’ve been trying, listening to all your advice, but I can’t change that.”

“Nor does anyone want you to.” He finally looks up, finds a look of mild surprise on the doctor’s face. “Mr. Min, I’m not going to suggest that you see a psychiatrist and go on a cocktail of medications just to pursue a state of ‘normal’ that doesn’t exist. Everyone has their quirks, their individual personalities. You’re here because you were unhappy, and unhappiness is just as much an impulse as anger. Some people have a tendency towards it, like a default. Does this sound like this applies to you?”

His brow furrows, mulling it over in his head. He had to admit it was as accurate as he had ever heard anyone else describe it to him. And it was true—he did tend towards dissatisfaction and unhappiness as a default. No matter how many goals of his he achieves, part of him is still always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to wake up and the dream to disappear into the cold light of morning, to find himself back on the streets with nothing to his name. No matter how happy he finds himself, he knows it won’t last—that it could all be ripped away from him the next second before he could even scream for the universe not to.

“Impulse control, Mr. Min.” Dr. Kim’s voice says, pulling him from his thoughts. “In your case, it might call for a paradigm shift. To make a conscious effort towards happiness or contentment instead of away from it.”

Paradigm shift, there were those words again. Wasn’t Lee just talking about that last week?

“Tell me what’s on your mind, Mr. Min.”

Yoongi startles, finally managing to pull his gaze back onto his doctor who’s looking at him with his eyebrows drawn together in concern. He wants to laugh, for some unknowable reason. His heart feels like a jigsaw puzzle, all the pieces bouncing around in a box in his chest. He wants to dump them all on the coffee table in front of him, to find the corners and put the damn thing back together again.

“I need to talk myself into happiness instead of away from it, is what you’re saying,” he hazards, and the doctor’s face finally breaks into a smile.

“You are a writer, after all, Mr. Min. I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

He laughs, and the sincerity in it would have been startling if he wasn’t feeling so relieved. If he closes his eyes he can almost imagine the edges of the puzzle lining up, the pieces falling into their proper places.

“Good talk, doc. Thanks.”

“No, Mr. Min. Thank you.”

[“So just relax and enjoy the ride.”]

Day 30

“Last day, huh?”

If Lee’s smile is a little watered down tonight, he can understand. He doesn’t know how many meetings the rest of them have left, but he’s free now. No more uncomfortable sharing sessions, no more unsolicited advice that he’s heard a million times before, no more inconveniencing his entire team to make time for therapy.

Sure, he’d started therapy without believing he needed to, but he was also smart enough to admit it had helped. It’s why he still has Dr. Kim’s calling card in his wallet. Just in case.

Then it hits him: no more therapy means no more Lee. No more routine. No more twenty minute breaks behind the building. No more cigarette smoke. No more huddling together against the crisp winter wind. No more faux philosophical conversations about life and love that neither of them took too seriously anyway.

He wonders if she’s going to miss him as much as he already misses her. If that’s why she’s smiling so sadly, brown eyes watching him like she’s memorizing the way he stands, the way he breathes. If his own smile looks just as sad as he does the same to her.

“Last day,” he agrees, pushing the front doors open and letting them out into the late evening.

Now that he’s present, he can’t help but notice the way the glow of the streetlamps has turned the world a warm amber, the way the lights from passing cars glint and reflect off the glass windows of the building, the sheen of moisture on the concrete sidewalk from the short fall of rain while they had been indoors.

The way Lee looks in the middle of it all, chewing her lipstick off as her eyes scan the road uncertainly, looking for the car that will take him away from her for good.

He doesn’t know when he changed his mind about her, but he has. She’s still weird and possibly insane, just as unstable and unpredictable as he is. She looks exactly the same as when he’d met her all those weeks ago. There was still nothing special about her, nothing that screamed or called for attention. Just another girl with a strange way of looking at the world and an even stranger way of talking about it, but while he hadn’t even considered her pretty then, he realizes that she’s the most wonderful thing he’s seen all day. The most wonderful part about every day that’s come before this.

The thought crystalizes in his chest, fragile and firm and sharp around the edges, but it was his. She was his. And she was one routine he suddenly found himself unwilling to break.

“Do you want-”

“Give me your-”

They stare at each other, blinking in surprise as they catch themselves blurting things out at the same time. He grins, and it’s the one that shows all his teeth. The one that he only uses when he’s truly entertained by something. The one that only slips out when he’s truly happy.

“You go first,” he tells her.

She smirks, fingers already tucking a cigarette between lips that are patchy from where she’s bitten off her make-up. “Do you want to exchange numbers?”

“I was about to ask you to give me yours,” he admits, handing his phone over.

She lets out a stream of smoke into the cold night air, smiling as she takes it and saves her number. “See you around, Min Yoongi.”

“See you, Sam Lee.”

He’s halfway home when he realizes she’s saved herself as ‘Your Biggest Fan’. Halfway home, but already feeling like he’s there.

#BTS #BTS fanfic #suga x oc #min yoongi x oc #BTS fanfiction

13 notes · View notes