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radiorenjun · 4 years

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my first and last || huang renjun

¤ pairing : huang renjun x reader

¤ genre : fluff, slight crack, major angst, romance, drama, slight fantasy! au, slight coming of age!au, first love!au, slight 1880s!au, adventure!au, painter!renjun x street singer!y/n. runaway!au

¤ synopsis : Huang Renjun was born on the coldest day on earth, which causes his heart to be frozen solid, requiring a replacement. The makeshift Doctor, Madam Wendy, who provides midwifery and medical services to the poor and the desperate of Edinburgh, grafts a miniature cuckoo clock in order to save it.

However his newfound cuckoo clock heart was so fragile that it could end him in a terrible fate of death if he does not follow the three rules said doctor had provided for him. One of which was he must never fall in love. Do come and enter this adventure through Renjun’s eyes as he falls for a street singer who hates wearing glasses despite of her poor eyesight.

¤ warnings: character death, HEAVY angst, mentions of blood, loss of family member, reader has terrible eyesight and is painfully oblivious, Madam Wendy mentions about her abortion, maybe some swearing (do people even swear in the olden days?), historical inaccuracies is sexy, heartbreak, renjun is mentally exhausted, mentions of taking ones life (once), adults smoking, reader wears glasses at the end. shakespeare shaming because i have a grudge against that man. hISTORICAL INNACURACIES. Renjun gets slapped by Wendy once, renjun gets hypothermia. i feel like this was quite rushed idk

¤ word count : 29.2k

¤ heavily inspired by La Mécanique du cœur (the movie, not the novel because I’m not that cruel)

¤ playlist: my everything - nct u, instagram - dean, wayo - bang yedam, francis forever - mitski mitski, anxiete - pomme, faded in my last song - nct u, line without a hook - ricky montgomery, moi cest - camelia jordana, my first and last - nct dream, beautiful time - nct dream,

¤ a/n: special thanks to @lebrookestore for making this sexy header

‘Love. What does that feel like?' Renjun would always wonder.

As his paint brush strokes the canvas, eliciting a bright yellow mark on the object, Renjun continued to stare into his painting with a void of emotion. Whenever the occasional question 'what does it feel like to love or to be loved?' pops up in his mind, he would often furrow his brows and purse his lips in a small pout in confusion at the thought.

Renjun didn't know what it felt like to love, for his caretaker, Madame Wendy, had always told him since he was a young boy that 'love is the last thing you need in this world, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal.' Renjun didn’t care much for the aspects of love. How can he fall in love when he doesn’t even know what love is? What does it feel like to feel love? How can you feel love?

If you take one small glance at Huang Renjun, you would instantly have the assumption that he was a rather cold-hearted, emotionless young boy. Eyes so icy cold and void of emotion, it could send shivers down your spine. Though, fortunately for everyone else, it was quite rare of the young boy to walk out of his home. Some might say that he would step out of his home ‘once in a blue moon’ or whenever the sun shone brightly over the old town, which was quite rare considering it had been raining frequently these past few months in Edinburgh, France.

However, what they didn’t know was that the reason behind his infrequent appearance was quite tragic. He was an unfortunate young boy, really. Only a few people have known this, but long long ago, a sudden harsh snowfall hit his town on the day he was born. It was recorded as the coldest day on earth, for the snow had frozen everything in its path including the poor boy’s heart. Quite literally, not figuratively.

Renjun’s biological mother had journeyed through the cold town to the house up the steeple. Rumors say, the quote unquote ‘witch’ of the town, who specialized in the medical department with her own unique ways that left doctors skeptical and poor. From what his caretaker had told him, she was holding her belly throughout the long journey as she tried her best to endure the cold without slipping on the frozen concrete. Muttering how if she could, she would’ve kept her child in her tummy safe and sound from the cruel world.

How she slipped and fell unconscious in front of his current caretaker’s house with her tears frozen on top of her cold cheeks, how she was brought in and taken in just in time to warm up to gain consciousness and go through the birth process. He remembered being told how the moment he was born, he had to undergo intense surgery immediately for he almost didn’t survive. He remembered being told that his heart had turned cold.

“Cold, not Gold, Renjun. A heart made of ice. As in cubes not cream,” as his caretaker would say.

Since donors weren't available at the time as it was already way past midnight, he needed surgery before his heart stopped beating under the hard exterior of the ice growing around his heart. Luckily for him, Madame Wendy had improvised one with her excellent expertise. She built a small clock the size of her palm that nearly covered his whole chest at the time. Considering she was known for being a witch in town, (even though she tried to explain a countless amount of times that she was a mere mechanic with a medical degree) she miraculously provided him with a fragile heart made from scratch.

However, the night of his birth was also the night his mother had decided to leave him with Madame Wendy, convinced that she would make a better mother for Renjun that she could ever have. It was quite a tragic tale. However, Renjun didn’t think much of it. Nor did he feel any sort of upsetting emotions like longing, curiosity and sadness. Why would he? He doesn’t even remember what his biological mother had looked like. He doesn’t know how to feel anymore other than the faux happiness his mother had taught him how to feel to ease the numbing feeling in his hollow, ticking heart held nothing but dust.

A heart that was purely made out of strong wood, cogs and screws. One that makes soft, calming tick tocks that goes along with the soft pitter patters of rain drops with every beat, one that makes cuckoo’s every time it’s arrow struck 12. One that needs winding every single day with a golden key his caretaker had provided him ever since he was born. One with ironically three rules that he should always follow on a day to day basis.

“Recite those rules once again, Renjun,” she ordered as she buttons up her adoptive child’s white shirt up to his neck. “Do I have to? I’ve been reciting this for years now,” Renjun would whine, looking down at his mother’s loving hands as she flicked her forehead softly with a face void of emotion. “It’s for your own good, Renjun. I can’t have you forgetting something this important, you know very well that your life depends on these three rules.” She tugged on the collar of her child’s shirt down.

“Before I let you run off to town with me, I prefer that your heart would be much stronger,” she swiped her fingers through Renjun’s hair, swefting it to the side to make it neat. “Every beat of your heart is a minor miracle. You’re a fragile piece of work, far more fragile than glass,” the older woman explained, laying her hands on the boy’s shoulder with a grim expression. “I know,” Renjun replied with a sigh, shrugging his shoulders to release tension in his body.

He sighed again, the young boy looked up at the ceiling to avoid his mother’s cold stare. “Firstly, never touch the hands of my heart,” he began, letting out an annoyed sigh as he felt his mother tucking his small key into the pocket sewed on his chest. “Yes, what else?” Madame Wendy asked, kneeling down to look at the child in the eye. “Keep your temper under control,” they recited in unison with the same emotionless tone.

“And the last one?”

“Whatever I do, I must never ever fall in love.”

“Indeed, that’s why I’m so scared of letting you into town. You haven’t experienced love yet so far in your life, it is very important that you stay that way,” she said, standing up on her feet as her hand returned to Renjun’s shoulder. “I know,” he mumbled once again, looking up at his caretaker’s eyes as if to hide the fact that he wasn’t listening a total hundred percent to what she was saying. “It could be the very death of you, Renjun. Your fragile heart won’t be able to stand the emotional, mental and physical shock provoked with the feeling of love,” she explained once again, a worried expression glossing over her face.

“I know, I know. You tell me that almost everyday,” he muttered, playing with the small buttons on the clock that is his own heart. “My heart is not a toy, therefore it is not to be played with.” he almost rolled his eyes at the older woman, feeling her smack his hand away from his heart softly. “It is something that I want you to take seriously, Renjun,” she hissed, eyeing the small mechanic artwork on the boy’s chest. “How can I even fall in love when I don’t know anything about love?”

To Renjun, today was like any other day of the year. The sun shining brightly against his skin, the cloudy grey sky accenting the sky’s beauty. His hair gelled to the side to reveal some of his forehead and leaving a few strands of his hair to tickle his skin perfectly, his calloused hand gripping his 60 x 90 cm canvas and his large box of acrylic paints to his side, his favorite paintbrush hanging against the skin in between his ear and his fluffy short hair.

Spinning one of his smaller paint brushes in his free hand, right between his fingers as he walked down the sidewalk of his home town, trying to find a spot to sit and paint. It was his birthday recently, so his mother had delightfully just bought a fresh new set of acrylic paints, considering he finished them on his last painting which was the majestic dove fountain in the middle of the town less than a month ago.

Renjun was only ten years old when his caretaker took him out to wander around town, which was on his birthday. It was then when Renjun was hitting the age of thirteen when his caretaker’s worry lessened when she saw that her child was nowhere to the point of Cupid’s next target. Therefore those annual town visits turned into monthly visits (under his caretaker’s supervision, of course) and when Renjun had turned thirteen years old, he had shown an interest in painting and drawing in his free time while Madame Wendy was working with a patient.

However, love can strike at any moment. And by the time Renjun became sixteen years old, he was finally allowed to venture into the town himself to paint landscapes and buy more art supplies at least once a week with a 5-6 PM curfew. Nothing more, nothing less. Cupid was cunning, therefore she believed that this was the best she could do. Considering he was a teenager, she couldn’t protect him as easily as she could back when he was still an infant. And that was what she had feared the most in her life.

Renjun sighed heavily, looking around with emotionless eyes, a cold frown forming upon his lips as he leaned his chin on his palm, his elbow supporting on his thigh and his other free hand holding the canvas on top of his legs. He wondered if there was more to life than work and oil paints, eyes wandering on the busy streets filled with the latest carriages and the latest transportation vehicles. He felt as if his life had gone by boring and aimless without knowing how to express his emotions properly. Is this what life has come to in his 16 years of living?

16 years of being almost completely isolated from this town without knowing what his caretaker was so worried about. Madam Wendy had absolutely nothing to be worried about. Renjun had witnessed love from time to time in the streets, watching a couple of different genders walking down the streets with loving expressions on their faces. Renjun could not decipher why you would be feeling such emotions. He had been venturing around town freely with his strict curfews for almost four months now. And all he’s done so far is wander around looking for something interesting to be his next muse or visit the local library to read books.

One of the books Renjun was absolutely fascinated on reading was this book the librarian had recommended to him on his first visit, ‘The Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens. It was a small story of a young boy named Pip who went through amazing life changing experiences and going through hardships with his rather abusive sister, his blacksmith mentor and falling in love as well with a girl named Estella. (He would always snicker whenever she comes up in a scene as her adoptive parent, Ms Havisham, ironically reminded him too much of Madam Wendy)

He often wondered if Madam Wendy’s strong dislike towards the aspects of love was merely because of his fragile condition or was it because of something deeper? However, looking back at when he found his caretaker’s family albums which were mainly pictures of her winning awards and bragging about her medical degree, he highly doubts it. (It was still fun to imagine theories while it lasted, though!)

“Ms Havisham stares at Pip coldly, and murmurs to the girl at her side: ‘Break his heart, Estella. Break his heart!’” Renjun read, his eyes moving as he read the brief summary at the back of his book. Looking down at the cuckoo clock heart hidden under his cardigan, he clicked his tongue before chuckling bitterly to himself. “‘Break his heart’, huh? What utter bonkers, you can’t break someone’s heart. That isn’t physically possible,” he shook his head in amusement, placing his book on top of the box of acrylic paints beside him.

Just as he was about to leave and head back home, a peculiar merry tune reached his ears, causing Renjun to pause in his step, looking around to find the source with furrowed brows. If this was like those small street cat sketches he would draw in his free time, it would seem like his ears perked up in slight interest. The merry tune turned on a bright spark inside of the young boy’s chest, curiosity growing in his veins at the tune he has never heard before. It was as if the angels above had descended to the earth while playing a symphony of flutes and harmonicas, making soft high pitched catchy tunes in the air.

Renjun felt entranced by the music, it was almost as if it was pulling him- beckoning him to come towards it, towards its source. It was as if his feet had a mind of his own as he fought with his own rational thoughts to either go back home or find the source of the beautiful merry tune. He couldn't help but walk to where it's coming from, curious of who was making such a wonderful tune. Sooner than later, he found himself walking down a small alley that led him into a steep staircase that led him to another part of his town. And with every step he took, the music grew louder and louder. Soon, finding light at the end to see the small part of town he rarely visits.

He put his palm on the dirty brick wall, ignoring the uncomfortable texture against his skin, head poking out as he tried to decipher where the majestic music was coming from. Squinting his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight for the staircase was dim enough to be mistaken for a tunnel with the broken rooftops covering the ceiling, he took a step forward. His eyes widening slightly in awe as he watched a young man his age push away a stack of crates to reveal the true source of music.

A young girl, who Renjun figures is around his age, was cranking up a barrel organ right in front of the fountain. A hand going in circular motions on the crank, twisting the lever as she pulls it clockwise. The hand on her hip was soon placed on her chest when the music went on, clearing her throat softly as she began to sing along and harmonize with the melody.

Renjun stood still in his place, baffled at the daunting beauty presented before him. The girl standing a few meters away from him was singing along merrily to the tune of the phonograph record, cranking up the lever as the other townsfolk that was walking by began to gather around her, enjoying the harmony that goes along with her soothing voice and symphony of flutes and harmonicas being produced by the portable barrel organ.

As he sat down on the last step of the staircase to listen from afar, he couldn't help but pay close attention to the lyrics coming out of her lips. His paintbrush spinning in between his fingers as his mind focused on the words of the intro, smiling idly as he began to understand the words she was trying to convey.

My vision's not quite right

But glasses make me look a sight

Enough to give the world a fright, like a sprite wearing specs

Renjun couldn't help but tilt his head in confusion. 'A sprite wearing specs? What the hell was that supposed to mean?' he pondered to himself as he found himself sitting at the last step of the staircase, leaning his white canvas against the dusty brick walls before putting his palm against his cheek, his elbow supported right above his knees as he gazed in awe at the little singer.

His pupils never moved away from the young girl who began to twirl around with her hands on her hips. And that girl was you. He watched as you danced and sang as if you were in your own little world, almost clumsily bumping into an old man carrying two heavy wooden crates in his arms. He chuckled at the sight, a soft smile stretching across his face as he watched the girl apologize for almost bumping into him, making Renjun realise that she might have some sort of blurred vision with how she was squinting at the older man.

‘Or she might just be an idiot,’ Renjun thought with a deadpan expression, laying his chin on his hand as he let out a soft sigh. Renjun had been living in this town all his life, despite the fact that he rarely goes out of his own home. He’s sure that no one in this town would blast such a merry tune so shamelessly in public while dancing and singing around like a fool expressing themselves. And it was quite rare for someone to walk around with a barrel organ out of nowhere.

The music stopped midway when you let out a small yelp and clumsily tripped over your own feet as you turned to your barrel organ when the lever stopped turning, eliciting a soft giggle from Renjun. You let out a soft grunt, huffing as you ignored the slightly concerned looks of your audience. You stood up quickly, hands coming up to brush off the dust and debris off your skirt, tugging on your suspenders as you attempted to ignore the embarrassed red tint on your own cheeks as you tried to play it off as cool.

Renjun couldn't help but giggle at the sight, his cold emotionless expression morphing into one filled with the slightest bit of amusement. Though, it quite took Renjun aback when he saw you turn your head from your barrel organ to his figure sitting a few meters away from where you were standing, turning your head rapidly to find the source, raising a brow when your eyes met Renjun's. He stopped laughing when your eyes met briefly, eyes widening in shock as he began to fidget in his place as you began to waddle over to him, dragging your barrel organ with you.

Wait, were you going over to talk to him? How did you even acknowledge his existence? Did you hear him snicker at your silly antics? Even if you did, how could you even hear him with how busy your surroundings were?

You stood before him with hands on your hips, lips pursed at him. "What were you laughing at?" you asked, a slight pout adorning on your lips as you looked down at the boy who raised his brow. Renjun felt his words pile up in his throat, trying to think of something to say without offending or upsetting the girl before him, as his Seulgi and Irene (his caretaker’s weekly patients) had always told him that ‘once you anger a feisty lady, there’s no turning back!’.

Now that you were standing only a few inches away from him, he couldn’t help but take a small moment to observe your appearance more clearly. Renjun's eyes couldn't help but wander towards your figure, examining your facial features in full detail. The way the sunlight reflected upon your pupils, how your figure stood out that he could barely decipher that other people were present around them. The way your dress framed your body, lips pursed with a slight pout, eyelids fluttering softly as you blinked at him as you were waiting for a response. Renjun wondered how someone could look this entrancing.

"Hello? Are you listening to me?!"

Renjun blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. His mouth opening as his pupils went back up to catch the intense glare that the girl in front of him was sending. He closed his mouth when he realized he didn't know what to say in response, his mind turning blank when he saw you quirked one of your eyebrows up suspiciously. "I don't- How can you even hear me laugh from such a distance?" Renjun's voice faltered nervously, trying to avoid your question, furrowing his brows.

Your expression lightened slightly at the nervous boy, a bright smile of your own stretching across her face. "Out of all of my five senses, my hearing has always been the best considering I don't rely much on my eyes," you shrugged, sitting beside him on the last step of the stairs. Stretching your legs out as you used your palms to smoothen your dress before crossing your arms on your thighs and turning your head to look at the boy. "I saw you staring at me from a distance, was I that good?" you smirked, raising a brow.

“You saw me? I thought you said you can’t rely on your eyes that much?” he asked in a weak attempt to dodge your question once again. “I lied, some lady told me that you were staring at me even after this old thing gave up on me,” you huffed, kicking your foot lightly at the old barrel organ in front of you. “Stop dodging my question. I don’t want to assume that you were stalking me or something,” you turned your head back to the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, wiggling the finger in front of his face teasingly.

Renjun bit the inside of his cheek, a scowl forming on his lips as he rolled his eyes. "Don't get too cocky, I was just perplexed. I was baffled to see someone playing such a merry tune so shamelessly in this lousy, depressing town," he responded with a click of his tongue. "How so?" you asked, tilting your head in confusion at the boy before looking around at your surroundings. “This town doesn’t look that depressing to me. Just needed some lighting up, that’s all,” your positivity elicited another scoff from the boy.

Renjun turned to you, brows furrowed slightly, confused as to how you couldn’t see how this town was the literal epitome of the Great Depression itself. "You're not from here, are you? Come to think of it, I've never seen you around here before." Renjun asked with a curious expression, watching as a cheeky grin formed across your face. "You got me there." You let out a soft chuckle, shrugging shamelessly before gazing up at the cloudy grey sky.

"My parents and I just moved in today. They told me to run off and go dilly dally-ing around town so as to not bother them as they set up the whole place,” you explained, nodding towards your barrel organ. “I think I made a great first impression as the new lady in town, don’t you think?” you asked, giving him a sweet smile, ignoring how Renjun gave you an affirming shake of his head to say ‘no’ bluntly. “Well I definitely knocked your socks off, didn’t I? That’s enough for me!” you exclaimed brightly, clasping your hands together.

“You don’t even know me. I don’t even know you. And how would you know if I was moved by your oh-so-stupendous actions?” Renjun rolled his eyes sarcastically, gripping his canvas tightly as he spoke, looking down at his shoes. He had never spoken to someone his age before without being forced by his caretaker or having to meet them for the first time at Madam Wendy’s home. It was quite new for him to be talking to a lady as well, for most of them were too shy to even talk to the young lad for his cold glare struck shivers down their spine.

“The sound of your laugh was enough to convince me that my actions were indeed stupendous, good sir!” you shot back confidently, a proud smile on your face as you placed your hands on your knees. “Oh bother,” he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes once again at you, ignoring how the confusion he felt when the cogs and gears of his heart were speeding up in action. “I’m Y/n, by the way! It’s good to know I made a friend on my first day in Edinburgh. Perhaps my mini shameless performance wasn’t entirely fruitless!” you reached your hand out, gesturing for him to shake it.

Renjun looked at your hand for a brief moment, pupils gazing back up at your happy expression, raising a brow at you before sighing heavily. He pulled his hand from his canvas before leaning over to shake your hand gently, “Renjun. Huang Renjun,” he introduced, his tone emotionless. Your hand was warm and soft unlike his own dry ones. Your hand had small specks of dust, which he assumed were from the dusty lever of the barrel organ while his own was covered with dry acrylic paint from his previously wet canvas.

Upon the warm feeling surging through his body at the touch, he felt the tiny mechanical bird inside of his cuckoo clock heart burst out from his clock in response when his skin touched yours, the sharp wooden beak hitting the fabric of his jacket alarmingly. Thus making a small, almost inaudible ‘cuckoo’ that only Renjun (fortunately) heard.

"It’s lovely to be your acquaintance, Huang Renjun. Though, I must warn you, I might not be here for long. My family has been travelling from town to town for years, searching for something.” You told him, pulling your hand back to your side with a small shrug. “Searching? Searching for what exactly?” Renjun asked, watching your expression turned unreadable. You shrugged, leaning your cheek against your palm, your elbow supporting on your leg. “That’s the thing! I’m not quite sure, they won’t tell me.”

“A treasure chest, perhaps?” Renjun suggested, putting a hand on his chin in thought. “Perhaps so. Though, I’m searching for something myself, as well. I haven't found it yet and I doubt I'm going to find it here." you sighed simply, leaning your head up to gaze at the cloudy sky. Eyes watching as the sun was barely visible due to the thick grey clouds layering over it, signalling that it might rain soon.

"Well, what are you searching for exactly? Treasure? Money? Wealth is considered as a greedy sin in this town, so I don't think this is some place where you can find those." Renjun hummed, his hand going back to gripping his canvas as he felt the cogs and gears in his heart working faster than usual. Hell, he didn't know why he was so curious about this. This was none of his business, after all. This was your problem, why was he so keen on keeping the conversation going? Why was he so intrigued in a young foreign singer his age he’s just met?

You shook your head, sucking your lips into your mouth before pulling your bottom lip out in a pout. "I’m not a fool, Renjun. I'm not really interested in wealth or fortune. Though, telling you about my life goal appears to be too intimate for us, don’t you think? We just met after all. So all that I can say at the moment that what I’m searching for is for me to know and for you to find out," you send him a teasing smile, causing Renjun to frown and roll his eyes in annoyance, leaning back slightly before sending you a deadpan expression,

"Does your extravagant search involve spectacles? You might look like you might need them, I know someone that could handle that," he mused, his lips quirking up into a teasing smirk, causing a frown to display on your face. A dead panned expression morphing on to your facial features. "I may have really terrible eyesight, but that isn't a way to talk to a lady, Renjun." you pressed your lips on to a thin line, rolling your eyes at the boy as you let out a soft laugh with a shake of your head.

"Besides, I look terrible in them. As I said in my song, which I'm sure like all the other folks in this world that doesn't pay attention to the message I was trying to convey in my lyrics, it-"

"It makes quite a sight, enough to give the world a fright like a sprite wearing specs?"

You furrowed your brows as Renjun let out a sheepish smile with a raise of his eyebrow, teasing you as a baffled expression laid upon your features at his words. "You were saying, Y/n?" he mused, waving his hand, gesturing for you to continue with your words. Watching as your baffled expression morphed into an amused one. “Oh, that was quite charming of you, Huang,” you shot back with a flirty grin, causing the ticking of his heart to quicken against his chest, sending him small jolts of pain which he attempted to conceal with small chuckles.

"I’m surprised you were paying attention to my lyrics instead of enjoying my song like a normal human being," you huffed, pushing his face away with your palm against the side of his face, eliciting a small laugh from the boy beside you. "You really shouldn't play games with your sight though. They say a blurry vision will leave you in the dark," Renjun recited, remembering the words his caretaker had always said to him about the patients who come in their quarters using spectacles or glasses.

You shrugged innocently. "I prefer life all a blur than to look horrendous for a living. You and your pretty face wouldn't understand. Also, I tend to forget my glasses frequently despite the fact that my parents’ constant nagging to bring them around," you , causing Renjun's jaw to drop at your bold statement. He has heard compliments about his dashing looks ever since he was a young boy from Madam Wendy’s relatives but ‘pretty’ wasn’t one of them, he should’ve brushed the compliment off and focus on the context of your words and stop acting as if he hadn’t been complimented before.

But however, something about this felt peculiarly different than the times where his family complimented him on his charming looks.

"Pretty? I haven’t heard that one before," Renjun spoke rather hesitantly, still quite bewildered that a woman his age had shamelessly complimented on his looks to his face. Yet again, said woman has a terrible eyesight so he couldn't be too sure that it was a compliment. You laughed, bumping your shoulder against his softly. "That’s the only thing you got out of my words? Are you an insecure lad, Huang?" you chuckled, giving him a slightly sheepish smile. “Are you sure you don’t need spectacles?” Renjun snapped back.

"I’m just pushing your buttons! I assure you that even without my glasses. I can confirm that you are quite an attractive young man, and that’s saying something considering I’ve been travelling here and there for most of my life. I'm not as blind as a bat, you know." you giggled, clicking your tongue before adding on. "Besides, it won't make much of a difference, really. Even with or without glasses, I still see a very pretty boy," you joked, laughing lightly.

“Out of all the compliments you could’ve chosen, you decided upon the word ‘pretty’? Sounds quite feminine, don’t you think?” he asked, leaning his head to the side, looking at you with half lidded eyes. He realised that he didn’t mind being called pretty, he didn’t mind being complimented by you. Despite the fact that you two had just met. But he couldn’t help but wonder why you had decided to choose ‘pretty’ instead of the other synonyms of ‘attractive’.

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing? I think pretty can be used for anything. It’s just a word after all, why do things have to be differentiated by the littlest of things? It’s just a synonym of ‘beautiful’,” you shrugged, watching as small raindrops started to pour down from the cloudy grey sky, reaching your hand out to feel the water drops hitting and wetting your skin slowly. Renjun raised his brow at you, perplexed at how you could be so nonchalant about your terrible eyesight considering his caretaker would endlessly bicker until he was forced to use spectacles until his eyes magically got better.

"What's that odd pitter patter?" you mumbled, snapping Renjun out of his thoughts once again. His eyes widened when he realised that the sound of his clock heart ticking had increased, blending well with the sound of the rain as water began to hit the surface of the concrete. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone other than close relatives about his fragile condition, so his anxiety spiked when you turned to look at him, expecting an answer. "It's the rain." Renjun replied after a moment, gulping down his nerves before turning to you.

"Do you like the rain?" Renjun asked, gulping afterwards when he realised how your eyes softly bore into his with an unreadable expression, the eye contact making Renjun’s clock heart steam up a bit as the gears worked even faster than before. Sighing as you felt the cold breeze that comes with the rain send goosebumps across your skin, you rubbed your arms before looking back to the pouring rain. You shook your head, "getting wet? Not really."

"But the sound it makes? Yes. It always reminded me of how I used to play in the rain back when I was still in elementary school," you nodded with a soft smile.

The sound of the church bell pierced your ears, making Renjun’s eyes go wide when he realised that the clock had struck 6 pm. Quickly, he got up to his feet, his brushes almost slipping out of his fingers as he stumbled to get onto his feet. “Are you okay?” you asked, looking up at him in confusion, furrowing your brows at the boy as he gulped nervously. “I’m fine, I shouldn’t be out this late,” Renjun shook his head, biting his lip nervously when he realized that the rain wasn’t going to halt anytime soon.

“I don’t think the rain is stopping anytime soon, I suggest you wait here momentarily if you don’t want to catch a cold,” you commented, standing up as well as you stretched your hand out once again to feel the raindrops hitting your palm, smiling softly at the nostalgic feeling that came with it. He clicked his tongue, cursing at himself for letting his curiosity get the best of him as he contemplated on running all the way back home soaking wet. He wouldn’t want to lose his new found freedom.

Muttering a small curse under his breath, he stuck his book under his canvas before hovering it over his head. “Are you going to run? It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” you exclaimed, eyes growing wide when you turned your head to see him taking a deep breath. “Pardon me, unlike you, I have curfews. My caretaker would have my head if I don’t go back home soon,” Renjun deadpanned, rolling his sleeves out as he felt shivers down his spine when the cold wind blew against his skin.

Right before Renjun was about to take a step into the pouring rain, you grabbed on the sleeve of his shirt, holding him back. “Wait, when can we see each other again?” you asked, eyes boring holes into the back of his head. He paused, his cuckoo clock heart ticking loudly against his chest at the small action. He slowly turned back to you, furrowing his brows as he felt the small machine heat up against his skin, causing him to wince slightly. Noticing his small reaction, you quickly dropped your hand, apologizing abruptly before clasping your hands before your hand.

“It’s just- I haven’t been in this town for very long and I really need a friend beside me. I’m not quite fond of being alone. I know we just met, but I hope that we could be acquaintances at least?” you grinned up, your bright smile sending ominous effects to his heart as he took a moment to process your words. Renjun started at your bright expression, small steam coming out continuously from his mechanical heart as the seconds went by. His eyes dart from the rain before back to your figure standing right in front of him, waiting for his answer.

‘Acquaintances?’

Renjun has never had friends before. His caretaker would introduce him to her client’s children from time to time but (luckily for Madame Wendy) he had never shown an interest in making colleagues. But for some reason, something inside him was pulling him to say yes to you. Something inside of him wanted him to try and get to know you even more. It felt wrong. It felt very wrong. But yet again, it felt so right.

Biting his lip, he gave you a soft smile.

“I have faith that we’ll be seeing each other again very soon.”

“I just think it’s quite preposterous!” you exclaimed as you laid down against the smooth surface of the fountain basin. Renjun chuckled, pressing his paintbrush gently against his wooden palette to get bits of his white paint to add more details to his painting.

It's been a couple months since the day you met, and since then, you two have been growing closer by the day. Your friendship blossomed as the weeks went by. Madam Wendy wasn’t very fond when Renjun came home soaking wet after curfew, but she excused his actions when he told her that he just lost track of time at the library once again. A rare occurrence but it still happens from time to time, and considering Renjun barely lies to his caretaker, she believed him when he told her so.

Every once a week, the two of you would meet up on the same exact spot as the day you first laid eyes on each other. Renjun assumed that your house was closer considering you were always there first, twisting the crank of your barrel organ, kicking your feet as you sat on the fountain base to wait for him to arrive in your usual dark magenta dress (which he assumed to be the uniform of the school you were attending). The two of you would always walk around town, searching for spots to relax yourselves and talk about random things as you watch Renjun paint whatever that catches his eye. Overall enjoying each other’s company as if the two of you were in your own personal little bubble.

“What’s so preposterous about the infamous Romeo and Juliet, exactly?” Renjun asked, chuckling as he dabbed the brush on the canvas, blending the colours of the sky on his artwork. You clasped your hands together, huffing as you scoffed at him. “Ever since my school made us all read Romeo and Juliet for the next literature exam, I just realise how horrible this trope is,” you tossed your book to the floor with a click of your tongue, hopping off of the fountain to walk closer to Renjun.

“Do explain why you think so,” Renjun giggled, watching you dip your finger against the white paint on his palette and kneeling down to smear it against the title on the front cover of your book with a frown on your face. “Why are the females always quote unquote ‘damsels in distress’? It’s very misogynistic if you ask me!” you tsked, grabbing your book and leaning forward to show Renjun the front cover of the book. “Mister Shakespeare was truly a legendary fellow to create a piece of writing this famous, but why use poor unsuspecting 14 year old Romeo and Juliet as the female protagonist?” you complained.

“Why couldn’t it be ‘Romeo romeo, let down your hair!’ instead of ‘romeo romeo, where art thou?” It seems a bit more fair to me,” you joked, causing Renjun to furrow his brows at you. “It might be quite improper for a boy to have tremendously long hair, y/n,” he had to lay the back of his hand against his chest in an attempt to calm down his mechanic heart, feeling it heat up against his skin as he noticed how close the proximity between you were. You scoffed at the boy before you, standing up straight and letting the book hand in between your fingers.

Putting your hands on your hips, you walked in front of him, covering his view of the town. “Well it doesn’t give Mister Shakespeare a reason to give the story an unhappy ending. The despair it brings when you found out they both died in the end? Absolutely preposterous, why would anyone like books with such unhappy endings?” you added on, poking your book with a scrunched up expression, bringing a smile upon Renjun’s lips as he found your figure poking the book in your hands as endearing as watching an small innocent child playing with their own food.

He sucked in his lip, taking a moment to admire your beautiful form. The gears in his mechanical clock worked faster as his eyes wandered to your slightly pouting soft lips, wondering how soft it would feel against his own. He cleared his throat when he felt a sharp pain scorching through his chest when he realised he was starting to imagine things, patting his chest softly as he tried to bite back a smile.

“Maybe you just haven’t read true masterpieces,” Renjun responded after a pregnant pause, opening his little bag and pulling out the novel he’s been obsessed with for the past few months, placing it in your palms. “Read this, you can thank me later,” Renjun smiled, patting the book in your hands with a light chuckle, looking up into your eyes for a brief moment before looking back at his canvas. For he feared that if he stared into them any longer, he would simply get lost in your eyes for ages, wincing silently when his chest started to ache.

“‘The Great Expectations’? This sounds like those tedious books my parents keep on their shelf,” you raised your brow, sitting down on the fountain again as you began to observe the book in your palms, squinting your eyes at the summary written at the back cover of the book. “‘Break his heart, Estella! Break his heart!’ That sounds so cruel of her to break an innocent boy’s heart,” you frowned, looking up at your friend with the adorable frown Renjun came to endear.

Renjun laughed, shrugging simply as he went back to painting. His fingers twitching against the brush as he coloured white clouds on his piece, feeling your eyes curiously on his content form. “You didn’t want the female protagonist to be the damsel in distress, did you? I just simply gave you what you asked for,” Renjun shrugged, feeling his heart do somersaults as you let out a loud huff of breath, scooching closer towards him so you can begin reading the book. “I suppose so,” you muttered under your breath.

“Do you carry books like this around with you as you paint or are you a magician who can pull out rabbits out of that bag of yours as well?” you asked jokingly, pulling the cover open and flipping to the first page. “I-Wait hold on, a magician as well?” he furrowed his brows at you, turning his head towards you and leaning his head to the side in confusion. You shot your head up, giving him a bright expression as you nodded eagerly.

“You might have half of the town convinced that you’re some cold hearted teenager living with the ‘witch’ or the makeshift doctor, as you would like to say, but you can’t fool me, mister! We may have known each other for less than a few months but I know for a fact that you are a magician!” you pointed an accusatory finger at him, wiggling your index finger around, your fingertip hovering right above his nose before poking it with a small ‘boop; coming from your mouth.

He furrowed his brows, gently pushing your hand away from his face with a raised brow. “Do you mind explaining why you have come to that conclusion?” Renjun asked, an amused expression spreading across his features as he dropped his brush into the cup of water set right beside him before crossing his arms against his chest and leaning back slightly. You grinned, “you’re one of the few people I’ve ever known who can paint so majestically. Have you seen your own paintings, Mister Huang Renjun?” you exclaimed, giving him a wide smile as you threw your arms up in the air.

He chuckled, adjusting the beret on top of his head. “You don’t know many people, y/n,” he commented with a small smirk on his lips. “Let me finish before I usurp you, Huang,” you frowned, furrowing your brows and squinting your eyes threateningly at him. “I doubt that you even know what usurped means,” Renjun chuckled, shaking his head profusely at you. “Don’t doubt my low vocabulary, Renjun,” you crossed your hands, letting his book lay on your lap as he let out a soft laugh.

“Alright, what are you going to usurp me from exactly?” he asked smugly, raising a brow at you. “That’s not the point of this conversation, what I’m saying is that you and your aesthetically pleasing art skills are magical!” you shot back in a snappy tone, avoiding the fact that you used a word that you don’t entirely know the meaning of. (considering you only heard it from your mother when she was talking to someone on the phone every morning whenever your father was off at work)

He swore he could feel the ticking of his tock stop for a few seconds at your words. “Pardon?” he spluttered, putting his hand on his chest once again as he felt the gears in his cuckoo clock turn rapidly against his chest. “The way you carefully apply to each and every detail on every crevice of your canvas is like magic, the way you know how much paint you should apply to get just the right colours and the way you focus on shading or blending the paints together to achieve the small shadows or to adjust the lighting of the painting is just-”

You paused before letting out a loud groan, “superb! I can’t even find the words on how to explain your magical abilities, the simplest way I can put it in my own way is that you are equivalent to a magician!” you waved your hands around at the canvas in front of the two of you, your eyes going wide in awe as you stared at the half finished piece as if it was the first time you had seen a rare jewel in person.

Renjun’s jaw dropped as he couldn’t find the words to express how flustered he felt. However, the way his cuckoo clock began to steam up was another completely different thing. He couldn’t help but look down shy at his own paint stained hands, wondering how you could find awe in something as messy as his artwork. “And it is an absolute crime knowing that you aren’t some kind of world wide painter, your paintings are absolutely beautiful!” you exclaimed, smiling up at him as Renjun stared wordlessly into your eyes.

He couldn’t help but notice how close you have gotten when you began on your unceremonious ramble about his art skills, he couldn’t stop his eyes from darting up your eyes and down to your plump lips. Gulping silently, he scooched back a little bit, gripping the sleeves of his button up shirt tightly as he tried to take the ticking of his heart against his ears, a fuzzy feeling overcoming the slight jolting pain in his chest as he did so.

He watched your eyes go wide at his actions, realizing that you moved too far. “Oh crumbs!” you exclaimed, taking a large step back as you realised the close proximity between you attracted attention from the people around you, eyes watching you like a hawk. Some held disgust to see two teenagers of the opposite gender oh-so-close to each other as if they were going to share a sweet kiss. Some held awe in them, adoring the sight of the two flustered beings cozying up to each other like that. Some held shock as they had never seen the mysterious cold hearted boy who lived in the little house on the steeple that close to someone before.

“I’m so so sorry!” you rambled, feeling your chest swell up as you grew flustered by your own actions. “I didn’t mean to get over excited! It’s just that I was so happy to talk about your art knowing how you don’t think much of it but I just really adore your art and the way you paint- oh god that sounds very inappropriate of me to say. What I meant was-” your short nervous ramblings were cut off when you heard Renjun’s laughter filling your ears, the angelic sound sending warm feelings into your heart.

“Pardon me for laughing, but that really caught me off guard,” he threw his head back laughing, his cheeks flushing red from laughing too much as he held his stomach, wiping his tears afterward. Your jaw dropped at his amused laughter, embarrassment overcoming your nerves as you huffed angrily at him. “You absolute jerk, I thought I did something wrong and invaded your personal space or made you uncomfortable!” you exclaimed, putting your hands on your hips angrily, only eliciting even more laughter from the sweet boy.

“It’s really endearing that you find my art that interesting, you really did catch me off guard with your little outburst,” he chuckled, lifting his beret off of his head before running his free hand over his hair, putting the beret back on his head afterwards. You couldn’t deny how pretty he looked with that beret, but of course, you weren’t going to admit it (again) for the sake of your own pride. “I was just expressing my opinions like a normal person, you didn’t have to laugh at me like that, you know,” you crossed your arms against your chest.

“I wasn’t laughing at your outburst, I can promise you that!” he exclaimed, shaking his head at you, ignoring the searing pain in his chest as he stared lovingly at you. You furrowed your brows, you couldn’t help but notice the slightly sad glint on his pupils, but you chose not to ask about it, focusing on the topic at hand. “Then what were you laughing at exactly, Huang Renjun?” you asked, furrowing your brows at the brown haired boy, who smiled sweetly at you. Leaning his chin against his palm, elbow supported on his thigh.

“I couldn’t help but laugh at how sweet you looked while talking about the things I do in front of you as if I were moving the sun and moon with my own bare hands.”

“You know you have a lovely smile.”

Renjun looked up from his book in alarm, eyes wide at your sudden bluntness. “Excuse me?” he coughed, releasing one hand from the book cover to lay it against the rough surface of his clock heart hidden underneath his coat. “I really like your smile,” you gave him a tight lipped smile, putting the Great Expectations book on the desk you were sitting before laying your hands over the other, placing your chin on top of them before gazing up at him with an innocent shrug. “You’re being quite expressive today,” Renjun chuckled, looking at you with a perplexed expression, his brows furrowed as he kept his hand against his heart, suppressing the little bird inside from letting out a loud ‘cuckoo!’.

“I don’t like to lie, you know that, Renjun,” you pouted, raising your head up to give him a knowing look. Sitting up straight, Renjun shot you a boyish smile, looking back down at his book. “Why, thank you. That’s quite flattering,” Renjun chuckled, burying his nose in his book in a futile attempt to hide how flustered he felt. Putting the back of his hand against his mouth, he coughed to clear his throat before removing his hand and putting it on his nape to scratch on it nervously. “How are you liking the book so far?”

Renjun cringed at the slight waver in his tone, biting back his tongue as he heard you let out a small hum. “So far, it’s pretty engrossing. It perfectly depicts the image of a young male protagonist losing his child-like innocence through heartbreak and hardship,” you clicked your tongue, folding the corner of the page you were reading before flipping through the other pages to see how many you have left to read. “A compelling coming of age story,” you nodded with a slight shrug.

“Though, I still don’t understand why you recommended me this book,” you closed the book and placed it back down on the desk, furrowing your brows in curiosity. Renjun gave you a sheepish grin, shrugging as he went back to his own book before replying with a, “you’ll find out once you finish the book,” under his breath. You huffed in response, leaning your forehead against the hardcover of the book, letting out a dramatic sigh. He let out a silent smile, adjusting his glasses as he continued to read the last paragraph of his own book.

Your eyes glared holes into his head as if he was going to tell you if you glared at him long enough, but you realised that he was back into his own little world now that he was fully immersed into the plot. Your eyes wandered back to the canvas on top of the desk right beside him, his set of acrylic paints and brushes gathered up into a small pile. He had just finished his latest painting of the statue of the founder of this boring town, his artwork never failed to awe you.

“When I finally manage to finish the book, will you give me one of your artworks free of charge?” you piped up, outstretching your hand as you poked the canvas, trying to pull the large object towards you with a single fingertip in futility. Ever since you started spending your time watching Renjun paint while he listened to you rambling, you had often asked him to draw something for you for free. In which he would always reply with a brief ‘buy your own, acrylics are immensely expensive.’ before rolling his eyes and going back to painting.

He wasn’t completely wrong. Madam Wendy always grumbled on how paint prices are constantly increasing as time goes on. And whenever Renjun would make a quick trip to the art store just to buy another bottle of white paint, he would always suppress the urge to sigh heavily in front of the kind store owner who would grin innocently (despite the fact that they know full well that they were being absolute gooses for increasing the price as Renjun was going to buy their products nonetheless.)

However it came as a shock to the both of you when he muttered a small ‘fine’ under his breath. Eyes blowing wide as Renjun slowly looked up from his book and eerily turned to you, right before he could open his mouth to retract his words, you shot up to your feet. Catching the boy off guard as you leaned over to cover his mouth with your hands. “No! You are not taking that statement back!” you exclaimed, shaking your head aggressively as you gave him a wide mischievous smile.

Renjun furrowed his brows, eyes glaring daggers at you to let him go despite the fact that his gears were turning at a rapid speed at the feeling of your skin against his lips. “I’m not letting go unless you say yes,” you mused in a melodious tone, earning a shake of his head in response as he continued to send you his typical cold stare.

Renjun always had a really mean resting face, his eyes always managed to send cold shivers down everyones’ spines. However, there was something comforting in the way he looked at you. A familiar warm feeling blooming in your chest whenever he turned his head to look at you, even though his eyes barely held any emotion, even though his small chuckles and laughs held no genuine happiness in them, you couldn’t help but let a fuzzy feeling grow inside of your stomach. It was exhilarating.

“Come on, you probably have billions of canvases somewhere in town. Giving one away to your dearest friend shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” you whined, still refusing to remove your hand from his lips. He was internally enjoying the close proximity between you, but as the seconds went on, he knew his clock heart was going to burst out of his chest if he didn’t do something. With a small curse in his mind, he pulled your hand away from his mouth. “I would if you paid me. But considering you are currently penniless, I have to politely decline,” Renjun snickered, giving you a disgusted expression as he felt the heat around his mouth disappear into thin air.

You frowned, pursing your lips as you sat back down on your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “How could you do this to your most beloved friend?” you mumbled under your breath, loud enough for him to hear as you kicked one of the legs of the table in front of you childishly. Renjun chuckled, “‘Beloved’ isn’t even a word I would use to describe your existence.” Now it was your turn to glare daggers into his skull. “You’re incredibly mean, it’s almost bonkers,” you scoffed.

