#( My muse really strikes for TRASH )

[glorifiiedgore]

           Choke  me  like  you  hate  me,  but  you  l o v e  me                                   Low-key  wanna  date  me  when  you  fuck  me            Touch  me  with  the  lights  off  and  my  chains  on                                   Baby,  I'm  not  the  right  one  you  should  wait  on

[ssspideysense]

˚⋆｡˚ ❀ little white stick

summary: peter finds something in your trash can.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: fluff, established relationship, unplanned pregnancy

wc: 1.8k

He’d never been more intimidated by a piece of plastic.

Peter flipped the white stick in his hand over, and over, and over again. His head was swimming, even after he ripped his mask off to get a better look. A sense of desperation fluttered in his chest. He held the end of the stick and shook it, but this was no magic 8-ball— the message in the window stayed the same, staring back at him.

Pregnant.

He should’ve minded his own business. Probably should’ve pissed behind a dumpster somewhere instead of slipping through your window for his little pit stop, too. And he really should’ve pulled his head out of his ass long enough to realize those were your keys jangling at the front door.

Peter flinched in the abrasive bathroom light once he heard you shut the door behind you. The test leapt from his gloved hands and clattered on the tile, now essentially a live stick of dynamite, spitting sparks that lit a fire under his feet.

He heard you pause in the breezeway, your tired and shuffling footsteps falling silent like he tried to be. He bent to scoop up the stick quickly, shoving it back into the little trash can where he found it.

Peter jumped upright again and smacked his head on the underside of the sink with a loud THUNK.

He stumbled back— his foot tipped the can over — he grabbed the towel bar for balance but ripped it right out of the wall instead.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, holding the metal bar in one hand while he scrambled for the pregnancy test kicked beside the toilet.

“Hello? I—I have a gun,” you called out cautiously from down the hall after his chaotic symphony of crashes. You’d always been a terrible liar, really, but he couldn’t blame you for trying.

Groaning, Peter held the loose fixture in one hand, and the test in the other.

He was panicking. But he couldn’t leave you to panic, thinking there was some intruder creeping around your apartment. Swiftly, he shoved the stick underneath his mask on the bathroom counter and yanked the door open.

“Baby, it’s me—“ he paused, looking at you standing there, poised to strike with your elementary spelling bee trophy gripped like a bat in both hands, “—nice form, by the way. Look at those legs.”

And you deflated upon seeing him, letting your arms fall to your sides. “Christ, Pete. A warning would’ve been nice.”

“Were you about to hit me with that?”

“Is that my towel rack?”

You stared at each other for a moment before chuckling quietly in tandem. Both of your hearts raced to their own erratic rhythms in the dark hallway— but for completely different reasons. Peter examined the metal bar in his hand before laying it next to the sink. “I can fix it, I promise.”

“I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth, Parker,” you mused with a heavy sigh.

Peter waited until you turned on your heel before snatching up his mask and the little bomb underneath it. He trailed behind you with a forced air of nonchalance. “Oh, c’mon. I’m a real handy guy to have around. I fix towel racks, open jars, uh… water your plants,” he said, eyeing the droopy flowers on your kitchen windowsill. “Alright, there are better examples, but I whacked my head pretty hard in there, so you’ll just have to use your imagination for now.”

You offered a little huff of a laugh over your shoulder and slipped your shoes off by the front door. “Doing what?”

“Huh?”

The doe-eyed bewilderment on his face made you smile once your gaze met his. “In the bathroom. How’d you whack your head?” You asked.

His grip tightened on his mask. That nervous, almost boyish grin of his paired so well with his airy chuckle. “Uh, y’know. I saw a… bug. On the floor. Pretty gnarly stuff,” he cleared his throat and leaned himself against the kitchen archway with arms crossed over his chest.

You shot him an amused grin as you breezed past him, flicking on the lights. He’d looked a bit ruffled in the dark. Now, in the warm kitchen glow, you could see the nerves ticking away behind his eyes.