“I know,” he shrugged casually, pulling his chair back to stand up. “Now if you excuse me, I would like to wash up to remove whatever bacteria you have oh-so-unceremoniously blessed upon my skin,” he bowed, pushing the chair back in the table as he tugged on the cuffs of his coat, giving you a small grin. “My hands are squeaky clean, excuse me!” you retorted, putting a hand on your chest in faux offense. “Keep telling yourself that, Y/n,” he nodded, abruptly walking towards the washroom at the back of the library with a hand on his chest as the effects of his emotions finally took place inside his mechanical ticking heart.

As soon as Renjun turned to a corner, out of your line of vision, his whole body started twitching in pain. With a shaky hand he pulled back his coat to reveal the state of his clock. The hands of his clock were turning at a rapid speed, the small bird popping out of the clock and letting out a small ‘cuckoo!’. It was steaming up. Smoke was coming out of the contraption as if it was caught on fire. He felt like his chest was on fire. Renjun leaned his back against the wall, shakily blowing the smoke away and fanning it away softly with his hand.

What’s happening to him?

This has never happened before. What was happening to him? Why was he in so much pain? Why couldn’t he call out for help? Why couldn’t he make any sound?

Renjun wanted to cry out in pain, his body twitched as the tiny mechanical bird popped out of his clock with a loud ‘cuckoo!’. He gasped, patting his hands around his pockets for the key to his mechanical heart. He could hear the alarming ticking sounds of his clock with every second that went by, warning him something’s going to happen if nothing is done to stop this pain as he twitched in pain once again, clutching the clock with one hand, he felt something inside the pocket of his shirt. With a small grunt of pain, he fished out the small golden key inside.

He pulled his hand away from his clock, gasping for breath as the pain in his chest increased with every tick of his heart. He plunged the key into the small hole connecting the arrows of the clock, quickly turning it counter clockwise as the pain started to lessen. Once the pain subsided, he dropped his hand to his sides, panting in exhaustion as his eyes blew wide with fear, his gears were working at their usual pace once again. His chest felt numb, a small throbbing pain lingering somewhere inside of him.

‘What the hell was that?’

His eyes were glossy as he felt his emotions overwhelm his mind. His heart felt like it was going through a spin, as if the big hand of his core was going to pop out of his skin. His bones felt weak, as if it was about to implode at any second. The cogs and springs in his clock felt like they were about to explode.

The loud alarming ticking in his ears made him wonder if he didn’t pull out the key in time, would his cuckoo clock heart halt for good?

“I’ll be off now, Wendy,” Renjun announced as he hopped down the stairs eagerly, gripping his fresh, new, empty canvas to his sides with one hand and spinning one of his brushes in between the fingers of the other. “Oh, you seem in a bit of a hurry, Renjun,” a familiar voice cooed teasingly, her words followed by another giggle. Renjun paused in his step, mustering up the energy to form a small smile as he looked up at the two women giggling at him. “Good morning, Joy. Good morning, Yeri,” he greeted with a polite bow.

Joy and Yeri weren’t related in any way to Madam Wendy, but they are regular patients who would drop by weekly. And as far as he knew, they were one of the very few people who knew about his fragile condition (which is probably why they visit so often). “You look brighter than usual, what’s gotten you in such a rush, young lad?” Yeri grinned, sipping on her tea as she crossed her leg over the other with raised eyebrows.

“It’s just a small trip to town, I need to buy more acrylics as well,” Renjun lied through his teeth, feeling the gears in his heart work faster at the thought of meeting you at your usual spot. “You haven’t had breakfast yet, Renjun,” Wendy spoke up, attracting the attention of the three in the room with pancakes stacked on three individual plates. “Do sit down! It’s been quite a while since you had a chit chat with your lovely aunts!” Joy giggled, patting the extra seat beside her before looking at her friend, who nodded in agreement.

“I really shouldn’t interrupt-”

“Renjun, go sit down,” Madam Wendy coaxed, placing a hand on his shoulder and nodding towards the empty spot on the sofa. Renjun looked back at his caretaker before sighing heavily, placing his canvas and brushes on the table near the entrance door and walking to sit on the empty spot the women had saved for him. “I’ll be upstairs cleaning up, if you need me,” his caretaker informed before exiting the living room, leaving her adopted son with the other two women in the room.

“Okay, she’s gone!” Yeri exclaimed in a rather quiet tone before grabbing her fork and looking back at the teenager sitting beside them. “So how are you, honey? I just realised we didn’t even get to greet you last week considering you’ve been so busy lately,” Yeri hummed, shoving a spoonful of pancakes into her mouth as she spared a glance at Renjun. “Indeed! I assume you found something interesting in your great adventure in the outside world,” Joy giggled with an enthusiastic nod, causing Renjun’s eyes to widen.

Renjun let out a small chuckle. “You two make it sound as if I was a protagonist of some weird story,” he mused, digging into his own stack of pancakes as he felt a warm feeling in his stomach at the memory of the day you first met. “Don’t beat around the bush and tell us!” Joy rolled her eyes at the younger boy, grabbing her cup of tea and pulling it to her lips. “How was this great adventure you’ve discovered?” she asked, her eyes flickering from her tea to Renjun briefly.

Renjun bit his lip, scanning the room to ensure that Madam Wendy was nowhere in sight. He knew he could trust these two, considering the countless times he’s gotten away with his lies and rants. He bit his lip, glancing down at his hands nervously before giving his aunts a genuine smile. “It was fabulous,” he sighed dreamily, a sheepishly wide smile stretching across his lips as he took another bashful bite of his pancakes. “Tell all! Tell all! Don’t miss any details!” Yeri squealed.

“What made it all so fabulous?” Joy whispered, her eyes peering curiously at the boy who appeared to be in a dreamy state. “A little singer with glasses which she won’t wear,” he replied almost instantly without any hesitation, a little bit too fast for his liking. “She isn’t all that, is she?” Yeri gasped, leaning back slightly in shock to hear her little Renjun was talking about someone and not something.

He shot up, straightening his back as he dropped his fork on his plate with a shake of his head. “She is! She really is!” Renjun nodded eagerly, his hands coming up to make grand gestures as he continued on with his words. “She reminds me of a… sparrow! Perched up on the toppest tree branch in it’s tiny little feet, it gives her this calming fragile aura like a twig falling off of a branch. Her voice- her singing is like listening to a nightingale singing a bird song but with words! Or those soothing musical numbers they would always play in the telly after a good show has ended,” Renjun described, his eyes filled with stars and his heart filled with passion.

The two shared knowing looks, bewildered at how dazed the boy in front of them truly was at that moment. “And her smile it’s like a work of art! Far greater than all of my masterpieces combined, far greater than the artwork displayed on museums! Her laughter makes her seem so miniscule, I could hardly believe that such a light heartening sound could be elicited from a human being!” Renjun went on, his smile wide as he leaned back at the thought of your smile which made his stomach do somersaults.

“Oh Renjun, I bet that once she catches the flu, you’ll change your mind. Whenever women like those who catch the flu, they cough up a storm and sneeze like a steam truck,” Yeri joked, earning a brief frown from Renjun who scoffed in response. “Oh nonsense! I bet if she does, it would sound like a majestic flute found in the mountains!” Renjun waved his hand off with a roll of his eyes in disbelief.

The two women laughed in response, shaking a knowing look. “So basically, to sum everything up. You went to town and instead of catching the flu, you caught a bug in town, you young lad!” Yeri raised her eyebrow suggestively at the boy, indicating that he’s very much caught the love-bug she’s always ranted about on a daily basis. “Oh deary!” Joy gasped before letting out another fit of giggles, cupping her mouth to ensure that her giggles weren’t loud enough for Madam Wendy to hear.

“You know it’s forbidden,” Yeri lectured, her tone turning serious when she realised that Renjun was actually serious about this. “For-bid-den!” Joy emphasized with every wave of her finger with a disappointing shake of her head. “I know,” Renjun sighed, a frown forming at his lips as he sunk back against the seat he was sitting on, leaning his head back sadly. “It’s for your own good, you know,” Joy smiled sadly, sympathy lacing her tone as she patted the boy’s head comfortingly.

“Indeed. Oh deary, I wish I could live without love,” Yeri sighed, pulling out a mirror from her purse to reapply her lipstick. “Oh no, here we go again,” Renjun chuckled, sitting up straight once again as he prepared himself for another sad tragic love story his aunt has to offer. “Every day, every time I fall in love with a patient here or a man, they would always fall for some other girl!” Yeri ranted with a heavy sigh, smacking her lips together to get an even coating on her lips. “I am not letting Renjun listen to another one of your sob stories!” Joy huffed, leaning over to cup Renjun’s ears with her palms.

“You might taint the poor boy with your bad luck with love!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t my condition a symbol of this bad luck?” Renjun chuckled, gently tugging on the older woman's wrists to remove her palms away from his ear. “Oh hush you, I’m sure you’ll get over this little infatuation you have with this little singer,” Yeri waved her hand off nonchalantly, huffing slightly. “It’s not like you see her every day of the week, you’ll get over it in no time!” she added with an encouraging hum, watching as Joy nodded with her in agreement.

Renjun bit his lip, biting back his tongue as he continued to shove pancakes into his mouth as quickly as possible. At that moment, Madam Wendy finally came down with a key in her hand. “Renjun, I’ve always told you to bring your key wherever you go. Why won’t you ever take my words to heart?” Wendy sighed, handing the key to his mechanic heart to the young boy, who gulped slightly and mumbled a small apology under his breath before tucking his key in his front pocket.

He couldn’t help but shiver as the memory of him having a near death experience flashed through his mind, the image of the key plunging into his heart and winding it up to lessen the pain he endured had traumatized him. He was terrified of it happening again. He was terrified of what’s becoming of him. Was this the effects of falling in love? Was he falling in love with you? He hasn’t even known you for very long, he couldn’t possibly fall for you in such a short time.

Besides, why does falling in love feel so good but hurt so bad?

“So how was the book I lent you?” Renjun asked in an attempt to spark up a conversation. “Quite interesting, though, I’m not quite sure that I’ll finish it any time soon. I like to focus deep into the depths of the story, fully imagine the characters emotions and thoughts,” you exclaimed, pushing your organ barrel beside the tree Renjun was leaning against, sitting down beside him under the shade and crossing your legs, tugging the edges of your dress over your knees. You dusted the bits of dirt off of the fabric on your dress.

“I understand, it’s the thought process, right?” Renjun nodded, flipping a page of his book as he hummed. “Indeed! Though, I can’t quite get the gist of why Ms Havisham is so devoted to making Estella break Pip’s heart. She should’ve just left the poor girl alone, besides, I really don’t want to see the poor boy heartbroken,” you frowned, clicking your tongue in thought. “I despise Pip’s sister, as well,” you added with an innocent smile.

Renjun let out an amused chuckle. “Yeah, she’s a rather insufferable character, isn’t she?” he nodded in agreement, remembering how heartless Pip’s older sister was when it came to Pip and her own husband before she passed away in the book. “She’s exactly what my mother would consider as a bitch,” you added on, pulling your glasses out from your purse with a small giggle, earning a loud gasp from the boy beside you. “Y/n, language!” he gasped, pulling his book back to gaze at you with wide eyes.

You giggled, mumbling a small apology before fidgeting with the frames of your glasses mindlessly. Renjun watched you play with your glasses from the corner of his eye, internally wondering why you have never worn them despite carrying them around in your purse everywhere you go. Furrowing his brows, he turned his head back to his book, biting back his tongue before shaking his head at himself.

“You know, you really shouldn’t play games with your sight if it leaves you in the dark, y/n,” Renjun deadpan, not sparing you a glance as he licked the tip of his thumb to flip a page from his new book. You huffed at your friend, fidgeting with your new spectacles in between your fingers as you rolled your eyes at the boy beside you. “How poetic,” you scoffed, earning a soft chuckle from Renjun. “I think I prefer life all a blur, thank you very much,” you added on with a snappy tone.

“What does that even mean?” Renjun laughed lightly, putting his book down on his lap to turn to you with a soft expression on his face. “I keep forgetting to wear my glasses and now my eyes are blurry, I can’t even see the outline of my hand,” you stated, raising your free hand up above to the sky and squinted your eyes at it in an attempt to get a clearer vision of your hand that was merely a few inches away from you. “Your glasses are literally in your palms,” Renjun pointed out, nodding his head at the hand holding the glasses in question.

You opened your mouth to speak, slowly putting your glasses in your little handbag behind you before clearing your throat. “As I said before, I forgot to wear my glasses,” you repeated, giving him a cheshire grin in response. “Jesus Christ, why do I even bother?” Renjun muttered under his breath with a shake of his head, “won’t your vision get worse the lesser you wear them?” he asked once again, rubbing his temples in distress.

Humming in confirmation, you shrugged innocently before leaning back against the tree the two of you were sitting against. “Though, I believe it won’t get worse as long as I close my eyes. My vision won’t get worse if I don’t see, right? Besides, it feels good to close my eyes,” just as you finished your words, you clasped your hands on your lap, leaning your head back against the tree bark and closing your eyes before letting out a sigh of content. Renjun let out an annoyed puff of breath, “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Your content expression was enough to send fiery sparks into his mechanical heart, he could almost feel it steaming up again. He couldn’t help but notice how close you were next to him, as if he were to make one little scooch, your shoulders would be touching. His eyes wandered to your beautiful figure laying right beside him, internally suppressing the urge to clasp you close to his body in a tight embrace. Your soft lips causing his stomach to do somersaults the longer his gaze lingers there. He imagines that he would scatter confettis on the both of you if he were to press his own lips against yours in a kiss.

His mind couldn’t help but wander back to those times where you had to walk up close to the signs to see what street the two of you were heading, the amount of times you had to squint and lean over the table to read whatever paragraph he was trying to show you during your reading sessions at the library. He felt this sudden urge to protect you, to constantly remind you to wear your glasses in case your vision worsened.

There was something inside of him screaming at him to not let you stray away from the happy path you were currently in. Something inside of him made him determined to be your only guide, to be your pair of eyes. In return, he knew you would ignite the flame in his heart. No, you would be the special flame that burns his heart. You’d be a conflagration in the night. A pretty arsonist. A fire blazing so bright you’ll see the light of the heavens itself.

“Oh why bother. You know very well, out of my five senses, my hearings best. I’m pretty sure I’ll recognize you without relying on my eyes,” you waved your hand off carelessly, keeping your eyes closed, oblivious to the way Renjun was looking at you so lovingly. “Well I assure you, I don’t think you can rely on your hearing to walk down the streets without my assistance,” Renjun chuckled, recalling the time when you almost walked into the wrong side of town due to your poor eyesight.

“You don’t know that! My eyes always lead me astray, anyways. Far away down the street, sometimes I can’t bear to steal a glance at the sun or even look the sky straight in the eye for fear that my eyes would deceive me as well,” you confessed dramatically, finally opening your eyes and turning your head to look at Renjun in the eye. Your eyes widened at the way Renjun’s eyes softened at the sight of your own pupils staring back at his in confusion. You straighten up your position, putting your hands behind you and leaning on them.

“Then let me be your eyes,” Renjun replied in an almost hushed tone. “I won’t let you stray, I promise,” he gave you a sweet boyish smile, making your heart flutter in your chest at his words. “Aren’t you being a little flirtatious? That’s quite unexpected of you, Huang Renjun,” you said with a raise of your brows as the corner of your lips quirked up into a smile that mirrored his own. You turned your head, feeling your faces grow closer and closer with every second.

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” he hummed, turning his body so his shoulder was leaning against the tree bark, a dreamy smile stretched across his lips as he leaned closer to you. You chuckled, shaking your head softly. “I don’t know, what do you think? Maybe it could be a good thing?” you shrugged, closing your eyes and leaning your face closer to his. Renjun followed your actions, feeling the gears in his mechanical heart work at a fast pace. He winced in pain as his body jolted and twitched in pain, the mechanical bird inside of the clock rapidly hitting the door of his clock.

He felt your breath hitting against his face, your lips merely an inch away from his as his body twitched in pain once again. Letting out a grunt of pain, he felt one of the gears of his clock pop out of his chest. Putting his hands on his chest, he grunted once again as his body twitched uncontrollably in pain. There was the sound of fabric being ripped before his vision darkened and he fell back against the concrete floor, falling unconscious within a few seconds.

“Renjun!” a voice yelled out in alarm, causing your eyes to jolt open in shock.

“Oh god, not this. Please, anything but this,” an unfamiliar voice gasped in a panic. Your vision was blurry, you couldn’t see much happening in front of you. You quickly fished out your spectacles from your purse, putting them on immediately before your eyes widened in fear and shock, your body froze on the spot. You could almost feel your heart stop beating against your chest for a moment.

Right in front of you was an unconscious Huang Renjun in the arms of an older lady on the floor. He was leaning against her lap, arms wrapped around him tightly in a motherly way. His eyes closed in content, it almost appeared as if he was just sleeping peacefully. There was steam coming out of his chest, you couldn’t see where it was coming from considering the old lady had blocked your view of him almost completely as she pleaded for him to wake up worriedly.

The lady in question snapped her head at you, glaring daggers at you as if you had committed some sort of arson. “What have you done to him?” she asked, her tone filled with malice and hatred. As if you were the cause of Renjun’s current state. Your eyes widened at her sharp tone, fear and anxiety creeping up in your veins as you couldn’t find the courage to even open your mouth, let alone utter a single word. You shakily got up to your feet, grabbing the strap of your purse before running off away from the two.

Slap!

The loud sound of Madam Wendy’s palm making contact with Renjun’s cheek pierced the room, causing his head to turn sideways at the harsh impact, wincing slightly as he laid against the chair, which was commonly used for Wendy’s patients, shirtless. His body jolted at the sudden contact, his heart making a loud ‘cuckoo’ sound at the shock it caused. “What were you thinking? You could’ve died!” Madam Wendy scolded, her fists balled up in her sides as she walked over to her table tray filled with tools.

Renjun couldn’t speak as he looked down in his palms, his mind blank and face void of emotion. He felt numb at that exact moment, he didn’t know if it was the aftermath of the sheering pain he just endured in front of you or it was because of the feeling of his heart being fixed by his own caretaker. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Huang Renjun. Whatever bloody happened to rule number 3? Did you forget?” Madam Wendy exclaimed in an alarming tone, her voice strict and angry. “No,” Renjun replied before breaking into a small fit of coughs, wincing as his chest burned with every breath he took.

“Do you have a pain in your heart when you cough?” Madam Wendy asked, her tone filled with worry, eyes filled with disappointment as she searched for a pair of pliers. Renjun nodded slowly in response, gripping the armrests of the chair as he leaned his head back against the pillow set behind his head. “Well multiply that pain and your suffering to a hundred fold and you still won’t understand the pain love causes,” she snapped, using some pliers to pull a piece of fabric from the arrows of his heart, placing the fabric on the small tray beside him before walking off to grab some more tools.

“And the greater the love, the greater the pain,” she sighed, opening the drawers from across the room. Renjun’s eyes flickered to the woman frantically trying to fix his heart before his eyes moved down to the white fabric on the tray. He reached his arm out to grab it, quickly snucking it in his pockets before looking back at the window. During your near-kiss under the tree, the arrows of his clock must’ve pulled against the fabric of your dress. Your dress wasn’t made out of the most durable fabric, the pull must’ve ripped the top sleeve of your dress when he passed out.

“First, your sense of ache, followed by pangs of rage and jealousy then incomprehension,” she started to explain, sipping on her coffee as Wendy’s heart ached at the thought of her own child going through that much pain if this goes on. “Rejection, the agony of heartbreak,” she turned to point her tweezers that was holding a gear in between it with a strict motherly expression. One that Renjun couldn’t bear looking into for too long.

“Your mechanical heart won’t be able to withstand it, you know this! I told you countless times, this is why I’m always so worried whenever I let you go into town,” she barked, walking back to the tools to drop the rusted gear along with the other broken metals she pulled out and replaced from his heart. “It will overheat and explode, I transplanted it with my own two hands, therefore I know it’s limits,” she went on, her tone falling deaf onto Renjun’s ears as his mind wandered back to your figure.

“A single kiss. A brush against your lips could be your last! Just like that, bang!”

With eyes closed in thought, he wondered what happened after he fell unconscious, how did Madam Wendy find him in such a short amount of time? What happened to you? Did he scare you when he fell unconscious? He was worried you’ll be afraid to talk to him now. Did Wendy say anything mean to you while he was out cold on the concrete floor?

Oh god, your presence isn’t even here and your existence is entering his heart and filling it with flames as if you were a little fairy wandering around looking for a new home to live in. A home which is his heart. He couldn’t help but let out a small smile at the vivid memory of sitting so close to you under the shade, how his skin burns at the feeling of touching yours, how your smile and laughter gave colour to his emotionless dark world. Oh how the thought of you made Renjun feel as if he was floating. It was as if you were carrying him up into the sky, he felt like flying by your side.

“Do you know why I saved your life?” a voice snapped him out of his daydreaming.

His eyes opened, head turning to his caretaker who took a seat next to him, gripping her gloves in her hands. “You were the son I never had,” she confessed, giving him a small comforting smile. “Why couldn’t you have one?” Renjun asked rather hesitantly, his voice almost hushed as if he was whispering, despite the fact that it was only the two of them in the room. Madam Wendy shrugged, sighing heavily.

“It was no one’s fault. It’s one of those tricks love and nature plays on us, you know that more than anyone,” she chuckled, gesturing to the cuckoo clock heart on his naked chest. “Though, the day your mother gave you to me felt like it was heaven sent. Oh god, I would lose my mind and my reason for living if I lost you,” she reached over and ran her fingers through her child’s hair, making Renjun feel some sort of guilt deep down in his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I fell in love and I don’t know how to get out.

Madam Wendy finally allowed Renjun out of their home a month after the incident. For the whole thirty days he was prisoned in his home, all that wandered in his mind was you. He wanted to see you, he longed to hear your sardonic humor, he longed to hear your angelic laughter flowing through his ears like music. He longed to ask forgiveness of what had happened between the two of you under the tree.

He wondered if you harbored the same feelings for him as he does for you. He doubted you’d still feel the same after the incident, however, a part of him had hope that you would wait for him all this time. He tried to prove himself wrong as he ran around town to all of your favorite spots. The library, the fountain, the art store, the tree. Anywhere his mind took him, his feet didn’t stop moving. His feet couldn’t stop moving.

He wanted to see you again. No, he needed to see you again. He needed to apologize to you to release the guilt in his heart. He didn’t care if his heart would explode right then and there, he needed to see you and he wanted to finally embrace you in his arms. He needed to know if you reciprocate his feelings, he needed to know if you longed for him as much as he longed for you this whole entire time. He never got your answer, either. He asked to be your eyes, he wanted to be your guide. He wanted to tell you to rely on him if you can’t rely on your eyes, he wanted to hold your hand to keep you from straying to the wrong path. He wanted to feel his lips brush against yours, he wanted to feel love. He wanted to feel loved by you.

His heart fell even more when he realised he couldn’t find you anywhere. No one knew where you went, no one has seen you since the day he fell unconscious. It was as if you had disappeared off of the surface of the earth. The only thing he had of you was the fabric he accidentally tore off of your dress. He realised you left your barrel organ ride beside the tree. It was already collecting dust as leaves fell in between the spaces of the organ.

You were gone.

The owner of the library informed him that you had fled abroad. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach at the thought of you running away. You didn’t even say goodbye. You didn’t even have the audacity to tell him you were leaving? Surely you would have informed him that you were leaving. Yet again, you did tell him on the first day you met that you weren’t supposed to stay here for too long. But was it too much of him to ask you to at least say goodbye?

Two years later, it was Renjun’s 18th birthday. Two years since he lost you, two years since he went back to the hollow shell he formerly was before he fell in love. He spent months wallowing in his own sorrow, he spent months wondering if you missed him the same way he missed you. He no longer looked forward to walking out of his home to paint, all he saw was grey. The places he spent with you made his vision dark and grey, it was as if the joy inside of him were stripped from his vision.

He didn’t know what to do. His heart grew numb, he didn’t know how to make himself happy again. It was as if he had lost a part of himself. He had lost something precious. Which he did, he lost you. He didn’t know what to do. Yet, on a rare occasion, he would take small walks into town.

Madam Wendy noticed how Renjun’s whole existence grew dull ever since that day, his eyes were always dark as if he hasn’t slept for centuries, a frown permanently placed on his lips, his movements weak as if he didn’t have the energy to move. At this point he admitted that he was barely living, he was just a human body existing with a cuckoo clock as a heart. His days were no longer as bright as they used to.

To Renjun, the days felt like it was repeating itself. He wasn’t allowed to go to school, for Madam Wendy feared that he would be made fun of and bullied by his peers. Everyday, he would wake up and wind up his heart, take a long shower, eat his breakfast, paint or read his books, occasionally talking to the patients who attempted to make small talk with him (however that wouldn’t last very long considering he had no interest whatsoever in interacting with strangers he barely knew), eat dinner, go to bed. Repeat.

It was an exhausting cycle. His mind was growing dull. Whenever his mental health became worse, he would take a walk into town to clear his mind to try and lift his own spirits (despite the fact that he knew it’s futile. After all, he’s been trying this for the past two years.) Today was unfortunately one of those days.

Renjun had decided to take a small visit to the library. He remembered how he had to apologize to the librarian for lending you the Great Expectations book when he remembered that you’ve never returned the book back to him. He still felt guilty despite the fact that the librarian didn’t mind it very much. The librarian lady took a liking to both you and Renjun, she thought the two of you would’ve ended up together if it weren’t for the fact that you had moved away without a goodbye.

But fortunately for Renjun, today was a different day. Today would be the day to end his miserable lifestyle.

“Renjun! Renjun, my dear boy! How are you, honey?” the librarian greeted, putting a stack of books on the counter as Renjun entered the library with a bashful smile on his face. “Same as always, Mrs. Dust,” he bowed to greet the older lady politely, snucking his hands in his pockets after tugging on his coat. “Honey, I have lovely news for you! You remember your old friend, Miss Y/n, don’t you?” the lady giggled, walking over to the young adult with an eager smile on her face.

Oh how Renjun’s heart perked up at the brief mention of your name.

“Of course I do, Mrs. What about her?” he coughed, clearing his throat to prevent his voice from shaking. “I’ve received a letter from her! Oh hold on, dearie,” she giggled, squatting down to open the small drawer near her desk and pulling out a small postcard which had a familiar handwriting written on the back. “It must be your birthday soon. Happy birthday, my dear boy. The least I can do is give you this,” she smiled, handing Renjun the postcard with a hum.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Dust,” he smiled, gripping the postcard tightly in between his fingers as he looked down on it. It was indeed from you. You didn’t write much on the card, nothing more than a simple ‘happy birthday’ and a small ‘I missed you’. You had written your name at the edge of the card and a small ‘R’ beside the happy birthday, indicating that it was truly for him. Fireworks erupted in his stomach when he saw small hearts doodled all over the card with a red pen.

You remembered him.

You missed him.

You thought of him.

Those words were enough to revive the spark in his heart. Those were enough to spread a bright genuine smile across his lips. His cheeks hurt from how wide his smile was, he felt like jumping for joy. He was so ecstatic he thought he could fly to the sky, he felt his fingers itching as his eyes wandered to the address you have written at the bottom of the postcard, giving him a hint of where you might be living.

Andalusia.

You were half across Europe. You were so far away, yet so close. He wanted to see you. He needed to see you. He couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste, he needed to get a move on and he needed to find you. He thought sending you a postcard back wasn’t enough. He wanted to see the girl who managed to turn his heart without the key, he wanted to see the girl who produced a spark in his heart with only a few mere words.

He ran all the way back home, encountering Joy and Yeri on the way back and shooting them with an uncharacteristically bright smile stretched across his face. “Renjun, lad, what’s gotten you all jumpy?” Joy exclaimed, causing Renjun to stop in his tracks. “I got a letter from her!” he informed them, his voice high-pitched as if he just got told that he had personally won the sun, moon and stars all to himself. In his case, he actually did. He actually did.

“A letter?” Yeri squeaked up, a smile stretching across her face at the sight of the younger boy’s. “From who?” Joy asked, giggles bubbling up in between the two ladies as they watch Renjun suppress the urge to jump for joy. “Y/n! She remembers me! She sent me a postcard from Andalusia,” he exclaimed, waving the postcard in their faces. Joy’s eyes wandered down to Renjun’s chest, watching as the hands of his clock spun rapidly, indicating how excited the young adult was feeling.

“Y/n? Was this the young girl you went on about a few years ago?” Yeri asked, receiving an enthusiastic nod from Renjun himself. “Renjun, that’s great news! What are you planning to do then? Write her another letter?” she asked once again, clasping her hands in front of her at the delightful news. The boy shook his head eagerly, his smile never faltering.

“I’m going to find her, I’m going to find her and confess my love,” he breathed out, his own words taking his breath away. The thought of seeing you again was enough to send him flying into the heavens, oh for all things that’s holy, he didn’t know how he was going to proclaim his love for you in person when he could barely explain it in words himself.

“To Andalusia? Renjun, that’s halfway across Europe! Madam Wendy won’t be very happy about this,” Joy informed him, a sympathetic smile replacing her previously bright one. Renjun’s smile faltered at the mention of his caretaker, looking down at the postcard you had sent him, your messy handwriting beckoning him to come to you. He sucked his bottom lip, his heart racing at the thought of rebelling against Madam Wendy’s orders.

Yet again, if he did end up dying from this, all of Madam Wendy’s efforts throughout the past two decades would be in vain. She was practically his guardian after all, but yet again, he was a legal adult now isn’t he? He’s 18 years old, he didn’t have to live under her rules anymore if he didn’t want to. But he couldn’t help but feel guilty for wanting to flee Edinburgh just to see you again, something inside of him was screaming at him to run.

Maybe this time, he would listen to it.

“Joy, Yeri, will you help me escape Edinburgh?”

“Renjun? What are you doing up so late?”

Renjun froze, halting his movements as he dropped another sweater into his suitcase. He shut his eyes tightly as his heart raced against his chest, taking a deep breath to compose himself before standing up to face his caretaker as he zipped up his suitcase tight. “Wendy,” he cleared his throat, gripping tightly on the saddle of his suitcase with a small cough, slipping the key to his heart in his front pockets. “Renjun, why do you have a suitcase packed? It’s past curfew,” she narrowed her eyes at the boy.

“Wendy, I am now a legal adult. I have turned 18 years old,” Renjun started, suppressing the urge to gulp down his nerves but he kept his ground. “Yes, I know that, Renjun. That still doesn't answer my question as to why you’re up this late with a packed suitcase,” she nodded, tone laced with confusion as Renjun took a step back towards the opened window, looking out at the moonlight. “Y/n sent me a postcard… from Andalusia,” his voice grew quieter as the seconds went by.

“I’m planning to travel half across Europe to see her again.”

“No, I forbade it.” Wendy shook her head, taking a step forward towards her adopted child, her hands balled up into fists at how Renjun’s determined expression didn’t falter at the slightest bit at her strict tone. “I expected you to say that,” Renjun sighed, walking over to the open window and looking up at the moon shining down upon the dark sky.

“Nature was cruel to pray this silly little trick on me. I spent two decades wondering ‘what is love’? I knew I didn’t need to love in life, you showed me that throughout my whole 18 years of living here. I didn’t need love to live,” Renjun started, clasping his hands together as he held the saddle of his suitcase harder.

“But I realise, I’ve always wanted to feel love. To feel love, to give love and be loved back. Y/n made me realise that when I started falling for her two years ago, and if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have come to this realisation either,” he chuckled in disbelief, looking around at the decorations of his room, realising how much he’s going to miss living here. “I want to go out and explore the world, I know you have been dreading at the possibility of this day coming, but it has, Wendy.”

“Renjun, no. If you leave, this might as well be the last breath you’ll take! You have never travelled outside of town before, how are you going to survive travelling all across Europe for some measly girl? I won’t allow it, I can’t allow it,” Wendy shook her head, her eyes wide with panic as she watched Renjun walk backwards to the open window behind him. “I know you won’t allow it. But it’s time to let me go,” Renjun smiled sadly.

“Thank you for the 18 years you have spent trying to keep me alive. But the past two years felt meaningless to me without her presence, it felt aimless. I was honestly thinking about taking my own life at some point,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. “But now, I realise I rather risk my life for love than spend the rest of my days here with an empty, cold feeling in my heart,” he shot his guardian a genuine smile, the first genuine smile she has ever witnessed from the young boy.

“Goodbye Wendy.”

“Huang Renjun!”

Renjun fell back from the open window, causing Madam Wendy to let out a cry of his name, quickly running over to the window to see if her child was okay. She gasped when she saw that Renjun had landed on a mattress Joy and Yeri had set before hand, a loud joyous laughter eliciting from the younger boy’s lips, a sound Wendy has never heard from the boy from his eighteen years of living. He got up from the mattress, grabbing his suitcase quickly before shooting a boyish smile to his aunts.

“I’ll send you a postcard, Madam Wendy!” he exclaimed as he began running down the hill.

“Renjun, no! Come back! Oh god, please no! Yeri, Joy, what are you doing?! Stop the young lad before he-”

“You can’t blame me for falling hard in love, mother!”

“Now my dear boy, what a lovely contraption of a heart you got there!” a man exclaimed, adjusting his monocle as he squinted his eyes at Renjun’s mechanical heart. “Oh, why, thank you,” he smiled politely, bowing at the older man as he gripped his canvas in hand. “Where are you off to? You seem quite young to be travelling all by yourself,” the man asked in an attempt to make small talk.

That night, Renjun had run off to catch the nearest train to Paris, he planned to take a trip from there to Andalusia. It was a 7 hour ride but he was willing to do anything at this point to get out of Edinburgh. When he finally arrived in Paris, he stumbled upon this man while waiting for his next train. “Oh pardon me, where are my manners! I’m Kim Doyoung,” he outstretched his hand for Renjun to shake with a toothy smile spread on his lips.

“Huang Renjun,” he introduced with a sheepish smile. “Ah, So, Renjun, where are you going, my dear boy? You seem a little bit too young to travel,” Doyoung took off his monocle, wiping it against his tie before putting it back on. “I-I’m trying to get a replacement for my heart,” Renjun said, poking his little clock with the tip of his finger, grimacing at the small ticking sound it was making at the small touch.

It wasn’t a complete lie.

He had planned to get a replacement for his heart for so long, he figured that maybe if he changed into a new one, this wretched curse of forbidden love might be lifted. Maybe he didn’t have to part ways with Madam Wendy or Joy or Yeri. Maybe if he replaced his clock, he could live his life happily in love with you. Though, for now, it was just a small hope he held inside of him. All he could do now was find a clockmaker.

“I’m trying to find a clockmaker somewhere to replace my heart,” he spoke in a bold tone, looking down at his unfinished piece. He made it during his seven hour train ride while thinking of you just to pass the time, though, he was honestly considering giving it to you the moment you get to reunite with each other. “Do you happen to know one?” he asked, his eyes going wide with hopefulness.

Doyoung hummed in response, tugging on the tip of his tie. “Unfortunately, I’m not a clockmaker. But I do like tinkering in the mechanics direction! Maybe I could take a closer look at your heart to see if there’s anything I can do,” Doyoung suggested, pulling out a magnifying glass with a nod of his head. Renjun sucked his bottom lip nervously before taking out the key from his front pocket, plunging it into the mechanical heart and turning it to open the door of his heart. “Alright then.” “Oh! You say that this was grafted by the famous Madam Wendy from Edinburgh? She must be quite the genius to craft and piece this all for you with her bare hands to save your life,” he exclaimed, leaning closer to observe the small gears slowly turning with every small tick tocks his heart makes. “Though, I don’t know why you’d want to replace such a thing. Everything works just fine, clearly, she made this out of love. I could see it within every crevice of art she puts into this clock,” the older man clicked his heart, putting his magnifying glass back into his bag as Renjun closed his heart shut and pulled his key out of the clock.

“Love, huh? That’s the exact problem I have at the moment,” Renjun sighed heavily, tucking his key back into his front pocket before leaning back against his seat. “It’s very dangerous to me. At least that’s what Wendy said to me for the past eighteen years of my life,” he looked down at his shoes sadly, pressing his lips together in a tight line as he felt the guilt catching up to him at the thought of his caretaker’s efforts going in vain.

“Tell me about it,” Doyoung grinned, putting his hand on his chin as a smug expression spread across his features.

“You see, mister Kim-”

“Oh no! Call me Doyoung!”

“Uhm- You see, mister Doyoung. There’s this singer I met in Edinburgh a long time ago and-” “Ah yes, I see. These things do happen quite often.” Renjun bit back his tongue when Doyoung interrupted him once again, but nonetheless he continued on with his story. “As time went on, we grew closer. And soon, I couldn’t help but feel as if my whole world was going through a life threatening earthquake. My head was spinning, I couldn’t breathe. The ticking tock of my clock sounded almost alarming as if it was going to stop at any given moment whenever I’m within her lovely presence,” he explained, making grand, dramatic gestures with his hands as he went on.

Doyoung chuckled, assuming that Renjun’s poetic explanations were purely symbolic. “And how did that feel, exactly, Renjun?” he asked, causing Renjun’s expression to soften. “Extraordinary,” he sighed, almost dreamily as he looked down at the postcard he was holding in his free hand that wasn’t holding his canvas. “There you go, my dear boy,” he chuckled in response, leaning back against the seat next to Renjun’s.

“I don’t know, Mister Doyoung. I fear Wendy might be right, though, what if love was just a trap and my ticking clock is just a bomb waiting to be triggered by it?” Renjun asked, scratching the back of his neck nervously as he kissed his teeth. “Renjun, if you fear of getting hurt, you will increase the chances of getting hurt,” Doyoung laid a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “You should enjoy the thrill, the danger! That pumps through your veins at the thought of falling completely in love,” he exclaimed.

“If you live your life worrying everything, you’ll get bored before you even die! Don’t you want to experience a life changing experience with this little lady you’ve been saughting after?” he asked, her tone encouraging Renjun’s spirit to get back up again. A smile stretched across Renjun’s face at the thought, he had flashbacks to the two years he spent without you. He couldn’t afford going back to the same depressing situation he got himself out of, and he’s definitely not willing to go back now that he’s almost there.

“If I can find her again. The last time I heard from her, she was in Andalusia,” he shrugged with a small laugh.

“I’d say,” Doyoung laughed. “When you’re eighteen and you’re travelling half across the continent for a girl, I’d say the rebellious genes in your DNA are highly developed,” he joked, retracting his hand from Renjun’s shoulders. “I bet I could make a whole film based on your cuckoo clock heart,” Doyoung whipped out an empty journal from his bag, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at his newfound friend. “Why not?” Renjun chuckled with a small shrug.

“Young love, what a beautiful thing to see. You see, I never had any fond memories when it comes to being in love. All I do is invent and invent contraptions, and my former lover never appreciated my expertise. Life is far from easy when you’re in love, my young friend,” Doyoung sighed, leaning his arm against the seat with a heavy sigh. “Why don’t you come with me to Andalusia then, Mister Doyoung? I’m sure anything’s possible there and I wouldn’t mind having a bit of a company on my way there,” Renjun offered, the thought of making a new friend giving some light into his dark path.

“You want an unprofessional mechanic with constant near mental breakdowns following you in your journey to find love?” Doyoung’s eyes went wide in shock, a smile that mirrored Renjun’s appearing on his face. “I would love to have an unprofessional mechanic with constant near mental breakdowns in my quest!” Renjun laughed, nodding eagerly as he sat up straight to shake Doyoung’s hand to make a deal.

Renjun had made another friend.

When they finally arrived in Andalusia, they stumbled upon a small amusement park where you were rumored to be staying in at the moment. “Well, first impressions?” Doyoung asked, looking around the ominous park filled with performers and eccentric workers setting up their tents. “It’s.. quite different than Edinburgh, I must admit,” Renjun chuckled, pulling on his suitcase eagerly as he scanned his eyes around in hopes that he might see your figure at the corner of his eye.

The park, unlike his old town, was way more colourful than Edinburgh. There were animals in colourful cages, happily interacting with their inmates. There were jesters and mimes practicing for their acts in the middle of the streets, happily entertaining a few visitors. There were food stands everywhere, Renjun swore you could exit this park penniless under five minutes if you really wanted to.

“Come one, come all! For tonight we have special acts starting from 5 pm to-”

He walked past whom he assumed was the announcer of the park, who was enthusiastically using a tricycle to spread his message all over the place. And upon walking around he stumbled upon what seems to be a horror attraction in the shape of a train, the owner standing inside of a coffin as she smoked her cigarette, eyeing Renjun suspiciously. “Looking for something, you little runt? A job, perhaps? Cause, I’m looking for a new employee to hire,” she asked, taking a puff of her cigarette in between her sentences.

Renjun took his words back about Madam Wendy resembling Ms Havisham. Because at that given moment, he felt like Pip when he was first introduced to Ms Havisham in the book, clueless as to what he wanted with her. Renjun shook his head, no, mustering up the courage to give the older woman a polite smile. “I’m looking for a little singer?” he answered with an innocent smile.

“A little singer? Here? The chances of that is equivalent to finding a snowflake in hell,” she rolled her eyes, taking another puff from her cigarette and blowing smoke into Renjun’s face. He coughed, taking a step back in alarm but he bit his tongue to snap back at the woman’s rude actions. “Listen, I’m just trying to find a little singer who sings like a lovely bird in the break of daw-”

“Enough jabbering about her! Do you want the job or not?” she sighed exasperatedly.

As Renjun was about to give the woman a piece of his mind for being so rude, the announcer cycling around him caught his attention with his words. “Ladies and Gentlemen, up next in our line of performers will be the young singing sensation, Miss Y/n! A lady who has travelled far and wide with her infamous street singing career,” the announcer said with a booming voice as he cycled to another part of the park.

“Miss Y/n?” he whispered with a soft gasp. “Well? Do you want the job or not?” the woman asked with a raised brow. He frowned involuntarily at the woman’s abrupt tone, clicking his tongue before running back to wherever Doyoung was. “I’ll think about it!” he exclaimed loudly before sprinting off, calling out his colleague’s name with a bright smile on his face.

“I found her!”

“It is her!” he gasped, watching as you slowly come out of your little private trailer, music piercing his ears and your voice making its way into his heart like a knife throwing attraction. It hit right at the target perfectly. “It’s her, I can’t believe it,” Renjun could feel his breath being taken away. You had grown to be a beautiful woman, your features changed slightly due to the years but nonetheless, it didn’t do anything to stop Renjun’s heart from swelling up with adoration like a balloon being filled with helium.

“Go into her trailer, no one’s going to notice you. Talk to her after her performance,” Doyoung encouraged with a slightly hushed tone. “Excuse me?” Renjun’s eyes shot wide at the unexpected encouragement, his eyes wandering to the trailer you came out of. “I can’t do that! That’s a lady’s privacy!” he exclaimed, shaking his head aggressively. “Trust me, it’ll go smoothly! Just believe in yourself and try not to let the conversation die,” Doyoung hissed, nudging on the younger boy’s shoulder.

Renjun got up slowly, gulping down his fear as he quickly got into your trailer, eyes wide at his own stupidity. ‘God, why did I decide to do this? This is very uncouth of me to do so,’ he thought to himself, wincing slightly when he realised that the music had died down. A bouquet of daisies were in his hand, he didn’t know what to do at that moment as he observed your trailer. It wasn’t very far from you. It was decorated according to your liking.

Your favorite colour was splashed all over the walls, a mannequin standing idly beside the entrance, your dressing table with a gigantic mirror showing his nervous presence. He froze for a brief moment at the sound of your enchanting humming and your little footsteps coming closer to the trailer, making him stand behind the mannequin on pure instinct as you walked into the trailer with a skip in your step.

You were humming the same song you sang on the day you first met. Muttering the lyrics under your breath as you removed bits of dust from your clothing from the performance. Looking up at the mirror, you gasped at Renjun’s awkward figure standing behind your mannequin. You stood up abruptly, grabbing a perfume on your desk and raised it up threateningly at him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” you exclaimed in alarm. You couldn’t see his face very clearly considering you weren’t wearing your glasses.

“I’m sorry! I was tying my shoelaces when I fell into your floor,” Renjun shook his head, waving his hands around nervously to give off the message that he wasn’t some weird creep or stalker snooping around your belongings. “Do you always fall into a girl’s quarters when she’s changing?” you snapped, lowering your perfume hesitantly as you narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the boy. “NO! No! I would never, I swear! I don’t even know why I’m-”

“You look suspiciously familiar as if I recognise you from somewhere,” you mumbled under your breath, squinting your eyes at him. “You recognise me?” Renjun perked up, a smile stretching across his face as he took a step away from the mannequin towards you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes before turning to the mirror to adjust your appearance. “What do you want anyway?” you sighed, as if you were used to this sort of encounter.

“I’d like to give you a bouquet of daisies,” Renjun bit his lip, pulling the bouquet behind him and leaning it towards your direction. “Daisies? I can’t say they’re my favorite flowers,” you chuckled, looking up at him with a more relaxed expression. “I have no idea why, but peculiarly, daisies always reminds me of my glasses,” you confessed, putting the bouquet on your desk and standing up towards the exit. “I stopped wearing them a long, long time ago. They make me look like some weird bug,” you joked, looking back at Renjun, who chuckled at your words.

‘You really haven’t changed, huh?’

“It’s fine by me,” Renjun chuckled, walking closer towards you in comforting silence. The way your eyes made contact with his softly made his stomach do somersaults, the gears of his heart felt like it was powered by a burst of energy. “Could we see each other again?” he asked hesitantly, “I’d like to get to know you even more,” he added, snucking his hands in his pockets. “Perhaps,” you shrugged, giving him a smile that mirrored his own. “You’re not from around these parts, are you?”

“Oh, no! I’m not, I’m the-I work at the ghost train,” Renjun lied through his teeth, letting out a nervous laugh. “Oh, you’re the new scarer? That’s wonderful news to hear,” you exclaimed, clapping your hands to congratulate him on his new job. “Yes, of course! Exactly, I’m the new scarer,” he nodded, a little bit too eagerly if you asked him. “Can I come see you in action?” you laughed lightly, observing how fidgety the boy in front of you is as he stepped out of your trailer.

“Of course!”

“Tomorrow? Around four?”

“I’ll see you then.”

As the weeks went by, the love between you and Renjun blossomed like a rose. You bonded over your love for art and music in general, rekindling the friendship you used to have. But unfortunately for Renjun, you didn’t recognise him, not a single bit. It was against his beliefs to hit a woman, for that was very impolite of a man, but whenever you mumble how you couldn’t put your finger on how you recognize him from somewhere then proceeds to drop the conversation, he couldn’t lie. He wanted to smack you upside the head for your oblivious self.

‘Oblivious, rather ludicrous and as blind as a bat. Why did I fancy her, again?’ he would always ponder to himself on a daily basis before watching you run around to try the newest food from each of the food stalls with a bright smile on your face. ‘Oh, right, that’s why,’ he sighed heavily before going over to you with his hands clasped behind his back, mentally preparing himself to fall head over heels for you over and over again.

Today, he was giving you a tour of the ghost train. (yes, he took up the offer with a roll of his eyes just so he can stay here and spent more time with you) “You’re doing a wonderful job here, by the way. It looked like people are having a lot of fun riding the ghost train with your assistance,” you complimented, giving Renjun a soft smile as you walk along the dark train tracks.

“Why thank you, my boss can’t say the same, however,” he grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes at the thought of his boss being ashamed of him for ruining her quote unquote reputation. “Don’t mind her, she’s always been like that,” you waved it off with a small giggle, patting his shoulder. “Hmm,” he nodded, a pregnant pause settling between you two as you basked in each other’s company. “How did you like the glasses I gave you?”

Everyday, Renjun would find the most ominous and peculiar looking glasses that were all twisted and broken to give to you, which always brought a smile upon your face knowing full well that you couldn’t wear them no matter how much you tried. “Awful, as usual,” you joked, clasping your hands behind your back as you skipped along the tracks, your shoes hitting the dark coal with a soft ‘tip tap’. “Wonderful,” he laughed lightly, shaking his head profusely at you.

“I still can’t shake over the feeling that I’ve been in this situation before, or maybe I dreamed of this moment before,” you blurted out, looking around the damp cave-like tunnel you were walking through. Renjun bit his lip sadly, suppressing the urge to tell you that he was the boy you met back in Edinburgh. Yet again, what if you left for a reason? What if you left because you didn’t want to see him again? He feared the worse as time went on.

“I’m sure we’ve met before but I don’t know where,” you turned to him with a smile tugging at your lips. “Really,” Renjun looked down at his feet, kicking the coal as you both paused in your step and turned your bodies to look at each other in the eyes. You somehow found comfort in looking into Renjun’s eyes, but you couldn’t pinpoint why they constantly gave you a sense of deja vu whenever you stare into them for too long. “What’s that odd pitter patter?” you mumbled, hearing a familiar tapping sound in the tunnel.

He bit back a smile, “it’s the rain.”

He knew those words all too well. “Do you like the rain?” he asked, putting his hand behind his back as he adjusted the top hat on his head. “Getting wet? No,” you shook your head, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “But the sound it makes? Yes,” you nodded enthusiastically, making Renjun laugh at your slight eagerness. “And I’ve heard that noise before somewhere,” you whispered, loud enough for Renjun to hear.

“That’s because it’s my heart,” he couldn’t help but blurted out, putting a hand on his little coat. “Pardon?” you furrowed your brows in confusion, watching him tug on his coat to reveal a miniscule cuckoo clock on his chest. “My heart, they made it for me on the day I was born. It’s a bit cold and a little fragile, but it works,” he sighed, watching as you observe the small contraption on his heart with a curious expression, pulling out the key from his pockets.

“You can open me up with this little key,” he grabbed your hand and placed the key in between your fingers, letting you push the key into his heart and turning it to the left before opening the door of his clock. “Fascinating, do you always let other girls walk into the train tracks with you and let them open your heart?” you chuckled, raising your brow at the boy in front of you, whose eyes widened in surprise as you pulled your hand away from his heart.

“No, not really. In fact, you’re the first one,” Renjun shook his head with a sweet smile, closing the door shut and pulling out the key before placing it back into his pocket. “Oh, thanks,” your eyes widened slightly at his blunt expression, putting a hand on your arm shyly. “You’re welcome,” he chuckled, patting the key in his pocket. Renjun’s eyes wandered from your eyes to your soft lips, his heart racing against his chest at the thought of finally picking up where you had left off all those years. He didn’t even realise that he was leaning his head towards yours.

“Wait- no,” you pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him away as you turned your head to the side with guilt glossing over your eyes. “Don’t,” you shook your head as you took a step back. “I really like you. There’s a warm fuzzy feeling growing in my tummy that’s making me pull towards you like a magnet, but,” you paused, looking down at your hands nervously as they lay limp on your sides. “My heart belongs to someone else,” you gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Someone I met a long, long time ago. You always reminded me of him. “I’m still waiting until the day we reunite once again, embarking on a romantic adventure with you would just be unfair,” you sighed heavily, rubbing your arms nervously as you slowly let Renjun down. A great pang of pain pierced through Renjun’s whole body at your words, he could almost feel his heart tear itself apart as he watched you walk away and out of the ghost tunnel.

Away from him.

“Renjun! You’re back! So? How did it go?” Doyoung exclaimed, fixing his latest invention with a cough, dropping his tweezers in his bag as he wiped his hands on a nearby cloth. Doyoung had rented an empty building so that he could introduce his new inventions to the public and entertain them with them. “She loves someone else,” Renjun mumbled under his breath, tossing his top hat onto one of the seats they set up as he sat down on the steps of the small indoor stage Doyoung had built over the past few weeks.

“I travelled halfway across Europe for her for absolutely nothing,” Renjun laid his head on his palms, sighing heavily as he tried to keep himself from screaming in pain. His heart was hurting. It was way different than the pain he felt two years ago, it was a whole new level of emotional pain he didn’t know he was capable of feeling. “Did you at least confess your love for her?” Doyoung asked, taking a seat next to the boy as Renjun gripped his hair tightly in distress.

“Why bother? Her heart’s filled to the brim, there’s no way I could empty it out like a sink,” Renjun pulled his head out of his hands, his elbows laying on his legs as he threw the golden key to his heart against the carpet floor out of frustration. “You can’t just let your efforts go to waste, Renjun. Did she at least recognise you?” Doyoung asked, leaning over to grab the key and place it back into his younger friend’s palm with a heavy sigh.

He shook his head, turning it to look at the older man who adjusted his monocle. “No, I’d prefer her not to remember who I am than to remember me and not love me in return,” Renjun leaned his cheek against his palm, eyes looking down sadly at his feet. “You can’t just give up like that, Renjun. Love is like a shooting star you’re supposed to seek after, a wish you must grant yourself with the fifty percent chance of getting the outcome you desire,” Doyoung encouraged, leaning back against his palms behind him.

Renjun chuckled softly, a sad smile appearing on his lips. “I never felt so sad yet so happy at the same time,” he shook his head, pressing his knuckles to his temples hard. “Ah yes, two of the most powerful and impactful emotions of the human soul combined into one,” Doyoung mused, raising a brow at his lovesick friend. “If only she believed me about my heart, her expression tells me that she thinks it’s some kind of sick joke,” he scoffed, kicking the air with one foot as he let out a huff of exhaustion.

“Well, did she say who has captured her heart?” Doyoung asked, raising his brow, causing Renjun’s eyes to shoot up wide.

The impact of Kim Doyoung’s words have never failed to get Renjun’s adrenaline rushing again through his veins as he walked into your trailer with a small push against your door. “Do I know him?” Renjun asked abruptly, wanting to get straight to the point as he was very eager to know who has captured your heart. “Could you stop barging into my trailer all the time?” you retorted, turning towards him as you put down your makeup brush on your desk. “The boy you’re in love with, do I know him?” Renjun repeated, the gears of his heart racing against his chest.

He doesn’t even know if he wants the answer to that question. “No,” you replied bluntly, adjusting the laces on your dress. “So you’re not in love with him anymore?” Renjun asked, raising his brow as he crossed his arms against his chest and leaned against the door. “No, that’s not what I meant!” you huffed, feeling yourself getting frustrated the more he edged you on. “Look, it was a very, very long time ago when I first met him,” you rolled your eyes.

“It was back when my parents still made me move from city to city. Oh god, that city was practically made for him. The aura of the city radiated the same aura he had back when I first met him, cold and depressing. Nonetheless the more I got to know him, the more I realised that inside he was just a warm human being that needed someone to light up his perspective,” you sighed, clasping your hands together right in front of you. There was a loud ‘cuckoo!’ that pierced both of your ears, and suddenly, a small gear shot from Renjun’s heart and hit the wooden closet right beside you.

“Would you stop playing with your clock? You could injure someone, it won’t hurt to take it off occasionally, will it?” you exclaimed with a gasp, looking up at him with bold eyes as you put your hands on your hips. “I can’t help it, it’s not some bloody toy! It’s my heart,” he snapped back, his hands balled up into fists as he felt his blood boiling in his veins at the sound of you talking so highly of someone else that wasn’t him. The way you talked about whoever this boy is was the same way he talked about you to everyone else.

He took a deep breath to calm himself down when he saw your taken aback reaction, “I’m sorry.” You let out a deep sigh as you stood up from your desk, putting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort the poor fellow. “Look, I would really appreciate it if we could become friends. How about we go down to the theater tomorrow? I heard Mister Doyoung made a new contraption to add to the cinematic universe,” you suggested, giving him a kind smile as you took his hand in yours to try and cheer him up a bit.

“I’d really like to go together.” No matter how much his heart was telling him to rest for the rest of his life, no matter how much in pain he’s currently in, but the moment he looked into your eyes, he knew he couldn’t say no.

“Would you care to share more information about your romeo?” Renjun asked, holding his wrist behind him as you two walked outside of the amusement park together after the show. “Oh, don’t call him that. I absolutely despise that specific work of Shakespeare’s,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you hopped over a pebble, grunting as you caught your balance. Renjun chuckled, “why so?” he asked, raising his brow at you.

“The typical damsel in distress trope never failed to make my blood boil like a pot of water on high heat,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “I prefer to call him my Pip,” you giggled, climbing up a small hill before sitting on top of the grass and laying your head down with a content sigh. “Pip? Why Pip to be exact?” Renjun asked, raising his brow as he took a seat next to your lying figure, leaning back against his palms. “A couple years ago, right before I left. We had this small debate on happy endings and shakespearean works,” you started, gazing up at the starry night sky.

“I would constantly babble on and on about how women shouldn’t be the damsel in distress, then one day he whipped out this book out of nowhere like some sort of magician! It was called the Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, I finally finished when I left the city so I never got around to returning the book he let me borrowed,” you sighed, placing your hands on your tummy as you giggled at the thought of your first love possibly getting mad at you for leaving without a goodbye with the addition of not returning his book back.

Renjun’s heart raced at your small story, his body froze as his ears grew a slight tint of pink (which wasn’t very visible, thanks to the dim lighting of the moon shining down upon the two of you) when he realised that you were talking about him. You were talking about him all along. “I realised why he let me borrow the book though, I asked for an unhappy ending without the female protagonist being the damsel in distress. It was a beautiful story, really,” you sighed, closing your eyes as you thought back to the times you shared back in Edinburgh.

“He would always listen to my rambles as he painted some random landscape in town, showing me his talents as well as listening to my words as I ranted about the foolish decisions of the characters. He reminds me of Pip a little bit. A bit childish, a bit foolish, a little bit misunderstood,” you went on, before pausing briefly, eyes opening to look up at your new friend. “Should I stop? I don’t want to bore you with my story, I tend to ramble a lot unintentionally,” you asked, receiving an aggressive shake of Renjun’s head.

“No! No! Keep going, I’m getting very interested in your story, do continue,” he laughed lightly, looking down at his clock, biting back his lip to keep himself from jumping for joy. “The last day I saw him- oh god, I remember it every night before I go to bed. I never had my glasses on around him, so my memory of his physical appearance is rather blurry. But I remembered it like it was yesterday. Sure, I might not recognize him today with my own eyes but I remembered we almost shared a kiss,” a wide smile stretched across your face as a warm feeling bubbled up inside of you at the vivid memory.

“Yeah?” Renjun couldn’t help but let a wide smile spread across his own lips at the thought, turning his head to the side to suppress the urge to tackle you in a strong embrace. You remembered. “He offered to be my eyes, he offered to keep me from straying down the wrong path. I never got a chance to say yes,” you giggled, rubbing your palms against your eyes as you felt a giddy feeling inside both of your chests. “Guess he was too eager to kiss you before you could say yes?” Renjun joked, grimacing at his own childishness.

You chuckled, shrugging simply. “I guess so, I didn’t mind though. It felt exhilarating. I didn’t know how it happened but he also tore a little bit of my dress as well,” you shook your head, looking back up at the stars scattered across the sky. Oh how Renjun was using all the strength vested inside of him to keep his heart from going ‘cuckoo!’ right in front of you right now. “He might not remember me, I sent him a postcard a couple weeks ago. I never received one back. But someday, when we reunite, I’d like to thank him for the lovely book and for teaching me what love feels like.”

“Everytime I’m near his company I would always feel so safe. So happy, so loved. Genuinely happy and genuinely loved,” you sighed, closing your eyes once again as you took in the fresh air. “I’m sure he felt the same,” Renjun felt his cheeks hurting from how wide he was smiling. “Hey, can we see each other again?” he spoke after a moment of comforting silence. “Alright, when?” you opened your eyes, squinting your eyes suspiciously at him. “Noon? At the theater, I have something to tell you,” he grinned.

“Alright then, is something wrong? Why the funny face?” you chuckled, sitting up from your laying position, cocking your head to the side as you raised your eyebrow at him. “Nothing, I’m just really excited to show you this,” he shook his head, he couldn’t hide his big smile from you any longer.

Just like how he couldn’t hide his longing and love for you that he has been harboring for the past two years.

“She’s in love with me,” he said to Doyoung, who gave him a proud grin in return. “Congratulations, my dear boy! You tamed the spark in your heart,” he gave Renjun a pat on the back, who smiled sadly in response. “But there’s a problem. She’s in love with the other me, the one back in Edinburgh,” he sighed, sitting down on one of the seats in the theater. “I don’t see why this is a problem. The ‘you’ back in Edinburgh is still the same ‘you’ now!” Doyoung furrowed his brows in confusion.

“I assume so, but what am I supposed to say to her?” Renjun ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Tell her how you feel! ‘It’s me! Renjun! The boy you loved oh-so-dearly for all these years! Your first love from Edinburgh, I have travelled far and wide all over Europe to find you, my love. So now let me take your hand and let’s venture and sail for the skies! In each other’s loving embrace!’” Doyoung boomed, throwing his hand in the air to make grand gestures as he spoke, standing up in the midst of his words.

“Quite poetic, but I tried. The words are jammed at the back of my throat and I can’t let them out,” Renjun huffed, internally cursing at himself for holding himself back because of a small guilt lingering in his chest. “You’re still afraid of what might become of your heart once you fall completely, aren’t you?” Doyoung sympathized, putting a hand on his hip as he frowned upon his young friend’s unfortunate condition. “A part of me is still guilty for putting all of Madam Wendy’s efforts in vain,” Renjun laughed bitterly.

“I thought you wanted to love and to be loved back, you mustn’t be afraid!” Doyoung encouraged, using the same tone he used previously to influence all of Renjun’s previous actions with a wide toothy smile. “You’re eighteen, you deserve the love you’ve been longing for, Renjun.”

Renjun bit back a smile, shaking his head out of his insecurities as he stood up to his feet. “You’re right, I should’ve just told her who I was at the start. You have to help me come up with something.”

“Renjun? Are you here?” You called out, entering the theater bashfully. “Right here, Ms!” Naeun, Doyoung’s new friend, coaxed, waving her hand to tell you to sit on the front row, right in front of the stage. A familiar merry tune played in the background as the curtains were pulled back to reveal two puppets of what appeared to be you and a familiar little boy from Edinburgh. Doyoung came into view, clearing his throat as Naeun strummed the chords of the song you sang on the day you met your first love with a ukulele in her hand.

“It was a lovely day in Edinburgh,” Doyoung began, looking towards the puppets. “Little miss y/n who was sixteen years old was dancing around in her dainty shoes, getting her feet all in a tangle before tumbling down to the floor due to her own clumsiness,” Renjun added with a small nervous laugh, moving his own little puppet around and towards the mini puppet version of yourself. “On the day they first met, she would ask ‘what’s that odd pitter patter?’ ‘What’s making that noise?’” Naeun hummed melodiously, causing your eyes to widen with every single word that comes out of their mouths.

“It’s just the rain, do you like the rain?” Renjun asked, shooting you a short glance as if to say ‘sounds familiar?’

You furrowed your brows, lips pressed into a thin line as you silently watched the performance in front of you, taking every single last bit of information they were sharing into your head as took in the meaning of their words. “Miss Y/n adored the sound of the rain, but however, all this time she didn’t realise that the sound she came to adore came from the tick tock of Renjun’s mechanical heart,” Doyoung recited, looking down on his little card before sharing a knowing look with Renjun and Naeun upon seeing the flabbergasted expression etched on your face.

“Oh, how if he had told her where that pitter patter had come from, would she recognize him the instant they reunite? Would Renjun have to suffer the pain of travelling half across Europe to see her only to not be recognized for the little lady could not rely on her own eyes?” he added on, adding a bit of suspense as the settings on the puppet show changed slightly to the two of you sitting on top of a crescent moon side by side, sending you flashbacks to the last day you saw your first love.

“Perhaps, if he had told her, would she have believed him and sampled the magical intimacy of blending dream and reality?”

Soon, your eyes got glossy with tears. Your heart racing rapidly against your chest as you sat there in complete silence, the new information overwhelming your sentences as you watched the two puppets kissed on the crescent moon, the exact same way you were supposed to kiss two years ago. You sniffled, putting a hand up against one of your eyes to keep your tears from falling as Renjun walked up towards you and off of the stage with his hands behind his back.

The curtains closed as he gave you a boyish smile, outstretching his hand to show you the piece of fabric he accidentally tore from your dress and the postcard you had sent out almost a month ago. You gasped, delicate fingers gently grabbing the postcard to inspect it. It was indeed the postcard you had sent, it was indeed your handwriting, it was indeed the same filthy postcard you sent a month ago.

Within a few seconds, you fell unconscious as all this information was too much for you to handle.

“Oh bloody hell, we killed her!” Renjun cried out in panic, taking a step back in alarm at your sudden concussion. Doyoung and Naeun’s head shot from in between the curtains, hissing at him to not panic and carry you back to your trailer. He sucked his bottom lip as he hesitantly wrapped his arms around your knees and your back, making you lean against his chest, your head so close to his. He gulped as he walked out of the theater, nervously praying to whatever God up there is watching him to not make him drop you in the middle of the streets.

But fortunately for him, he managed to carry you back to your bed safe and sound. Laying your head on the pillow, he stood idly on the side of your bed, watching your sleeping features. You looked so content, his fingers itched to run themselves around your hair and to caress your cheeks. Oh how he longed to nuzzle his nose against yours lovingly and how he longed to press his lips against yours-

‘A single kiss. A brush against your lips could be your last! Just like that, bang!’

He grunted as his body twitched as his guardian’s words flashed through his mind like lightning and thunder, Madam Wendy’s sorrowful expression couldn’t help but make its way through his mind, causing his body to twitch once again. He took deep, staggering breaths as he palmed his heart in pain, eyes moving over to your sleeping figure before Madam Wendy appeared once again in his vision.

‘Do you know why I saved your life?’

“If you really are the boy from my time in Edinburgh, why did you wait all this time?”

His head shot up at the sound of your voice, his eyes wandered to your figure as you stared down at the piece of fabric. “What can I say? You’re an idiot, I feared you won’t recognize me considering you’ve never actually used your glasses during our small encounters,” Renjun chuckled sadly, sitting on your bed as you sat up and leaned on the headboard. “You didn’t even say goodbye, I thought you left because you were in shock of my sudden concussion on that day,” he said half-jokingly, putting a hand behind his neck.

You gave him a sad smile, caressing the postcard with your thumb. “My parents were tricked that day. They trusted the wrong person and the police got a hold of them, my mother left me outside all alone so the police wouldn’t find me and take me away too,” you explained, pulling your knees to your chest as you leaned your chin on your arms. “I remembered being so alone, so cold. That’s why I decided to flee Edinburgh, we weren’t allowed to stay for too long. Our neighbour told us they were going to get us permits but the next day… unfortunately that happened.”

Renjun’s heart ached for you, he never wanted to see you sad. Even though you weren’t supposed to be in Edinburgh in the first place, he felt slightly selfish for it. If it weren’t for the fact that your parents had moved her, maybe your parents would still be by your side to this day. However you can’t change what’s been done, the past is the past. He couldn’t do anything to make the pain of losing a parent go away that easily.

He placed a hand on yours, rubbing his thumb soothingly against your knuckles in a silent attempt to comfort you. You smiled at him, scooting closer to Renjun without hesitation. “I’m so sorry about that, I didn’t know,” Renjun spoke briefly, letting your fingers intertwine with his own tightly. He reached over to his pocket, pulling out the key to his heart and tugged your intertwined fingers together. “I can’t make the pain of losing your loved ones go away like a magician could, but the only thing I can assure you is that I’m not going anywhere and this key is the living proof of it.”

He laid the small golden key in your palm, tucking your fingers against it. “This is the key that winds me up, without it, I would be knocked out for good,” he chuckled, gazing his eyes deeply into yours. “You can wind me up, open up my heart, do whatever you want,” he shrugged, watching you scoot closer to him and mirrored the same actions as the ones he showed you on the Ghost Train. “If it hurts, don’t hesitate to tell me,” you informed him, turning the key to the right slowly.

“It doesn’t usually hurt,” he laughed lightly, eyes filled with love and adoration. He felt his heart spark up with the same comforting flame you manage to set. He found comfort in the love of his life gently caressing his fragile heart as if it was made out of the rarest jewels in existence.

He found comfort in you. You really are the key to his heart.

“There you are, you little brat!” the owner of the ghost train spat, entering the trailer quite rudely. “You there, what are you doing holding back my employee? As if he doesn’t slack off enough on the job,” she sighed exasperatedly, taking out another cig from her pocket before lighting it up. “You have ten minutes to get there, it’s almost starting,” she hissed, her tone filled with anger and malice as she made her way out of the trailer with a huff of breath.

You and Renjun shared knowing looks, giggling softly as you pulled the key out of his heart. “I think we should get going,” you said in an almost hushed tone as if you were to make a louder sound, you would break the comforting silence between the two of you. You outstretched your hand to give him back his key but Renjun shook his head at you, chuckling softly as he gently curled your fingers against the key in your palms and gently pushed your hand back towards you.

“Keep it, I insist,” he shook his head. “What? No, don’t be silly! It’s the key to your heart, Renjun. It’s yours, I can’t keep it,” you shook your head receiving the same chuckle from the boy in front of you. “No, from now on, it’s yours,” he grabbed your free hand in his, intertwining your fingers once again. “Let’s run away together,” he suggested, squeezing your hand in his as he crossed his legs together.

“Excuse me?” your eyes widened at his words. “After your show, run away with me and let’s make the world our oyster,” he gave you the widest grin he could muster, his cheeks was starting to hurt from smiling too much and for too long. He didn’t know where the sudden suggestion came from his mind but he wanted to do what he’s always dreamt of doing with you, to sail for the skies hand in hand with you by his side. (And maybe live a content life in a cottage with three cats and a whole art studio, but that can wait. After all, he’s waited this long to finally reunite with you)

“This is going to sound very cliche but where would we even go?” you giggled, finding his eagerness quite adorable considering it was a rare sight to see, even back when you were still in Edinburgh. “I don’t know, anywhere! The seas, the trees, as long as I’m with you I’m willing to make do with anywhere. As long as you say yes,” he squeezed your hand encouragingly against his, loving eyes pleading for you to say yes. And the smile you gave him was enough to give him his answer.

Renjun ran all over the amusement park with his suitcase in hand, the sound of your voice booming through the speakers as he felt the adrenaline rush through his veins, happiness surging through every part of his body. He was finally living, he was no longer going to live in the same, miserable hollow shell he had been living his whole entire life. A bright smile spread across his face as he entered the theater, panting heavily.

“Well then?” Doyoung pipped up, putting his hands at his hips as Renjun gained his composure as though Renjun’s wide smile hadn’t given him the answer he was hoping for. “She loves me, the real me,” he sighed exasperatedly, putting his hands on his chest as he could hardly believe it himself. “Congratulations, my dear boy! I’m delighted for you, absolutely delighted,” he gave Renjun a hug and patted his back as if he was his own younger brother.

“We’re going to run away for the hills together after her show, I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I’m sure I wouldn’t have done this without your help,” Renjun beamed, pulling away to shake his old friend’s hand enthusiastically, his mechanical heart racing rapidly against his chest at the thought of eloping with you all over Europe. “I’m going to miss you, Renjun. Do write to me from time to time,” he gave him a nod, a proud smile etched on his face, causing Renjun to chuckle and nod. “Of course.”

As Renjun was in the middle of packing, your show had finally ended. You snuck back in your trailer to pack your own clothes, but then you saw none other than one of your fellow performers, Choi San, sitting on your desk with a small piece of paper in hand. “San? What on earth are you doing here?” you asked, furrowing your brows as you took out your suitcases from your closet. “I heard you’re going to run off with that new boy,” he grinned, chuckling slightly as he smacked the paper against your desk. “Renjun? Oh! Turns out, he was the boy I fell in love with back in Edinburgh,” you giggled, shoving random clothes into your suitcase, your makeup bags, your shoes, anything you could possibly fit into one single bag.

“I need to tell you something before you get into serious trouble,” San informed, giving you a hard expression before hopping off your desk to hand you the piece of paper. “I was doing my daily letter checking at the post office and I found this in the mail, it was from Renjun’s guardian from Edinburgh,” he sighed, crossing his arms as you opened the piece of paper to reveal a fancy handwriting underneath. “It tells you everything you need to know about Renjun.”

You squinted, pulling your glasses from your purse and putting them on. “What are you going on about here, San?” you furrowed your brows as you read through the letter. It was indeed from the ‘Madam Wendy’ Renjun would always rant to you about during your days together back in Edinburgh. “That thing he calls a heart, it’s not what you think it is. It’s a grenade, a ticking time bomb waiting to be triggered, he’s dangerous, y/n,” San informed, his hard expression turning into worry.

“I'm just glad I came here before it was too late,” he sighed in relief, looking down at his feet. “No, San, you must be mistaken. Renjun wouldn’t hurt a fly, he’s absolutely harmless!” You shook your head, refusing to believe his words as you looked down at the letter. “For now, but until he loses control of his heart and therefore fails to abide by the three rules Wendy had given him on the day he was born,” San informed, his eyes narrowing at the letter.

“The three rules?” you furrowed your brows at him, watching as San’s expression grew dim with sympathy. “Everything you need to know is in that letter, I’ll give you some time to yourself,” San patted your back with a comforting smile before exiting the trailer, leaving you with the letter and your own thoughts.

“Are you trying to make me a murderer?!” you exclaimed, exiting your trailer with your fists clenched up tightly by your side. “Excuse me?” Renjun furrowed his brows in confusion, being taken aback as he took a step towards you with his suitcase in hand. “What are you even talking about?” he asked, letting the air sink back into his lungs from all the running he had to do all over the amusement park. “Madam Wendy told me everything in this letter,” you shoved the letter against his chest, watching as shock took over his features.

“Wendy sent a letter?” he gaped, his jaw dropping to the floor as he inspected what seems to be his caretaker’s handwritten letter. “She told me about the three rules, how you ran away against her wishes, everything! Were you not going to tell me these important details?” you hopped off of the first few steps of your trailer to come closer to the boy you love deeply in front of you. “Or did you forget to tell me something as serious as that?” you snapped, sadness and betrayal flossing over your eyes.

Renjun felt his heart sink into his stomach at your hurtful expression, he was so caught up in the fantasy of running away with you, he completely forgot about his fragile condition for a brief moment. “Who even are you, Renjun? I want to know who’s the man I’m falling in love with,” you gripped the hem of your dress to keep yourself from screaming at him out of pure frustration and anger, feeling your heart ready to explode at the fact that you had the potential to kill him if your relationship proceeded from this far on.

“I wouldn’t ever forgive myself if you died,” you tried hard to swallow the lump in your throat, looking down to hide your glossy eyes as you tried your best not to think of what would happen to him if you hadn’t received that letter.

Renjun froze in place, his eyes turning glossy with his own tears as he watched you speak, the words jammed at the back of his throat as he knew, deep down, there was nothing he could do to change your mind. It was far too late, he can’t do anything to change your mind anymore. “I refuse to love you, I refuse to be a murderer. That’s not my idea of love,” you shook your head at him, putting the back of your hand against your eyelids to wipe away the tears. Every word that came out of your mouth felt like a dagger into his mechanical heart. It hurt. Renjun was hurting. His heart was breaking right in front of you, and you both knew it.

“It’s selfish,” you couldn’t help but splutter out. “No, wait. You got it all wrong, y/n,” he finally spoke up, frustration filling his veins as he found the courage to speak up. “Oh, so you didn’t escape your guardian’s home without permission, thus causing her to worry about you for the past few weeks with no information whatsoever?” you snapped, putting your hands on your hips after you wiped your tears away. “Yes, but that isn’t the problem here!” he shook his head, taking a step towards you as he groaned in frustration.

“There you go! Oh, so now you’re going to disobey another rule and lose your temper?”

“It’s not like that! Just listen to me-” Renjun reached his hand out to your face before his body started twitching in pain, causing him to drop on his knees as gears and screws popped out of his heart. You gasped, watching as your lover writhe in pain on his knees, letting out pained grunts for the next fifteen seconds right in front of you. Thus, giving you a brief image of what was going to happen if you continued on.

“You’re scaring me, Renjun.”

“I’m sorry.” he breathed out, putting his hand on his knees as he ignored the steaming state of his cuckoo clock heart. Your eyes softened at his guilty figure, your hands laying limp by your sides as you let out a sad sigh. “Goodbye, Renjun.” Were your last words before you walked away from him, leaving him to deal with his own pain.

“I did the craziest things for you. My life isn’t always topsy turvy when it comes to love, but I put my life in your hands because I truly love you,” Renjun confessed, causing you to pause in your step. You inhaled deeply, not giving him a spare glance. “Yes, I agree, your actions are inhumane at this point, but count me out, Renjun,” you hissed back, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep yourself from shaking and breaking down right in front of him. “I’d prefer you to be hurt like this than dead, I can’t live with myself if I was the reason for your passing,” you sighed, looking down at your shoes briefly.

“Please just leave me alone. I’m not running away with you.”

You didn’t look back as you walked away, ignoring the sound of a distraught Renjun getting to his knees, holding his heart in pain. His eyes scrunched up in pain as he let out small grunts, trying to get to his feet back to make his way back to the theater. He collapsed back to the concrete ground as soon as he got to his feet, the ear piercing sound of his clock falling apart before him lingered in his mind as cogs and screws popped out of his makeshift heart. He wanted to scream out your name and plead for you to come back into his embrace, but he knew you wouldn’t turn back.

So he did the only thing that came into his mind in order to stop this unbearable pain. He got up to his feet, putting two hands on his clock and pulled hard, ignoring the physical pain it brought him as he tried to rip out his own heart from his chest. Letting out a scream of pain as he collapsed to the floor, pieces of wood and metal scattering across the floor and drops of blood dripping from the doors of his heart.

“Renjun!”

Doyoung and Naeun came up to Renjun as quickly as they could, holding him up as he coughed heavily. “I want to change into a new clock, I’m so tired of this one constantly falling into bits every time I feel the slightest bit of joy,” he mumbled almost monotonously, letting out another fit of coughs afterward. “Madam Wendy was right,” he added with a light painful laugh. “I suppose I have some spare parts to help you fix your clock from my camera, I’ll go get them-” Doyoung insisted but Renjun gripped on the older man’s wrist urgently.

“No, I want a new heart. I’m tired of this one. One that works. I’ll never fall in love again,” he leaned over, cupping his mouth as he coughed once again, feeling more gears pop out of his clock like a confetti from a canon. “You’re running out of time, Renjun, you must seek help immediately. Is there anything you can do to salvage what’s left of your heart until you get back to Edinburgh?” Doyoung asked, furrowing his brows. “I can’t, I gave the key to Y/n. She left me, I can’t get it back anymore,” Renjun shook his head sadly, looking down at his own blood staining his fingertips.

“That key is your life, Renjun! You took a huge risk,” Doyoung shook his head at how deeply in love the boy in front of him was. “I know,” he mumbled, his words becoming more breathy by the moment. “You must return to Edinburgh and have Wendy patch you up again, it’s the only way to save your life,” Doyoung slung an arm around his shoulder, lifting him up as Naeun helped with carrying his suitcase.

Doyoung led a heartbroken Renjun onto a carriage to the nearest train station. He insisted on coming with the young lad but Renjun wanted to face the consequences of his actions alone, he couldn’t bear to rip his friend away from the path of success he was walking into. So, with a heavy heart, Renjun rode the train back to Edinburgh with his eyes closed and his heart hurting like hell against his chest.

‘This must be the same feeling Pip went through when Estella finally broke his heart to elope with some other man she didn’t love.’ he thought bitterly to himself.

“Madam Wendy what?” your jaw dropped as San shared a new bit of information.

He leaned over, showing you the newspaper he was reading which informed you that Madam Wendy had passed in her prison cell. Apparently, she was caught for tampering with mechanics on a dangerous level with her other patients and was thrown in jail once again, but the disappearance of her adopted child had a great impact on her health, therefore she left her body in the cell she was staying in.

“Oh, no. Oh dear god, no,” you hopped out of San’s performance tent, patting your pockets and pulling out the key that belongs to Renjun’s heart. “What’s wrong?” San asked, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth as he stood up as well, worried as his brows furrowed in confusion. “Renjun gave me the key to his heart, I forgot to give it back,” you yelled back, running as quick as you could to the theater, the only place where Renjun could be at the moment.

You knocked as hard as you could, calling out the boy’s name in a panic. “Miss Y/n? What are you doing here?” Doyoung asked, opening the door as he rubbed his eyes from the lack of sleep. “Can you tell me where I can find Renjun? I still have the key to his heart,” you asked in an abrupt tone, showing the older man the key in your palms. “Nothing to worry about, Miss! He’s on his way back to Edinburgh as we speak, Doctor Wendy can patch him up in a jiffy!” Doyoung smiled.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, oh god, no. But Madam Wendy’s passed away,” you informed, clenching your fists with the key in your hand. Doyoung’s eyes widened in surprise, his face turning pale at your words. “Oh boy, that isn’t good news. Go after him, hurry! Save Renjun before it’s too late, that’s what he wants more than anything. I put him on a carriage to the nearest train station. If you’re lucky, you might catch him on the train before it departs,” Doyoung rummaged through his bag, pulling out a random journal.

“Here, take this. In case you don’t catch up to him, here’s something to read on the way. It’s a journal I kept ever since the very day I met Renjun,” he handed you the journal as Naeun called another carriage for you to ride to the train station. You sighed, your head filled with worry as you looked up at the two adults willing to help you save Renjun despite the fact that you were the main reason why he was in this mess in the first place.

“Thank you.”

Renjun laid in the snow, near the house where he used to call home. Sniffling as he leaned against the tree at the bottom of the hill. Joy and Yeri had contacted him and brought him the news of his caretaker’s passing. Sulking as guilt took over his body, regretting every single decision he had made the past few months. And now he’s going to suffer the consequences of dying all alone. He couldn’t walk into his own home after the news, choosing to lay down under the snow to let himself slowly freeze to death and possibly hypothermia.

So now, he was taking his last few breaths, enjoying the bright sky as he watched his skin froze, tears slowly turning into eyes as he laid there all heartbroken and damaged. His hair was white from the snowfall, with bits of brown peaking out in between as he sniffled and sobbed over the loss of his mother. Taking deep breaths to regain his composure, as his skin grew numb against the cold.

“Renjun! I’m here!”

It was as if the God above had decided to send an angel back to help him, he slowly looked up with half lidded eyes, a small shaky smile spreading across his lips as you fell to your knees to help him. “Renjun, oh dear god, no,” you whimpered, leaning close as you laid a hand on his jaw, making him lean his head up to look at you weakly. You grimaced at his cold skin, it felt like ice to you. It was as if he was turning into a giant ice cube right in front of you.

His appearance made your heart break. He looked so pale and broken since the last time you saw him. His eyes were red and swollen from the tears, snow gathering on his eyelashes, eyebrows, hair and clothing. Hell, he was wearing nothing but the thin coat he wore the last time you saw him. Dried blood was stuck to his cuckoo clock heart which was in a worse condition than it was back in Andalusia. You ran your thumb over his soft cheek, making him lean his face against your warm touch as you wiped the snow away from his skin. His breathing was slow, as if he was taking every breath he could before his last.

With a shaky hand, you placed what's left of his heart back into their original place, your breathing becoming shaky as you held back your tears. It truly hurt you to see Renjun in this state, you knew he was on the brink of death. You didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if you had arrived much much later.

You pulled out the key to his heart from the inner pocket of your coat, leaning forward to press the key into his heart. But alas, his hand stopped you as he gently gripped your wrist and pulled it away from him. “No, I’m not too late. I’m not letting you die here, just let me turn the key,” you shook your head, blinking back the tears as you pushed your glasses up from the bridge of your nose. “I came back to save you, please just let me do this,” you pleaded, caressing his cheek with your thumb in a futile attempt to convince the love of your life to let you save him.

“You came all the way back for me,” a tear streaked down Renjun’s cheek which froze under the cold atmosphere, sticking to his cheek. “That’s the most extraordinary turn you could ever give my heart,” he laughed slightly, half lidded eyes trying their best to stay open as his vision began to grow blurry and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was losing consciousness or if it was because of the tears he was holding back.

He tugged the key out of your hand before tossing it over the hill. “No, Renjun, what did you do?!” you panicked, your eyes growing wide at the key disappearing from your line of vision. “No, why did you do that?” you shook your head at him, pressing your body close to him as he leaned his back against the tree. “From now on, whatever happens to me,” Renjun spoke, giving you the same boyish smile he sent your way on your last day in Edinburgh two years ago. “I’ll only have myself to blame,” he sighed, intertwining your free hand with his icy cold one.

“So now you can kiss me.”

Your heart broke as you finally let your tears go, squeezing his hand tightly in yours as you sniffled. “As I said before, the things you do are absolutely inhumane,” you pushed your forehead against his, feeling your tears hit his wet clothes as you felt his other hand go to your jaw. “I’m just upset I never got to give you the painting I’d been working so hard on for all these years,” he chuckled, his eyes growing even more red as his tears streamed down his face like a leaking tap.

He caressed your jaw in his hand, eyes scanning your face one last time as he came with the fact that this was your last goodbye before he leaves for good. “If we were ever to be reborn again, I would still wish and pray for the gods to make you my first and last love,” he couldn’t help but laugh to stifle a sob that erupted from his throat. “And if we were ever to be reborn again, I hope you can always continue to smile like that until the day you close your eyes for good,” you nuzzled your forehead against his, sniffling hard.

Thus with eyes clenched shut, you and Renjun pressed your lips together in unison for a passionate yet innocent kiss. You could hear the last strike of Renjun’s ticking clock, a loud ‘cuckoo’ piercing the quiet atmosphere as Renjun pulled you closer to him by wrapping an arm around your back and leaning his head to the side for a better angle. Your warm soft lips pressed onto his cold chapped ones, wet from the snow. Your intertwined hands squeezing each other as you felt his mechanical heart put a ring on your own.

The next time Renjun opened his eyes, he was at the gates of heaven, standing in front of an actual angel with a bright expression on his face. “Huang Renjun, I assume?” the angel greeted, a soft smile spreading across their face as Renjun nodded. “You seem a bit too young to be up in heaven. Aren’t you just 18 years old?” the angel asked, pulling out a clipboard to look through Renjun’s life data. “I was almost nineteen, though,” Renjun shrugged, his wide smile never disappearing from his facial features.

“I’m so sorry you had to leave life so soon, young man,” the angel cooed, taking out a pen from their desk as they began to fill out Renjun’s form for his plans now that he’s in the afterlife. “Care to tell me what happened while I do the paperwork for you?” the angel asked, sticking their tongue out as they wrote Renjun’s life information on the glowing paper with a messy handwriting, reminding him of the postcard you had sent him less than a couple months ago.

Renjun looked around the bright place he was in, sighing heavily as he stared up the gates of heaven with a content expression. He swiped his tongue over his pink lips as he finally felt his heart no longer empty,

“I fell in love.”

a/n: i didn’t like how this turned out lmfao but oh well HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, HUANG RENJUN MWUAH

¤ taglist: @leetaeyonglover @lebrookestore @oifelixcmerebrou @vera-liscious @kunrengui @thats-a-jen-no-no

#NCT-WRITERS #neowritingsnet #neoculturecafe #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #renjun x reader #huang renjun x reader #nct u x reader #nct renjun x reader #nct angst #renjun angst #renjun scenarios #huang renjun scenarios #nct dream renjun x reader

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sukiglycerin · 4 years

Text

call it fate (or a christmas miracle) || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: bodyguard!katsuki bakugou x earthbending quirk!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: bodyguard!au, fluff, some angst, fake dating, aNd thEre wAs OnE bEd

* words: 10.3k (help)

* warnings: swearing bc bakugou, too much backstory, idk what bodyguards even do, there’s a fight scene (in a similar lieu to the sports festival arc), hunter x hunter? no this is tsundere x tsundere, i want to hug bakugou, yes i imagine mr. tanaka to be the tanaka from kuroshitsuji, christmas is a very minor aspect of the story (but the title was too good to resist)

* original request from @apexqueenie: Hnnnnnnnnnnnngh can I get a Bodygaurd Bakuboi x bratty reader who don’t like to be watched like a hawk cuz she wants to do fun things pretty please? // and from anonymous: if it's ok, can I request Bakugou with a reader who has a quirk like earth bending please? // and from @killkurzyackerman: ÒWÓ UR REQS ARE OPEN can u do a bakubabe with like lil sassy bad bitch vibe reader bc ive seen a lot of fics that sorta like softie or angel type and no offense theyre great but ya know sumthn diff this time please

* a/n: this is a very long fic, to say the least. i combined these three requests! though reader’s quirk doesn’t appear often, it conveys my thoughts on how bakugou would go about with that quirk. moreover, i hope this reader is badass? i realize that that characterization is quite hard for me. so, i hope you don’t see reader as super soft! i made them fight back against bakugou (literally, too) and kinda bratty hehe. i got to explore a lot of new things with this fic, so i hope they reach you well. this is a repost because it originally did not show up in the tags!