“A bug, hm?” You peered at him from the fridge. “Well, thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“Must’ve scared you pretty bad.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “well, y’know, not that bad. I mean, yeah, I was pretty startled at first. Pretty, uh… surprised, since I know we’re— you’re really… careful about stuff like that,” he cleared his throat again.

You pulled a water bottle from the fridge and watched him, pinning him to that spot against the wall with just an arch of your brow. “Careful?”

Peter pretended to be busy reading your whiteboard calendar stuck to the wall. “Yeah. I mean, you’re really responsible, and you take care of yourself and your things. But, y’know, these things happen sometimes. It’s not the end of the world. Maybe it could be a good thing, actually.”

Slowly, you cracked open the bottle and took a long sip. Peter switched his focus to a little photo of the both of you on the fridge door. You were kissing his cheek, he was beaming at the camera — he remembered that day, a handful of months ago. He’d taken you to an art museum and said some corny line about how you were the most breathtaking piece in every room. It didn’t matter how cliché it was when you smiled so brightly in response.

Maybe it could be a good thing…

“So… did you kill it?”

“What?”

The water bottle crinkled in your hand. “The bug, Pete.”

Oh, right. The bug.

“Oh— uh, no,” he admitted, and that automatic flash of horror that flickered on his face went just as fast as it came, “you startled me when you came home, so it… got away, probably.”

A small hum left your lips. You turned to pour a little of your water into the wilting flower beds behind the sink. “I thought you could sense me with your… special tingle thing,” you said.

Peter ran his unoccupied hand through his messy hair. “Well, I usually can. I guess I was just really focused, or… something…” he mumbled. Focused… or really fucking floored. Either way, his reflexes were not showroom quality at the moment, he had to admit.

“Right,” you replied, shooting him another pointed look. The way he seemed to squirm and fidget told you everything in that moment. Peter was a terrible liar, really, but you couldn’t blame him for trying. A falling sort of feeling fluttered in your stomach, knowing what he knew as he stood before you.

The clock hanging on the kitchen wall ticked loudly. The fridge hummed. You both stared at each other, saying a lot without saying anything.

He loved you. He knew he did. And he knew you loved him, too. He just didn’t know why you didn’t tell him about this— and, better yet, he had no idea how to bring it up.

Peter’s hands wrung around his mask and the truth bomb inside of it. You sucked in a long breath through your nose.

“Are you pregnant?”

“I’m pregnant.”

You both spoke at the same time yet again. You both felt your hearts drop simultaneously.

But Peter’s shoulders fell and a powerful breath escaped him, like releasing a heavy weight. He shifted to lean against the kitchen counter, gripping the edge of it for balance.

“I came in to use your bathroom really quick and while I was peeing I glanced down and saw— saw this—“ he pulled the stick out from his mask, holding it in the air like some magical item as he rambled, “—and I thought it was fake at first, like, some weird prank, but it looks really real— at least I think it does, I haven’t really seen a whole lot of them in person— but then I realized that’d be a weird prank and you weren’t even home and then you came home and I panicked and—“

“And you ripped my towel rack off,” you cut in.

“And I accidentally grabbed your towel rack, and you tried to assault me with a trophy—“

“I thought you were some weirdo waiting to kidnap me!”

“You need to work on your big girl voice, by the way. They’re supposed to actually believe you have a gun.”

Your unamused glare was betrayed by the hint of a smile on your lips. It was gone with a slight shake of your head, though, brought back to the situation at hand. “You snooped through my stuff?”

Peter paused. “I didn’t… I didn’t snoop . I wasn’t looking for anything. I just saw it,” he said, “it was in the trash.” He watched you avert your gaze and gently wrap your arms around yourself, just a few feet away from him in your quiet kitchen. The last thing he wanted was for this to feel like some sort of confrontation. He had a million questions, and a million emotions, but even in his slight panic and shock Peter could recognize this was strange and difficult for you, as well. “When… when did you take this?”

His voice was softer now, and it almost made everything worse. You sighed, fingers smoothing over your own arms in a self-soothing motion. “The other night,” you replied quietly.

“Okay,” he swallowed, trying to think. Be empathetic, Peter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Clearly stressed, your head rolled back in slight exasperation and a light groan escaped you. “I was going to. I just— do you know how daunting that is? I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

The smallest quiver in your words broke his heart.

Peter was fast. He moved forward, discarding the things in his hands and shifting them to sit on your hips. “Hey,” he soothed, his thumbs kneading gently into the soft skin just under your shirt. “It’s okay. I’m not mad, baby. I get it. It’s a lot to deal with.”

Your gaze was fixed forward, stuck on the black spider emblem on his chest. Peter let his hands gently glide up your sides, to sit over your shoulder blades. He pulled you into his chest and pressed his mouth to the top of your head.

There was so much to say and Peter’s brain refused to cooperate— he enjoyed holding you, though, sighing softly once he felt you finally lean in.

There was a lot to talk about. A lot to think about. But despite the strange mix of vulnerability and anxiety making your chest tight, Peter’s air of sweetness softened the raw feeling.

Obviously, something like this wasn’t on your radar, at least not right now. The ‘what about our future’ discussion was nerve-wracking enough without this sort of… push. But, unfortunately, you couldn’t just ignore it. The gears were already turning and nearly spitting smoke out of your ears when Peter broke up your whirlwind of thoughts.

“… I’m just saying, PJ is a cute nickname for Peter Junior.”

He felt you smile against his chest.

[vvh0adie]

watching my friends leave tumblr is really sad

you literally can't win

at this point the writer's strike should just be a cultural movement

like ppl are writing for FREE and you're complaining about turn out rate and shit

we have lives and some of us (HELL ALL OF US) have some form of mental illness, so we can't be fucking cogs all day and churn out fics.

writing is suppose to be therapeutic and writers want to share that with you to ease the tension of this hellscape we live in

but some of these readers and even fellow writers are taking it too far with the bullying

like its mean and nasty. you don't know what someone is going thru.

instead of asking for updates how about check and see if your writer is mentally stable to do so. that right there is a booster, to have someone say "are you okay?"

and then the whole accusations of favoring a certain member/character. if that person is my muse or safe space then of course imma write for them. most solo writers i see don't even talk bad about other people. its a SOLO account. think of it as a shrine blog of writing if that helps. they're not there to trash, just share their writing for other's who might also share the same muse.

then you have readers who can't separate fiction from reality. just because someone writes a character with irl people faceclaimed onto them doesnt mean they actually think that person would be or do those things irl. i'll be the first to say that i only gave my characters bts faces cuz thats who im attracted to and they're who i imagine would be casted to play my characters.

then IN THE YEAR OF 2023 we still have ppl making fun of their peers writing and also THE FACT THAT ENGLISH MIGHT NOT BE THEIR FIRST LANGUAGE? that's nasty asf. majority of us dont even speak 'proper' english as our first language no way. you only shooting yourself in the foot. don't act like you dont have beta readers... like what are yall on?

and anybody who gets on THAT BLOG behind anon is an opp. not just to the writing community but in how you interact with the world all together. yall don't know how to talk to people anymore? it may have started as a place for critique and accountability but no one is bringing receipts or critical thinking anymore. its mainly for drama and not rehabilitation. yall serious scare me in how we'd see the reality of social change applied to the real world. like i'd be more scared to let yall around the prisoners with minor offenses cuz yall act like its the end of the world and that change cant happen. yall give nobody room to change ignorant stances but ignore the real egregious shit because you honestly dont have the bandwidth to take on actual fascist views.

also the plagiarism has got to stop too. if you need writing resources just ask. but practice makes perfect. so you're gonna have to write yourself. you may not like your writers voice but you will feel shitty in the long run when you don't feel like its you putting those words on the paper. it literally just prolongs your inferiority. make something you're proud of and don't hurt your fellow writers. we went thru the process just like you. we earned it. and most of us aren't gatekeepers, we will help you.

like its really tuff being on here sometimes. cuz if you not being hounded by readers its your own community praying on your down fall.

we have to do better.