* synopsis: things had gotten boring with bakugou as your bodyguard. it was only until an interesting proposal by the man that things would change. well, maybe a little too much would change...

you, to be quite simple and honest, were getting tired of katsuki bakugou. he'd been your bodyguard for years (years! much longer than any other you'd hired!) and he was getting boring. dull. plain. any synonymous word would fit. he was boring like a 24 hour session of watching paint dry, monotone like a professor’s droning that never failed to put you to sleep. (perhaps he was even more spiritless than professor sato at the academy. he caught you sleeping no less than thirteen times in his class. the number didn’t even account for the times he didn’t catch you.)

to the untrained eye, katsuki bakugou is vibrant. he's aggressive, unruly, and ruggedly charming (somehow). he's a wonder in a suit-and-tie and the epitome of an oxymoron with his harsh words, rough hands, and crisp suit. it was that very reason you’d hired him; his personality excited you. it seemed unpredictable and it was a challenge.

like all other challenges, bakugou was not impossible. once the challenge was overcome, time flow was stagnant; you watched the ticking of a clock as the day passed by you. you’d gotten used to him and he’d gotten used to you. these days, he watched you like a hawk. you could never slip past those sharp eyes anymore, no matter what you did. he was not fazed by any of your antics (ticked off mildly, sure, but he could live with it).

“leave me alooooone,” you whined for the fourth time in an hour as you exited a mall. bakugou's hands were full of shopping bags filled with everything from clothing to the latest technological invention. you weren’t sure how he was supposed to protect you in that condition. though, to be candid - in the first place, you didn’t need protection. you attended a private institution designed to maximize the use of your quirk as a child and graduated with absolutely flying colors. on top, you’d taken various martial arts outside of school. you didn’t know why your parents were still concerned about your wellbeing. you handled it fine. around 99.9% of the time, you could easily beat your bodyguard in a fair fight. it was a regular practice for you; so common that there was a reward if a bodyguard could last longer than six months working for you. not that any of them liked to be called bodyguards.

“sweetheart, i would if i could,” bakugou gritted through his teeth. “pay’s too good to- goddamn, what did you even buy?” he’d stopped behind you to adjust his grip on one of the bags.

you hummed pleasantly, continuing at your same, leisurely pace. his question was a rhetoric; he watched you buy everything with your black credit card. you watched as a car pulled up in front of you.

“there’s our ride,” you said, brushing bakugou’s shoulder as you stepped into the car. he grunted in response, loading the car with your purchases.

“fight me with your quirk when we get home,” you said during the ride. “you have, what, a boom boom quirk?”

he made a noise in his throat, voice hard. “my quirk’s explosions. nitroglycerin.”

“dangerous,” you said through a smile. he’d never used his quirk around you, but you were already starting to see possibilities of strategies you could use.

“so says the master earthbender,” he retorted sarcastically.

you clicked your tongue. “we’ll see who wins in the fight, explodo-boy.”

“finally brave enough to challenge me, eh?"

“i was always this brave.”

“oh, give it up already, bakugou!” you directed another wall of rocky terrain toward bakugou, who blew up the land and sent rocks flying. his stance was hunched slightly, forehead matted with sweat. the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, coat long abandoned on the rugged terrain.

“tired already?” he snarled. he put his hands together, preparing for a bigger explosion. you didn’t let him have this opportunity, slinging a large rock to absorb the impact of the explosion. he dodged swiftly, to your disappointment, but his attack seemed to be subdued.

you used his delayed reaction time to try to trap him with terrain under his feet, but he was somehow a step ahead of you. you heard a popping noise; bakugou was propelled through the air, your rocks blasted already and a cloud of dust forming. you cussed under your breath, already moving yourself away from his estimated landing spot that was too close to you.

he sent crackling explosions to the bottoms of your feet, but you easily dodged them. you created a temporary platform of elevated ground to protect yourself from the small explosions, jumping off it and rolling away. he was already aiming a larger blast toward you, presumably expecting your escape route. you figured it’d be a directed blast to pierce through a wall. you knew that the explosion would be unavoidable. to counter, you created a line of walls resembling dominos. they acted as stairsteps; you quickly ran up to the highest you could conjure in the short time you had before bakugou hit them. you grabbed the closest piece of rock that you could and leapt as bakugou’s blast made contact with your steps, chucking the rock at him and aiming to kick him when you landed. you knew he had no power to counter, being unable to react quickly due to the powerful nature of the blast he’d conjured.

you were about to win when the door to the training facility opened. you froze, literally, in midair and frowned, turning to look at the intruder.

“fighting, young-?” one of the butlers, tanaka, said. he was an elderly man with a gentle voice, but his eyes always seemed to glint with a clandestine humour in it.

“you can call me by my first name. please put me down, tanaka,” you said, no malice in your voice. he nodded, and you softly landed on your feet next to bakugou. you’d known tanaka for far too long for him to use honorifics with you. he’d practically raised you as a child.

“you haven’t fought in a while,” tanaka commented. he conjured a water bottle (you never knew how he had the right things for the right occasions) and walked toward you.

you made a noise of acknowledgement. “and it seems i was just about to win.”

he smiled tenderly. “i’m sure.” he handed you the water bottle, which upon further inspection, you saw was ice cold.

“thank you,” you said, gingerly accepting the beverage. the water flowed soothingly down your throat, easing the aching that had formed due to all the dust you’d kicked up in the fight.

“mr. bakugou?” tanaka asked, offering another water bottle (seriously, where did he get that?).

“thanks,” bakugou took the bottle. he drank feverishly, quickly finishing the bottle in what must’ve been two seconds flat. so undignified.

“y/n, you have an appointment in 15 minutes with-” tanaka said as you capped your water bottle.

“oh, yeah,” you said, waving off the matter. “i got it.”

you brushed off the dust on your clothes and started toward the exit. bakugou was quick to follow you, nodding politely to tanaka.

bakugou stood outside the door during the meeting you had with your father. you were not a minute too late or too early when you stepped into your father’s office, freshened up and dressed in clean attire, the dusty clothing from your fight with bakugou long discarded. the smell of leather and mint enveloped you, reminding you of the days you’d play in your father’s office in your youth. the room was always dim, the light on your father’s desk being the brightest object in the vicinity when the curtains were pulled down. when you were younger, you liked to pretend the room was made of chocolate, as the color was so dominant on the interior. your father was not pleased to find five-year-old you trying to bite the corner of his desk, to say the least.

the sight of his office was ever-so familiar to you, and once held a feeling of endearment in your heart. that was then; now, you only ever entered the room for a business-related matter. your face was blank, lips held in a thin line - you anticipated the topic of the meeting since your father first scheduled it a week ago. it, quite frankly, was inevitable; you could be neither opposed nor favorably disposed to it.

“i’ve found a compatible match for you, y/n.” your father sat at his desk, eyes intensely trained on you. “they’re from a well-off family with a strong quirk.”

compatible. it didn’t mean they got along with you or would be a good partner; no, it meant that they matched the superficial criteria set by your family.

“yes, father,” you said indifferently. he nodded, as if already expecting the answer.

“you’ll meet them soon. we’re arranging the date,” he folded his hands on the desk. “tanaka will alert you of it when it’s finalized. that is all.”

you nodded, taking your cue to leave. giving the room one last glance, you started to push the door open, then paused. door halfway open, allowing outside light to stream into the dark room, you looked back at your father. it was now or never to ask, you guessed.

“father… we wouldn’t happen to be having a family gathering anytime soon, would we? for new years or anything...” you hadn’t had any in the recent years, but you’d figured you’d ask. the scent of homemade food and the comforting chatter of the gatherings always made your heart swell.

he grunted, not looking up from the papers he shuffled around in his hands. “no.”

“ah. okay,” you said, sighing quietly. you knew better than to get your hopes up for such things. you turned back to the light, where bakugou was awaiting you, and shut the door behind you with a thud.

you walked in silence.

“so, no plans for the holidays?” bakugou asked bluntly.

“eavesdropping, i see,” you deadpanned.

“shouldn’t’ve had the conversation in front of the whole damn world.”

you rolled your eyes. “what about it?” you asked. “my lack of plans, i mean.”

“well-” he coughed awkwardly into his sleeve, averting his eyes. “that old hag- my, uh, mom, somehow got under the impression that i’m no longer… single. probably because of my profession - she thinks it’s ridden with scandals like a damn drama - but, uh… she’s expecting me to bring… company home for our christmas dinner…. and i can’t ask any of my friends, ‘cause she knows them… i wouldn’t damn ask you if i had no other option…”

“thanks,” you interjected. you held your tongue from making a comment about how little friends he probably had. “anyway, why don’t you tell her no?”

he slouched. “have you met her?” he grumbled. “the hag won’t listen to me. trust me, i would’ve, but… you can’t refuse her, once her mind is set on something… she’s too stubborn for her damn good.”

“like you,” you remarked, earning a small shove from the man.

“pl-” he choked, “pl - ah, fuck - please can you go to the dinner with me? it’s just for a night and morning, i need you to fake being my date. i can tell her we broke up later or whatever, i just really need…”

your lip curled. a desperate bakugou was a rare sight, and you wanted to relish in it for as long as you could. you feigned further consideration.

“but there’s so much i would rather be doing…” you whined. it was a lie. all you wanted was some variation in your life; a dinner didn't sound too bad. perhaps there was a dark secret within the bakugou family you could exploit.

“like what, wasting money?” bakugou muttered bitterly under his breath. you shot him a dirty look.

“fine, please?” he asked again. “there’ll be some damn good food… and, uh…” you tapped your foot with false impatience.

he cussed under his breath. “i’ll do whatever you want, damnit, just go with me! please!”

you cocked an eyebrow. “whatever i want?”

“yes, for a day,” he groused. “only a day.”

“alright!” you pumped your fist up. your father’s business training came in handy sometimes. “when’s the dinner?”

“this weekend,” bakugou said. “we also need to, uh, figure out how to act more… coupley.”

“...right,” you said. business class had not prepared you for that. “how the fuck do we do that?”

as it turned out, you two were not the best pair to fake a relationship. neither of you had actually been in a relationship prior to this. you didn’t really have time to date on top of your studies and such; you didn’t need to, anyway, because all of the people who were romantically interested in you bored you. their personality traits either consisted of rich or doormat. as for bakugou - well, he was bakugou. you couldn’t see anyone wanting to date that brute.

“i’ll pay,” you said upon entering a cafe. it was a big cafe, nestled in the midst of an even bigger mall. your tone was firm; there’d be no way bakugou would be paying. you looked up at the menu and said to him, “the usual?”

he was silent for a moment, and you almost thought he hadn’t heard you. he cleared his throat. “uh, yeah, sure. the usual.” weird.

you ordered yourself a drink and bakugou his usual order, a decaf iced caramel macchiato with light ice. he looked at you with a strange emotion on his face when you handed him his drink.you practically shoved it in his hands while he was too starstruck about god-knows-what.

the two of you settled at a booth (“table,” bakugou had argued. you eventually won the debate).

“so… trivia about each other, right?” you asked. “i guess we’ve got to get to know each other more.” he nodded. “well, first, you need to stop being so quiet. right now, you’re not my bodyguard or anything. we’re, uh…. dating. we’re partners. datemates. lovers.”

he choked on his drink at the word “lovers.” he sputtered, then gained composure. “yeah.”

“okay, i need to you to be more casual.”

“tch, who said i’m not casual right now?!” there it was; this was the bakugou you’d known when you first met him. he was awkward and amateur-ish, stumbling on his words and failing miserably at being polite. it was a fond memory. overtime, he’d obviously polished himself up (but only in the presence of you and your family).

“that’s more like it,” you said.

“tch.” he sipped his coffee, unrelenting to admit that you’d won.

“well, let’s cover basic facts. your birthday is april 20 and you like spicy food.”

he coughed again, setting his drink down. “yeah.”

“are you okay? d’you need water, or something? are the lights in here too bright?”

he shook his head, eyes still dazed with a certain unclarity. “‘m fine, idiot.”

you weren’t convinced. “...whatever you say.”

he took another sip, closing his eyes then continuing as normal. normal, in the standards of bakugou, of course. “i-i think i know damn well enough about you. don’t need to prove shit,” he grumbled the last bit.

“a little bit too well,” you muttered saltily. “well, this is a learning experience for me, take it or leave it. we need to get along at the dinner, don’t we?” you drummed your fingers on the table, eyes darting around at the cafe. the decor was pretty.

he made a grievance under his breath, but nodded. “there’s my dad and my mom - the old hag - and me. i’m an only child.” figures. he continued, “they both work in fashion… yeah… my dad’s more quiet than my mom, she’s loud… apparently we’re a lot alike - don’t comment - but yeah, she’s my mom. they live in shizuoka, and it’ll be just them at the dinner. you’ll need to stay overnight...”

“seems… intimate,” you commented offhandedly.

he whistled. “you think?”

the gears in your head turned as you stared into the space over bakugou's shoulder at a large poster of some featured drink. it was all small talk to you, but you saw this meeting for what it was. an opportunity. it was your break from the uniform days plaguing you for the past week's - he wouldn’t need to watch over you, now your fake lover. lovers were equal.

love - what was love? you didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. feigned or not, it was different. couples were moody, from what you could gather. one day they’d be hanging off each other’s limbs, and the next, they were bickering their heads off. it sounded fun, to be a couple with bakugou rather than his employer. you could say goodbye to normalcy and tedium.

you felt your lips turn into a smile as a plan developed in your mind, tapping the table at an increasingly faster tempo. who cared about the dinner? you were a fake couple! you could break away from the norm and find the things that made bakugou tick. you could gain a one-up over him. you could pick his personality apart piece by piece until it broke the monotony of daily life. you watched bakugou’s expression grow puzzled and frustrated. you pretended to be deep in thought, aware that bakugou was opening his mouth to make a snarky comment presumably about how the smile on your face was getting unnerving to him.

you didn’t let him speak, instead cupping your face in your hands and leaning in towards him. “how do you think we should become more intimate, kat-su-ki?”

you think you got soft over the years. when you first met bakugou, he was a rough little thing. being the same age as you, he was far less qualified compared to the other candidates to be your bodyguard. he looked out of place in his suit identical to everyone else. call it fate, or what you will, beckoning you towards him. when you first met him, you could’ve never imagined how far into the future you’d be stuck with the boy. all of the bodyguards you’d hired prior to bakugou’s appearance in your life didn’t last long. it wasn’t their fault; no, no, they were very competent. extremely competent - to the point it was boring, scrutinized under their meticulous gaze. you could do absolutely nothing under their watch, and where was the fun in that?

so, long story short, you hired bakugou for his incompetence. you’d low expectations for how long he’d last. you were surprised he could even put on a tie properly. from the way his hair spiked in every which way (“undignified!” your father had complained to you) and how his feet shuffled against the nice, newly polished cherry wood floors (“the scuff marks…”), bakugou was far from the epitome of a bodyguard. he couldn’t sit still and constantly made weird crackling noises (which you later learned were small explosions, not the concerningly incessant crack of his knuckles). the cherry on top to the disaster pie called bakugou, however, was his speech. he was polite, at face value, but also incredibly rough at face value. if you transcribed his words down, they’d be all standard formalities. it was the quirky way in which he presented his words; gritted out like somehow had forced him into this job. actually, scratch that, it was like this job was the be-all or end-all of his life. he was like an extremely tsundere shounen protagonist. he needed to win (“win what?” your father had laughed in disbelief) and be the very best. you'd… appreciate the sentiment more if you were his mentor in becoming a pokemon trainer.

of all the things bakugou was at the time, he was not a stoic old man nor a cold, indifferent boy who looked down on you snottily; he got the job. much to your father’s chagrin, of course. you’re pretty sure he had a backup bodyguard during the first month or so of bakugou’s employment, in case bakugou dropped out mysteriously for any reason.

surprisingly, bakugou was competent, but not infuriatingly so. he had snark, and under any other employer he would’ve been fired in the first week. he did his job, and that was all. it was fun to tick him off, too, and so easy. it was - dare you say it? - cute. you wanted to watch him fall apart and leave, as so many others had. you waited for the day he’d get used to you or vice versa, when you’d wake up with nothing to look forward to. in the end, no one ever stayed with you. you could usually figure that out within the first week of a bodyguard’s services.

these days, you started feeling that way. bakugou was just becoming everyone else you’d ever hired. he was becoming everyone else. for some reason, though, you still clasped onto the thread of hope that maybe he was different, and that led you down a series of events trying to convince yourself he was different.

at the same time, you told yourself he was like everyone else. did you want him to stay or not? you didn’t know anymore. maybe fate would spin something good out of this, or maybe he would. you didn’t want it in your hands anymore.

being flirty was definitely not the best route of plan, but man, it was efficient. what better way to fake being a couple than organically develop that relationship? that was your bullshit reasoning to the logical part of yourself (when it was obviously far from the truth).

yeah, it was definitely not the best plan. you bored of it quite quickly, but couldn’t shake off the lasting feeling of fluttering in your stomach. you supposed it was because it was the most reaction you’d gotten from bakugou in months. you’d never seen him so disgruntled.

he was very, very blushy. you didn’t know how you hadn’t learned of it earlier. his cheeks were dusted strawberry red, matching the hue on the tips of his ears. ah, tsundere bakugou had returned for a short period of time. you wished you could've taken a picture of him.

you tapped the tip of his nose and he hissed at you, cheeks darkening a shade.

“a boop?” he scoffed indignantly in disbelief. “who calls it that? a five year old?” but you could tell that he really enjoyed it on the inside.

“what- what are you playing at, dumbass?” he swatted your hand when you tried to boop him again.

“c’mon, couples need to do coupley things, katsuki,” you cooed. “like overly affectionate pda~”

you didn’t know someone could get so red.

“since when did you call me by my first name?” he grumbled, unable to form any other type of response.

“since we started ‘dating,’” you teased back, realizing that watching bakugou become more and more uncomposed was more fun than you’d expected. he'd never become so open around you; after all, you'd had a strictly professional relationship prior, so bakugou never expressed any hint of a personality other than his behavior when he was first hired. it was a good change, in your eyes.

then, as you did of most things, you bored of it. sure, flustering bakugou was fun because he was so outwardly tsundere, but your attention span was short. he was already starting to recollect himself in record time, face cooling from a startling scarlet to pink and remarks becoming increasingly cohesive.

you're not even sure if he was aware of your gaze resting upon him as you half-assed responses and watched the gears in his head furiously turn. when he got real worked up, he pouted when speaking and occasionally slurred words together. his eyes tended to veer away when he thought of a response and he always got fidgety.

eventually, you stopped teasing him. by this time, the ice in his drink had already melted and you were dangerously close to kissing him on the cheek (it was an impulse thing! you were not catching feelings!).

if there was one thing you learned, it was this: bakugou was truly a sight in his emotional state, though you could argue his unassuming state was equally, if not more breathtaking.

you noticed it as morning light illuminated him through the window of your room, hitting the silky fabric of your bedsheets around him. he was reading some book, dressed in comfortable attire that felt oddly domestic. maybe it'd be the most casual you'd ever see bakugou.

the thought struck a chord in you, making you wonder what'd happen after the dinner. it'd be awkward, for sure. it dawned on you that these moments with katsuki would vanish and things would go back to normal. they'd disappear into thin air, like nothing had ever happened. you weren't well educated in horology, but you were pretty sure that the time you'd spent with him would vanish as well, not to be spoken of or referenced ever again. time would keep trudging forward and you'd only be able to stare back as it disappeared on the horizon line.

you wanted to grasp the time that flooded your hands, encase the moment in glass and hold it in your palm forever.

"oi, idiot, what are you staring at?" and maybe it was the first time you truly heard bakugou's voice. it was rough on the edges with a soft core, you realized. maybe, after these couple of days, bakugou had started to care for you.

"nothing, stupid," you mumbled, returning your attention to your phone, but you couldn't shake off the newfound feeling that holed up in your heart. bakugou didn't care about you, you told yourself. you had a strictly professional relationship with him, and that was only broken for the time being because he needed a favour.

right. this was all for a favor.

nights spent testing each other on the most miniscule of facts and afternoons spent telling each other stories about each other - it was all nothing. it wasn't a big deal, you repeated to yourself.

still, you couldn't help but to look back up at bakugou and let your imagination run. he wore a black shirt and sweatpants, a complete 180 turn from the typical three piece suit he normally wore. maybe this is what he'd look like in the mornings if you were a proper couple, not client and bodyguard - maybe in another universe. you could imagine his bedhead, hair all messy and eyes still worn with sleep, vastly different from the professional persona he had around you. you'd wake up inhaling the scent of caramel and feeling his warmth surround you, feeling secure merely in his embrace. it'd be him and you in your own little bubble, unperturbed by the entire world.

wait, caramel? you wondered. where did that come from?

"you're staring again, dumbass," bakugou grunted, not looking up from his book.

"zoned out on the blandest thing i saw, sorry," you replied.

you sat in silence like that for a while. you weren't not exactly sure how it was bonding time for the dinner (were you sharing telepathic waves?), but it was comfortable like a fluffy comforter on a frigid winter day. it felt secure, like a home you never had in your own bedroom. every now and then there was the sound of a page turning from bakugou and a tap on your phone from you, and things never felt so normal. it was too short an eternity for you; before you knew it, you had some event to attend to for your father, solely there for the image of his company.

you didn't see the bittersweet look on bakugou's face as he watched you leave, or how he hadn't even finished a chapter of his book during the hours he'd sat with you. as his eyes followed your disappearing silhouette, bakugou wondered if he'd ever be able to see you like that again.

a foreign giddy feeling filled your chest as you got ready for the dinner with bakugou’s parents. you’d brought a bag for light travel packed with essentials (pyjamas, toothbrushes, and things like that), having planned ahead. you were typically indifferent to gatherings of any kind, having attended so many for your father. besides, this was a favor for bakugou. you weren’t sure why you were being so indecisive choosing an outfit for the dinner, or why your heart felt light as a feather, fluttering about in your rib cage boundless. this was no big deal, you told yourself. it’d only be bakugou and his parents; you’d spoken at gatherings of far more people with less nerves. you penned it down to only being excited for the food which was so coveted by bakugou. his mother, mitsuki, was apparently an outstanding cook (bakugou was apparently good as well), and you had to admit, you missed the heartening scent of homemade dishes. her specialty was spicy curry - your mouth watered at the thought.

yes, you reassured yourself as you walked out of the door and met the fresh, winter air outside, you were only in it for the food. you had an abnormally fast heart rate and a spring to your step (as noted by bakugou) solely for the food.

shizuoka prefecture was two hours away from your hometown, tokyo, and you forced bakugou to drive. the trip didn’t really feel like two hours, anyway, in your opinion. according to bakugou, that was only because you were sleeping the majority of the time and he was stuck with the dull task of driving and only the low hum of the radio to entertain him.

“well, this is it,” you said to bakugou, approaching his parents’ home, bag in hand. it looked quite elegant on the outside, snow thinly blanketing the well-kept greenery in the front. you turned to look at him. his suit looked nicer than usual, on full display because he refused to wear a coat despite the frigid air biting at any bit of bare skin unsheathed on your body. (“just the perks of having a great quirk like mine,” he’d said. you punched his shoulder.) you huddled closer into the warm padding of your coat, watching your white breath dissipate in the air.

“it is,” he belatedly said. his face was atypically solemn, eyes downcast and seemingly lost in thought. you didn’t comment on it. something about the nippy winter air numbed the atmosphere, as if all warmth had subsided only to your coat.

“do i look alright?” you asked him, trying to wipe away any last bits of drool you might’ve had on the corner of your mouth.

“yeah. you look… really nice,” he commented quietly. you didn’t mention that your bulky coat was covering the entirety of your attire. a heavy silence fell over the two of you.

anyway, the mood was quickly relieved by the presence of mitsuki bakugou, who greeted the pair of you at the door with her husband, masaru. bakugou really was a spitting image of his mother, sharing the same spiked blond hair and annoyingly clear skin with her. they also had similarly loud personalities, you observed later on. they’d often bicker with no real malicious intent. they were both much different compared to bakugou’s father, masaru, who was a gentle, soft-spoken man with brown hair and glasses.

mitsuki met you with enthusiasm, eagerly asking you questions about yourself and your relationship with bakugou. it was strange to see bakugou so quiet; though, at some points in the conversation, he looked like he was going to be sick. you didn’t have time to ask him about it, occupied by his mother’s unending but well-meaning questions. you’d expected to fib for most of them, but the truth easily slipped from your tongue. even compliments about him were half-truths.

"when we first met, he was like a fish out of water!" you recounted to mitsuki. "he stumbled on his words and my father didn't approve of him as my bodyguard. but, i pushed through, and here we are! right, katsuki?"

"r-right," he coughed, unable to look you in the eye and fidgeting nervously.

"it amazed me, too," mitsuki admitted. "i'd never seen our katsuki looking so polished before - it used to be a trouble getting him to even wake up at a decent time." she smiled at you. "you've brought a blessing on him."

bakugou cleared his throat. "don't talk about me like i'm not here," he grumbled.

"oh, katsuki," mitsuki cooed, pinching bakugou's cheek. "masaru, let's prepare dinner." she looked at you and bakugou. "the two of you don't need to worry about a thing - oh, you still have your bags! i’ll put them in katsuki’s room."

upon the absence of bakugou’s parents, the two of you sat beside each other without a word.

“are you… feeling alright?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “you don’t look so well.”

“fine,” he grunted. “i’m fine.”

“are you sure?” you teased in an attempt to lighten the mood. “not nervous meeting the parents?”

he cracked a small smile, but his fingers still nudged each other in his lap. you touched his shoulder, first in an attempt to comfort him, but soon realized that he was very toasty. you scooted towards him; he stared at you with an surprised, indecipherable expression. you linked his arm with yours and leaned into him, inhaling his cologne and bathing in his warmth.

“what?” you mumbled. “you’re warm.” you intertwined his fingers with yours. “warm,” you happily cooed, eyes slipping shut.

“jesus christ,” bakugou hissed. “you’re freezing. is it humanly possible for your hands to be this cold?” his other hand enveloped your hand (still being held by his), rubbing his thumb soothingly on the heel of your palm. a bubble of warmth fizzed inside you, heart effervescing like a carbonated beverage. he held you long after your hand had passed room temperature, and you sensed that maybe the fuzzy feeling jittering about you wasn’t his quirk. it was like some sort of low fire, crackling deep within you. you hadn’t much time to dwell on the thought when your eyes jolted open, smelling really, really good food wafting from somewhere near.

“look at the lovebugs,” you heard mitsuki murmur, standing in the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room leaning on her husband. “dinner’s ready,” she softly said upon noticing your eyes on her.

your eyes widened, looking down at the hand entwined in yours, and you look at the man next to you. bakugou was sound asleep, tranquil slumber having sheathed itself around him. his head leaned against the top of the couch, mouth slightly agape and chest falling rhythmically.

“hey,” you whispered. reluctant to let go of his hand, you used your opposite hand to tap his shoulder lightly. “hey, sleepyhead.”

bakugou groaned, eyes still closed and body unmoving. “five… more… minutes…”

“sure,” you said easier than you expected. you immediately let go of the man’s hand (he reached out toward you blindly at this) and stood up. “i’ll just eat all of that food you've been looking forward to by myself…” mitsuki and masaru looked at you fondly.

“nice try, dumbass,” he said gruffly, standing up and putting a hand on your shoulder. his eyes were lidded with torpor and his voice was an octave deeper. it sent shivers down your spine - you hadn’t ever heard his voice like that - and a part of you wanted to hear it again. sadly, the effects of sleep passed him quite quickly; by the time he’d said “let’s eat, dumbass,” and made his way to the dining room, his voice was back to normal.

dinner consisted of scrumptious-looking (and tasting!) chicken katsu, curry, and even more conversation. your mouth watered as you spooned yourself the perfect ratio of rice, curry, and chicken in one bite. you politely raved to bakugou’s mother about her heavenly cooking, and bakugou never looked so proud or embarrassed in his life. masaru discussed fashion with you, mitsuki occasionally chiming in and offering to show you pictures of young bakugou modelling. you courteously declined for the fear of bakugou’s face getting any redder than it was already.

“y’know, katsuki really wanted to be a pro-hero when he was younger,” mitsuki reminisced. “he even was accepted at that really prestigious hero school, ua.”

you looked at bakugou with questioning eyes, and he shook his head dismissively, hesitant to the topic. you wondered what he was doing here, as your bodyguard, rather than the hero he aspired to be. it wasn’t like he’d be unable to become a sidekick once out of ua, so what happened…?

at the end, you seemed to have gotten the approval of mitsuki and masaru. your heart twisted in pain realizing who you were and why you were here; this was asked of you, nothing real. you pushed the thought away, returning to the dining room after washing your hands.

“oh, my!” mitsuki exclaimed as you entered the dining room. “it’s getting late.” she turned to you. “we don’t have a guest bedroom, so you’ll have to share a room with katsuki, if that’s alright?”

you looked to bakugou, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. “sure, i don’t mind,” you replied.

“i’m sure you’d love to see bakugou’s childhood room.” this brought bakugou abruptly to his senses; his eyes rounded, face looking like a deer caught in headlights.

a smile tweaked your lips. “i’d love to.”

you didn’t know what you were expecting when mitsuki opened the door to bakugou’s room. certainly, though, you were not expecting this. his room was decorated from head to toe with all might merchandise, carefully collected through the years. it could’ve been worse, you admitted to yourself, but bakugou’s interest in all might surprised you. the level of admiration bakugou had for the former symbol of peace was clear, plastered on the wall posters and figurines which dotted his bookshelves.

“of course,” misuki said, “this is all really from his middle school days. he had to move to a dormitory system in high school, and i’m afraid he didn’t take much along with him…”

you tilted your head at bakugou, who’d taken particular interest in the ground with his hand sheepishly on the back of his neck.

“it’s cute,” you reassured him gently.

“though katsuki’s bed is pretty big, we could pull out a futon if you’d like…”

“it’s alright.” shit. why did you say that? noting the bewilderment on bakugou’s face, you added, “we are dating and all…” you mentally smacked yourself for assuming bakugou would be comfortable sleeping in the same bed as you. “yeah,” bakugou said, much to your shock.

“that settles it!” mitsuki smiled. she winked. “don’t stay up too late.”

after mitsuki and masaru bade you goodnight and closed the door behind them, you were left alone with bakugou.

“hey, is that a picture of you?” after looking around the room, your eyes fell on a framed photo sitting on bakugou’s dresser. you reached for it, recognizing a familiar spiky haired blonde boy proudly holding a trophy.

“wait-” the frame was already held in your hands.

“aw, you were such a cute kid.” you teased, “can’t say the same about now.”

he huffed, ears reddening. “there’s a photo album on the bookshelf,” he mumbled, pointing to a thick looking book on his bookshelf. you eagerly plucked it from the shelf, holding it like a precious treasure in your two hands. he shoved his hands into his pockets and rested his chin on your shoulder, watching you open the photo album.

the first photo was a baby photo, of course, and you could feel that it was taking every part of bakugou not to rip the book from your hands and scorch it all out of embarrassment. the first few pages were those of baby bakugou, eating food with his hands or playing with his parents. as the book progressed, you watched him develop a quirk (blowing up a vase) and become interested in pro-heroes (clutching an all might doll to his chest with a big smile on his face). the photos became more scarce as bakugou grew, but he seemed to grow happier. paging through photos of him in high school, the man’s gaze seemed to grow softer and fonder. his high school pictures consisted of him either standing in front of the famous ua or making an indifferent face with a group of his friends, who looked vaguely familiar from somewhere. upon further inspection, it dawned on you. you could recognize them all - they were young versions of the pro-heroes red riot, pinky, chargebolt, and cellophane. they regularly appeared on your newsfeed for one heroic deed or another, so it came no surprise to you that they attended the famed ua high.

as for bakugou, though? you couldn’t understand what he was doing there, or rather, here. if he graduated ua, he’d be right on track to become a pro-hero, not a bodyguard.

bakugou already sensed your revelation, shutting the book and putting it down. sitting on the bed, he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“i know what you’re thinking,” he stated. he took a shaky breath. “i’m- i’m not ready to talk about it.”

“okay,” you replied. “i think… we should get some sleep. you have to drive back tomorrow.”

he snorted. “me?”

you nodded like it was a given.

the night was long, dragging in the same manner that you’d trudge through deep snow with weights on your ankles. it wasn’t that bakugou’s old bed was uncomfortable; it was surprisingly plush. you laid awake, though, as the clock ticked by and the house went silent. you felt as stiff as a wooden board, staring at the dark ceiling and thinking about everything and nothing.

your thoughts first strayed to bakugou’s childhood, and how he’d seemed the poster child for an aspiring pro-hero. how could he have given that up? he had friends, dreams, and a path open to his aspirations. yet somehow his life had deviated into this, pretending to date you for his parents’ sake.

it felt strange to lay in his bed in his parents’ house and not to really call him yours. not that you wanted to call him yours outside of this scenario. definitely not. it was just the guilt gnawing at you that impaired your proper judgement - your conscience felt pity. you pulled off a large lie to bakugou’s parents that you were dating when in reality, you’d never even gone on a proper date with the man; for all you knew, he could be a terrible person. he could have terrible dating manners and leave to the bathroom when the check comes in an attempt to force his date to pay. it was hard to imagine, but hey, you reasoned to yourself, it was a possibility.

“can’t sleep either?” bakugou’s deep voice startled you. you thought he’d fallen asleep hours ago.

“yeah,” you snorted. “and here i thought you were in the habit of always sleeping early,” you referenced his mother’s stories of him in middle and high school. you turned on your side to face the man.

“kinda hard with five different all mights staring at me,” he joked, gesturing to his plethora of all might-themed decorations.

you imitated all might’s larger than life voice. “i am here! … to watch you sleep!”

bakugou first snickered, which then transitioned into a full-blown, unrestrained (yet somewhat hushed) laugh. you couldn’t help but laugh too, watching his features crinkle and gummy smile widen. your heart felt peculiar in your chest, but you couldn’t figure out the feeling. in the years you’d known him, you’d never seen him so relaxed or open. you knew you’d miss moments like this in the morning, when you’d drive back and the deal would be over. it sent a bittersweet pang to your heart - why couldn’t moments like these last forever?

you woke up to find bakugou gone, leaving you alone in the bed with only a warm indentation next to you letting you know he’d just left. you rubbed your eyes groggily, sitting up and pushing the covers aside. you swung your legs over the edge of the bedside, standing up and making the bed once again. you padded out of the all might-furnished room to the kitchen, where you could hear quiet footsteps and the sizzling of a frying pan.

“someone’s finally awake,” bakugou’s husky voice remarked. he was standing at the stovetop, wearing an apron over his nightwear and frying eggs. sleep had worn his voice deeper; you swooned at the domestic sight before you. no, it wasn’t swooning, you told yourself. just… appreciation. you really wanted to make a comment on his muscles, bulging from his short-sleeved shirt.

“that looks really yummy,” you said, in no way whatsoever referencing his biceps and definitely referring to the egg in the pan.

“i’d like to pretend that was an innocent comment, but the direction your eyes are looking at beg to differ,” bakugou deadpanned. you looked away, flushed.

“so, whatcha making?” you said, plopping yourself on a chair.

“eggs, rice, natto, miso,” he said. “but nothing for you until you change and brush your teeth.”

you stuck your tongue out at him. “who are you, my mom?” you continued, “i used to hate natto when i was younger.”

“it’s good for you,” bakugou said, moving the egg onto a plate of steaming rice.

“you sound a lot like my mom,” you replied. “but i like natto now, just not too much of it.”

“i liked natto when i was younger,” bakugou said.

“really? all of my friends hated it. they complained about the smell.” you reminisced about your childhood days, when your biggest worry was whether you had homework or not.

“speaking of smell? your breath. go brush your teeth.”

“wh- i’m so far from you, there’s no way-”

“no hygiene, no food.”

“who even says that?” but you were already out of your chair and heading towards the bathroom.

“oh, by the way,” bakugou said as you were halfway through emptying your plate with rice in your mouth, “what do you want?”

“wha?” you said, chewing the egg-natto-rice mixture in your mouth. “what?”

“the deal,” he said. “before my parents wake up.”

“the deal-?” you racked your mind for any deal you’d made in the recent days, as you weren’t much a gambler, then it hit you. the deal. in an attempt to convince you to pretend to be his date, he’d said he’d do whatever you wanted for a day in exchange. you hadn’t thought about it at all.

“um,” you said intelligently. what did you want? you wanted to spend more time with him, but there would be no way…

“take me ice skating.” he choked on his rice.

“what?”

“i really want to ice skate…” you lied. “i’ve never been.” another lie.

“you want to go ice skating with me?”

“pay for me.” you could’ve paid for yourself. “and, you have terrible dating skills. how are you supposed to get a real partner? consider this beneficial for yourself.”

he blinked, taken aback. “...okay,” he agreed, dumbfounded. you hoped he couldn’t see through you. “when?”

“today, duh.”

by the time you finished your plate, bakugou’s parents had woken up to bid the two of you farewell. hours later, you found yourself at an outdoor ice skating rink in tokyo.

the rink was decorated festively; surrounding trees had been wrapped in golden lights and there was something in the atmosphere which bustled with cheer. those skating were either children or couples, laughing and skating together. you told yourself not to pay too much attention to them, but there was something about the way they looked so happy that made you yearn for the same.

you clumsily clomped toward the entrance of the rink itself, clad in four layers of warm clothing and worn rental skates. cold air nipped at your cheeks and your breath was a snowy white before your eyes. patting your cheeks in an attempt to half hype yourself up and half warm yourself up, you tensely stepped onto the frozen water. clunk. clunk.

“you look like an idiot,” bakugou said as you made your way onto the ice with slow clunks. he was surprisingly cocky about his skating prowess once he’d gotten his skates on, despite his lack of experience on the ice. he was unaffected by the chilly weather, wearing a thin jacket and denim jeans despite the vast majority of other skaters wearing winter coats.

“it’s cold,” you responded. slippery ice beneath your feet, you suddenly felt a great deal less confident in your ice skating abilities. it might as well have been your first time skating, in the eyes of bakugou. you took baby steps on the ice, both hands gripping the side rails while bakugou glided breezily past you.

“c’mon, idiot, loosen up~”

easy for him to say. “i’m- trying,” you gritted out, attempting to copy his fluid motions.

“hey, dumbass, take my hands.” bakugou stopped in front of you, both hands outstretched for you to hold. you looked at him warily, then accepted the offer, his hands replacing the railings.

“don’t hold them that hard,” bakugou said. “i’m not going to drop you. relax.”

you nodded, gulping as you released your death grip on his hands. starting to skate backwards (an incredible feat in your eyes), he slowly guided you along the edge of the rink. you spent most of the time staring at your own feet, trying to keep your balance and rhythm in time with bakugou’s. once you seemed to get the hang of it, he sped up ever so slightly, loosening his grip on your hands.

“just like that,” and his voice was much gentler than you’d ever heard it. you looked up to meet his soft gaze. your heart leapt and he quickly averted his eyes. “um,” he coughed awkwardly. “i think you’ve gotten the hang of it.”

“okay.” you started to let go of his hands, testing your balance skating without anything to hold onto. in small amounts at first, you start to let go, allowing your strides to become longer and longer. bakugou matched your pace beside you and eventually, the two of you fell into conversation. you’d both forgotten your own words about how this was for him to gain dating experience; it felt too real to be practice.

“the truth is, i was really, really close to becoming a pro-hero,” he confessed, “but i was injured in my third year. i had to take a break for a year or so, but by that time, i was too rusty for the job.”

“but-” you said, almost stumbling on the ice at the revelation, “didn’t you do all that training-?”

he shrugged. “it’s the reality of it,” he said dismissively, a momentary shadow crossing his face. he recomposed. “i’m over it now.”

you had the slight suspicion that his words didn’t ring quite true, but let go of it. still, you couldn’t help but think about all of his all might decor - he must have idolized the man, only to fail at his dream. his room was like a memento to everything he wanted yet couldn’t reach. “you wouldn’t have met me if you hadn’t become a bodyguard,” you said cheerily in an attempt to distract both him and yourself.

“true,” he smiled. then, almost to himself, he added, “i don’t regret that.”

the two of you skated a couple more laps around the rink. conversation faded and your feet became more and more sore after skating for so long. a chill had settled itself onto your bones as the sky tinted in anticipation of the evening to come.

“we should get going now,” bakugou said. “before it gets too cold.”

“yeah-” your phone buzzed in your pocket. “hang on, give me a second.”

it was tanaka, telling you that you had a date scheduled by your father in two hours. it took you a moment, it really did, to remember who you were and what your priorities truly lay.

you made it a point not to tell bakugou what the call was about on the way back. you told him it was about a business deal, and he pretended to buy it. the car ride was desolate, lacking all warmth despite the heater blasting. you felt guilty; why had you lied to bakugou? you and he both knew you were lying about the business deal. was it pity? why had you felt the need to protect him?

you could only amount it to the fact that maybe bakugou was becoming a friend. maybe bakugou was becoming someone you never wanted to hurt. your thoughts were the only thing you could hear over the buzz of the car’s heater. you looked to the sky with imploring eyes as if some cloud on the lavender-tinged atmosphere listened and could provide you an answer.

you weren’t sure if it was the clouds’ doing or some star hiding behind the sun’s light that washed a sense of solemness by the time you returned to meet tanaka at the gates. it was almost enough to make you forget the sad feeling you held whilst looking at bakugou one last time before stepping out of the car to greet your old butler. the feeling was unfathomable to you; in your daze on the ride back, there’d seemingly been no reason for such a feeling to linger in your heart. why had you felt so much guilt, so much sadness for this man you were supposed to be strictly on business relations with?

not that you’d done this, anyway. your business relationship with bakugou ended the minute you agreed to that favour he’d proposed, and was further broken when you ice skated together. you wondered if he felt the same as you, or if things would return to the way they had been after this date tonight. somewhere deep in you hoped it wouldn’t - hoped he wouldn’t forget it all. (“stay here,” you’d told him when you stepped out of the car. his stare was vacant; would he? you weren’t sure why you even asked.)

“tanaka,” you said stiffly. the air was frigid around you (when had the temperature dropped so suddenly?) and a breeze wrapped itself around your legs. an impulse told you to turn back, look at bakugou, and tell him the things you left unsaid - but you didn’t.

“y/n,” he nodded. it was like a wake-up call. this was who you were, truly. your father’s pawn, his company’s pawn. you were a face used for business and nothing more. you traded your feelings for your father’s wealth - that’s who you were.

yet it was the past two days that made you feel more like yourself than ever before. the time spent with bakugou, of all people, made you feel genuinely happy. he made your name feel more like yours than your father’s. it seemed it was he who could only coax this feeling out of you. you, certainly, couldn’t imagine it being anyone else. there was something unlike anything you’d experienced before which bakugou gave you. but you couldn’t let your father down, could you?

“y/n, we must go now,” tanaka urged.

you didn’t look back.

bakugou watched you leave with an inscrutable expression. as soon as you vanished from his sight, he let out a deep sigh and bashed his head on the steering wheel, then rubbed the spot of contact. that would leave a mark.

he wished he could pretend he didn’t know what your sudden meeting was about. he couldn’t. what kind of bodyguard was unaware of his client’s schedule? you were going on a date, on account of your father’s absolutely superb matchmaking skills. he wanted to strangle the bastard.

god, he was an idiot to have gotten his hopes up about you. just like countless other things in his life, you were unattainable. he was constantly in pursuit of the impossible, it felt, yet none of his endeavours’ ends had quite felt like this. it started when he was a child with a newly developed quirk. constant words of praise fluttered around his ears, all applauding his strong quirk and natural intelligence. it continued when he entered school, winning academic and athletic awards for what everyone called his talents. (he remembered looking up the definition of “talent” in a dictionary in his elementary school’s library and being sorely disappointed. no one had seen the hours he’d dedicated to practicing and studying after school - all of that couldn’t amount to what everyone else had called natural talent.)

in doing so - winning all those competitions - he’d somehow earned the approval of all those around him. it was never something he’d wanted or aimed for, but it soon started to fit him like a custom-tailored outfit. somewhere along the way, he started to seek out the approval of others, flaunting his accomplishments to do so. however, as years went by, one thing became apparent: the tactics used on his peers and teachers would never gain his parents’ approval. he so yearned for a tad of his parents’ praise or satisfaction; even an “i’m proud of you, katsuki,” from them would’ve sent katsuki to the stars and back. he never was quite sure, as a youth, how to gain this prize, so to speak. and so, for the sake of his parents, he became stronger and stronger and thus began his journey to attain the first impossibility in his life.

high school, at once, came knocking on his door in the midst of this endless journey. with it came izuku midoriya, the boy katsuki had bullied in middle school. this time, though, it was izuku who was stronger; katsuki had so wanted to atone for all that he’d done to the boy, but it proved something impossible. on the physical level, izuku had already forgiven him and moved on. it wasn’t enough for katsuki, who’d really done nothing to deserve izuku’s kindness. so katsuki set off, trying to truly deserve the boy’s forgiveness and make up for everything he’d done. in katsuki’s mind, there would be nothing he could do that would balance out the weight of his actions to izuku. hence unraveled the second impossibility katsuki set up for himself.

the third impossibility found itself in katsuki’s third year at ua academy. he was working for his parents’ approval and atonement for izuku; this impossibility, though, would send everything crumbling down. impossibles, unlike any math equations covered during his schooling, could not be cancelled out the more brought into the equation. it was perhaps katsuki’s only salvation and lifeline, his passion to become a hero. fate snatched this very possibility from katsuki’s hand, snapping the lifeline and dangling it just out of his reach. all of it was cruel - the sympathetic words spoken from recovery girl’s lips and the weeks katsuki had to sit out of hero training. even worse was how katsuki watch his grade drop from one of the top in the class to only passable in general studies, no longer sharp enough to qualify for a pro-hero. by the time he healed, he was rendered unable to rejoin the hero course. his goal was thrown away easily, becoming another impossibility.

katsuki trained himself physically for a new job. an acquaintance had introduced him to being a bodyguard, and katsuki figured that was close enough to being a hero. not that he particularly enjoyed the notion of waiting on someone’s every beck and call. but through and through his countless impossibilities and misfortunes, he had to move forward. he was tired, so tired - hearing his parents’ disappointed voices on the phone and looking up to see a billboard of the newest top pro-hero, deku. when he foolishly and naively got his hopes up about you, the logical part in him knew it was doomed. he knew that as he stared at you, illuminated by a golden light in your bedroom, it was ill-fated. you were a miracle opening up a new life to him - but miracles weren’t real.

of all the impossibilities in his life, you were the most painful. why was he cursed in such a way? where had the happiness in his life gone, if not with you as you walked away from him? he stared at his suit cuff, suffocated in the stupid attire. he should never have taken this job.

a knock. another knock. three more rapid knocks, and he finally looked up to see your eager face looking at him from the passenger side window. he hastily unlocked the car door with a click.

“finally,” your exasperated voice said to him, tinged in a happy hue that he’s confused by.

“wh-where’s tanaka?” katsuki stuttered. “your date-”

“i did it, bakugou.” you beamed at him. “i refused. i said no.”

“wha-what? you refused what?”

“the date, duh!” you laughed. you grew quiet. “i realized something. i realized that all i want is you, and it’s… it’s about time i start taking control of my life.”

katsuki cracked a smile. a real one, not painful like so many others he’d faked before. “you’re a dumbass, you know that?” and it was endearment, bringing you close to his heart.

maybe fate had decided to bless him. maybe it was all the impossibilities in his life that had cancelled each other out to give him you.

“oh, and by the way,” you said, changing the topic. “i’ve been thinking a lot about it recently. we need to have a rematch for that sorry excuse of a fight we had the other day. i will have an undisputed victory over you.”

“you’re on, moron.”

it was definitely fate that brought katsuki to you.

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst

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naerysthelonesome · 3 years

Text

The Sanctuary Scene

From Alastair’s POV

(I tried, okay?)

Start of fic:

Upon being securely locked into the Sanctuary, Alastair had swiftly moved to one of the bedrolls provided, and pulled out a book (Machiavelli’s The Prince- one he’d read many times before), trying as best he could to take his mind off of Thomas’ inescapable presence. He’d settled himself among the provided blankets and pillows, moving only to take off his jacket and flip pages.

Thomas apparently determined to make himself near impossible to ignore, walked about, observing anything and everything, and generally making himself a distracting nuisance. He’d even knocked over a candelabra at some point. It had taken every ounce of Alastair’s self-control not to look.

He continued to stare at his book with unseeing eyes, trying as hard as he could to concentrate on the story. There was, however, none of the curiosity that might have motivated him. He could just have picked up one of the books provided by Eugenia, who admittedly had quite good taste, but that would have required him to move from his inconspicuous perch. And drawing Thomas’ attention to himself just would not do.

He knew he’d made the right decision to follow Thomas all those evenings, and he would do it again in a heartbeat. But now they were locked together for Angels knew how long, their only key to getting out, far away in Paris. Paris. That city brought back memories he would rather not think of right then. Memories of ink against warm skin, sparkling eyes, and a boy that was nothing less than a painting in motion.

He shook his head and focused his eyes on the pages in front of him. He had successfully kept to himself for hours now; what were a few more? But the silence was starting to get oppressing, as were the eyes that seemed to periodically settle on him. He could not imagine what Thomas thought of their situation.

As if in response to that thought, the boy in question darter to the door and shook it. A valiant but damned effort.

“A little menacing that the Sanctuary bolts shut from the outside, isn’t it? I never thought about it much before”, He said, making Thomas jump slightly. He allowed himself to look as the boy turned toward him.

Thomas looked surprised at Alastair having spoken to him at all, but attempted conversation, nonetheless.

“I, er, suppose one might have to keep an unexpectedly dangerous Downworlder out or something”, he said, making sound but obvious sense, as was his way.

“Maybe”, Alastair replied with what he hoped was an amicable shrug, “On the other hand, it does give the institute a makeshift prison”. Idle conversation, but surely something to think about. He looked back down at his book and kept them firmly there as Thomas came closer.

He felt the other boy stare at him, unmoving. He could be thinking of any number of things. Maybe he was thinking of a response to what Alastair had said, or maybe about how ardently he hated him.

Thomas’ tone, when he finally spoke was demanding, almost angry. It shifted completely the comfortable energy that had started to establish between them.

“Why have you been following me around?”

Alastair’s breath hitched in his throat. Here was the question he’d been dreading all this time.

“Someone had to”, he said, for lack of a better answer. How was he supposed to tell Thomas that he had done it because he had wanted him to be safe? That he hadn’t wanted any harm to come to the person he should be feeling only apathy- or maybe shame- towards? How was he supposed to explain himself?

“What on Earth does that mean?”

Alastair nearly flinched, but kept his face impassive and eyes trained on his book. It was as easy to act unbothered, as it had been to act cruel. Alastair was no stranger to wearing masks.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Lightwood”, he said with all the condescension he could muster.

Then Thomas did the first truly surprising thing he’d done all night. He sat down beside him, and the movement startled Alastair enough that he couldn’t stop himself looking up at the boy.

“I do want the answer”, Thomas said decidedly, “and I will not get up until you tell it to me”.

Well, damn him. Alastair could hardly blame him for wanting to know. He was owed an explanation, but that didn’t make the decision to give it to him any easier. He slowly closed and placed his book aside, steeling himself for the surely nerve-wracking talk that was headed his way.

He looked at Thomas, who was once again staring. Alastair had to admire the determinacy with which he was approaching a conversation with him.

“I knew you were taking extra patrols”, Alastair said truthfully, “And more than that- going out by yourself with a murderer on the loose. You were going to get yourself killed. You’re meant to take someone with you”. He only narrowly avoided sounding cross or accusatory.

“No thank you. All these people going out in pairs, announcing themselves every time they speak, unable to make a move without consulting each other- they might as well ring a bell to let the killer know they’re coming”, Thomas said scornfully, “And meanwhile, if you’re not on the schedule, you’re supposed to just sit around on your arse doing nothing. We’ll never catch the murderer if we avoid being out on the streets. That’s where the murderer is.”

The indignant expression Thomas was wearing, and the little speech he’d just made, amused him. He and his friends were all so alike. Alastair knew Thomas well enough to know that while those words may not have been entirely honest, the sentiment behind them was sincere. He had just so badly wanted the killer gone.

“Never before have I heard such a concise statement of the ludicrous philosophy with which you and your school friends go through the world, running toward danger.” His arms were starting to hurt, so he stretched them out over his head, and went on, “But that’s not why you were doing what you were doing. There’s a little truth to what you just said, but not the heart of it”.

“What do you mean?”

“You couldn’t save your sister, so you want to save other people.” he said, hoping he wasn’t going too far, “You want revenge, even if this isn’t the same evil that took Barbara- it’s still evil, isn’t it?” The look in Thomas’ eyes confirmed that his assessment was true, so he continued, “You want to behave recklessly, and you don’t want your reckless behavior to compromise a patrol partner’s safety. So you went alone.”

Alastair had understood his motivations easily enough. Thomas was complicated, but he had never been hard for Alastair to read. At the heart of him, he was simply good, and kind, and fiercely loyal. It was a miracle his friends hadn’t seen through him.

“Well, I don’t believe that you really think we’re stupid,” Thomas said, “Or that we willingly court danger for danger’s sake. If you believed that, you would do more to stop Cordelia spending time with us.”

Outwardly, Alastair scoffed. But it seemed Thomas was not the only person easily read.

“My point,” Thomas went on firmly, “is that I don’t think you believe the rude things you say. And I don’t understand why you say them. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s as if you want to drive everyone away.”

The audacity of Thomas to believe that Alastair was any sort of good; the nerve he had to believe he was rude for anything but selfish, cruel reasons- Alastair had never wanted to embrace another person so badly for being wrong.

“Why were you so awful to us in school? We never did anything to you”. The words were not spoken with any venom, and yet, they stung. Alastair winced.

For the first time, he really considered letting someone in. He needed someone to know the truth of his actions. Cordelia was the only one who even remotely understood why he had done the things he had done, and although he still felt his behavior inexcusable, telling her had been a small comfort.

But the words would not come easy.

“I was awful to you… because I could be.”

“Anyone can be a bastard if they want to be,” replied Thomas, verbally batting away his answer, “You had no reason to do it. Your family are friends with the Herondales. You could have at least been kinder to James.”

He could have been. But he had had a reason.

“When I got to school,” Alastair said, forcing himself to breathe; he had never spoken about this before. It had never been easy, and it wasn’t now- “loose talk about my father preceded me. Everyone knew he was a failure, and some of the older students decided I was an easy target. They… let’s just say that by the end of the first week, I had been made to understand my place in the hierarchy, and I had the bruises to remind me should I ever forget.”

Thomas seemed to be having a hard time wrapping his head around what he had just said. And understandably so. Alastair wondered if he’d always appear the bully in Thomas and his friends’ eyes.

Thomas didn’t inclined to talk just then, so Alastair went on before he lost the nerve, “After about a year of being knocked around, I realized I could either become one of the bullies, or suffer the rest of my school days. I felt no loyalty to my father, no need to defend him, so that was never a problem. I wasn’t very big- well, you know what that’s like.”

He looked at Thomas then, noting the broad, strong width of him, and the way his shirt sleeves hugged his arms. He didn’t miss the way he seemed to shrink back into himself at the gaze. Alastair looked away.

“What I did have,” he said, “was a savage tongue and a quick wit. Augustus Pounceby and the others would collapse laughing when I cut some poor younger student down to size. I never got my hands bloody, never hit anyone, but it didn’t matter, did it? Soon enough the bullyboys forgot they’d ever hated me. I was one of them.”

None of what he had said earlier had been an excuse. In a game of hurt or be hurt, he had chosen to hurt. It had been self-preservation, but it had still been selfish.

“And how did that turn out for you?” Thomas said, with distaste.

Alastair had no misconceptions regarding the consequences of his decisions, so he met Thomas’ glare and replied, “Well, one of us has a close knit group of friends, and the other has no friends at all. So you tell me.”

“You have friends”, Thomas said, but a hint of doubt crossed his face even as he spoke the words. It was unsurprising to Alastair that Thomas had not paid him enough mind to have ever realized otherwise. Why would he have?

“Then you lot arrived, a bunch of boys from famous families, too well brought up to understand at first what went on far from home. Expecting the world would embrace you. That you would be treated well. As I had never been”. He was unable to restrain the jealous tinge in his voice. “I suppose I hated you because you were happy. Because you had each other- friends you could like and admire- and I had nothing like that. You had parents who loved each other. But none of that excuses that way I behaved. And I do not expect to be forgiven.”

Alastair felt close to tears as he came to the end of his story- physically exhausted- and his hands were shaking. But he did not regret it. He hoped Thomas would not cause him to regret it either.

“I’ve been trying to hate you-” Thomas said in a quiet voice. The response did not faze Alastair. It was what he deserved. “-for what you did to Matthew. You richly deserve to be hated for what you have done.”

It was true that Alastair had hurt Matthew in terrible ways, but he had hurt Thomas as well. He was tired of Thomas’ refusal to acknowledge it. What he had said about his family more that warranted Thomas’ own hatred of him.

“It wasn’t just his mother I slandered. It was your parents, too. You know it. So you don’t have to- to act all high-minded about this. Stop pretending you are only upset on behalf of Matthew. Hate me on your own behalf, Thomas.”

“No”, Thomas said, then paused.

The word brought only a fleeting comfort with it, and Alastair waited for the other shoe to drop, for the blows he deserved to rain down upon him, this time deserved. But they did not come.

“The reason I cannot hate you is because- because of those days we spent in Paris together,” Thomas said, and the words damn near stopped Alastair’s heart in his chest, “You were kind to me when I was very alone, and I am grateful. It was the first time I realized you could be kind.”

The tears that had threatened to come up earlier, nearly made their presence known again. H stared at Thomas with lucid eyes as he tried to process those words. Memories came back to him unbidden, and he heard himself say, “It is my favorite memory of Paris as well.”

“You don’t have to say that. I know you were there with Charles”. That was all it took to wrench him out of his mind and back to the present. He felt his defenses go up again at the mere mention of his former lover.

“Charles Fairchild? What about him?”

“Wouldn’t that be your best memory of Paris?” Thomas replied, undeterred.

Consciously, he knew there was no danger here. Thomas would never use this information against him, and besides… he had his own secrets. This did not keep him from responding defensively, as he was wont to do, when it came to Charles. “Exactly what are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’ve seen the way you look at Charles, the way he looks at you. I’m not an idiot, Alastair, and I’m asking…”

Time seemed to stop as Thomas shook his head and sighed, coming to some kind of abrupt decision. A decision that began with words that as good as ripped apart Alastair’s defenses yet again.

“I suppose I’m asking if you’re like me.”

End of fic.

This turned out so much longer than expected- If you read it all the way through, you likely have a slight obsession.

#thomastair #the sanctuary scene #chain of iron #chain of iron spolers #alastair's pov #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #this was NOT as easy to write as i thought it'd be #I think i've maintained canon-compliance but idk #it's 5am here guys. please be nice #idk if i should do the second part?#i don't know if my writing is worth the effort D:#i have never written anything this long im-

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band--psycho · 4 years

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Ghost-Thorin x reader (Day 7/13)

(Credit to the gif owner)

“Amralime..if anything happens to me-”

“Thorin,” I tried to interrupt him, but he gave me a sigh as he placed both of his hands on my face, his thumbs tracing invisible circles on my cheeks.

“Let me say this...if anything happens to me, I need you to know that I love you with all my heart and I always will, no matter what...you are my one,Y/n/n,” as soon as he finished those words I placed my lips on his , after the kiss I moved my arms to wrap around the back of his neck, pulling his forehead towards to mine.

“I love you too, Thorin..but nothing is going to happen to you, and do you know why?” Thorin let out a chuckle at my words, already knowing what I was going to say.

“I have always been there to save you, Thorin, that is not about to stop now,” and with that he pulled me into another quick kiss.

“We’re ready,” Kili shouted up to you as we pulled away from the kiss, we both sent a comforting smile to each other before joining the others.

Slight Time Skip

I stood alongside Dwalin, both of us fighting the orcs that just seemed to keep on coming at us. All I hoped for was that Bilbo had made it to Thorin..for I could see the fear on Dwalins face, mainly because I knew had a similar fear painted across my own face. One question frantically going around in my mind...would any of us see Thorin again..? The Orcs kept coming like waves on a beach, every time we’d think we had killed them all, another pack would attack us, we kept trying to move closer to where Thorin was but every time we were stopped.

“Thorin!” At the sound of his name, I instantly turned around and saw Thorin on the ice, Azog standing over him, the only thing stopping Azogs blade from going straight through Thorin was his own sword.

“Thorin!” Dwalin shouted again as he slit an Orcs throat. And then I saw it. I saw Azogs blade go into Thorins chest and I couldn’t help but let out a sob as I heard the loud groan that left Thorins lips. I tried to keep watching; but another wave Orcs had appeared-so Dwalin and I continued to fight-I did manage to catch a glimpse of Thorin on top of Azog; Thorins blade going straight through Azogs chest, relief washed over me as I realized he was okay, and that by some miracle, we’d won.

“Go, I can finish of the rest of them,” Confusion washed over my face as Dwalin said those words.

“Go and make sure Thorins alright,”

“Dwalin-,” I begun, but he just chuckled and shook his head.

“I think I know who Thorin would rather see out of the two of us,” and with that he lightly pushed me back, killing any Orc that came at him. So I ran towards Thorin, over all the rubble and Orc corpses and then I heard Bilbos voice, not that I could really make out what he was saying-relief washed over me knowing that Bilbo was also okay. But as I got closer to the two of them, I felt my heart break.

“Thorin..”I whispered under my breath as I ran towards Bilbo and Thorin.

“Y/n/n,” Bilbo whispered, looking up at me with tear filled eyes. Tentatively, I knelt down next to Thorin.

“Y/n/n,” Thorin said, a small a smile appearing across his lips; as a sob left mine.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, we won..”He cooed weakly.

“Yeah we did..now we’ve got to make you better,” I whispered, placing my hand carefully over his wound.

“It’s too late-”

“I won’t let you die,” I argued softly.

“Amralime..” he sighed, raising his hand to my face.

“It’s okay,” he continued, wiping away the tears that were falling freely from my eyes.

“I’ll always be with you...I love you..” and as he choked out those words I heard him let out one final breath; his hand falling from my face as his eyes stared up at the sky...that’s when I knew he was gone..

“Come back to me...please..please...come back to me..I don’t want to live a life where you’re not a part of it..” I sobbed into his chest..I knew he was gone, I knew he was never coming back..and that just made my heart hurt more…

Time Skip-A few evenings later

I couldn’t sleep, not that that was any surprise. Since Thorins death I’d barely slept at all. The memories of us filling my dreams; which slowly turned into nightmares as my mind made me re-live his death over and over again. I walked through the halls of Erebor, thinking how happy Thorin would’ve been to see his people back home; but as usual when I thought of him, I felt a dull ache in my heart. I hadn’t really spoken to anyone since that day either, in fact I tried to avoid everyone as much as I could...I was exhausted, everyone could see it, but no matter how hard I tried, my mind just couldn’t stop the memory from replaying in my head.

“You need to rest,” I heard a familiar voice say from behind me...I felt my heart skip a beat at the sound of the voice..at the sound of Thorins voice. I shook my head, knowing that this was some cruel trick my fatigued mind was playing on me.

“Amralime…” I heard the voice say, but I just shook my head again.

“This isn’t real..this isn’t real,” I whispered to myself, but before I could take another step forward I was halted by the sight that I saw. Thorin.

“Amralime...you need to rest;” he said, a concerned look written over his face,as he walked closer towards me.

“You are not real...you’re in my head...you’re my subconscious,” I muttered under my breath continuously; trying to persuade myself that he wasn’t real.

“Amralime...I told you I would always be with you,” Thorin began, by this point he was standing right in front of me..I felt my hand instinctively reach up to caress his face; letting my hope run away with me..but my hand just fell through face.

“I’m a ghost...amralime..you can’t touch me, but I’m here,” he whispered as I felt tears begin to run down my cheeks.I’d heard of ghosts in Middle Earth..but they were ancient tales, ones that no one ever really believed. They were myths and legends...I never believed them to be true..

“I wish I could hold you...I wish I could take away all the pain that you’re feeling, all the grief..”Thorin said solemnly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you..” I sobbed, feeling the sadness wash over my body.

“You did save me..from so many things, so many times, you didn’t fail me...I love you-and that is something that’s never going to change..” he continued, his hand hovering over my cheek as I tried to remember his touch.

“But now...you need to look after yourself..you need to sleep, to rest, to enjoy life instead of being burdened with the grief that sits in your mind,” he whispered.

“I’ll wait for you, you’re my one...but you have a whole world to see and so many stories to tell..live your life for me..”he continued. I took a shaky breath as I looked directly in his eyes. He looked so real.

“Promise me you’ll do that for me..promise me you’ll live your life to the fullest,” I nodded my head slowly, still trying to work out if any of this was real or if it was all happening inside my head.

“I’ll always be with you...even if you can’t always see me..I love you,please remember that” he said quietly, and then in the blink of an eye he was gone.

@dumbassunderthemountain @fizzyxcustard @glicabhainn00

#13daysofspookywritingevent #thorin x reader #thorin x oc #thorin x you #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield imagine #thorin imagine #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin oakenshield x you #thorin fic #the hobbit thorin #Thorin Oakenshield #thorin #the hobbit imagine #bilbo baggins #dwalin

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for7 · 4 years

Text

the christmas spirit | jimin

synopsis. christmas... did you ever wonder where it came from?

☁︎ imagine park jimin having an uncanny experience on christmas years ago, with a little girl that looks just like his girlfriend...

pairing. jimin x reader genre. fantasy au + fluff word count. 3,5k

ah, christmas.

a celebration for millions of families from all over the world, during a particular day. a celebration filled with laughter, presents, love. who in this world didn’t know about christmas, its customs and magic? the answer was not astounding: no one. everyone knew christmas and knew what it represented, both religiously and culturally.

christmas was, for many, an important event. this simple date on the calendar triggered a frenzy in everyone, a frenzy that would always start months before the date. whether it was the decoration shops, the chocolatiers, the gardeners, they were all too busy to enjoy this period. a period that rhymed with joy but, above all, with benefit.

sell. sell. sell. christmas was all about it. the shopkeepers had only this word rolling from their tongues, they, who painted their shop fronts red and green, decorating them with poorly drawn snowflakes and glittering garlands that made the most innocent eyes dream.

all citizens throughout the world were overwhelmed, but no one was as occupied as a certain city.

christunix was a city so small and remote from all that it was not on any atlas, planisphere, nor globe. few really knew where it was and what it contained. the wanderers, black-hearted, could only see from the town the multicoloured lights filtered through a thick fog that seemed to come to life if you tried to cross it.

although almost unknown to all, kept intact by this magical gate, those lucky enough to know about it were very real. they were rare and were the men and women who had kept their child’s eyes despite their passage into the adult world. they were the ones who still managed to marvel at the little things that illuminated everyday life, in their routine coloured with a monotonous grey. they were the ones who had once stumbled upon an old grimoire called “the christmas story”.

if one day you ever had this work of inestimable value in your hands, through these yellowed and worn out pages, you would discover in golden inked words that the christmas tradition was born at the heart of this mysterious village as well as the white-bearded man that would become its allegory.

the first man, who would be called differently by children all over the world, had initially only been a toy manufacturer called klaus. of this man, the inhabitants of christunix did not know many things, all too young to have known him. only his faithful companion, an immortal but old elf — with a name far too long — could boast of having rubbed shoulders with him.

every sunday, he would gather the village’s children in his cottage and tell them stories of yesteryear about his companion. the first distribution of gifts, described as catastrophic, was one of the best known and adored tales for the children. this had happened several centuries before but, for the elf, it had happened a day before. just yesterday, he was helping his friend make toys, just yesterday he was riding in a flying sled to distribute billions of gifts to kind children from around the world.

ah… those days were as close as they were far away.

no one, not even the grimoire, knew how klaus had died. all the rumours, each crazier than the other, circulated in the village. some spoke of a sled accident, others of natural death. however, many thought it was the winter spirit that had enveloped him when his time had come, making him disappear from the face of the earth in a cloud of snow, leaving behind his workshop, his elves, and his knowledge.

a natural knowledge which mother nature had blessed him with, and the descendants of his lineage. an innate talent, the capacity to make from a simple piece of wood a functional toy able to let children’s eyes shine. scientists would talk about a hereditary gene; the inhabitants of the village would talk about a gift.

only the sons of the klaus clan could bear this blessing. for centuries, this was how the family worked. the siblings’ first son, the presumed heir, was to take part in a ceremony on the winter solstice day of his first year on earth. when the moon was at its highest point in the starry sky, empty of all visual pollution, and the snow fell in hundreds of flakes, the one charged with reigning over the world of christmas would place the heir on a sliced tree trunk. it was said that klaus himself had used the wood of this tree to make his first toy.

if the heir were to be a bearer of the gift, then, according to tradition, a white and red aurora borealis would appear in the sky, white dust would surround the newborn’s body as a sign of eternal protection from the winter spirit.

this rare event had only happened five times, and it was long hoped that the new heir would be the sixth. snomi was not the eldest of his family but he was the only boy, making him the worthy heir of the gift. all the inhabitants of the village had hoped for his birth, a blessing. without a boy, what would become of christmas?

when it was finally announced throughout the village that a boy had been born, the inhabitants had celebrated this news for a whole week.

you see, klaus’ fifth descendant had been unlucky about his offspring, some even spoke of a curse. five children, four daughters. the last one, the boy, was thus perceived as a miracle.

for the next three hundred and sixty-five days, all covered him with presents, endowed him as if he was their own child. the inhabitants of christunix were traditional people, attached to legends and customs. knowing that this child would one day be the one who would manage christmas triggered in them a sense of pride and need to protect him.

when the winter solstice finally arrived, the entire village climbed the blue mountain to reach the highest point of their land. all piled up around the sawn tree trunk. in the centre of this elated crowd, the child’s parents, both dressed in their traditional white and red coats, stood proudly. next to them, the old elf was alternating his gaze between the position of the moon and his gold-bed watch, old of a few centuries.

“one more minute.”

the mother transferred the sleeping baby into the arms of her father, who advanced towards the tree trunk, snow screeching under each of his steps. he laid him on the wood, caressing with his huge thumb the delicate skin of his cheek. a tear of pride slipped down his cheek and landed in his beard, but no one noticed; all had their eyes turned on the sky.

“let the ceremony of the heir begin.”

the moment the old elf’s voice sounded, the moonlight aligned with the tree trunk, thus illuminating the baby’s face with a sky-blue hue. all the inhabitants began singing in an ancient language, a mixture of scandinavian and latin. with their words, they were invoking the winter spirit and the wandering soul of klaus, the only beings capable of awakening the gift sleeping within the heir’s heart.

when the last words of the traditional song rang out, the inhabitants waited for the aurora borealis to appear.

but it never came.

whispers rose in the ranks, cries echoed. what was going on? had the ceremony been performed correctly? was it a calendar error? a lot of questions demanding answers were shouted at the parents who remained frozen, disabused. a strong breeze rose in the air, running through everyone’s shivering bodies, making the baby cried.

the child did not possess the gift.

meanwhile, far away from all the chaos, in the easternmost house of the village, the screams echoed.

“put that down, sunmi! you’re going to f—” a thud, followed by crying. “fall… well… oh my god! y/n, leave that elf alone!” the oldest of the four daughters, iclyn, shouted.

hearing her first name, the youngest of the girls wobbled towards her father’s workshop while giggling. her immaculate white hair, button nose and always pink cheekbones gave her the appearance of a little angel. however, as many have said, appearances can sometimes be misleading. y/n, especially because of her age of no more than five years, was the most agitated of the fifth heir’s daughters. while the twins iclyn and lumi exuded the wisdom that came with being a descendant of klaus, the youngest perfectly symbolised the malice and carelessness of children.

still laughing, her eyes sparkling, the child entered her father’s huge workshop. toys filled gigantic shelves and the noise seemed to be a constant element in this real factory. the elves, though most of the time playful, were busy with their task.

making, painting and packing thousands of gifts was no mean feat.

“miss klaus, what are you doing here? you should be at the ceremony!”

juniper, one of her father’s closest elves, pulled her by the sleeve, wishing to bring her back to her house. this was without considering the stubbornness of the girl who planted her feet on the ground, making it difficult for the elf and his little arms to drag her back.

“don’t want to! it boring! not even cookies… cold…” she murmured, arms folded, a pout on her lips. “i want to see toys!”

“miss klaus, come back here!”

ignoring the elf’s words, the girl began to saunter in the wide aisles of the workshop. it was her favourite place in the village. to know that her father was organising all this was very impressive, especially for a four-year-old. her sparkling gaze observed the actions of the elves. she laughed when she saw one tangled in the gift paper. sometimes tiny ‘wow’ would escape her mouth at the sight of toys, all more beautiful than the other.

however, it was a very special object that caught her attention, awakening her childish curiosity.

a snowball, depicting a fireplace decorated with christmas stockings, was delicately placed on the desk where her father would imagine and design new toys. looking around her once, then twice, to see if no one was watching her, she walked silently towards the workbench too big for her. her wrinkled eyes, a sign of her intense thinking session, opened wide while a blissful smile was painted on her face.

she had an idea.

the child grabbed cardboard boxes, which would later be used to pack bicycles, and stacked them to create an almost-staircase. with difficulty—her little arms did not contain much strength—she hoisted herself to the top, nearly falling several times. when she was finally standing on the workbench, y/n took the snowball in her little pudgy hands.

“wow…”

she hadn’t even shaken it, but snowflakes were already falling on the chimney. on closer inspection, she saw that it was lighted. putting it down at its original location, the child’s curious pupils swept the office with her eyes. she realised that on it was placed a gigantic map of the world. in her head, the names of the cities she already knew jostled.

her father, and her grandfather before him, kept telling exciting stories about all the cities they would visit on december 25th. these tales would change over the years, and the cities were never twice the same.

rubbing her skull with her fist, the little girl tried to remember the name of a city her grandfather would always talk about.

se…

sea…

“seoul!”

the moment the name of the city was pronounced, the snowball began to turn on its own. faster and faster, until the chimney was gone, giving way to a blurry image. the doors of the workshop opened in a big crash, slamming against the walls. a thick cloud of snow dust entered the room, long and lively as a snake, and flew around the workbench as if it was looking for someone. all the elves who had turned to the entrance at the noise tried to close the doors, but nothing helped. many were already starting to agitate, to hide under the tables, terrified. however, the girl kept her gaze fixed on the snowball, which seemed to be illuminated in a red so gleaming that she had to close her eyes, dazzled.

the last thing she felt was something enveloping her, like a huge cold but comforting cloak.

it had now been an hour since the little boy’s parents had come to wish him a good night, but sleep did not seem to want to weigh down the young park jimin’s eyelids. no matter how many times he changed positions, morpheus didn’t want him in his arms.

and for good reason: jimin was excited. christmas was now only a few days away and he had already planned his ploy. you see, it was now two years ago, when he was three years old, that the boy had made his decision.

he would catch santa claus.

boys in his class kept saying that santa claus didn’t exist. he didn’t believe them nor the nonsense they were saying. he knew, santa claus existed. every year, on the night of the 24th to the 25th, he would try to stay awake so he could see santa claus and his hood. and he had seen him! he was sure of it! the boy had even seen the great gentleman eat the cookies and drink the glass of milk he had carefully prepared.

last year, though, he had not been fast enough; while the boy had just come down the last step of the stairs, ready to make his presence known, the bearded man had already disappeared in the chimney.

sighing at this memory, jimin rose from his bed, his brown hair dishevelled. fumbling his way along not to wake his parents and little sister, he went down the stairs to get himself something to drink. maybe it would help him sleep? he’d once seen his mom do that.

as he passed through the living room to reach the desired place, a strange vision made him rub his eyes with his fists to make sure what he saw was real.

a little girl who had just appeared in the hearth of his chimney looked at him with eyes as wide as his own.

“who are you?” he asked.

she was dressed strangely. on her snow-white hair, a red bobble hat had been laid without much attention, causing it to fall before her sparkling eyes. her clothes were similar to those that jimin had seen the elves wear in the christmas movies that were on tv. the only difference was that she was not dressed in green but in red.

the stranger blinked several times before shaking her head from right to left. she didn’t understand him.

great.

as he was about to mime his question again, the little girl’s attention turned away from him and settled on the christmas tree, lit in red and gold. moving gently towards it, she touched with her little fingers the decorations that seemed to sparkle to her touch. a childish laugh, which brought snowflakes to appear in the sky, resounded in the room as she pointed to a little santa claus in felt.

“pappa!”

“no, it’s santa claus!” jimin corrected her, unhappy to know that his hero was not known to the young woman.

“min pappa!”

“hey, no! don’t touch that!” he ran towards her and grabbed her arm to remove her as quickly as possible from a drawing she was about to touch. he had put it at the foot of the tree a few days ago.

on the sheet of paper was clumsily drawn a race car that jimin had forgotten to write on his letter to santa claus. He hoped that the old red man could create him one after seeing it. this race car was the gift that mattered the most to jimin, it was out of the question that he let this weird girl approach it.

“se på!” the girl said, pointing to the windows that had just opened. following her gaze, jimin gasped, his eyes now amazed.

a glittering, almost transparent hand made of snow had just appeared in the parks’ lounge. tt wandered around in the air for a few moments, stopping to tickle the girl’s chin with two fingers. the latter, after laughing, cheeks now red with happiness, showed to this magical apparition the drawing of the car. for a few moments, the girl and the hand had a silent conversation that ended with a bright smile from the child.

jimin, who had remained motionless until then, startled when the hand advanced towards him.

“miss Klaus! you’re in a fix, i can tell you! why did you run away like that?! and in korea into the bargain!”

a small man with sky blue skin and pointed ears appeared in turn in the chimney. jimin had no time to understand what was going on that the newcomer was already grabbing the girl’s arm and pulling her to the chimney where they both disappeared in a cloud of red and white glitter.

the hand, which had hidden as if it did not want to be seen by the elf, flew again towards jimin, who, terrified, began to tremble. they remained silent for a long time, before it magically disappeared, leaving behind snowflakes and a race car.

the little boy fainted.

the peaceful atmosphere in the living room had a soporific effect on the couple lying on the couch. the christmas film—full of clichés—that was displayed on the tv screen had long been forgotten, as were the two cups of hot chocolate that no longer gave off smoke. a few snowflakes fell on seoul but seeing them, all the inhabitants knew they would not be there the next day. they didn’t mind, even just seeing snow made them happy. it would always wrap the city with its delicate white coat no matter for how many hours, painting the landscape with the christmas spirit.

jimin struggled against sleep that seemed to approach him a little more with each caress in his hair. he was slumped against his girlfriend’s chest, enjoying this moment of serenity which was discordant from their exalted daily lives. the words they were saying were whispered so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that surrounded them.

“y/n?” a ‘yes, honey?’ was heard in response, urging him to continue while the caresses on his skull became softer. “did i ever tell you that you reminded me of someone i met as a kid?”

“oh, is that right?” the woman asked, her voice muffled by Jimin’s hair in which she had buried her face.

“yes. i think I was five or six at the time… or something like that. i was young enough to believe in santa claus, basically. anyway, one night i went to get a glass of water in the kitchen. i was so tired that i had a hallucination. it was as if i had seen a girl appear in my chimney and she had summoned this weird and magical hand that made me a car. weird, isn’t it? she had white hair just like you, though.”

“hmm…”

“maybe it was a prophetic dream, i knew you were going to be the love of my life.” he laughed at his girlfriend’s cringe expression. “i love you.”

slowly, she gave him a kiss on his cheek, saying these three little words back. her caresses continued until the man’s eyes closed. smiling, she grazed jimin’s cheek with her thumb, translating in this little gesture all the affection she had for him.

her eyes swept away the apartment they shared. on the walls and shelves were scattered memories, photos; all these things traced their history, which had been going on for a year now. in the entrance, on the small table where there was a bowl with keys, behind the pile of mail waiting to be read, was placed a snow globe representing a fireplace decorated with Christmas stockings.

suddenly, the windows of the living room opened, and even though the noise startled her, it did not disrupt jimin’s sleep who was now using her chest as a pillow. a trail of snow dust appeared in the living room, twirling for a few moments around the couple before it put a letter in the woman’s hand. she hurried to open it, reading its content, written in familiar handwriting.

miss y/n klaus,

how are you? personally, i can’t even sleep as your father keeps telling me how much he misses you. everyone here does. seeing each other a month per year is too little according to the villagers.

i know your life in seoul takes up a lot of your free time. however, according to christunix’s council, it was considered judicious for you to return to the village during the week. all you have to do is take your snowball, i won’t be wrong to assume you know how to use it.

without you, it’s a bit of a mess. even if the elves work hard and your drawings are precise, it’s always better when you’re on the field to check in real-time the work that has been done. your father has, as usual, high expectations even if he is no longer in the position. he keeps complaining. you must return as soon as possible or, i assure you, the old elf will get rid of him before you can say ‘christmas’.

after all, what would christunix be without the sixth heir?

p.s. your mother and siblings keep tormenting me for you to introduce them to that boy you talk about in your letters. if you feel like it, bring him back with you. maybe it’s time he finds out what his fiancée’s job is.

kind regards,

juniper.

#jimin fluff #park jimin #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts au #jimin x y/n #jimin x reader #jimin imagine #jimin fanfic #bts fantasy au #park jimin fanfic #park jimin fluff #park jimin x reader #park jimin x you #park jimin x y/n #bts #bts christmas #jimin christmas

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calpops · 4 years

Text

falling facade | c.h.

part five: falling fame

part one: falling flowers | part two: falling freedom | part three: falling fears | part four: falling failures

5k words

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Calming waves crashed on the shore line; Calum’s gaze would have been trained on the sea but Arden sat next to him in the soft light of the evening. A few weeks had passed since their last scheduled promotional post—the picture of them with Duke and the ring in sight had gone over well. They had found time away from the facade and with each other. Arden found solace in the quiet of Calum’s home in comparison to the chaos of Michael’s. Calum welcomed her, often inviting her, sometimes with the ruse of the fake engagement and sometimes all pretenses were dropped in favor of being real. All the time spent together offered new and old knowledge. Calum was finding memories with Arden he hadn’t remembered in ages. He was learning things from the years they were strangers.

“I can’t believe our parents are coming to check on us,” Arden said around a sigh as her fingers dug into the soft sand they sat on. “It’s like we’re twelve and in trouble.”

Calum chuckled at her thought and shifted to angle himself closer to her, to see her better and catch glimpses of the diamond on her finger sifting in and out of the sand. Her cheeks were pink from the day in the sun they had, hair pulled up in a messy bun atop her head and eyes guarded by sunglasses. They had stayed at Calum’s for most of the afternoon but a settled feeling of stir craziness engulfed both of them. Calum suggested the beach and when Arden scrunched up her nose and made a comment about it being packed and filled with tourists Calum smiled and promised his beach wouldn’t be. It was just a small sliver of sand tucked past a pier; only a few people ever ventured to the other side. It was quiet and desolate when they arrived.

“I can’t believe they’ve held off for so long,” Calum rebutted and ate up the raised eyebrow and crooked smirk Arden gave him in response. “Figure my mum would’ve hopped a flight the night the first picture was posted. Really going on a month without parents intervening is just short of a miracle.”

“I guess,” she said with a shrug as grains of sand slipped through her fingers and back to the earth. Calum watched as she lazily ran one finger through the grains, an indent of a scribble following her finger. “I don’t know what we’re going to tell them.”

Calum nodded, more to himself as thoughts consumed him, and shifted once more. His parents had laid off the questioning when it became apparent he couldn’t give them the answers they were looking for. Hence the surprise visit just in time with Arden’s parents' sudden decision to fly out as well. Calum and Arden knew it was planned, that they had called each other behind their backs with only concern and questions as motivation. It was too convenient to not be a joint check up. He didn’t know what they were going to tell them either. He had held his own parents off by telling them they were figuring things out; being a bit evasive and leaving explanations open ended and up for interpretation.

“What have you told your parents so far?” Calum asked, eyes content to stay on Arden as she wiggled her bare feet in the sand and her finger stalled in its scribbling motion.

“Not much,” she admitted and shrugged. “I didn’t really know what to say so I didn’t say much of anything. Sometimes I don’t answer. Sometimes I just let them talk at me.”

The difference in their methods was striking. Calum leaned back, hands hitting the warm sand and sinking in with his weight. Arden went completely still and contemplative. Calum did some thinking as well. It would be so easy to keep up the narrative they had going. The month they had spent together brought them closer and made the fake relationship feel all the more real; especially in moments where guards were down and the only eyes on them were each others’. Calum could very easily pretend the ring on her finger was real but they were still unsure if they were going forward. Arden had been the one to sway him into telling half truths; asked him to keep secrets so she wouldn’t disappoint her parents. And he had been the one to beg her and convince her into the fake relationship in the first place; it had been his words and pleading gazes that made her signature appear on the contracts.

“We don’t need to tell them everything,” Calum suggested and Arden’s mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Stick with what they do know and keep playing it vague.”

Arden shrugged and looked past Calum; her eyes were distant past dark lenses but he knew she was staring off at the sea. Taking in the waves and the way the light of the day faded and shifted to rosy hues that made everything glimmer with a tint of pink. It brought back memories of an abstract painting hanging in the Clifford house; a piece of art designed by gentle hands.

“Is that really what you want to do?” Arden asked and took the sunglasses off her face, perched them on her head and gave new life to hazel eyes. She gave Calum a serious glance, one that asked even more questions than the single sentence she had uttered. “I know you’re really close with your family. It’ll be a lot harder to keep up the act in person. We could just tell them and get the disappointment out of the way. Maybe it’s better to do it sooner rather than later.”

Calum considered her words deeply. He knew it would be strange to evade the entire truth with his family; he was nearly certain Mali wasn’t buying anything that he came up with for explanation and could read past the headlines and tabloids. Calum almost took her up on the offer, but the way her hazel eyes went glossy and her teeth sank into her lower lip stopped him. He shook himself, reminded himself of the deal he had made in his own mind. He brought Arden into this; whether or not it was his idea to get the ring and post the photo—they were both still hazy on that front—it was his management they were appeasing. To keep her safe. From the media, from management, from fans and friends and family.

“We might as well keep playing it the way we have,” Calum suggested even though the words burned the back of his throat just a bit. “We can tell them all of it when we’re ready. They’ll understand. What with the contracts and everything.”

Everything being the confusion that clung to Calum. Being the sense of protectiveness he had developed for Arden. The extremes they were fighting against. Arden let out a breath of relief and Calum knew he made the right decision and chose the right words.

“Thank you,” she said with unwavering eye contact that instilled even more faith in the path they were following.

They held gazes for a moment; the nervous fluttering and heat in Calum’s chest made him look away. Back to the ocean that reminded him of swirls of paint and moments he was starting to remember. He didn’t know how many times he had passed Arden’s painting in the hallway of the Clifford house. Only now, when it was out of sight did he pay it any mind. Arden stretched out beside him, let her hands fall behind her as she leaned back before eventually completely collapsing into the sand in a gentle fall. Her arms went behind her head and Calum was tempted to follow suit but found the view from above too good to miss. His eyes flitted between the evening settling in the sky and Arden lounging in the sand.