[metamorphosisff]

|Three| Not What You Think

Xavier didn’t give up.

While he did not bother to text me back last week, he also did not bother to accept defeat. I could tell he was going to approach me again when I was signing in earlier but the headphones covering my ears deterred him. However, now that we were in this park working, I couldn’t have those headphones on, making it the perfect time for him to strike up another pointless conversation.

“Here comes Mr. Clipboard, he looks like he has a purpose too,” Jazz muses from my right. We were on our hands and knees tending to a garden while the men picked up trash. No one else wanted to get in the dirt and I wasn’t in the mood to traverse this whole park.

“Oh joy,” I said, causing her to snicker.

“You could smile, you know,” she said, bumping her hip with mine.

“You could stop encouraging this,” I said, bumping her back.

That was the last of our conversation before a shadow briefly stands over us. Xavier doesn’t stand long, dropping to his knees so that we are all eye level and no one has to look up at him.

“Ladies,” he greets. “How are things coming along?”

“Beat it,” I mutter, not bothering to look up.

“Some words of advice young man? Don’t mince words with this one here. I’d get to your point quickly if I were you,” Jazz says, before scooting down a few feet to give us some semblance of privacy though I note she remains in hearing distance. Nosey bat.

Xavier chuckles softly causing me to meet the biggest doe eyes I had ever seen on a man. His russet orbs take some of the chill off of my next words. “You don’t have anything better to do?” I ask, dropping my mini shovel into the dirt.

“At this very moment? Probably. Alex thinks I don’t see him inching closer and closer to the exit where the 2 is at but I’m not really in the mood for a battle,” he said with a small shrug.

“Can’t you like, get in trouble for that?” I asked.

“Me? No. I am supposed to keep an eye on tools and you while you are here. Anything you do while not being here is an issue to take up with the judge. We all have choices and a part of being an adult is taking accountability for the choices we make. I’m choosing peace while he’s choosing to go back to Rikers,” Xavier says with a shrug.

“Makes sense,” I said, nodding my head. I imagine his job already was a lot to deal with. He couldn’t hunt everyone down. Couldn’t make them do right. All he could do was show up. Same as us. “Even so, why are you in my face?”

He nodded as another chuckle slipped past his lips, “To ask if you would reconsider my proposal of friendship. I host a group for people our age to just shoot the shit or vent. Dealers choice. I’d like for you to come hang if you can. We’re meeting tomorrow at the Lutheran church around the corner from my office at seven.”

“I don’t need to be talking to a bunch of strangers. No thanks,” I said.

“Then come listen. I think you’d like it if you would give it a chance,” he said. I could see the sincerity in his gaze clear as day. The problem was that I did not trust it.

“What do you want from me? I’m not going to get with you, so you don’t have to pretend and act like you want to be my friend,” I sighed, exasperated at this whole ordeal.

His face scrunched up at the accusation. “I don’t want anything more than what I proposed Jamila but I see that you aren’t interested so I’ll back off,” he said with a small smile, holding up both hands in surrender. 

“Please because I don’t think you want a friend, you want a project, and you can get one of them for your little group,” I added, pointing out where the rest of our orange rag-tag team was over by the basketball court and not doing their assignment. 

Nodding his head, he rose to his feet. “I asked everyone already and pretty much got the same response,” he said, his words deflating any of the annoyance I thought I felt.

“Maybe you need a better pitch,” I said.

“Maybe. Guess, I’ll leave you to it. I have to call in about Alex anyway,” he said, retreating without another word.

I watched as he walked away from the garden and back onto one of the paved walkways. His shoulders with a droop I placed in them from our conversation. Jazz is back at my side before I have time to process why I care about his dejection.