“It almost looks like your painting, huh?” He asked, unable to stop the thought from tumbling out of his mouth.

“Hm?” She let out a noise of confusion as she looked up at him.

“The one you did; in the hall at your parents place,” he explained and felt warmth crawl through him, up from his chest to stain his cheeks. “It looked like an ocean sunset to me.”

Arden pursed her lips and let her eyes drift off to the waves glittering with sunset. “Right. That hasn’t been in the hallway for years. Think a record plaque or some music award replaced it a while ago.”

Calum fell silent at that; suddenly immersed in the reality that Arden was his bandmate’s sister and her life had been just as much altered with the rise of the band as theirs had. He hadn’t been to the Clifford residence since their careers took off and they found places of their own. He couldn’t picture the wall with anything but abstract waves and colors that caught and kept attention. Even with a plaque or award that was sure to dominate the wall and domineer confidence Calum thought the wall would feel empty. He noted the downturn of her lips and the way she wouldn’t meet his gaze; something so unnatural for them.

“I always liked it,” Calum said to fill the silence and speak a truth and realization.

“It’s nothing special,” she said and Calum could hear the sentiment of comparing it to the band related piece that claimed its spot. “Art is just a hobby. I’m really not that good.”

The doubt of her own abilities left a lingering ache in Calum’s chest. He yearned to take the sting of her words away, to erase the frown and call her gaze back to his. But she was quiet and watching the water, the even rise and fall of her chest finding rhythm with the rise and crash of waves breaking on the shoreline. Calum bit his lip for a moment.

“I’d like a painting like it,” he decided to say, knowing exactly where it would go and how often he would admire it. He kept his eyes on her as she blushed and finally looked at him.

“Really?”

He nodded and she nodded back; made a half promise that maybe she could do that for him. Her frown disappeared but there was still an air of hurt that captured her. They settled into a somber silence where only the waves made noise between them. The sun was still out; just a touch of light gracing the evening and glittering the beach in a rose gold haze. It was quiet and unknown, hardly anyone lingered on their side of the pier and no one intruded on their business. Calum’s promise that it would be just them was basically fulfilled. Until his eyes swept the sand down the shoreline and found a girl with her phone pointed right at him. At them. Calum’s blood ran fiery through his veins, instincts running wild as he knew the camera was capturing their every move.

“Arden,” he said, trying to keep the panic from his voice so as not to alarm her; so she would stay put and not lurch up to face the camera dead on. “There’s a girl past the pier on the shoreline and I think she’s filming us. Just don’t sit up or look her way.”

Arden went completely still. The usual wiggle of her feet or bounce of her leg was panic stricken and frozen. This was the first encounter with a camera they weren’t expecting. They had employed tactics to keep Arden’s privacy as much as they could. Burying her face against Calum’s chest, hiding behind Duke and a kiss on the cheek, sunglasses and hat to cover up. Calum kept his eye on the girl in the most inconspicuous way he could. Behind his own sunglasses he wasn’t sure she would know his gaze was trained on her as she moved down the shore line and came to a more direct angle of them. Without thinking Calum was moving, shifting his weight to his knees and hands and hovering over the top of a confused Arden.

His back was to the camera and Arden was officially out of sight. She seemed to pick up on his intentions after a moment and a smirk. Her hands came out from behind her head with sand falling from her fingers and palms she settled her hands in his hair, trying to keep up the act and make the position look more natural and intimate. He shifted and settled his weight to one side, hip falling and his body guarding the side of Arden the camera could see. She turned with him, settling against him to better hide her face. Calum felt her warmth against his skin, felt his skin prickle and heart beat a little bit out of rhythm.

“I told you,” she said and her voice rang truths Calum couldn’t forget but would play oblivious to nonetheless. He made a noise of confusion to get her to explain. “I told you if it’s not paparazzi then it’s fans or social media or something.”

“You’re right,” he conceded but sighed. “Sometimes it’s like this. Some fans do this. But not always. Not all of them. It’s been a month and this has only happened once, right?”

It was time for Arden to concede with a timid nod and bitten lip as she considered the truth of his words. Fame always came with a cost; some paid it in droves and pieces of their lives. Others only encountered that cost occasionally. Calum figured that he was set somewhere in the middle.

“Maybe just once is too much for some people,” she said and made Calum’s heart ache; made a piece of hope plummet in his stomach and crash like waves to the shore.

With heart beating fast and hard he sucked in a breath and turned to see if the girl was still lurking. She had taken the hint and headed back toward the pier. Calum thanked her silently, appreciating the fact she didn’t push any further than what had already been done. He didn’t know how Arden would handle having a fan come up directly to them. If it would freak her out, make her freeze; if it and she would be okay or not. Her hands still lingered in his hair and for a selfish moment he stayed quiet; enjoying the feeling and taking a deep breath to try and remember the subtleties. Their moments of intimacy were scattered. The facade of it came with cameras and people who didn’t know the truth. The real moments were defined by privacy and small brushes. Legs touching as they sat next to each other. Hands brushing. Her head rested on his shoulder in a moment of peace. Thank yous said against his cheek.

“I think she’s gone now,” Calum admitted but Arden’s hands surprisingly didn’t fall. “We’re safe.”

Her fingers glided from his hair to his jaw and with bated breath Calum enjoyed the feeling and the flutter of beautiful nerves low in his stomach. Moving together, Calum leaned back and Arden settled to rest her head against his chest, one hand tucked under her and the other laid flat on his stomach. He didn’t say anything, tried to keep his breathing even and worked up the courage to run his fingers lazily up and down her arm. A new moment of bliss captured them as the rest of the world went static and distant. Calum couldn’t focus on the water or the colors of the sunset, he couldn’t hear the waves or the birds chirping overhead. All he could see was Arden’s timid nod and bitten lip; the uncertainty that crossed her face. All he could hear was maybe once is too much.

Sometimes Arden was able to let go of inhibitions and fears of fame. In moments when they were well and truly alone it was as if Calum wasn’t in a known band. He wasn’t a famous musician with fans and media eyes all over him. Arden made him feel normal and safe. But in moments where cameras invaded their privacy it was too much for Arden to forget. It made her feel unusual and uncomfortable.

“We haven’t gone in the water,” Arden said with a soft voice; hazel eyes taking in the ocean for all it was worth. “We should.”

Calum let out a small laugh at her insistence. “It’s probably freezing.”

“Oh it can’t be that bad,” she brushed it off and began to sit up; the second she was gone Calum missed her presence and the feel of her against him. “C’mon. We can at least dip our feet in. Can’t go to the beach and not go in the ocean.”

Calum followed her lead. Reached a hand out to grab hers and felt her fingers lock with his without even looking back. It was another small moment that defined them. He wasn’t wearing a swimsuit but he braved the lapping water anyway; the cool waves took his breath away as they crashed into his feet and the laughter that fell from Arden’s lips warmed him right back up.

“I told you it was cold,” Calum said as Arden shrieked at the water climbing her shins. He brought her closer with their held hands, let her arms wrap around his neck and laughed when it became apparent she was using him to get away from the cold. “Can’t go to the beach and not go in the ocean.”

Calum repeated her words as he lifted her up and brought them in further, the waves lapping up to her back; shorts and t-shirts quickly soaking with salt water. She threw her head back in laughter at his lighthearted mockery and the way her own words came back to bite her. With the sun setting and the heat of the day fleeing the water was even colder than usual but Calum didn’t mind the bite of cold on his skin when Arden was in his hold. When her shrieks disguised with laughter tumbled through his ears. When his name in her voice cut through and the force of the waves brought them even closer together. It took a few minutes to adjust to the cool temperature, little shivers still trembling Arden’s lips but joy lighting up her eyes.

She fell silent and Calum was quiet too, stood with his feet planted in the sand as the motion of the waves knocked into his legs, hands holding Arden up and the force keeping them close together. For just a split second Calum let himself revel in the fact she was so close. It was reminiscent of the dance floor and the living room. Foreheads pressed together, barely a breath between their smiles. Intoxicating sweetness right before him. And in an instant it was gone. Sugar was replaced with the spray of salt and honey melted away in favor of freezing water. She dropped from his hold but went on tiptoes, arms ducking into the water for the first time and a breath of disbelief rattling her. They looked out to where the waves were building; being only past waist deep they received the crashing end of them. They were alone in the water, a feeling of privacy veiling them as no one dared to brave the cold.

“That one looks…” Arden started, observing the wave building in the distance. “Too big.”

Calum scaled the wave in his mind, finding it to be possibly double the size of what they’d endured so far and his eyes widened. “We should run.”

They erupted into laughter and motion, slowly moving through the water. Calum kept a look out behind them, noting that the distance they put between them and the wave wasn’t enough. He grabbed Arden, arms wrapped around her from behind, held her close and tight and let the wave break against his back. The force of the wave was enough to have them stumbling, but with Calum’s support of Arden she stayed mostly upright as the wave passed them; soaking them completely from head to toe. If Calum hadn’t thought fast and held her she may have gone under from the force. He didn’t know how strong of a swimmer she was and wasn’t about ready to find out.

They stumbled out of the water, planted themselves on the shoreline with sopping wet clothes and hair and laughter that collided with the sunset. The waves barely touched their feet after breaking in the distance and lapping to shore. They took a moment to catch their breath, salt water nearly inhaled in the force of the wave. Calum couldn’t take his eyes off of Arden. The moment was dramatic and drowning but the laughter and the grin that couldn’t be contained left Calum feeling afloat. Her laughter bid his on, let chuckles fall from him in strangled breaths as he looked at her in awe.

“You saved my life,” she remarked once the laughter died down but a smirk still arched her lips and twinkled her eyes as she got up and offered a hand to him—she led him back back into the water, only about knee deep. “But you put it in danger first.”

A small splash accompanied by another giggle landed across his chest in a muted burst of cold. Calum was numb from the bite of cold washing over him so thoroughly, her splash was futile but her laughter made it worthwhile. Suddenly he was swept up in mischief, splashing her back past shrieks and chasing her through the water. Inhibitions slipped away and pooled into the open ocean, ready to drift away with the tide. The tense moment and anxiety of eyes and a camera on them disappeared into the sunset, ignorant bliss shrouded them in a curtain of privacy. They enjoyed the water and the sunset colliding against the waves in subtle bursts of color as time bled away from them; night approached with wind rolling off the waves and dark blue capturing the sky, shivering bodies wrapped in towels Calum was glad he thought to pack.

They abandoned the water and their spot on the sand in favor of the car with the heater thawing out their chills. They stayed parked with a view of the night and the moon glaring through the windshield. They were quiet and so was the night, not even the chirp of birds or the crash of waves made way into their small bubble of privacy. Calum chanced a glance over at Arden, sneaking a peak as she sunk further into the towel and watched the wiggle of her legs attempting to bring warmth back to her. If things were different; if she wasn’t Michael’s sister and their relationship wasn’t built around drunken escapades and forced facades, Calum may have thrown his arm over her shoulders and pulled her along the bench seat and to his side. He may have only packed one towel so they could huddle together under it and revel in each other’s body heat. But she was Arden and he was Calum and everything between them was too complicated for anything other than the facade they were living through. Or at least that’s what Calum convinced himself of in that moment.

Instead he just placed a hand on her knee as he had done before; the contact becoming more familiar with each touch. She smiled at him and slid herself closer, just a bit, just enough to communicate that it was okay and that the moment was real. It served as an answer and dug up more questions. Their moments on the beach, pressed so close and eye to eye. Pieces of her puzzle and past falling together. Calum had to wonder if those moments were real too. The line between pretenses and reality was becoming blurrier and blurrier as time went on and days were spent together without contractual reasoning. The sudden urge that had Calum jumping to shield her was less to do with a fuck you to management and more to do with a sense of protectiveness for her. She was timid in the face of a staged and known paparazzi stunt; Calum’s instincts went into overdrive to keep her okay during an unexpected invasion of privacy.

Their gaze broke for a moment, just long enough for her to let out a sigh and for the weight of it to barrel into Calum. Downcast eyes came back to meet one another and pursed lips and a twitching nose spoke of thoughts neither would say out loud. The quiet that settled between them was delicate, drenched in moonlight and privacy. Calum knew it was getting late but it was a thought he’d rather not say; the prospect of parting ways always hanging in the balance of time.

“It’s late,” Arden finally declared, saying what they both already knew and implying what was always to come. “Should probably head back now.”

Calum nodded and pulled his hand away from her, to put the key in the ignition and followed her suggestion as she slid back into her own seat. The drive was stalled for traffic and it bid Calum time to sneak glances at her; to note the way she burrowed into her towel and seemingly failed to keep wet hair from her eyes. Calum was smirking and holding back gentle laughter at her futile attempts to tuck her hair behind her ear; suppressed the ever present yearning to reach over and do it for her. Instead he reached for the radio and let music guide them back to Michael’s place. It was all too familiar a routine. Days spent together felt timeless yet too fast they would end up back in front of the house, back to Arden exiting the car and leaving Calum alone. The only good being the brush of her lips against his warmed cheek as she said her usual goodbye and thank you.

The house was calmer than usual when they pulled up but a light at the front was on for Arden’s homecoming. Neither moved once the car was in park—another piece of the routine falling into place. This time the blissful quiet that almost always ensued was interrupted by the ding and vibration of Calum’s phone. It was incessant and annoying, an obstacle to the few moments of alone time he had left with Arden. With eyes rolling and a breath escaping him he was ready to turn the phone off but notifications with Arden’s name stared back at him and stopped all movement. His anxieties and fears of a phone on the beach were trending. Photos and videos filled his timeline; moments he thought were private splashed across the internet for all to see. Calum knew Arden must have sensed the panic he was trying so hard to hide, her movement toward him and eyes finding the phone highlighting that fact.

The protective moment in the sand wasn’t surprising; Calum figured it would be posted but hoped he’d done enough to keep Arden out of the shot. The moments in the waves with laughter and guards down were what left Calum shell shocked. He thought the fan had fled when it was clear he was drawing a boundary in the sand. He thought the moment was theirs and theirs alone. Now it was an invasion of privacy.

Arden shook her head and Calum caught the shine of her eyes that showed her pain and hurt him as well. “I thought that was real.”

“It was,” Calum quickly defended the intrusive thought that his intentions were anything less than real. “I thought she left. We wouldn’t have gone out if I knew she was still taking photos.”

“Okay,” Arden accepted and Calum was relieved she was so quick to believe him; to trust his word even though the photos and tweets were much louder and painted lies so vividly and so easily. “Okay.”

She repeated the word but it was broken the second time, eyes fixating on the text below the photo; Calum followed her gaze and found scalding words of an unwarranted opinion. About her. He pulled the phone away and locked it; wished she hadn’t had to see that and was thankful she usually avoided social media. Hoped she wouldn’t have to see anything like it again.

She made to leave the car but Calum’s hand on her arm stopped her. “I’ll see you this weekend?”

She was confused for a moment but recognition filtered through quickly. “Right. I’m sure our parents will want to interrogate us together.”

She was distant, voice low and eyes wandering straight through Calum and past the tinted windows of the car. He let her go then, fingertips numb at the loss of contact and heart racing as she slipped out of the car without a near taste of sugar or a goodbye. He contained himself until she was in the house and the door was shut. Then his hands gripped the wheel with white knuckle force as he peeled out and headed home with his frustration. He tried to prevent it, tried to keep her from all she thought that fame was. He wanted nothing more than to keep her tucked away and into his side, away from flashing lights and out of headlines more than necessary.

Now the game was spinning out of their control and Arden was questioning what was real. Calum had those moments too but he was always able to reel himself in and feel his way around the uncertainty. He knew what was in his heart and mind, saw reflections of the same feelings in her eyes and all the smaller moments. He could tell she felt the weight of falling fame landing on her shoulders; he just hoped he could keep them and what was real from collapsing under the pressure.

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tessiete · 4 years

Text

So, my mum sent me a prompt, and I...I wrote it. Still working on those in my inbox, but mum’s come first, ya know?

She picked Spotify #12 (Love You Back, by Metric), and she wanted Luke and Qui-Gon bonding. I tried, mum, but Korkie just shows up all the time.

Love, your daughter.

LIFT UP, AND FALL AWAY

Luke travels to Dantooine by himself.

It’s been weeks since Bespin, weeks since he’d been released from medical supervision aboard the Dreamless Sleep and weeks since he’d left all its well-meaning but overbearing clinicians behind. He knows he should go back to Yoda, or hunt for the bounty hunter who took Han, or help Leia rally the scattered rebel forces back into order, but instead, he makes his escape.

There is little enough to recommend the planet. It is an outer rim world with no industry or economy to speak of. There are no cities, or monuments, the largest settlements boasting hardly more than a few thousand people and recent rumours suggest a small but growing number of them may be Imperial sympathisers which doesn’t bode well for him: The Miracle of Yavin; The First Hope of the Alliance. He can’t imagine anything like that will be met with particular enthusiasm here.

But even beyond political allegiances, it is a distinctly unappealing place being both unremarkable and largely unremarked. It is off of any useful trade route. It has few interplanetary allies, and only one weak judicial body to govern the entirety of its surface. In fact, the best thing Luke can think to say of it is that it is nearly as far away from Tatooine as it is possible for anything to be.

And far from Dagobah, too.

He brings his X-Wing down in the middle of a grassy plain, and leaves Artoo to run diagnostics on the ship. It’s his second (since he’d abandoned the first in Cloud City), and so lacking in all the alterations he’d so carefully programmed and calibrated into his previous fighter. He’s trying not to think of it as a nuisance, but an opportunity. A second chance. A second ship. A second hand - he smirks at this, and adjusts the blaster at his hip. He needs a second blade.

But there is something else that he must do first.

The sun is high as he sets off, only a small ration pack slung across his chest, and the blaster with him. Artoo’s whistling complaints grow fainter as he goes, until they are drowned completely beneath the whispers of swaying grasses. They are all turned brown. It is late in the year, and so they are filled with the gossip of an entire season. They brush against his legs, eager to touch this visitor and pass on rumours of his presence to their brethren, the trees, whose voices are heard in the rustle of leaves, then carried off on the wind in birdsong.

In the distance, he sees a herd of grazing iriaz, but they move off long before he is close enough to comprehend them as anything more than silent shadows, silhouetted against the sky. They leave prints - wide tracks scratched into dusty earth, and little pools where they have kicked up some water to sustain them. Common havoc kites circle lazily overhead, riding the updrafts on stiff, unyielding wings. They too, take no interest in Luke, and soon disappear in search of prey. The drone of some insect rises and falls and vanishes, its source remaining unseen. It seems to Luke that all of Dantooine is of a beautiful, but uncurious nature, content to live and let live without extending either welcome or censure to those who cross its lands.

It is in this manner, unencumbered by anything but the weight of his thoughts, that Luke finds himself only a few hours later passing beneath the boughs of ancient blba trees to arrive on the doorstep of a tidy stone cottage in the middle of the Khoonda plains. The base is a round structure, supporting another smaller yet equally round structure on top, like buckets of sand packed tight and upturned upon each other. Where they meet, there is a ring of wood slats, angled steeply downward as shingles to protect from run off, the door an old fashioned vertical slide that folds over itself as it springs from the floor to hide away in the crossbeam above. He knocks, and when a man with blue eyes, and gold hair threaded silver answers, Luke knows why Ben’s ghost has asked him to come.

“I’m looking for Kryze,” he says.

“That’s me,” the man replies, his brow furrowed. He keeps one hand on the door, and the other braced against the wall within to lend him strength should he need it, but there is no fear in his voice, despite the blaster he’s clearly noted.

“I’ve been sent to find you,” Luke says, and Kryze sighs.

“Well,” he says, shoulders sagging, and his body shifting to grant Luke admittance. “You’d better come inside.”

The space is warm, the amber light of the afternoon filtering through rippled glass windows to dance over cluttered walls, and overfull shelves. There are plants, bursting from their pots like Tusken black powder on fire. Paintings cover every inch of the wall not taken up with windows or furniture, and canvases lie stacked atop one another in various crevices and corners where space has run out. Books - proper old volumes printed on flimsi, and in some cases actual paper, stand front to back to front in orderly lines high in their cramped cases, regimented troops of education and exploration. Lower down are curiously bent sticks, twisted knots of dry grass, beetle wings, the shed scales of a rosy drayk, leaves of various size and colour, and a small river stone, smooth and black and streaked with red.

“Various treasures,” Kryze explains, as Luke is lost in his perusal. “You can touch them, if you like. Shall I put a kettle on?”

He wipes his hands upon an old rag, leaving streaks of blue and green, tossing it down beside a murky pitcher of water, and several brushes, and it is then that Luke realises he has caught him in the middle of something personal and profound.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” he says. “If you’re busy, I can wait. Or come back. Or -”

“Nonsense,” says Kryze, smiling. The expression is familiar, and Luke smiles back, feeling some common thread strum between them. “I ought to start on lastmeal anyway. We’re having muja dai-ungo for pudding. A favourite, you see, and yet I am the sole chef in this endeavour, since the other beasts which live here are prone to eating the jelly and leaving none for the glaze.”

It is some joke which Luke is not entirely certain of, so he smiles politely but doesn’t laugh as Kryze draws him into the cramped cookroom at the side. Water is set to boil on an ancient hot top, and Kryze sweeps aside a variety of holopads and half-finished string weaves to make space on the countertop. He pulls down two ceramplast cups, chipped and cracked, and smirks ruefully at his guest.

“A hazard of my unfortunate circumstances, you see. They say no plan survives contact with the enemy, and I take it to mean nothing at all survives contact with children. Everything here is somewhat the worse for wear, I’m afraid.” But there is nothing except long-suffering amusement in his voice, as though his pretensions of civility are an easy and happy price to pay for the benefit of such injury.

A shriek, followed by a chorus of laughter tumbles in from outside, and Kryze opens the window for a better view. Luke, overly alert to danger and almost surprised by joy, cannot help but duck his head to look, too.

A woman in long skirts races across the yard, followed by a girl brandishing a stick who looks only a few years younger than Luke, though she feels lightyears away.

“Wait!” calls another voice, high and pleading. As the first two cavort out of sight, a third girl appears, only to stop at the call, and turn back as the fourth, and final member of the party staggers into view. A boy, no older than seven or so, sets himself down upon the ground, crossing his arms in displeasure as the girl walks back to soothe him. “They run too fast,” Luke hears him lament. “And I have lost the poesy you made me.”

Kryze lets out a breath of laughter, assured there is no danger except perhaps to his son’s vanity, and returns to his pot, measuring out leaves and water with equal care. Luke watches the girl give her brother a hug, and coax him off in pursuit of the others.

“My eldest, Jinn,” Kryze explains. “She’s a wild thing, like her mother. And Mav, too, but with a softer heart. Corim is the youngest, and most civilised of the bunch. Thank the stars, or I’m afraid I’d be terribly overrun out here. Do you take anything in your tea?”

“Um, no,” Luke says, thinking of the heavy spices of Tatooine brews.

But the drink placed before him is a thin and watery kind of thing, of a pale pink colour. He can see the ceramplast through the liquid, and raises it to his lips skeptically.

Kryze watches him with that same kind amusement he seems to regard everything.

“It is a local variety of my own invention,” he explains. “Made from dried diabolix berries. Just the dried ones, mind you. The ones off the bush are deadly.”

Luke freezes, the rim of the cup pressed to his lips, the mild sweetness of sun still on his tongue, and Kryze laughs. He’s come here for a purpose, but has instead found himself trapped with a kind of domesticated eccentric.

He sets his tea down as politely as he can, while Kryze doesn’t hesitate to drink deeply from his own cup.

“I don’t want to be rude,” he says. “But I actually came here to deliver a message. From Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

At this, Kryze finally stills, his eyes meeting Luke’s with an apprehensive solemnity. “Of course,” he says. “What news?”

“He’s dead.”

The cup settles upon its saucer with only a faint chime of protest.

“Ah,” says Kryze.

In the following silence, guilt sweeps in, and soon Luke finds himself scrambling for the frayed edges of comfort and sympathy.

“It was fast,” he says. “And he knew what he was doing. He saved my life, and my friends. Vader - do you know anything that’s going on in the galaxy right now?”

That quiet, aching smirk curls upwards once more.

“Of course,” says Kryze. “Why else would I be way out here?”

“I’m sorry,” Luke says.

Kryze stands to clear the table of their tea.

“You say you’ve left your ship a few hours west? It is much too late for you to return to it now. Stay. Eat with us. Have a good night’s rest. Tomorrow, I should like to show you something.”

It is impossible for Luke to refuse this hospitality, not after he’s made such a mess of his own reason for coming here. He owes Kryze this much, at least.

“Of course,” he says. “If it isn’t any problem.”

“No problem at all,” Kryze insists. “There is an orchard down the path. If you follow the screams and laughter you should find it all right. The girls will collect you in time for latemeal.”

Thus dismissed, Luke removes his pack, but keeps his blaster close, heading for the door. At the threshold, he is overcome by a need to know for certain, and he turns back for one last look at the mysterious Kryze.

“Can I just ask,” he begins. “How did you know him? Obi-Wan, I mean. Why did he send me here to talk to you?”

His back to the door, Luke almost misses the reply carried back on the ghost of laughter.

“Oh, that,” says Kryze. “Well, after all, I am his son.”

The sun of Dantooine is much too reserved to intrude, and so it is to the clatter of dishware, and eager voices that Luke wakes the next morning. He stretches, and moves from his room to the sonics across the hall he thinks without attracting notice, but he is met, upon his exit, with the startled aspect of the youngest Kryze listening at the door.

Corim’s jaw snaps shut, and he frowns before declaring quite firmly that, “I wasn’t spying. I was only checking to see if you hadn’t died in the night you slept in so late.”

Luke grins. “Not dead yet, I don’t think.”

“Well, if you don’t hurry, there shan’t be any flatcakes left, no matter what Bebu says.”

“I’ll be there in a sec,” Luke assures him, and he stalks away entirely unconvinced.

Despite this threat, the table in the main room is still heaped with food when Luke emerges, fresher and more relaxed than he’s been in ages. The Kryzes are already packed tight around the table, but Mav and Jinn happily bunch over to make room for Luke between them. Mav, especially, goes out of her way to fill his glass, and pile his plate with the last of the muja preserves left over from the night before.

“Hey, that was my share,” complains Jinn, her mouth full. “You’ve already had seconds today.”

Mav blushes, and ducks her head, but her retort is vehement for all that her embarrassment is public. “We have a guest,” she says. “And your face is so full of cake you wouldn’t even taste the jelly anyway!”

“I didn’t get seconds!” Corim chimes in.

“Mother!” Jinn demands, taking her appeal to a higher court.

“Jinn, relax,” says Wyla, supremely unbothered, sipping her kaf and reading off her holopad. “Mav, be nice. Corim, I have a treat for you later.”

“S’not fair,” Jinn grumbles into her plate, but Wyla reaches over to pat her hand sympathetically.

“If you’re looking for the worst villain to blame, then examine your father’s plate. He’s more than enough jelly on that cake to last us to next harvest.”

At this, Kryze looks up to shoot his daughter a smug grin, before shoveling a heavily laden portion of flatcake into his mouth. Jelly, piled too high to survive the journey, tumbles from his fork to splatter against the flat of his plate as emphasis of his unjust indulgence.

“Delicious,” he declares. Jinn rolls her eyes, while Luke smuggles in a bite of his own portion.

It is tasty, both sweet and tart and satisfyingly thick. The meal continues through several more hotly negotiated contracts, and concludes with Wyla and Mav packing up the old speeder with the spoils of their orchard, and Jinn agreeing to mind Corim, much to her delight and his wary dismay. Kryze, it is announced, has business to attend to with Luke, and he does not expect their return before nightfall.

“Bring your rucksack,” he says, as they prepare to leave. “It is a long walk, and I shall want for snacks on the way.”

They set off with the sun on their faces, passing once more beneath the blba trees, the little cottage growing more and more distant as they make their way forth on the plains. Luke trusts that Kryze has some set destination in mind, but after the first hour he privately wonders if his guide has been distracted, and has brought them to wander in admiration of the land.

“That there is an extremely rare simbyloona butterfly,” he says, gesturing with a long wooden staff at the erratic path of the insect. “You ever been to Konkiv? Or Sriluur?”

“No,” says Luke.

“They have butterflies there,” explains Kryze. “What about Endor’s forest moon?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Well, if you ever go, keep an eye out,” he says, pushing on.

The world seems much more alive with Kryze today. Longhoppers leap from the grass as he wades through, warbling tiktiks swoop over head to catch them. One of unique boldness lands upon the top of Kryze’s staff when he stops to show Luke the little dirt mounds of puppi mice beneath their feet. He smiles, and extends a finger to the bird which cocks its head from side to side before giving in to temptation and hopping upon Kryze’s outstretched hand.

“Hello, there,” he sings, soft and low. “Aren’t you a brave thing?”

He holds the bird forth so that Luke may have a closer look at the colourful plumage before lifting it higher to the sky to release it.

“Off you go, then,” he says. “Beautiful animal, isn’t it? Usually quite shy though. You must bring good luck.”

Luke watches the course of the bird, and hardly knows he’s replied until he’s already said, “Your father said there was no such thing.”

“Did he?” Kryze beams. “Well, he always had such odd notions.”

“Unlike you?” Luke asks. It’s not that he’s insulted by the man’s amusement at a dead man, but it does seem somewhat hypocritical in light of the bird, and the paintings, and the tea.

But Kryze takes no offense, only quirking an eyebrow to say, “Where do you think I got it from?”

For all his evident curiosity this challenge seems to be exactly the sort of query Kryze was waiting for, and he begins to tell Luke all manner of things about himself as they move ever on towards the horizon.

“My mother was the Duchess of Mandalore,” he says. “A pacifist, though you’d never know it by the way the galaxy remembers us. And for a year she was under the protection of my father. They fell in love, as tragically and impossibly as any young person could wish, and when they parted my father left confident in his ignorance, and my mother was left with me. It’s difficult to say who came out ahead in that.”

“I thought the Jedi couldn’t love,” says Luke.

“And whoever told you that nonsense?” asks Kryze. “You told me my father died saving you, and he cannot have done that for anything less than the purest love.”

Luke says nothing to this, only twists a knot of grass off in his hand and releases it to the wind. They walk in strained silence until it becomes comfortable again, and Luke exhales in resignation.

“I only just met my father,” he says. “He tried to kill me.”

Kryze looks at him, then stops to look at him harder.

“Oh, I see it now,” he says. “You’re a Skywalker. I might have guessed it, but I’m afraid I’m rather out of practice these days.”

“Are you a Jedi, too?”

“No, no,” he scoffs. “Nothing so serious as all that. But I know enough to be able to tell the blaze of a Skywalker from the general inferno of starfire. I know enough to be recognised in turn.”

“Is that why you’re out here? Hiding from the Empire?”

Kryze grimaces at this, and turns back to the path ahead. A shadow looms, rising out of the ground, and he turns their course to that.

“What makes you think I’m hiding?” he asks. Then, before Luke can parse the riddle in this, he continues. “I used to be in the Alliance,” he says. “Wyla, too. We ran intelligence rings, and sabotage missions. We fought. Even had more than a few close calls with the Empire. But at some point, around the time that Wyla found out about Jinn, we decided that was it. We’d done our part. And when the Rebellion left their base here, we stayed behind.”

“The Empire still exists,” says Luke.

“And it will not be my hand which stops it,” counters Kryze. Then, as the shadow takes the form of a ruined temple sprung from the earth itself, he speaks again. “My parents both died for peace. I think that I owe it to them to live for it. Here we go.”

Vines cling to ancient stone, while tangles of brush climb up and over crumbled walls and gaping cracks in the side of the old building. The trees grow thickly here, still green and lush despite the lateness of the year.

“A wellspring,” explains Kryze, without Luke’s having to ask.

He guides him past hollowed out chambers pierced only by shafts of dazzling sunlight breaking through fractured ceilings, and bouncing off shallow, invisible puddles within. Animals chirrup in the brush, and birds nest in all the little nooks and crannies of decaying architecture. Though it is long abandoned, there is still something light and sacred about the space. The air is fresher here.

“This is a Jedi place,” breathes Luke.

“It was,” agrees Kryze. “Long before the Empire. Come along. There’s something else.”

Beneath a fall of greenery and fallen rocks lies an opening.

“What is it?” asks Luke.

“Caves,” says Kryze. Luke looks at him, still uncertain. “I have noticed that you carry no lightsaber,” he explains.

Luke flexes the fingers of his false hand, feeling the pistons and levers firing in time with his desire, but different from the muscles and sinew of his flesh. It cannot be observed by casual inspection, but somehow Kryze seems to know.

“I lost it,” says Luke.

“Then you shall have to build another.” He gestures again to the cave mouth, and Luke braces himself to go in. He shifts the blaster on his hip, checking the settings. “You won’t need that in there,” says Kyze. “There’s nothing inside but old ghosts.”

He is halfway to moving when he hesitates, and leans back. With his eyes fixed on Kryze’s, Luke unstraps the holster from his side, and hands it and his blaster into the hands of Ben Kenobi’s son. He goes into the caves alone.

It is dark inside, and there is a chill and the sound of water dripping into water somewhere far away. Luke steps carefully. Though the ground is rocky and uneven, his steps are certain and he does not falter. After several minutes of silent exploration, with no strange whispers or startling movement, the fear he entered with begins to fall away, leaving Luke’s mind open to the growing threat of boredom. There is nothing here. He sighs, and turns to leave only to discover the way out has grown just as dark as the path going farther in. He has no torch, no light, and no sabre to guide his path, but his irritation blazes bright enough to guide him and he sets off the way he came.

When he has walked more than twice the distance he came, and then gone back to walk the distance again, he decides there is little he can do but sit and hope that Kryze will come for him. Surely, he hasn’t brought him here to starve after feeding him so thoroughly only hours ago. And for all that Luke feels helpless in the inky pits of the caves, Kryze had not lied when he said his blaster would be of no use. There is no one here but Luke.

He sets himself down against a stone, the seat of his pants made uncomfortably damp by the floor, and quite to his own surprise, drifts off.

When he wakes, there is light.

All around him are outcroppings of crystals in various shapes and colours. Some shine more brightly than the others, and some glow so fervently it is as though they sing. He reaches out to touch one, and the rest all clamour in harmony to meet him.

Every thought of escape is eclipsed by the beauty in the caves, and Luke trails his fingers over each crystal that calls out, following their voices deeper and deeper into the caves. Until, in the deepest chamber, on the shores of a vast underground lake, he is met by something which glows brighter than all the crystals combined.

For a moment, he is compelled to shield his eyes, as the flare bursts forth in effulgent magnificence before dying down to live within the confines of an unrecognisable form.

It is a man with long hair, a kind smile, and wearing the robes of a Jedi.

“Hello, little one,” it calls out, and Luke raises his hand in reply. “I was wondering when I might have the chance to meet you.”

“Do I know you?” asks Luke, stepping closer.

The ghost chuckles. “Not as such,” he replies. “But I know you. You are the student of my student, after all. I am Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“You were Master Obi-Wan’s master!”

“And Master Yoda’s, too,” brags the ghost, enjoying the awe of Luke’s epiphany, but this is a boast too far, and Luke’s face falls into lines of skepticism.

“That can’t be true,” he says. “Master Yoda is much too old to have been taught by you.”

“Ah, and must education end with the cessation of breath? Cannot knowledge outlast us? Cannot learning outlive us?”

“Can it?” asks Luke.

“We are more than what we do in life, my boy,” says Qui-Gon. He sits upon one of the larger stones which border the edge of the lake, leaving space beside him for Luke. “And there is much to be learned by death, for those brave enough to seek it.”

Luke frowns, and moves to join him, trying to puzzle out the ghost’s philosophy.

“Are you suggesting -” he looks to the Jedi for confirmation, not convinced of his conclusion. “You’re not saying that we should just give in, are you? That we should just accept death when we could stop it?”

“Not at all,” says Qui-Gon, and Luke relaxes upon the stone. “It’s good that you fight. It’s important you fight. Don’t rush to death in the vain hope that it will bring you easy satisfaction. Life and death - they are balanced. They are equal. And there is much value to be found in both.”

“Is that why Ben let go?” Luke asks.

“Obi-Wan was wise to concede his life,” says Qui-Gon. “But that does not make his loss any more bearable for you. Or for me. And though I am glad to be with him once again, I will always wish he’d had more time with you.”

There is a smear of clay grown dry upon his knee, and he brushes it off with one hand.

“Me, too,” he says to the ghost.

“But that is Obi-Wan’s lesson for you,” says Qui-Gon, his voice ringing clear across the lake. “He knows what it means to let go, but I -” he says. “I am here to show you how to hold on.”

And in the crystalline light of the caves, and the glittering warmth of the ghost, Luke learns of his lineage, and his family, and all the ways in which he is never alone. Qui-Gon speaks of the past. He tells him of a little boy who struggled and overcame, and a little boy who struggled and fell, and how neither of them loved the other any less. He tells the story of an ancient Order, and a girl queen; of a duchess, and a knight; of children lost to their parents, and parents lost to themselves. He tells of blood, and consequences, and desire, and regret, and joy, and sorrow, and how it all lives on in memory, and in stories, and in relics, and in paintings, and in river stones, and in muja dai-ungo, and in him.

“There is nothing lost,” says Qui-Gon. “So long as you choose to remember it. Neither life, nor love, nor people. Hold on. And don’t let go.”

And as he fades away into darkness, the song of a single crystal cries out, drawing Luke up, and up, and out of the black of the caves into the evening sun.

At the mouth of the hollow, standing with the light in his hair, and Ben Kenobi in his eyes, stands Kiorkicek Kryze. In his hands, a sabre, the kyber inside calling out.

And when Luke touches the hilt, he knows that this one is his.

“I thought it might be you,” says Kryze, smiling. He shifts Luke’s bag high against his shoulder and turns to the setting sun. “Come on,” he says. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

And when he finally returns to his ship, and Artoo, and programmes a course for home, Luke leaves Dantooine by himself, but he is not alone.

#my fic #prompt fill #spotify prompt fill #korkie kryze #korkie kenobi #qui-gon jinn #luke skywalker

41 notes · View notes

ashistrashhh · 4 years

Text

here are some fic recs!! including sakuatsu, bokuaka, kuroken and matsuhana bc i couldnt help myself

if you want, ask me about a certain ship and ill give you some recs!

-sakuatsu-

Marble and Sandstone by red_camellia

rating: G words: 12,937 chapters: 2/2

author summary: Miya Atsumu only cares about volleyball and nothing else. That is, until he develops a strange obsession with the marble statue of a young man that seems vaguely familiar in his university's arts department. One day that statue comes alive as the very real Sakusa Kiyoomi, and they are left with the mystery of why Sakusa Kiyoomi was turned into a statue and only came back to life when Atsumu touched him. Their new-found connection and the strange mystery turns Atsumu's life upside down, not least because of his growing feelings for Sakusa.

my notes: this was a rlly cute fic!!! 11/10 would read again!!

let it go (paint my body gold) by lunarism

rating: T words: 3,272 chapters: 1/1

author summary: It becomes a routine for them. Sometimes they go grocery shopping and make dinner together, other times they end up talking until Sakusa feels like his own shower and bed is calling him. Every single time Sakusa gets home, shrugs his coat off, balls it up, and proceeds to scream profusely into the fabric for a few minutes.

my notes: pining!!! sakusa!!! also casual painter!atsumu!!! and they paint together!!!

craft a miracle with these hands, lips, (silence) by chrysanthe (sonderesque)

rating: T words: 4,252 chapters: 1/1

author summary: ‘Someone is here to ruin your night,’ his door tells him. ‘You should let them in.’ “I’M HOMELESS OMI-OMI. HOMELESS,” yells the one here to ruin his night. “LET ME IN.”

(What does Kiyoomi sell his sanctuary for?)

my notes: hnnn rlly fuckin cute,, and domestic,,,,

Clipped To You by littleboat

rating: T words: 8,174 chapters: 1/1

author summary: It starts with Hinata Natsu, of all people.

Well, if Atsumu’s being honest with himself, it started way before that, but he’s not, so that’s besides the point. And thankfully, he’s just petty enough to blame all of his problems on a thirteen year old girl.

or Sakusa starts wearing hair clips and Atsumu is more than a little obsessed

my notes: minor kagehina, bokuaka // god these fics rlly make me simp for fictional characters even more than i should. but!! sakusa!!! in hairclips!!! and a pining atsumu!!!

learn how to lay me down in something other than danger, other than fury by rosevtea

words: 34,211 chapters: 1/1

author summary: All of the ways fellow college TA Miya Atsumu reinvents Kiyoomi's definition of normal.

my notes: god i loved this. it’s a fake dating au and like,, even though they’re “dating” sakusa keeps letting his guard down little by little around atsumu and it surprises everyone. komori and akaashi just know that they’re were genuinely pining for eachother

among probabilities and a thousand fates by aalphard

rating: T words: 15,675 chapters: 1/1

author summary: prompt fill for “in a world where the red string of fate exists, person a’s finger always twitches when person b, who can see the string, tugs on their string” | or sakusa thought he had a tic and atsumu liked to see his confused expression when it started to happen exclusively when he was around.

my notes: i! loved! it!! so basically atsumu and osamu have the rare gift of seeing the red string of fate, so they know its real but sakusa, like most other people dont believe it exists. so atsumu gives sakusa a (kinda) hard time. rlly cute!! i love soulmate aus!

-bokuaka-

love in the time of wifi by dalyeau

rating: G words: 4,177 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Akaashi is coming to terms with the fact that he might be romantically interested in his volleyball captain. Hence, doing what any sixteen year old with a problem should do. He asks about it online.

my notes: really cute fic about akaashi asking what he should do about his crush on a site similar to reddit. its kinda a “i didnt know it was you” kind of fic and it made me happy

steam by orphan_account

rating: E words: 8,474 chapters: 1/1

author summary:

bokuto: why is he so hot bokuto: why am i so gay kuroo: LMAO you mean your vice captain right bokuto: yeah

The coach blew the whistle for practice to begin, and Bokuto drummed his fingers against the bleachers, awaiting Kuroo’s reply. He was about to walk away, when his phone buzzed in his hand.kuroo: i got this bro bokuto: what bokuto: wtf does that mean

Bokuto started to panic.

my notes: explicit!!! but really wholesome. kuroo is honestly the best wingman. i also think this is my favourite bokuaka smutfic??

just to miss the sun by rosevtea

rating: T words: 15,126 chapters:1/1

author summary: Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

my notes: akaashi is a booktuber and bokuto crashes one of his streams. fans begin to speculate. rlly fluffy and can u tell i like bokuaka

brain fish by iceblinks

rating: T words: 12,026 chapters: 6/6

author summary: Akaashi wakes up to a string of texts from an unknown number.

my notes: i love text fics and i love wrong number aus so u can tell how much i loved this. really fluffy and i come back to it time to time

-kuroken-

us three by honey_s

rating: T words: 5,137 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Kuroo’s gaze flits over to the utensil. His eyes bulge out of his skull. “Wh—is that a meat hammer? Put it back!” Akaashi’s head recoils back in confusion. “I don’t understand the problem here.” “Why on Earth have you got a fucking meat hammer? We aren’t going to kill somebody!” “Well,” Akaashi begins, clearly taken aback, “I apologise for assuming. I had heard Kenma-san had been hurt in school and after getting a message from both of you to meet late at night, I merely filled in the blanks and assumed we were going to beat someone up, for lack of a better term.” “Not literally! I meant metaphorically, or figuratively, or something!” “Idiomically?” “That isn’t a word, Bokuto-san.” “Jesus Christ,” Kuroo groans, dropping his head into his hands. “We're going to jail."

my notes: bokuaka and kuroo are ready to beat someone up for kenma!! and we stan!!

Cherry Pits and Cat Tattoos by strawberryriver

rating: G words: 6,141 chapters: 1/1

author summary:

Kuroo has been in communication with his soulmate ever since they were kids. They've known each other for so long that he never really worried about when or how he would meet them. At least, not until he meets the roommate of Bokuto's soulmate.Soulmate AU in which things written on your skin show up on your soulmate. Companion piece/same AU as Serendipty

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Kuroo Tetsurou liked to write on his arms. Despite his mother's half-serious warnings about “ink poisoning” or staining his skin, he insisted on marking his arms and legs wherever he could. Not like his best-friend-since-always Bokuto Koutaro, who had to write on his arms or he’d forget to breathe, but artfully. He’d draw designs, animals, the occasional chemical compound. The whole idea behind soulmates fascinated him: how one person could mark their arm and someone potentially thousands of miles away, would have that same mark appear. The amount of articles, studies, and books he’d read about the topic, even at a young age, could put an undergrad researcher to shame.

my notes: again with the soulmate au bc i cannot help myself. but really cute!!! probably gonna read this again later!

Boom, Toasted by protostar (hearthope)

rated: T words: 6,782 chapters: 1/1

author summary:

FROM: yuuji any bets on who hes texting??

FROM: eita He's smiling at his phone. Kuroo, probably

FROM: kentarou Kuroo

TO: fake family Have any of you ever once considered not prying

FROM: eita You deserve it

FROM: yuuji how can we not when ur in love!!

Kenma gets a text from an unknown number. He'd be lying if he said the guy behind it wasn't kind of endearing.

my notes: again, i love wrong number texts. it focuses more on kenma’s friendship, but kenma’s pov with texting kuroo is more than him realizing feelings and stuff. really cute, ive read it multiple times.

Japan's most subscribed by NeverNothing

rating: T words: 3,631 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Kuroo Tetsurou @blacktetsurou changed his bio : volleyball player, co-owner of Bouncing Ball Corp. and so much more ;)

my notes: i! love! social media! fics!!! really cute and basically people wondering who the mysterious kuroo is to applepi.

MATSUHANA!!! the underrated gem

texting (with a capital S) by parenthetic

rating: M words: 2,119 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Hanamaki breaks his No Texting In Class rule, and it's all downhill from there.

my notes: honestly more funny than it suggests, but its matsuhana, they’re meme lords.

rated m for by orphan_account

rated: T words: 10,692 chapters: 1/1

author summary: He should have known that there was a Specific Reason™ why it was so absolutely vital that he and Matsukawa specifically meet for a reading of the script. He should have known that there had to be some evil catch beyond sitting in a tiny, cramped studio with his newly sworn enemy.

Hanamaki stares at the title of the script he’d so gracefully neglected the night before.

FORBIDDEN PARADISE

“Excuse me,” Hanamaki starts, raising a pen in the air while staring blankly at the packet in his free hand. “Just to clarify, you want me to record a boy's love CD with Matsukawa?”

my notes: a very good voice actor au. there is some misunderstanding on hanamaki’s part bc he didnt finish listening to matsukawa, and this is really cute and i love matsuhana.

In A Quiet Night, All Sounds Carry by levyovochka

rating: E words: 4,794 chapters: 1/1

authors summary: “Ah, ah, Too—!”

Hanamaki hates his university dorm.

“—ru, let me cum, please!”

Hold up. That’s a fucking understatement. Let him rephrase it: Hanamaki loathes his university dorm with passion. Detest the damned abomination, abhors it—

“—ru! Coming, coming—”

It has only been a month and Hanamaki already wants to die.

my notes: as u can guess minor iwaoi // rlly well written and bottom hanamaki rights and maybe my favourite matsuhana smutfic??? and hooh boy i simp for matsukawa

call me maybe by totooru

rating: T words: 33,689 chapters: 14/14

author summary: Hanamaki texts the wrong number when trying to extort tips out of Oikawa in order to defeat Iwaizumi in arm wrestling, and then continues to text the witty stranger who had answered.

my notes: minor iwaoi, daisuga, bokuaka // god i think this is my favourite matsuhana fic overall, maybe in general, but my god is it great. this is probably a common rec, but its understandable as to why it is. basically au where makki texts matsun (who goes to karasuno) instead of oikawa for tips to beat iwaizumi at an arm wrestling match. but they keep messaging. and holy shit i love their conversations. please read this, it is 256/10

there we go!! i might go a part two with more ships (kagehina, tsukkiyama and iwaoi) but this took up way to much time lol. i have an essay due in a couple hours. but hope u like these fics as much as i do!!

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drnikolatesla · 4 years

Text

Nikola Tesla's Dream

A very rare story told by Tesla in a letter to a friend. He talks about his brother's death, his mother and her death, and his thoughts on spiritualism.

"Years ago, after evolving my system of wireless transmission of energy, I came to the conclusion that to put it on a sound engineering foundation I had to unravel the electrical mysteries of the earth. The task almost superhuman, but I had the boldness of ignorance to undertake it and passed several months in most intense concentration eventually gaining a clear insight when I was at a point of collapse. On my slow return to the normal state of mind I experienced an exquisitely painful longing for something undefinable. During the day I worked as usual and this feeling, though it persisted, was much less pronounced, but when I retired the night, with its monstrous amplifications, made the suffering very acute until it dawned upon me that my torture was due to a consuming desire to see my Mother.

Thoughts of her led me to the review of my past life beginning with the earliest impressions of my childhood and I was dismayed to find that I could not recall clearly even her features except in one scene. It was a dismal night with rain falling in torrents. My Mother, took me in her arms and whispered, almost inaudibly: “Come and kiss Daniel.” I pressed my mouth against the ice cold lips of my brother knowing only that something dreadful had happened. My mother put me [on the] bed and lingering a little said with tears streaming: “God gave me one at midnight and at midnight he took away the other one.” This remembrance was like an oasis in the wilderness kept alive by some strange prank of the brain in the midst of oblivion. My recollections came slowly gaining is clearness and after weeks of thinking the images appeared sharply defined and in a fullness of light which astonished me. Uncovering more and more of my past life I came to review my American experiences. In the meantime my craving had become almost unbearable and every night my pillows were wet from tears. Unable to stand it longer I resolved to quit work and go home. This I did and after a multitude of experiences I found myself in Paris wither I had fled from London to escape the fuss raised about me in England. I had to get off some final proofs for one of my lectures before leaving and while doing this a messenger handed me a telegram from my uncle which read: “Your Mother is dying hurry if you want to find her alive.” I rushed for the train and after three day’s journey over the mountains at breakneck speed I reached, bruised and exhausted, my Mother’s bedside. She was in the agonies of death but the jou of seeing me worked the miracle of a temporary recovery. I never left her until my own condition became such that I was taken to another building in the neighborhood for a short rest. When I was alone in my bed I meditated on what might happen if my Mother died. Would there be a disturbance in the ether? If so could I detect it? My senses were acute to an incredible degree. I could hear the ticking of a watch at a distance of fifty feet. A fly alighting on a table in the center of the room produced in my ear a thud like that of a pile driver and I could hear plainly the clatter of his feet. I was trained scientific observer well qualified to make an undistorted record of what I perceived. If such a transmission of effect was possible the best conditions existed for establishing the fact. Mindful of the enormous scientific importance of such a discovery I struggle desperately against sleep, and with my senses sharpened by the darkness and stillness of the night, I watched intently. Five or six hours, seeming like an eternity, passed without a sign and then I gave out falling into sleep or swoon. When I came to an indescribably sweet music filled my ears and I saw a floating white cloud in the center of which my Mother was reclining looking at me with loving eyes the face illuminated those of seraphims. The apparition passes slowly across the room and out of my vision. In that instant a feeling of absolute certitude swept over me that my Mother was dead and, sure enough, a maid came running who brought the mournful message. This knowledge gave me a terrific shock and suddenly I became aware that I was – in New York! My Mother had died years before but I had forgotten it: How could this happen I asked myself horrified and bitterness, pain and shame overwhelmed me. My sufferings had been real though the events were but imaginary reflections of previous occurrences. What I experienced was not the awakening from a dream but the restoration of a particular department of my consciousness.

"At the time the events related actually took place I was in a hysterical state and inclined to believe that there was really a psychic manifestation, a post mortem message from my Mother, but I soon dismissed this idea as sheer nonsense. I am proving constantly, by every thought and act of mine, that I am nothing more than an automaton responding to external stimuli and passing through as infinitude of different existence, from the cradle to the grave.

"The explanation of these mental phenomena is, after all, very simple. Through long concentration on a special subject certain fibers in my brain, for want of blood supply and exercise, were benumbed and could no longer respond properly to outside influences. With the diversion of my thoughts they were gradually vivified and finally brought back to their normal condition. The desire to see my Mother was due to my examination of some artistic fabrics woven by herself which had awakened in me tender memories shortly before I began to concentrate. I heard the music because my Mother died on Easterday just when a choir was singing in a church not far from me. But to locate the external impression which caused the apparition I had much trouble until I remembered that, on my return from Europe, I passed through Munich and saw there, among others, a painting of Arnold Bocklin interpreting one of the seasons and showing a group of allegorical figures on a cloud. So wonderfully skillful was the artist in this creation that the cloud seemed positively to float in the air as if supported by some invisible means.

This made a deep impression on me. The practical lesson of all this is to beware of concentration and be content with mediocre achievement."

–Nikola Tesla

(Letter to George S. Viereck. Hotel New Yorker, New York, 20 December 1934.)

#Nikola Tesla #quotes #dream #mother #spiritualism #death #Easter #mechanistic theory of life #philosophy #ahead of his time #ahead of our time

303 notes · View notes

yeoldontknow · 4 years

Text

Sheltered Hearts: 4 (FINAL)

Author’s note: for @iq-biased. i hope you all enjoy the last part in this series as much as i enjoyed writing it! Paring: Yoongi x Reader (oc; female) Genre: enemies to lovers; vet!au; angst; romance; fluff Rating (this chapter): PG Warnings (this chapter): angst; some discussion of surgery but nothing graphic; a sick doggo who deserves so many kisses and is a good boy; a very soft first kiss; a very soft yoongi :( someone hug him Word count: 7.5K

masterlist

Talia’s hands tremble when you reach out to hug her, the strength in your joints equally as unwavering as the strength of your gaze upon your fingers. For now they are clean, gloves discarded and with them Casper’s blood, but that does not change where they have been, does not erase all that they have touched. You hold her gently, instinctually used to soft touches and gentle movements; lingering in a place and time when any pressure, too hard or too coarse, would cause malleable sinew to sever. The relief in her breath against your shoulder is immeasurable, perhaps her first genuine exhale in hours, but you remain silent, altogether still too aware of your hands, haunted.

‘He’s recovering,’ you hear yourself whisper, though you are unsure of the purpose of this statement. Is it to tether you to the earth? To reassure Talia? You cannot say for certain. It erupts from nowhere, a confident murmur, dawning in the center of your chest and desperate to greet the air within the same second. It is unprompted and likely unprofessional, but it matters, brimming over from the place where emotion latches onto blood.

Dr. Hague stands behind Yoongi, observant and encouraging, as he details Casper’s rehabilitation plan, voice bright and clear with sunlight nestled into the corner of his words. Even without looking at him, you can hear he is smiling, that boyish yet professional expression he wears when he is proud, still love-drunk from the concept of recovery. She breaks away from you, hanging on his every word and forcing herself not to celebrate too soon.

Casper will be held for several days in observation, the first three days the most imperative when infection or rejection can set in. Should he come out of these days unscathed, he will then be transferred to recovery therapy and then spend five weeks on lead, unable to freely play. It will be hard, he advises, and Talia nods, prepared to try to understand, chewing at the only question love ever allows to settle in a space like this:

When can I see him?

You don’t wait for her to ask the question, air in the room becoming thin and altogether too stale for your liking. Pulling off your surgical cap, you turn abruptly, moving through the waiting area to push your way through the doors and out to the parking lot. In the field across the street, the sun has just begun to set, blood on the grass that illuminates the earth like wildfire. A single breath is not enough to contain this, you think, a moment of fierce victory and delicate, unfathomable frailty. It could snap, this sense of pride and pleasure, one white blood cell rejecting the next would bring this moment to an endless, perpetual night.

Breathing deep, the smell of the wild flowers finds its way to you, a Spring evening that will eventually fade and fade until other victories and other failures render this moment painfully ordinary. Breathing deep, you cling to this feeling, the understanding that Gods never marvel at their miracles - the knowledge that surgery is not the act of playing with fate and instead is the summation of human suffering, a desperate plea to continue in life’s brief and limited smallness.

All things live, all things die, and it is a blessing to be present at both.

The clack of the door closing breaks your thoughts, but you do not open your eyes. You want this moment to last a little longer, regardless of who sees you, aware that these kinds of successes look almost the same as defeat, brutal and unforgiving. Yoongi’s presence lifts the hair on your arms to standing, an energetic cascade of safety and understanding. He moves behind you, drifting from your right to the center of your back to your left and off, somewhere away from you and carried by the doppler effect of his even footsteps.

He doesn’t speak, and even in this silent awareness that you are being observed you don’t feel pressured to speak with him. Yoongi lets you be, allows you to continue, uninterrupted, and lets you stand in the ever lowering sun, the warmth from the day giving over to a cool breeze, demanding nothing from you. He lingers at the edge of your awareness, a watchful satellite ensuring you are whole and that, if you do break, you do not break alone. When you finally open your eyes, your turn to face him, hands at your sides too full of blood and swollen, now, with excitement.

Leaning against his car, now in his street clothes, Yoongi stands, arms crossed and expression placid, watching you with a whisper of a smile. Liberated from his scrubs and hugging himself in a thin burgundy hoodie, he no longer is the surgeon or the doctor or the student battling for recognition. Instead, he is simply Min Yoongi, young and handsome and magnificent, watching you as though you are the fading light of the earth, intent on memorizing all your nuanced shades.

For a while, you are content to linger in this silence with him, observing him with the same unfettered focus. Eyes wired, the dimming light catches his irises, making him appear as though he glows from within. Thin lipped, he no longer appears severe in this light, instead he is curious and mercurial, hungry for the truth of things - the truth of you. The last strands of light hold tightly to his hair, lighting him on fire, burning the edges of his aura.

‘How about that diner?’ he asks with a gentle nod of his head towards his car, recalling his earlier suggestion.

The rumble in your stomach at the suggestion makes you giggle, though you are unsure if it is food you desire or if it is him, moments alone with him to truly see who he is when he does not have to fight to be seen.

Yoongi orders pancakes as though it would be a sacrilege to eat anything else at a diner, unbothered with the pretense of looking at the menu. In the pale fluorescent light, a pink blush settles on his cheeks, teased to life either by the rush of blood beneath his cheeks or the soft reflection of the red vinyl seat. You feel his eyes on you as you scan the menu, his inquisitive stare taking its time handling your frame. Gripping the edge of your seat, your eyes glaze over, scanning the words and the pictures, idly wondering why you bother with such false shows of interest when, much like Yoongi, you know you will order the waffles - something slightly different, but similar enough in its texture and form that you begin to see Yoongi as your mirror image.

His gaze remains trained on you even after the waiter has departed, arms folded, again, across his chest in a congenial display of interest. You’re not used to such unbridled attention, the kind of focus that comes from learning a person rather than witnessing them. The steel in his features has disappeared, rendering him soft and human and altogether too sincere for your liking, but the stillness in his focus tells you he is disassembling you. Fidgeting in your seat, heat crawls along your skin, joints tense and tongue heavy against your teeth.

You watch him too, watch the way his head cocks slowly to the side, a small smirk pulling at his lips. Watch the way he lets himself be painted by the light, different now to the sun and do the red and pink and blue kaleidoscope of the sky but equally as mesmerizing. No one is meant to be offered a metamorphosis in this kind of light. No one is meant to become beautiful, but he is. Of course he is.

Tearing your eyes away, a small act of desperation, you think, you glance around the diner. People are scattered, the empty spaces between occupied tables perhaps larger in number than those seated altogether, but you are glad for the quiet hum of life and motion. Thursday evening, and you would not say this particular location is prone to a rush hour, but it’s peaceful, a reminder that the weather turns, hearts beat, and lungs breathe.

A reminder that some things do not change even if the way you are feeling about Yoongi is.

‘I’m realizing,’ he announces, calling your attention back to him with his smooth, low drawl, ‘that we have only spent time together in the context of work.’

‘You’re just realizing this?’

‘No,’ he admits. ‘But I’m saying why haven’t we? In five weeks, amidst everything, why haven’t we?’

It’s not an unfamiliar question, one you have been mulling over for days at a time. At the clinic, things have changed - even before Casper’s surgery, the way you move around Yoongi has shifted not unlike the planets around the sun. But then, it is not just you who has been altered, moved by this sudden unified desire to help. Yoongi, too, smiles more - the kind where his teeth are on full display and for one, precious moment, he is not afraid of being himself; laughs louder; allows the creases at the center of his eyes to form without worrying he is being unprofessional.

In the past several weeks, you have found more reasons to be beside him, more reasons to ask for his advice, found yourself craving the very concept and theology of more - not necessarily love or a crush, but the threatening start of one, the thunder of your heart just a little louder when he laughs. Some days, it is no longer Dr. Hague’s praise you crave but his, as if he has any bearing on your success, as though a word of approval from him holds more weight than any paper rewarded to you by the nature of your own hard work - as if hours spent challenging him are as valuable as hours alone in a lab, giving over and giving in, allowing yourself to become better because he requires it.

Clearing your throat, you let your eyes wander over his easy smile and his cool, collected demeanor. ‘I don’t know,’ you shrug, a casual display of nonchalance. ‘You never asked.’

Yoongi chuckles, unfolding his arms as he leans a little closer to the table. ‘You didn’t ask, either.’

Cocking your brow, you feel yourself smirk, pulling at his words the same way he pulls as yours. ‘Are we calling a truce?’

For a long moment, Yoongi considers your words, mulling them over as his cheeks inflate with air. Folding his arms on the table, he regards you in a playful contest, the diner becoming little more than a boardroom for your false negotiations. Mirroring his position, you rest your arms on the table and narrow your eyes. Chewing at the inside of your cheek, it takes work to swallow the smile you want to offer him, the sort of smile he so badly hides at the corner of his mouth.

‘At work?’ he says, finally.

You nod, resolute in your role and your intent.

‘Never.’ He falls back into his seat, reclining into the cushion with his eyes full of promise and mirth. You wait for him to speak, somehow hanging on every word, relieved that this rivalry can continue as is, uninterrupted and unchanged, yet still expectant. ‘But outside of work,’ he continues, slowly, his wide smile blossoming, ‘I’d like to be friends.’

Everything about Min Yoongi is infectious, the light in his eyes a dangerous glimmer that demands your surrender. Taking a deep breath, you prepare your words, aware that your acceptance of this offer is a commitment not unlike love, yet carrying with it the potential to last longer, eternal, the purest form of connection that could exist.

‘I can do that.’

The arrival of your food ceases all conversation, the growling in your stomach a reminder that you have not eaten since before Casper’s surgery. All morning you had felt uneasy, not nauseous and not queasy, but unable to shake that you were standing at the precipice between fantasy and reality. The statement of wanting to be something is entirely different than the process of becoming, said so long and so often throughout your life that you had almost forgotten that the experience of growth is just as important as the commitment to the desire. And so you had not eaten, certain that the comfort of a meal would distract you from the weight of importance.

Taking your time arranging your plates of eggs and bacon, gathering your napkin and utensils, you greet your waffles with an enthusiastic smile. Glancing upwards, you find yourself laughing at Yoongi and his childlike glee. He falls into his meal the same way he falls into surgery, with diligence and an edge of impatience, as though the plate itself carried a seduction he found irresistible. Hands idle over your fork and knife, you wonder if this is the enthusiasm with which he falls into everything he desires, unbridled though careful, unsatisfied until he has born witness to and tasted it all, with a fidelity of devotion large enough to cradle the sun.

He cuts into his pancakes with diligence, holding his fork and knife with surgical delicacy as he makes elegant cuts, shaping his pieces with precision. You’re sure it’s just a habit, something he can’t quit after so long of learning to be careful, but you feel the onslaught of your sudden similarities in the center of your chest, a weight becoming harder and harder to disregard.

‘What you did for Casper was impressive,' he announces, penetrating your thoughts with the cool tones of his voice. 'The foresight required to make that kind of suggestion...to invent something…’ His words evaporate as he chews, glancing from his pancakes to his bacon and back again, unsure which deserves his attention more. Swallowing, he nods, assuming you have already agreed with him. ‘Remarkable.'

The magic of the moment is broken by the implication this is an unusual occurrence, reminded now that, had you been more vocal, more demanding and less angry that the clinic already had a rising star, there would have been more chances, more opportunities to prove this kind of medicine is not a miracle. Briefly, the sterilized antiseptic scent of the graduate school lab hall floods your synapses. All the bones you watched break, only to be put together by someone else; all the innovations, the universal mystery of 3D printing no longer so out of reach; all the advances humanity makes simply because they want to, and because they can.

What you did for Casper, you think, was not as much impressive as it was the morally correct thing to try. Long ago, you decided magic is real and magic is man made. Magic is the decision of recognizing something is broken and taking the initiative to fix it.

Casting your attention to your waffles, you grip your utensils with the same tender reverence as Yoongi, hands giving pause to make your first incision. ‘It wasn’t really,' you murmur with a shrug.

Yoongi halts his movements and swallows, blinking at you momentarily bewildered.

‘No?' he snorts, disbelieving. 'Tell that to Talia. That dog might walk again, with all four legs mind you. That never would have happened without you.'

Humming, you nod in mild agreement. ‘I mean sure, objectively, it is.'

Dropping your shoulders, you consider your words, wondering how anyone could explain the way careful hands and cold metal can create structure - not necessarily life - but still something vital, necessary, and powerful just the same; the offer of a new life, created and manifested simply because you want it to be. How could you ever, you wonder, explain that you are not bringing someone back to life, but adding to the concept of it, extending it- challenging, not death but, life itself.

‘But,’ you continue, meeting his eyes once more as you decide on a worthy enough explanation, ‘you have to understand that’s the standard for orthopedics, this kind of specialty.’

He eyes you expectantly, hands poised and still, knowing that there is more - so much more you want to say - and leaves you the absolute freedom to say with, unhindered.

‘In our surgery labs, you should see what you can build. What you can make with your own two hands.’ Relaxing into your seat, your mind races, remembering. ‘It’s a fusion of all the sciences really - bones and soft tissue, metal and construction. You’re not trying to resurrect - yeah, sometimes it can feel like that, but that’s not the point. We aren’t bringing someone back from the brink - we’re pushing them over the limit and ensuring they survive.’

You aren’t entirely sure when you became so hungry - for food, for life, for Yoongi - but it does not escape your attention how painfully emphatic you sound. Nothing, you think, has ever been so important for him to understand, so important for him to feel.

‘I have no interest in playing God,’ you continue, quieter now but just as determined. ‘Not the way you would in cardio or…’

‘Oncology?’

He offers it almost like a challenge, and, perhaps, on a different day, long before you truly could say you knew him, you would have felt as though there was no way to escape the unintentional insult he means to force on you. Instead, you see the way he watches you, considerate and gentle, fully aware this is not a slight at him or his choices, managing instead to leave you room to breathe in the space of accepting his statement.

‘Yeah.’ You hold his gaze, smiling as though you cannot help it, as though smiling at him is the most natural and wonderful thing - made for it, you think, made for the wonder of his pleasure.

Yoongi smirks, watching you intently, eyes alive with something that makes him look playful and joyful, content to be sharing this moment with you; honored, if only because you decided to let him in.

‘Makes sense,’ he says with a shrug, leaning forward once more to return his attention to his pancakes.

Bewildered, you cock your head to the side. ‘What does?’

‘Why you were resentful before.’ Yoongi reaches across the table, taking the syrup from beside your glass, pouring more over his pancakes and letting it spill onto his bacon. ‘About working here.’

Your jaw falls open, mock offence mixing with genuine abjection. ‘It’s not that I was resentful,’ you begin, asserting that you were neither ungrateful nor bitter. ‘It’s just hard to rationalize how badly you want to help, and how much you know could do, with the limit of your role.’

Even as you say the words, you know they are little more than platitudes you tell yourself - have been telling yourself - to rationalize the level of dejection you experienced. It seems like ages ago, moons upon moons having passed, a dying age when you accepted your stagnancy and put the blame on Yoongi, choosing him as your scapegoat simply because he took control of his life with both hands.

Cocking an eyebrow in your direction, Yoongi laughs, amused and disbelieving. Pointing a strip of bacon in your direction, he refuses you the comfort of your placating sentiments.

‘You were resentful,’ he states plainly.

The mischievous glimmer in his eyes is infectious, your cheeks warming with a sheepish blush that has you giggling. ‘Okay, maybe I was,’ you concede. ‘All the typing and filing is wearing out my perfect hands.’

Eyeing you through his lashes as he cuts more of his pancakes, he considers you for a long while, as though you are a mystery he is only just beginning to solve.

‘You did good,’ he says eventually, words gentle and voice full.

The genuine affection you find in the statement catches you off guard, chest tight as your heart stumbles over its natural rhythm. More and more, he has become tender - someone who offers support in the form of silence when you need to be heard; someone unafraid to give encouragement or honesty when you need it most; someone who, after everything you have seen from them, from their strength to their arrogance to their dedication, is nothing more than a boy with a heart too big to be contained in the cage of his sternum.

Now, with the lights reflecting the neon of the diner and putting the rainbow in his blonde hair, skin pink and warm and eyes almost brutal in their kindness and their candor, Yoongi is a vision - one you do not think you will ever stop admiring.

‘You did, too,’ you murmur, cheeks hot with a blush of embarrassment. You wish you could be loud, unafraid of him hearing just how much it means to you, but softness is what he has pulled out of you, a compassion for people rather than animals you thought had vanished long ago emerging from deep within.

You want to be as confident in this expression as he is, but the fragility of your tenderness is not unlike a fawn, keeping you close to Yoongi so that you can learn.

‘So here is what I know about you,’ he begins, biting down on his bacon strip and breaking your thoughts. ‘You’re smart, passionate, competitive as hell.’

‘You say that like it’s a threat,’ you laugh, cutting into your waffles, the thickness of the atmosphere diluting down to one of amicable comfort.

‘It’s not a bad thing,’ he laughs. ‘In this profession you need that edge. Life doesn’t wait.’ Swallowing, he takes a sip of his water through the straw, lips forming a soft circle that makes you melt, eyes wide and focused on yours. ‘But,’ he continues, ‘I’m still trying to make sense of you.’

Pouting, you grimace. ‘You mean you’ve spent all that time looking at me and that’s all you’ve figured out?’

Yoongi nods with an affable smile, but he does not allow you the comfort of teasing deflection. Instead, he folds his arms on the table and regards you with a tenacity that feels weighted, too heavy for the jovial, easy comfort you have found yourselves in. ‘I think that’s all you let people see.’

Had you not known him to be incisive, the direct comment might have startled you - months ago, you would have been insulted. Now, you find you have to stop yourself from swooning. In the days and weeks you have spent learning Yoongi of your own accord, he has been doing the same - only, he makes it clear he has been watching, witnessing you, and you, usually so careful and professional, find that you want him to see you. You are desperate for his eyes on you, his eyes watching you in the morning after your coffee; his eyes, studying your lips and your skin in the sun, basking in the post-surgical bliss that comes with risk; his eyes, learning the way you move when you do not know you are being watched, when you do not know that you are wanting him to watch you, or wanting him altogether.

Months ago, you’d have been upset, but now you are relieved, yet still uncertain he has done you justice. You deserve more, you think, than just idle watching. You deserve to be consumed.

‘Then,’ you begin, placing your utensils on the plate and leaning forward, mirroring his posture, ‘maybe you’re not looking hard enough.’

His eyes widen, sparkling as they take you in, his smile brilliant and combating the light - every sliver of it, natural and unnatural, demanding he power the universe. ‘Seductive,’ he announces, gleeful. ‘Like a little imp.’

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you take a slow, shaking in hale at the way he lingers on the word seductive, clinging to the S as though he is reluctant to let it go, to let you go. The world shifts on its axis in the aftermath of his sentence, and you both are aware of it. He waits for your reaction, impatient in the way his joints seem to tense around his fork, unblinking in his desire for your response. Tongue heavy against your teeth, you smile, lowering your gaze and regarding him through the thickness of your lashes, watching the pink swell of a flush creep up his neck.

Yoongi is not ensnared but he is waiting for you to hold onto the moment, to clutch it with both your greedy fists, coming to him like the snake in Eden, ready for you to bite.

‘If only you knew,’ you offer, coquettish and dark.

Yoongi tips his head back against the seat, pleased and reassured that you are just as unforgiving in your lust and flirtation as you are in competition. A vibration has commenced in your nerves, the humming in your skin a foreboding sense of vulnerability and the expectation that these exchanges will continue - somewhere, somewhen, not in the clinic but elsewhere, created by your own accord, because you both wish them to be so. You can feel it, and you are sure he can too, though it is still young - a warm, threatening heat that whispers its demands for you both, not yet large enough to consume you.

But it will. You want it to.

Yoongi smiles, and you smile back, letting it take root deep within your soul, its reach far more sweeping than you ever let this kind of expression reach. Yoongi smiles, and the earth moves, and nothing, you know, will ever be the same.

It continues like that for a long while, days and weeks passing with you watching Yoongi and Yoongi watching you, a silent contract that promises you will kiss one another's thoughts before you will kiss lips, these exchanges somehow more intimate and tender than the exchange of skin to skin. The clinic notices the change, the shift from rivalry to competitive understanding to a friendship that borders, tauntingly, on the barriers of romance. Your colleagues watch you both with smiles tucked into the corners of their mouths, knowing everything because you neither hide nor deny anything at all, rejoicing in the sensuality that comes from the force of finally living.

Day in and day out, you trace the bones and the bodies of the animals that come to you, the end to your service at the clinic looming ever closer, a date you deny but do not dread if only because it means you will have him, all of him exactly as you want him. There was no discussion of your eventual transition from friends to lovers, something as inevitable as the movement of the sun over the earth's horizon, but you felt it. In the way he smiled and the way he waited behind you, watchful and awed, you felt it. Somehow, some when, on a night or a day when you both felt comfortable, placated by one another's presence and more alive than you had ever felt simply because he was at your side, you both had decided it would be so.

But not yet.

For a long while, you hold hands through your surgical gloves, fingers touching fingers for the briefest of moments, only to break apart as quickly as you had come together, choosing the airs of professionalism over the airs of romance; evenings spent beneath his parent's peach trees, reading medical books and medical research, pretending your toes do not touch, that the warmth on your skin is from the blanket and not from his skin. In those moments, he is pink - pink as the blossoms and pink as your blush, breathing in unison and waiting, almost too impatiently, for the thrill of being young and being in lust.

The danger of these feelings is that they always feel immortal, immune to the wear and tear of life itself, a blessing that endures. In these sentiments, you are invincible - but the are dangerous because they are more fragile than your own soft tissue, than the supple muscle of your beating heart. They are dangerous because they always end, and when they end, you are always left bereft.

It ends on the hottest day of the summer, mid-day in August with the sun high in the sky and no clouds to cover it. Yoongi had come to work early, the air conditioning of his apartment broken and the sweat on his neck lingering in a tantalizing shimmer. You watch him scribble notes from a medical lecture onto a thick pad of paper from your seat at your newly earned desk in Dr. Hague's office, a small table with a computer and too many charts and notes scattered across it to be remotely organized, too warm to focus.

You are meant to be writing a pathology report for a cat with a broken femur; you are meant to be running labs and inputting charts for Dr. Hague's review. And you will, you tell yourself you will, but only after you memorize the way the contour of Yoongi's cheek seems to catch the light, golden and bronze and almost too ethereal to belong to man.

The phone to Dr. Hague's office rings, making both you and Yoongi jump. He laughs at himself, sheepish, and you laugh with him, though something in this moment makes your stomach drop, your skin slick now with a sense of dread that refuses to leave you. If he feels it too, Yoongi does not let on, reaching for the phone with a confident hand that does not shake as he pulls it to his ear. It's almost inevitable, the way you start to grieve, though you are unsure why the sadness in your chest has begun to spawn like spores. You are grieving, but for what you cannot tell, you can only sense that you are supposed to by the way Yoongi's brows furrow and his lips drop into a frown, cascading downward, almost sauntering lower alongside the trajectory of your heart, before he expresses his acknowledgement and hangs up the phone.

Without a word, he drops his notepad to his deserted chair and moves past you, knowing you will follow hot on his heels, and you do, rising after him with fire in your veins and an ache in your chest, knowing. Somehow, knowing.

In the clinic waiting room, Talia sits with Casper at her feet, pale and lost. Eyes downcast, she is dark, gaze unfocused as she breathes almost too quietly, so far away from you and this moment she does not lift her head on your approach. You and Yoongi halt your steps by the reception desk, simply watching. Hands fisted at your sides, you feel as though you knew, as though you might have always known that they would be back, that somehow it would be different - another day, another war, another reminder that you are human and humans are not meant to solve the problems of mortality.

It's Dr. Hague who breaks the silence, moving past you and Yoongi with somber footsteps as he calls her name. Talia raises her head, eyes no longer simply dark but wet, attempting a hopeful smile as she rises to her feet.

Before she speaks, you know what she will say, certain you do not want to hear it and, conversely, certain that you must. It will be the fire, you think, the fire that will insight another battle out of you, another way to win the day and, perhaps, even the war.

'The vet,' she manages, voice broken and uneven and so terribly small. 'They said his cancer came back. It's in a different part of his leg...worse now, I guess.'

Her words leave you bitter, as though you have been pressed and completely released of your youthful, jovial glow. In the aftermath, you are hardened and battle-born, angry and lost, the tears threatening to burn at your eyes because you saved him. You saved him once and you will do it again, the sheer force of this sentiment vibrating down through your joints, your fingers, deep into the atoms of your blood. You saved him and you will do so again.

The very nature of your will is unflinching, uncompromising as you take a deep inhale, readying yourself. Turning to your side, you expect to see Yoongi, the blood beneath his skin ablaze with the same relentless passion for victory, but he is not there. At your side, there is nothing, just the long tails of his lab coat as he departs from the room altogether.

Bereft, he departs from the clinic with ferocious speed, your own tongue running dry as you struggle to fathom words and reason for his sudden absence. Talia looks to the door, your eyes meeting at this central point, bewildered yet somehow unified in understanding. If she could leave her skin, departing from this moment with a completeness that leaves no discernible trace, you imagine she would. And so it is unfair, you think, for Yoongi to have the liberty of escape.

Gingerly, you follow him, reminded of the day when he followed you, orbiting around you in the evening sun as he watched and waited. The difference, you suppose, is not the circumstance as much as it is the timing. He gave you space, distance, minutes with just yourself to collect and gather your thoughts; and so you are too soon, almost cruel in your interruption. It washes over you, the understanding that to feel something, anything, is a pain that defies the simplicity of language but to be witnessed in the state of that emotion is an act of unmaking, an unforgiving vulnerability.

But right now, you need him just the same as he likely needs you; consumed, at once, with the need to remind him that the experience of defeat only matters in the actions you take in the aftermath.

Crouched against the back of the clinic, Yoongi holds his head in his hands and trembles, small and shy, defenseless as though he naked and raw. You approach him cautiously, footsteps careful as you train your eyes on the curve of his back, catlike and poised to withdraw at a moment’s notice. He looks as distraught and desperate as you feel, gripped by the fear and the remorse - the magnitude and the full breadth of it - as he takes long inhales, demanding that the air itself grows claws within him.

Stepping forward, a twig snaps beneath the soles of your shoes and he bristles, aware that he is no longer alone. Your gaze departs from him, searching other points of interest, sheepish as you bite the inside of your cheek. The silence is deafening, the breeze refusing to rustle the leaves and the birds refusing to sing. Time moves slowly in this space, inching ever forward and yet you seem detached from it, waiting and waiting and waiting.

‘I know it’s wrong,’ he announces suddenly, alarmingly clear toned for a man so broken. ‘It makes me a bad doctor.’

Softening, you are drawn to his side, leaning back against the clinic as you keep your eyes forward, not wanting to upset him further should your presence be a discomfort. ‘What does?’

‘Attachment,’ he spits, resentful that the very concept could exist. ‘In oncology we learn it in year one. You don’t get attached. You’re not God. You can’t save every animal. This kind of thinking will do you in.’

‘Then,’ you try, keeping your voice low and soothing, ‘why this dog? Because it was special?’

Yoongi shakes his head. You can hear the rustle of his hair as he moves, the sound making your chest constrict in affection.

‘It’s not just this dog,’ he retorts sharply.

‘No?’

‘It’s every dog.’ Behind the bitterness and distress, you hear the truth - the anguish of heart that knows too much benevolence, too much affection; the pressure of a heart too willing to love. ‘Every dog and every cat and every rabbit. Each time, I love them.’

‘You have to love them, Yoongi.’ Lowering your gaze to his crouched form, you keep your words calm and even though their meaning is tenacious in its ardent determination. ‘You have to love them enough to take the risk, and you have to love them enough to do what’s morally right - even if that means letting them go.’

‘I know it’s stupid.’ He continues, as though he did not hear you at all, as though you had not spoken. ‘Day one, they say it will make you a terrible doctor. Thinking like this will break you before your career even starts.’ Rising to a stand, he wipes his palms over absent creases in his trousers before he, too, leans against the clinic, arms folded and chin tucked against his chest. ‘Want to know the truth?’

‘Tell me.’

‘I think human doctors have it easier,’ he explains. ‘You’re not going to love every patient. Some are assholes, and some aren’t very good people. Hell, depending on the case you might not want them to live - they might be a goddamn criminal.’

‘It’s easy not to get attached to people,’ you agree with a nod.

‘Fuck, I don’t even like people very much.’ At this he turns to you, worried and wide eyed, uncertainty tainting his features. He looks to you as though you can help him understand, pleading and so endearingly lost. ‘I don’t do this,’ he whispers. ‘Letting people in…,’ his voice fades as he turns away again, walling off one fear for the next. ‘You don’t get that choice with animals,’ he continues, clear toned and persistent. ‘No animal exists or acts out of bad intentions.’

Looking out over the horizon, you watch the early afternoon sun cast its golden rays over the grass, dappling the field. Something in this experience for him is two-fold, the fear of risk wrapping itself around separate, yet not altogether innocuous, events and ensuring they can no longer be parted. A smile pulls at your cheeks, bemused that you had been learning to trust and breathe through the same fear as he, learning to surrender to someone other than yourself.

And so you offer the same lessons to him, if only because you find the easiest way to fight your battles is by looking in the mirror.

‘I don’t think this is stupid.’

‘No?’ he breathes, turning to face you once again. ‘Because I’ve not even started yet, and I can already feel it ending.’

You’re unsure if he is referring to his feelings for you or his career, though you are confident it does not matter. All risk is risk, regardless of the direction.

‘It’s not stupid,’ you repeat, shaking your head. ‘It’s human. I don’t think any vet truly understands why someone becomes a people doctor. People suck.’

You finish with a shrug of your shoulders, a non-committal sign of agreement you hope informs him that people do suck, but he is the exclusion. Always the exclusion.

At this, Yoongi laughs, casting his gaze downward to his feet as his tell-tale blush wanders across his neck and into his ears. Encouraged, you continue.

‘Even the worst animal has a reason for being, well, the worst,’ you explain. ‘Lots of times, it’s people who made them that way. People and their bad habits and their neglect and their inability to understand or care.’

Sidelong, he looks at you through the curtain of his eyelashes, lips pulling into a small grin that gives your heart wings. ‘I see this furthers your point that people suck.’

‘It does,’ you giggle, unable to help yourself and the way you softly swoon at the sight of him, boyish and young and learning to try. ‘But that’s not my main point.’

‘Then what’s your point.’

‘My point is…’ Your words fade, carefully choosing your words, aware that this is the pinnacle, the moment between now and tomorrow, the moment of change that ensures everything is different. And you, just as guarded and so full to the brim, ready to learn to love, tell yourself you are prepared. This is for you as much as it is for Casper as it is for him. ‘We learn this too, but in Ortho we call it something different. For us, it’s failure to rescue. For us, it’s not about who failed less or who failed more. It’s merely who rescued more, that’s the separation. In surgery, things will go wrong - you cannot take a risk without the probability of failure, otherwise it isn’t a risk. You have to be ready for it, the failure, because it is naturally inevitable. The difference between triumph and defeat, rescue and failure to rescue, is what you do after it.’

Yoongi regards you intently, eyes glimmering not unlike the sun at dawn, watching you with enough attentive vigilance you feel valuable, important, the single most important thing in his small universe at this moment. It’s an odd feeling, the knowledge and acceptance that you matter, that you matter and that you are wanted. The world spins, and you feel it, the lightheaded dizziness that comes from the motion of things rather than the lack making you root your feet to the earth, emboldened.

‘Obviously, you continue, chest full and impassioned, ‘you became a vet to save animals, we all did, but this is the moment you take to heart and try to rescue again. And when you get like this...you have to talk about it with somebody.’

‘Ugh,’ he groans with a soft chuckle. ‘People.’

‘With me,’ you offer, leaning to nudge his shoulder with yours, watching as he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth. The very sight warms your blood, heat wandering down your spine and into your core.‘I wouldn’t say I’m people.’

‘Oh, right,’ he nods, the flirtatious candor in his voice just as raw as his emotions. ‘A person.’

‘I’m serious!’ you laugh, allowing yourself the moment of mock offence and amorous teasing. ‘What do you normally do, go home and drink the night away to forget this?’

‘Well,’ he nods with a grimace, ‘you’re not wrong. Can’t usually forget though. I remember every single one I’ve failed.’

Reaching forward, you take a hold of his right hand, letting your thumb graze over the knuckles. It’s so unlike you, so unlike your careful distance and professional stoicism, but the risk of it is a thrill that sends an electric shock up your arm, breath shuddering in your lungs at the feel of his soft skin. Almost immediately, his grip tightens over yours, holding what he can of you with an unwavering stare, demanding that you feel just as much, that you feel just as vulnerable and exposed. Like this, you let the pad of your thumb explore the ever warming expanse of his hand, learning the smooth texture until you are certain, if demanded, you could remember and explain it in such detail all the world would feel it too.

‘Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?’ he murmurs, breaking the moment with a shallow breath.

Cocking your head to the side, you smile impishly, just as he knew you were, and are, all those weeks ago. ‘What, that your heart is the size of a house?’

‘I meant that I cried,’ he laughs, ‘but yeah, that too.’

Breaking from his hold, you turn to lead him back to the clinic, grinning as you offer him a wink. ‘One of those secrets is safe with me, but I won’t tell you which one.’

‘Wait!’

Yoongi reaches for you once more, pulling with such force that you collide into him with a huff. He’s faster than you, somehow three steps ahead and prepared, holding your face with both hands as he presses his lips to yours, skilled and soft and ensuring his gratitude cascades down and down into your soul. Instinctively, your arms wind around his neck, fingers coming to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss as you step closer, close enough you’re certain there is no air between your chests, certain that it would not dare separate you. He hums against your lips, a deep roll of thunder through your opens that has you opening for him, his tongue dipping in for one brief caress against yours before he departs entirely, separating, once more, as though he had not been there at all.

But you feel him. Oh, do you feel him.

Catching your breath, you lose yourself in the honey of his gaze, waiting for the rhythm of your heart to return to its normal pace. But you do not relinquish your hold, and nor does he let you go, both of you gripping one another as though seeking purchase during a fall.

‘I’ll keep both those secrets,’ you whisper, lips still wet and tingling with the force of him, ‘if you come back in and find a way to help Casper.’

Yoongi smiles, a wide gummy expression that makes you feel, yes, you are indeed falling. ‘Deal.’

146 notes · View notes

ahmedmootaz · 4 years

Note

Magica is trapped in an alternate timeline where Scrooge never became the richest duck in the world.

I-It’s been five thousand years...but finally, finally, I have finished writing, @veryman ! It’s been around six months, and for that I am sorry, but I had little time to write lately.

Either way, I finished the prompt which you sent me, and I’d like it if you would tell me your feedback! I expanded a bit on what you gave me; I added Poe as a secondary protagonist, and I added a bit more before the disappearance of Scrooge, and I do hope you do not mind. But regardless, I am eager to hear your feedback! I appreciate every comment I get, so do leave one, please. Again, my sincerest apologies for the wait.

Here’s the story:https://archiveofourown.org/works/29333367

And for anyone who does not want to visit Archive of Our Own for whatever reason, here’s the story on Tumblr! Just note the italics don’t go over too well.

Mount Vesuvius was like a wonderfully drawn painting; it managed to capture many elements at once, and yet showed little of them at a time. Its grey, ash-covered surface was only stopped by the occasional greenery or shrubs, grown from the rain's puddles on its cliffs. A towering mountain, its silhouette gave a grandiose sense to the city it was in. The contrast between the calm forests below it and the harsh towering structure, like any great painting, only added to the beauty of the panorama it created.

And, of course, like any great painting, it hid a secret. A teeny, tiny secret, really; it was a volcano. With enough power to completely melt the colourful villages surrounding it, alongside the better part of Naples. No one often went to the top, as its unpredictable eruption patterns made it a dangerous venue. Besides, the summit was completely barren, with only the rare lizard or the few bushes up there. Only a madman would even think to consider it "hospitable."

Well, barring the small, comfortable looking wooden house on its top. That looked hospitable enough. Old and nearly falling apart, it was a miracle it didn't need supports at this point. It was as if it was held by magic. On this summit, there was nothing. A cold, harsh breeze that encouraged none to remain there, and the dead atmosphere certainly clashed against the small farm and the clothes left to dry in the sun. The unusual sight would perhaps intrigue a traveller who managed to get to the summit, but the few crashed cars next to the hut would probably dissuade them from going any further.

In this calm wasteland, where the air never relaxed, every second more tense than the last, silence reigned supreme, utoppab-

-"BWAHAHAHA! I did it, Poe! I did it! At last, I managed to brew the perfect potion! It'll finally give the Lucky Dime to its rightful owner, destroy my greatest enemy and make me the greatest sorceress on earth!", well, it was dominant for a moment, at least. The victory cries from this little abode came from none other than Magica DeSpell, the solitary sorceress who called it her home.

Standing before a large cauldron, a large potion-book beside her and several jars of materials arranged in a neat order on the table next to her, her joy was a sick, intoxicating one, filled with villainy and vengeance. On that table stood a raven, much larger than the average one, almost twice the size, with its only distinct feature being a small summer hat, black with a white stripe going around it.

-"Yes, very wonderful, Mistress Magica.", adding to the unusual situation, the raven spoke back, both admiring and giving the sorceress in front of him a reprobating glare. "Though I have to admit, it wasn't easy very much to gather the ingredients. We almost lost our lives three times too much getting these things...", he added, turning his neck to the pots and bottles of the materials they gathered throughout the month. The sorceress, however, appeared irritated.

-"Oh, for goodness' sake! We're alone, Ratface, why can't I call you by your real name? If you keep pestering me with that, then I'll have no choice but to keep reminding you of your awful grammar.", she complained, hunching her back a bit, an invisible pang of guilt hitting her chest for a second before she shook it off.

Magica DeSpell was known for many things, but guilt was, perhaps unsurprisingly, not one of them. It wasn't a trait preferred by Villainesses such as herself. An exception to that rule, however, was her brother, Poe. Or as he went by these days, Ratface.

Once a regular duck like her, he was the closest person she had left. He'd accompany her on pretty much anything, alongside her raids on Scrooge. One fateful day however, a spell ricocheted of a wall and hit him, and she never forgave herself since. It was supposed to hit a blank! But of course Scroogie had to have a mirror behind him...why wouldn't he? At this point, everything she did was always countered by him somehow...And of course the spell had to be an irreversible one. Why wouldn't it have been?

-"Well, this time he'll pay...", she mumbled to herself, having forgotten about the outside world for a second.

-"Hm?", the raven inquired, and when she ignored his curiosity, he gave a glare before speaking. "We must speak like this, Mistress, because otherwise we may end up revealing our identities by accident in front of someone who shouldn't them know.", he explained for the umpteenth time at this point, trying to redress his hat with his wings. It was difficult to get used to them at first, however, he eventually managed to somewhat use them as hands. "And we don't want these people to know, because they can black-mail us. And because I don't want anyone discover that now I am a raven.", he added, ignoring the mumbling from his 'master'.

-"Yes, yes. Whatever, Ratface. Besides, you don't get to lecture me; I am the boss-lady after all, eh?", she shot back, enjoying the eyes of her 'familiar' as they narrowed and his beak as he grit it.

-"While that may be true,", he started, a bit calmer than you'd expect, not wanting to lose this teasing contest, "I also have my rights to input my optional completely suggestions, boss-lady, and I believe they have been proven to be quite useful in the past.", he added, stopping for moment and looking at the sorceress in front of him, who fully turned to him and gave him a wide, fake grin.

-"Hmm...They're fine points, but is there something that reaaaaally to force me to listen to you?", she repeated, hoping to break his constant mantra of hiding his identity. Partly because she wanted to be able to call her brother...her brother, y'know, 'call a duck a duck' sort of deal, and partly to escape this guilt she felt by teasing him, trying to forget her guilt for the moment.

Poe wasn't one to care much what people thought of him. He was a man that went on his way and never looked back. Too many times, anyways. They were basically a dream-team until this stupid raven stuff happened. But now, ever since that incident, he merely avoided anyone who knew of his existence and kept this fake-name. She suspected it was out of shame, and it weighed heavy on her, trust her. She tried waving these thoughts away as she watched the bird in front of her almost simmer at this point.

-"B-Because, dearest mistress, me-am a bit older than you in raven-years, which gives me a-", he stopped his imminent rant, sniffing something in the air. "THE BREW!", he yelled, dragging the tall magician's attention and making her run to the pot, which was on a gas cooker. Hey, they had the old log-chimney pot, but they were modern magicians, and when they were pressed on time, it was simply easier than to collect logs or buy them. Freaking inflation and rising wood prices...

-"Alrightalrightalright, so now we...uh, the lizard tail, sewn with tarantula silk to a lizardfish tail, we put it in...", Magica mumbled to herself, picking up the ingredient and throwing it in. Trust her when she said tarantula silk wasn't cheap, but the results were going to be so, so worth it. "And we mix things up until it turns dark-blue.", she finished, bringing a wooden spoon and turning it in the boiling, sickly-yellow liquid.

-"That's it? No 'innocent's blood' this time?", the black bird next to her spoke as he moved closer to the pot. She shook her head, knowing where he was getting at. For some reason, a lot (a lot) of spells needed blood for one reason or another, and it often had to be 'pure duck blood'. It often was an issue for most accomplished sorcerers to find it, and despite it being an advantage to the pair, they didn't really enjoy sticking needles into their own arms and using their blood...

As he sighed, relieved at what meant that he wouldn't have to take a pinch of his blood this time, as they did alternate that role, he watched the viscous brew boil more ferociously, unnaturally strong as it started getting darker and darker while the duck brewing it kept stirring and stirring, carefully avoiding the splashing from the bubbles.

-"Alright, Ratface!", she announced as the potion's colours darkened in front of their eyes, her voice going low and becoming more and more sinister by the second, "This is the Magnum Opus of an entire month's work! The Bougeaia Autrepart!", she proudly boasted, a smile growing on her pale, green-ish face.

She quickly moved her hand to shut off the gas, probably waiting for the awe her partner-in-sharing-the-household would give her. Not that he did so much, as he wasn't one to be entirely surprised by her actions given his time with her, but when he did, it made all of her effort a lot more worth it, if only to see a dumbfounded expression on his face while she proudly explains her plan.

-"Very well. It is one of the most difficult potions a magician can make, and we have a quantity very large. It is perhaps one of our better devised plans.", he devilishly added, not really that surprised. She found it hard to blame him when they both worked for around 25 days to gather the ingredients and the money; somewhere down the line she must've told him. Or maybe he read up on what they were going to create.

-"Indeed it is, and now, hand me the doll, Ratface!", she commanded, raising a clenched fist for dramatic effect, He shook his head at the dramatic display and went to the other end of the table he stood on, picking up a small doll that vaguely resembled Scrooge McDuck with his claw and handing it to his 'mistress'. "Just be a bit careful. It wasn't easy to make this thing.", she called out, cringing at the inelegant handling the raven gave the doll.

-"Oh, tell me about it. I was with you at the Hydra's lair, you know that? And I gathered half of the Mortal Sand we got there, so don't think I don't know how precious is this.", he complained, remembering something for a second, "Speaking of which, you never did make up for that hat I lost there.", he reprimanded, trying to cross his wings. He didn't have much success, but it looked good enough, and he couldn't ask for more, really.

-"Yeah, maybe later.", she ignored him, and before he could begin scolding her for the umpteenth time today, she picked up a ladle and started submerging it in this 'Bougeaia Autrepart.', taking care not to spill any on herself before she started coating the small doll in her hand with the liquid, watching as the dark blue colour got embedded in its cloth.

-"You know, I'd like a quick reminder on what we're doing here before we get started. Don't want another plan where I have to figure out the details as we go on, because those just work so wonderfully.", Ratface...or, well...Poe? Whatever, he asked, looking a bit worried as his sister laid the doll on the ground in a neat and clean corner or their household, one that was made for spells which required some space.

-"What, Alzheimer's gotten to you that quick?", she shot back at him, not daring to look at him before she finishes laying the doll on the ground. When she noticed he wasn't going to argue with her, she started explaining. "Honestly, we were just talking about it...but fine, here's the general outline: We both agreed that taking Scrooge is pretty difficult on its own, yes? So how about a world without Scrooge in the first place? The Bougeaia Autrepart is designed to move people into other places, but with some of the additions we've made, in combination with this little vodoo doll, it's going to be rather interesting, and we can remove Scrooge from this world!", she repeated the plan they'd agreed on, trying again for her dramatic accent.

-"Right, right. And we're just going to take the dime in his absence.", he completed, scratching his 'chin'. "I don't know, Ma- Uh, Mistress, our luck with reality-altering spells is pretty...", he hesitated, trying to find an accurate description of their experiences.

-"Is pretty much the definition of the word 'failure' in every single language on this earth?", she finished with him, somewhat bitterly.

-"Well, when you put it that way, I'll just have to agree.", he agreed, shrugging.

-"Yes, yes, I know, but trust me, this time this time, it'll be different!", she argued back, somewhat on the defensive. "See, this time, with Scrooge never actually in this world, it can't go back to bite us; we're not playing with the rules against Scrooge, he's not there in the first place.", she laughed, basking in the glory of her flawless plan. "...You're still not impressed, are you?", she narrowed her eyes as she stared at the raven, who seemed lost in thought.

-"I don't know...these things are so vaguely written in the books, and always it turns out to be un-complete. We practically re-wrote half of our tomes, remember?", as it turns out, several of the Elder Sorcerers were, believe it or not, villains, and trying to keep the most knowledge to themselves, their writings were often incomplete, especially the bigger spells. They had to applaud their tenacity at first, but a few failed plans later, it started becoming less interesting and more devastating.

-"Well, yes,", Magica admitted, looking at the floor for a moment, "But the worst possible thing that could happen here is it not working, or being temporary. It can't be that bad."

-"I mean...The offer of Scrooge just poof-ing away is tempting...And I can't think of a too terrible outcome...", he slowly came around, and the green-ish duck immediately jumped on the opportunity to convince him. Well, not so much convince him so much as it was to quickly to the spell before he starts thinking too much about it.

"See? You were just being stupid, But worry not, my dear familiar, I, Magica DeSpell, am not without mercy, and I will forgive this outrageous way of talking if you just help me do this spell as quickly as possible.", she proudly boasted, bringing a hand to rest on her chest. His blank stare gave her the impression that he wasn't all too impressed with her gloating. "Just come here and let me finish the recitation, alright?!", she snapped at him, having had enough of his cynical behaviour.

-"What, with these clothes? Shouldn't we prepare for something or-", he started, looking at her 'battle-clothes': her cloaked witch robe, stained with their various ingredients. But before he could even finish his sentence, she'd already turned to the wall, sat on her knees and opened her arms to both sides, as if she was awaiting an embrace.

-"Too late; I'm starting it now.", she turned her head back to him, sticking her tongue out for half a second and ignoring the 'Wait!' he produced. "O' sanguina del mon enemmi mortel, repondra O' appels que t'entendra, O' abyssum qu'attend, repond à ma voca!", she started the chant, immediately letting the room darken and letting loose some purple sparks from the lifeless doll, which started levitating. "Bring my greatest wish true; with the final words of my mouth, McDuck shall be gone like a moth!", she suddenly spoke, the doll spinning a bit too violently for her taste.

The room kept on darkening, and some of the pots and containers she had began to hit each other. Which was basically the same thing that happened with every other spell nowadays. It lost its original impact. Regardless, she felt Ratface beside her, and the doll started emanating even stronger sparks, making a dull, constant humming that kept getting louder and louder.

Her breathing got heavy for a moment, alongside her head, and she felt herself blacking out as if something was choking her. The air grew heavy for one fateful moment, and then with a 'zap', everything returned to normal. Her breathing suddenly cleared, and she took a deep breath to celebrate it. She noticed Ratface also took a gasp. Apparently, this one didn't just affect the caster, but the entire area. That was something they'd have to add to the spell book. She hoped there weren't too many others.

-"...That's it? Feels rather underwhelming, but maybe it's my experience with spells that affect the caster.", her brother suddenly managed out. Of course his first action after this would be bragging. Why wouldn't it?

-"Oh, zip it, feathers, I heard your panting. Bragging doesn't change the reality.", she looked at him as he felt his small hat and straightened his feathers, some of which had puffed out due to his quick breathing.

-"And so I shall, Mistress, O' queen of humility, if only the entire world is humble as you were!", he praised her, raising his wing up above him, as if to glorify the duck beside him. "Then you'll find out how terrible you are at boasting.", he added under his breath, a wide grin on his beak.

-"Oh why you...!", she got on her legs and reached for him, hoping to catch him, but he was faster than her, and his wings were infinitely more developed, and so he took to the skies...or, well, to their roof, avoiding her grasp and yet flying just out of reach. "Just wait until I've had my hands on you, you walking grammatical error! I'll pinch each and every one of your feathers off!", she yelled after him, shooting a few simplistic spells at him, which he avoided with ease.

-"Sure, blame the italian guy you forced to learn English in two weeks, typical.", he shot back, his wide grin still present, the only spells catching him barely grazing his tail. A few moments later, she gave up on de-feathering her brother, stopping to take her breath.

-"Oh, bugger off, you've had far more time to practice. You're just messing with me.", she countered, looking at him as he lightly flapped above her. She turned her head away from him with a frown and looked at the outside. Yep, still as sunny as ever. It wasn't really ideal weather for staying inside, but villainy did not take vacations!...Well, that was a lie, but she'd take one right after her great success with this plot. "The outside!", she suddenly yelled out, running for her door and opening it, walking onto her 'Welcome' mat before stopping and looking around.

-"Uh, Mistress?", her familiar said as he landed on her shoulder, something he'd been practising for a while now; he didn't hit her head anymore. "Is there something about the sun...?", he suggested, looking around him. The same small magical farm, their clothes were in the same position, and the same pile of crashed cars.

-"I don't know...Guess I thought there'd be some change, I guess.", she answered, scratching her head. "Which isn't that smart. Now what? How do we know if something's happened?", she asked him, turning back to enter her home.

-"...Probably from the bald, skinny vulture we have on our dart-board now.", her helper suddenly noted, and she turned her head to the wall where she had Scroogie's head on display. As a picture, unfortunately, but all in time. What interested her, however, was that her nemesis' picture's was now replaced by a vulture. An ugly one, too. And it's not like Scrooge was Mr.America, but this one had wrinkles.

-"What the heck? I thought the spell removed Scroogie from the world! What did that have to do with this chuckleschmuck?", she walked to the picture on their dart-board, focusing on their apparently new rival, who had a few darts scattered around various parts of his face.

-"Unless...", the raven on her shoulder started, bringing a wing to his face and trying to imitate a knuckled fist. "Unless it removed him from this timeline in first place, after, making someone else become the richest duck in the world. Or richest vulture in the world.", he theorized, his tone becoming a little too aggressive at the end. "Another addition to the tomes...", of course. It could never be that easy. Why would it be?

-"...Great.", well, at least she could openly complain about it this time, given that there was no warning of this beforehand. She brought a hand to her face and quietly facepalmed, shaking her head for a bit. "So we still have some old, ugly miser we have to take care of. And we don't have any memory of fighting this guy.", truly a situation that couldn't be envied. The one time the casters of the spell are unaffected by the changes to the world, it happens in a world where they'd do better to have some memories of the changes. Well, she couldn't say it was the worst thing a spell has hidden from them, truth be told, but still.

-"Well, what now?", ever the planner, the bird on her shoulder asked the only question that could be asked. He narrowed his eyes and extended his neck a bit from where it was, trying to read some writing underneath the picture. It used to scare Magica a bit whenever he did that, now she mostly got used to it. Mostly. Stupid bird biology creeping her out. "What are we going to doing to this...Bradford Buzzard?", he squinted a bit, making out the letters. He then turned to their T.V. with a curious motion. "Ma-uh, Mistress, look."

As the green-feathered duck turned her head, she noticed something. They had stolen their T.V. from one of Scroogie's enterprises, mostly out of spite. But their current television had "Buzzard Enterprises" on it. Apparently, this vulture had truly inherited everything the old miser had, including their rage. She felt a slight tingling in her chest, but she ignored it to focus on the more important matters they had at hand now.

-"So, apparently we're struggling to get the dime from this old man?", well, considering they're not rich right now, and that Poe was still a raven, that meant they still had the same problems as they did with Scrooge. Not good, if you ask her.

-"And apparently he, too, managed to turn me into raven.", Ratface spat out, growing very, very bitter. Unsurprising, really; this 'Bradford' did not seem to be able to move much. How did he manage to turn Poe into a raven this time, then? "Besides, are we trying to get his dime? I'm certain not what we were doing in this timeline up to this point, and I don't suppose we've been writing our memoirs to help us out.", he...uh, he joked? Deadpanned? His tone wasn't too amused, by the looks of things. Not that she could blame him, given how things weren't quite going according to plan.

-"You tell me.", the sorceress sighed, not really in the mood for the demoralisation Poe could offer at this time. He didn't mean to be such a pessimist (probably), but his constant remarks didn't do much to improve the mood. Her eyes then spotted a small purple ball on the ingredients' table. It was a small teleportation spell, using some materials from the area where she wanted to go to, it was a nice substitute for those who both lacked the Teleportation branch of magic and didn't have time to travel by broom. "That's it!", she suddenly yelled, getting up and nearly dropping her brother off of her shoulder.

-"W-What's it? What are you-"

-"We'll go pay this Bradford a nice little visit, and we'll see what he's really made of! We already prepared to go to the Bin, what's the worst that could happen?", she encouraged both him and herself, picking up the teleportation spell to Scroogie's bin and another one back to her home, quickly pocketing them in her robe and scavenging for some offensive spells to take with her, alongside her Sumerian amulet, of course. "Do not answer that!", she warned her brother, earning a sceptical look. "Listen, we've seen almost everything from Scroogie, we'll see what we can do this time, and then...well, I don't know, but we'll manage!", she finished triumphantly, quickly putting on her heels and going out of her house, stopping mid-way through her throw of the teleportation spell. "...You're not convinced, are you?"

-"Are you?", well, he wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right, either. Everything deserved a shot. Even if that thing had a very small chance of working. Maybe. Probably. Listen, Magica DeSpell was many things, but she wasn't willing to give up now! She never did, perhaps to her own detriment, but it wasn't this old vulture that was going to stop her now, she fought against Scrooge McDuck, this was barely even a challenge!

-"Could you not rain on my parade for five minutes?", what was a challenge, was keeping Poe positive on this mission.

-"Alright, alright. Here we go, Mistress! Go get that fool!", he put on an enthusiastic façade, making the sorceress grin as she resumed her movement, throwing the spell on the ground with a large 'Bang!'. Aquamarine smoke came out and covered the area where they both stood, and when it was gone, so were the both of them.

Now, it was only a matter of time before they faced Bradford.

Bradford Buzzard was perhaps the single most boring person she'd ever had the displeasure of fighting.

It wasn't that he was difficult to fight against, oh no, in fact, she was surprised he managed to stop them for so long in this timeline, but he always played by the book! Not a single interesting move! He didn't boast, make dramatic moves, or do anything Scroogie did, really. All he did was avoid, dodge, and stand behind his fancy machines. Which...yeah, okay, it wasn't that bad, but he was terribly uninteresting to fight against. The Bin stayed in its regular shape, and so did most of Duckburg, though it had a bit of a fancier design when it came to buildings.

Regardless, Bradford didn't even try to seem interested. He always seemed (and most likely, was) always annoyed, always spiteful, and just...indifferent. He didn't care about anything she and Poe did, he just wanted it to end. His immediate reaction to their arrival wasn't to fight...it was to sigh and complain about how he didn't have time for them. Which wasn't only rude, but incredibly hurtful. He had no idea how much these teleportation spells cost, and she truly did her best to deliver a spectacular entrance to her foes. The least he could do was at least seem interested.

The worst part is that apparently, in this timeline, they had never plainly told him they needed his dime; they were after his fortune. Which she probably realized they did because they wanted a challenge, considering the fact that the moment they asked for the dime, he handed it over.

She was so dumbfounded at first that she thought it to be a prank. A trap, even. But no, apparently Bradford cared just as little about his first dime, talking about how "He can always make a copy." or some such thing. If she didn't know any better, she'd have said he was searching for an opportunity to get rid of it, and yet a quick curse-check from her part revealed no dangers. He was just...boring. And it's not that he was scared of their power, at least that might've made up for something, he just gave them the dime and told them to go off.

So there she was, back in her hut, Lucky Dime in hand, an unbelieving expression across her unfocused eyes as she sat on her television's couch, still trying to reflect on the events of the day, trying to see if she misunderstood a word or a euphemism from the vulture's monotonous voice. She found none.

-"I mean, it's been a while when we saw the Dime last, Mistress.", throughout the long silence, from their unceremonious return to them now sitting, unable to decide what comes next, this was the first thing Poe muttered. It wasn't bad as an encouragement, but it didn't quite catch Magica's attention, either.

-"Mhm.", she mumbled absently, not even opening her beak.

-"Sure, it wasn't as spectacular as we both thought, but that doesn't matter! Do you know what this means, Mistress? Do you know just how much power we have in our hands?!", now, Poe was known for many things following his unfortunate transformation, but optimism was not one of them. That actually made her turn some of her attention to him. "It's the end of the old-centuries rivalry between us DeSpells and the...Mc...Ducks...", he slowly realized, opening his eyes a bit more. It wasn't the fact that they had gotten the Dime so easily which was bothering Magica, it was that she didn't even know if it was worth it.

She spent little under fifty-five years fighting against Scroogie. At some point, both of them knew that there would be no Scrooge without Magica, and there would be no Magica without Scrooge. Every single victory she had in her life was directly or indirectly caused by a desire to earn revenge on Scrooge, he was her greatest goal, and defeating him would be her Magnum Opus. Years upon years of work, blood, tears...all for some vulture to hand this over.

-"...Is the Dime even useful now?", she muttered, her eyes going to Poe, pleading, almost unsure of her every word. He seemed to have gotten the gist of why this victory in particular was unsatisfying, but now he simply blinked at her, not wanting to cause her any grief. "I-I mean, why did we even go after his Dime in particular instead of killing him or...or whatever?", her voice shaky. She knew the answer. She always did. She just had to hear it from someone she could trust.

-"We wanted it because it was Scrooge's the most important coin; it was his first, imbued strong emotional attachment, and we could use that attachment for our magic, alongpart the hate we had for him.", he repeated their goal slowly, trying to get where this was going. "Using the immense power extracted from it, we would do as we pleased. We'd turn me back into a duck, turn stones into gold...its possibilities were endless.", he finished, the massive smile on his beak dropping for a bit.

Bradford had handed them the Dime without a hitch. If he had any attachment to the Dime, then it wasn't enough for him to care about it. This would mean the Dime was useless...it couldn't do them a thing, or if it could, then it was severely weakened. Even if it wasn't, it didn't...it didn't feel as if they earned it. Okay, this was stupid, since they were villains, after all, they weren't about being fair, but after all these years, having such an underwhelming encounter...it just left a sour taste in her mouth.

-"Who gives a flying duck?!", a groggy, loud caw was the answer she got to her suspicions. "So what, we had a disappointing enemy, we have the Dime of the richest du- vulture in the world! So what if it not has emotional attachment, we'll find another object with emotional attachment! Anything would be better than Scrooge!", he yelled, sensing the conflict his sister felt and trying to set the record straight. "Anything would be better than being stuck as a crow."

The speed with which she spun her head to him could perhaps snap many necks, but Magica didn't care for the pain in her neck so much as she focused on the bird on her shoulder. She knew exactly what he was getting at; Poe was stuck as a crow for nearly five years at this point. He never loved his situation for even a second ever since the accident with McDuck and his two ducklings. Throughout these years, he worked with her for the Dime less out of a general desire for villainy and a want to help her, he worked with her because he also wanted the Dime's power.

And now he probably feared she was going to throw all away, just because wanted a 'real' fight.

-"R-Ratface! How dare you suggest I'd do something like that!", she vehemently denied. She then resisted the urge to slap herself because she just admitted to something he was yet to accuse her off. She stared at him, the eye he turned at her undecipherable. He remained silent for a moment before speaking up.

-"Do you want us to talk, Magica?", he offered, and she looked surprised. He seldom called her by her real name, and it was often a sign she could call him by his. She swallowed before nodding, as if the word 'Yes' would take too much energy out of her. He nodded in return, jumping off of her shoulder and landing beside her. "What's the issue, Magica?"

-"It's...It's stupid. I know it is. You wouldn't approve, and I know you taught me that the only good victory is a quick and easy one, but...but...It's just so maddening, you know?", she began, hunching her back and turning her head to him, a twinge of uncertainty in her voice. "I spend all my life hunting Scrooge McDuck, wanting his head on my wall, and when I finally win, I don't even win against him. I don't even know if I got the right object in this world.", she complained, bringing her hands to her face and covering it. Her entire life was built on waiting for this one, singular moment! All of her moves, triumphs and losses. So why wasn't she satisfied?!

-"...I get what you're saying.", the raven replied after a moment, trying to understand her, apparently. "I get it. It feels as if we were robbed of our moment, doesn't it?", her sat down on the couch, trying his best to imitate a regular duck sitting. She hesitated before nodding, almost afraid of his answer. "...I cannot say it doesn't leave an undelicious taste, to be honest. We've worked so hard for this moment. And yet, what other choice do we have? What were you planning on doing? What do we have to gain from a Scrooge in this world?", he questioned, not with a hostile tone, but a rather intrigued one, as if he truly wanted to know more about this situation they found themselves in.

-"I- You know what? Forget it, we'll melt this dime and find the strongest emotional object here-"

-"Answers, Magica.", he firmly repeated, turning his head to her.

-"I don't know!", she yelled out, partly angry, partly anxious. "How should I know? I spent all of my life fighting Scroogie and I'm not even the one to take him out! It's all a stupid spell...And I can't bring him back, because this stupid spell will account for the past, and that means the source of our power, the one in my hand right now, would be gone.", she started laughing out of desperation, holding the Dime up in the air and trying to channel some energy into it. It emitted some energy, sure, but it wasn't as strong as you'd think or want. "And so would any of chance of turning you back to a duck since we'd need the power it grants for a chance at reversing back the irreversible...", she venomously spat out, frowning at her momentary meltdown and at the situation.

Magica DeSpell was known for many things, and losing control of herself was not one of them. It wasn't publicly known, anyways, but this...this mess was a whole new low. They'd failed before, but never before had they gone so horribly right, and they never found themselves in a situation where they had to ponder if bringing back their biggest enemy would be a good idea or not.

-"We could find another McDuck, Magie.", he tried soothing her, reserving his own thoughts for later. "Someone must've made it out there. Be it hero or villain, there must be someone like Scrooge. There have to have been.", he comforted her, trying to his best to rest his arm on her shoulder. Or his wing on her arm, in this case.

-"I know, Poe.", she sighed heavily, leaning a bit onto his arm before quickly rethinking that decision as he struggled against her weight. "But there's no Scrooge McDuck. There's always someone like him, but there's never the Scrooge McDuck.", she bitterly admitted. He was a worthy rival. Many had come and go, and most were able to face her again. Some couldn't continue on living, for that matter. All but Scrooge had fallen to her.

At first, she had only rage and fury for him, but as the years went on, she started to love their fights more and more, her schemes became more and more elaborate, her plans became works of art that she spent more time on than she cared to admit, and she invested so much emotion to her fight against him that seeing him gone in such an anti-climatic way was...depressing, honestly. Scrooge brought out her worst, in a way no one else could, and for that, she (secretly) thanked him; her worst was scarier than her on a rampage, and that didn't just say something, it spoke volumes.

-"So? You'll bring him back? Just because of that?", another caw, this one a bit more inquisitive and pushy. She tried looking the other direction. "Down here are my eyes, Magie.", he pushed her. She looked at him, a twinge of guilt in her eyes.

-"I don't know. We didn't do much in this world, y'know. We can live like this never happened.", she suggested, her voice a mere whisper. One that sounded like a yell in the dead silence in their home. Her brother kept staring, part sympathetic, part...was that sadness in his eyes?

-"Magica,", he began, trying to find his words, "We're villains. We're the worst people on God's green earth, and we care certainly not about who we hurt, maim, and kill. And when you're a villain, you fight against Karma and the universe magically siding with your enemies, not mention having to work with The Evil Overlord List to keep everything in check.", he explained to her, his eyes never leaving her. "It's not about who we're fighting. I just want a world without Scrooge. How bad can whoever replaced him be?", he begged, stopping for a moment before adding, "My freedom could be a battle away."

Well, he was certainly making the choice easy, wasn't he. So? So what? Does she just leave her brother to suffer? The one, and so far, only man to stay with her for all of her life? Just for another rival? She prided herself on being heartless, but this...She didn't know anymore.

What was her happiness anymore? Could she not find happiness without her endless fight with Scroogie? Who was she? Her own independent person, or merely a shadow in Scrooge's massive figure, never to step out from under it? What was her life? An endless chase for a goal which she could only achieve in one way, lest she render it underwhelming for her? She's been building up the moment so much, for so long, and she sacrificed everything to have it. Everyone. Was the chase she started what defined her? Or had Scroogie won without realizing, making her little more than another person swallowed by the ever-greedy monster that was his shadow?

-"I don't...I don't know, Poe.", she hitched, suddenly realizing that this wasn't good for her figure. Not at all. She suppressed any emotional instinct in her body and brought her knees to her chest, resting her head on them. "I don't know what to do anymore. All this chase...All this madness. And I never won.", she closed her eyes, sensing a bit of a stinging sensation and trying to block it. "And when I did, I still lost.", alright, she wasn't going to speak now. Her voice was dangerously close to cracking.

-"You're wrong. You've won several times, and were -still are- Scrooge's most dangerous foe for years. Several set-backs, sure, but all great people have set-backs.", he started brushing his wing against her arm, not really able to pat. She interrupted him before he could speak further.

-"Isn't it funny? The day I win, I can't even be happy. I need Scroogie to be happy. Laughable, isn't it? I'm becoming less and less my own person. Just a planet in a star's orbit. My own shadow is slipping out from under me and becoming his.", she lamented, her hitches a bit more noticeable.

-"Then reign your shadow back in! You're Magica DeSpell, for goodness' sake! Control it, make be it yours!", the raven stood on his two feet, trying his best to be considerate. He was making her happier, sure, but he was not so truthful, was he?

-"...Maybe. I'm...I'm sorry about this Poe. This...idiocy. I guess I'm not as sturdy as I thought myself to be.", she sniffed again, looking at him as he stared back.

-"Nobody is. We all think we're invincible at one point. The only thing that matters is getting back up. Bigger, better, badder.", his voice lowered, and the pure devilishness in it was infectious. She smiled a weak smile, and he returned it in kind. "So, when are we going back to our timeline?", he suddenly questioned, and she opened her eyes wide at his question.

-"You...You're okay with it...?"

-"If I said I was, you'd know I'm lying. But it's not the biggest issue, either. This dime isn't solve my issue anytime soon with its power like that. And we have no real other target at this point. So it wasn't that close to me. I hope.", he explained himself, trying to have an air of dignity before swallowing and continuing, "...Since we're being truthful here, I won't say that this doesn't feels like a wasted opportunity. I've long dreamed of a world without Scrooge, but to tell the truth, someone like Scrooge will probably as be annoying as Scrooge. Probably.", he concluded, some of the sadness in his eyes washing away. He removed his eyes from Magica for a moment, looking at the ceiling.

-"I...And leave you as a crow? Do you have any idea what you're saying?!", she refuted the idea, earning a quick glance. "No, I...I shouldn't...I can't do this! We have to find the closest thing that'll help you! We must!", she started panicking, trying for once to think of him more. He smiled and rubbed her arm again.

-"Primarily, I am a raven. And I thought you were a heartless, selfish villainess? Or do we need to spend more time learning how to be proper villains?", he tried easing her worries away, a teasing tone in his voice for a moment before he cleared it. "Listen, Magica, whatever happens, one of us isn't getting what they want. If we go back to our timeline, there's always a chance we'll get Scrooge. A chance we'll find some other solution. If we stay here, there then won't ever being another McDuck.", he explained to her, his voice calm and collected, trying his best to keep her calm. "And you'd better do it when I'm in a good mood, because I'm sure this will bite my tail sometime later.", he added, deciding that perhaps some pressure is needed.

-"But-"

-"NOW!", he ordered her, and she jumped, surprised from his cry, heading to where she'd first preformed her spell, hastily picking up the Scrooge doll and covering it with more Bougeia Autrepart, setting it on the ground where it once stood.

-"O' sanguina del mon enemmi mortel, repondra O' appels que t'entendra, O' abyssum qu'attend, repond à ma voca!", she repeated the same chanting she said this morning, waiting as the puppet levitated once more and sensing her brother come beside her. "Bring Scrooge McDuck back and reset this timeline on the right track!", she cried out, letting the doll emit sparks once more, the spinning a bit faster than the first time they cast it.

The same suffocating sensation they felt this morning soon filled their house, forcing them to wait as the constant 'zaps' and 'bangs' started whittling down. It wasn't any more pleasant than it was the first time, but at least they anticipated it. A few painful moments later, their breathing regained its regular pace, and their house started becoming more illuminated.

-"...Ugh...", the small black bird on the ground tried holding his head between his hands as he stared immediately at the wall behind him. Yep. Scrooge was back alright. "We really need to find a spell that counters harmful effects from other spells. I don't think I want to keep do this...", he complained, allowing their home to bask in the silence for a moment. Even the air had stopped its continual blow for a moment. A moment of peace wasn't rare when the pair of them were both adults, but the whole 'evil magic' thing didn't also allow for too much peace.

Then there was a sob.

It wasn't a particularly sad sob. Particularly pained, either. It was simply reigned. Defeated. When he turned back, the green-ish duck was still on her knees, her hand covering her eyes, emitting another sob every few moments before interrupting it with a quick chuckle. He gave her the moment; no need to be pushy now. He already knew what was bothering her.

-"I guess...I guess I really am a screw-up...", she mumbled between her hitches. "Fifty years and I cannot get a dime. Fifty years and I've also grown attached to winning by one single method...I'm hopeless, Poe. Hopeless.", she ended solemnly, not showing her face, afraid of even worse humiliation if she was shedding tears.

-"No."

-"Stop it. You're the best person I could ask for now, but lying won't make me better.", she bitterly refuted, making her hand leave her face as she tried tucking the threads of hair that made their way to her eyes away.

-"Then what will?"

-"I don't know! Winning? Not being a failure? Something along those lines! I've been working my bum off for years, playing off every failure as a learning experience, but it's too much. I've had it. I just want to win for once. Is that too much?", indeed, Magica DeSpell was not known for making such emotional rants, and yet, everyone had moments when they snapped. She just needed to let some steam off. That's all.

-"I meaning, we are villains. Winning isn't really something we do often.", well, he was certainly keeping his realist tendencies. That was fun. "...I don't know Magica. I wish I had some magical answer to tell you, but there really isn't. We're back to square one.", he stated as a matter-of-fact, quickly picking up the pace before she could reply, "But that doesn't matter. You're Magica DeSpell! Sorceress of the Shadows, Empress of Napoli, and my favourite little sister. You'll push through. Somehow, against all possible odds and against your better judgement, you'll rise up again. You always did.", he resumed, an encouraging tone in his voice. He held his had high, looking the sorceress in the eye. She seemed touched.

-"Poe...that was...Absolute malarkey.", she admitted, chuckling with him. "But you know what? I'll take it.", she laughed, opening her arms for a moment as the raven in front of her understood what she wanted and opened his wings. A small moment ensued before she went down and gave her brother a quick hug. A silent one, and those were rare, so he'd better cherish it. because she wasn't planning on giving much more of them. "Alright, that's enough."

-"Aw, and here I thought you were going to showing some more affection to me.", well, it wasn't that she didn't love him, but disregarding the rare outburst of emotion, she never showed much emotion to her brother. He, on the other hand, didn't try to hide it. At least, before the whole raven business. And now she was sad again. She snapped out of her internal thoughts when she noticed he perched himself on the couch, almost as if waiting for her to come closer. "So, what's the plan now, Mistress?"

-"The plan?", oh, right. A plan. A plan to reclaim herself. To try and fight against this feeling of hopelessness. "I'd...I want to try and train my Shadow Magic a bit more. Perhaps having more control over my shadow will make me get in a better place. It can serve me, and it's the most loyal helper I'll probably ever get.", she mumbled, earning a disapproving glance. "Besides you, of course.", she added, and the glance went away. "Besides, shouldn't you be a cold-hearted, uncaring villain? Why do you care whether or not I consider you loyal?"

-"No, I meant the plan to get rid from Scrooge. Or to win over him. Or any other plan.", oh, so that was how it was going to be? Now he was going to ignore her questions. We'll see about that, Mr. Tough Guy. We'll see. She wiped her eyes, making sure there wasn't anything in them.

-"Hey, when did your English improve all of a sudden? And why didn't the cracks show when we faced Bradford? Are you really sure you're just having some difficulties? Because I'm telling you, you won't get on my good side if I figure out you've been messing with me...", well, two could play at that game! She, too, could ignore his questions, although he replied to this particular question with a most satisfying answer: A shrug. One day, she'll kill him. Not today, however.

-"So, plan is being?"

-"Now you're just forcing it.", she rolled her eyes, walking a bit closer to him as a most devilish plan popped into her mind. "You know, I think I have a new plan.", she began, and he immediately became attentive. Or at least, feigned attention. "I'm planning a vacation."

-"A what?", the pure, raw confusion in his voice was priceless. If for nothing else, this plan in particular was already working.

-"A vacation. It is when someone takes a break from a particular work or job.", she dully explained, watching him mutter something under his beak.

-"No, I know that! Just...really? The last vacation we took together was in the seventies. It's an...uh, a strange extremely proposition.", he explained, apparently coming on board of this particular plan. "I guess you finally decided that some relaxation can benefit the both of us. So, where to, Mistress? I think Sardinia would to be very nice.", he suggested, a small list of places they could go to popping up in his mind. It's been a last while since the two of them actually planned a relaxing trip together. Usually they'd just yell at each other before one of them storms away for a few days and relaxes on their own.

-"Actually...I've been thinking about staying here. I mean, look at our home. It needs some work, that's for sure. We have some laundry, and to be truthful, when was the last time we walked around Napoli? Must've been three years at least.", she tried to remember, and he thought about it for a moment before agreeing.

-"You know what? You're right. We'd do better to stay here. Away from McDuck, away from our troubles in life.", there we go, he was starting to see from her perspective. "And our house does look like it hasn't been cleaned since the dawn of time.", well, that wasn't such a great perspective, but it wasn't wrong per say.

-"Alright, consider us on vacation from now on!", she announced, looking around their ancestral home for a moment. "I think we'd best start on cleaning this place up if we want to finish quickly", she stated, and she earned a nod from her brother as he went to a broom nearby. She then remembered something. "And...uh, Poe?"

-"Hm?", huh. He didn't immediately object to her using his name. That was encouraging.

-"Can we...you know, use our names from time to time? Maybe the weekends? Just...sometime when we can be ourselves for while, yeah?", she timidly suggested, trying to decipher his expression. Poe had donned Ratface as his name for a while now, and she knew that he didn't exactly like the name, only keeping it so that nobody recognizes how low he sunk. But she already knew who he was, so it wasn't that big of a deal...right?

-"...Sure, I suppose. Only on weekends though.", his murmured, his voice so low, almost as if he hoped she wouldn't catch it. He knew she did from her relieved expression, though. "Well, don't just stand there. Get in work; grab the mop.", he ordered, turning his head away.

-"Will do, Ratface, will do.", well, if there's one thing that this disastrous spell helped with, it's that it made the rift between them slightly smaller than what it used to be after the raven incident. Slightly.

As she headed off to find the mop, passing by Poe while he tried his earnest to brush the dust away, she couldn't help but reflect on this day. So, another thing to add to the tomes. Another failure, too, but this time, she couldn't help but feel it was self-inflicted.

She was this close. The Lucky Dime was quite literally in her hand -she quickly checked, obviously finding nothing- and she let it go. Why? Was this really the only way she could find her satisfaction, by defeating Scroogie herself? How far was she willing to go? How much more would she have to sacrifice?

Would she even get there?

Perhaps not. However, it was this 'perhaps' that kept her going; Magica hadn't expected Scroogie to be such a persistent opponent, to always be watchful, to always be determined to win, to always be so confident, yet never passing the line that would make many other fall for an over-inflated ego. And yet, he slipped from time to time. She knew that, as a villainess, the world was basically working against her, and yet...there were times where she came so close, she could not actually believe it. But he always bounced back up, striking her and Poe down at the last second.

And yet, she could not imagine any more hollow a victory than what she had today. For all she hated him, Scrooge was such a worthy opponent that anyone else simply could not reach the golden standard which he'd set. The snark, the fighting, the boisterous spirit that just felt so wonderful to crack with a devious plot...It all made her unable to imagine a victory over someone other than him when it came to the Lucky Dime.

The issue was that she feared he became less of a rival, and more of an obsession. Was she truly unable to accept winning over someone else? How much control did she have over this rivalry of theirs, really? She always thought that he'd be living in fear of her, making his every more around her fearsome existence, and yet it appeared she was the one who was losing her mind about him.

So what would she do? Realize she's become in his orbit? Accept it? Try to cut all ties and just stop going to North America altogether? It was all just so maddening...

And yet, the answer she found herself satisfied with was that she had to try harder. She couldn't possibly let Scrooge rob her blind; she was Magica DeSpell! She went so far to get to defeat Scroogie, and she wouldn't simply let go! She'd get better, stronger, more dangerous, and she'd have to balance this out a bit. Scrooge was not the main character of her life; she was. He wasn't going to out-shine her in her own life.

And yeah, the Lucky Dime is essentially her sole goal which she's been working towards, but perhaps trying to regain more control before going after Scrooge again will make her feel more firm about her position. Honestly, it was all so complicated that she couldn't help but feel a bit bad for leaving a Scrooge-less world behind her, but after all, a world without Scrooge McDuck is certainly not the world she was used to. She wouldn't simply leave the world behind her and run away, she'd stand up and get a hold of this situation again. It's what she did before, and what she'll be doing for a long time, or else her name isn't Magica DeSpell.

-"Mistress, what on earth is taking so long?! Have you forgotten what a mop is?!", and her name wouldn't be Magica DeSpell if she stopped doing dramatic monologues and forgetting about her surroundings, either.

-"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming you smart-mouth...", as she picked up the cleaning supplies and headed to where her brother was, she couldn't help but stare at Scrooge's picture, filled with darts.

Perhaps a world without Scroogie would be a world that's less dangerous. A world that's more successful for her. Far easier, too. But she did not care about easy, she cared about the challenge and the victory that followed. For now, she could handle a world with Scroogie. The question was: Could he handle what was coming next?

Oooooh, that was a good one! She had to write that down for her next confrontation with the old miser. Right after they finish their vacation, of course.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #magica de spell #poe de spell #duckverse #My writing #ask #Life crisises and siblings and magic #we have it all

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