“You are going to that group heffa,” Jazz said.

Turning my head towards her I fixed my lips to speak but she held up a soil stained glove.

“You are a hard somebody, too young to be as hard as you is, and that one there,” Jazz said, swinging her finger to where Xavier stood, “Can soften you. It’s okay to be soft some of the time. It’s quite nice actually. So yes, miss girl, you are going to that meeting and so am I. If you even think about standing me up, you won’t have to worry about catching the train back to East New York because I’ll kick ya’ narrow little ass there. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, knowing she’s serious. I had seen her fight for less and win, and we had only been in each other’s lives for a month and a half.

“Good. Now, let’s finish getting these weeds up because my knees are starting to hurt and that is saying something seeing how I’ve spent most of my life on them,” she cracks, playfully nudging me again with her hip.

I don’t have many friends but I’d be lying if I said I was not warming up to the idea of adding Jazz to that very short list. We clicked without having to speak and when we did talk, it was often in moments like this. She reminded me of my mom before things got bad. Maybe that’s why when she talked, I listened.

While we finished up, I thought over her words and the look on Xavier’s face when I implied he had nefarious motives. He actually looked bothered and he had been dealing with my shit for weeks. When we head over to the van to put away the tools, I linger. He eyes me patiently, waiting for me to say whatever that it is that’s on my mind, shoulders squaring as he braces for the worst. I don’t blame him.

“Uh, Jazz and I, we’ll come. One time deal though,” I said, causing him to smile. He was like a puppy with those eyes, so expressive, all of the time. It was nice not having to guess what was on a man’s mind for once. Xavier’s eyes left no secrets untold.

“One time is cool, that’s great,” he beams, every tooth showing with this smile. It’s childish yet the sight of it gives me relief. There has been no true harm done. “ What made you reconsider though?” 

“Technically a threat,” I deadpanned, which caused him to laugh fully.

“Okay, I see I owe Jazz my gratitude,” he replies.

“Yes, you do!” Jazz voices from around the corner. Of course she hasn’t entered the van yet. She has to hear how every part of this after school special plays out.

“Thank you Jazz,” he says before training his eyes back on me. “And thanks for reconsidering even under duress. You remind me of one of my cousins so if I seem to be coming on strong that’s why. I miss her and see the same spirit she had in you.”

“You're speaking in the past tense. What happened to her?” I asked, stepping aside as more of the crew came to deposit tools to the back. He follows my lead, moving a few feet away so no one else can hear him speak.

“Boyfriend killed her and their three month old in my senior year of college. I didn’t like him from the jump but you couldn’t tell Sabrina shit. I loved and hated that about her,” he says, clearing his throat after. His gaze doesn’t shy away from mine and I can see a pain so fresh, it cools my skin on this eighty seven degree day. In a blink it’s gone, he knows I saw it but doesn’t seem to care. A smile returns, making his usual facial expression. “I can tell nobody can tell you shit either.”

“Nope. I’ve raised myself, I don't really need anyone else’s opinions on how I live my life,” I said, leveling my gaze in warning. 

“Aye I’m not in the business of raising adults as I’ve already demonstrated so you don’t have to worry about that,” he said.

“So what do I have to worry about?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“In regards to me? Nothing. I’m an open book that you can read whenever you are ready. You can check out a few pages tomorrow and then decide if a friendship with me is the worst thing that can happen to you,” he said, walking up to close the back doors to the van now that everything had been put away.

“That was so corny,” I said with a shake of my head.

“It got you to smile so it’s a win,” he said, causing me to immediately frown.

“I don’t smile,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

“No you didn’t, as in the past tense but you definitely just did,” he said.

“I’m going to get in the van now before this conversation makes me seriously consider getting beat up,” I replied, turning on my heels causing him to snort.

Jazz is waiting by the door with a grin on her face but before she says anything I said, “One word and you can beat me to Timbuktu for all I care but I won’t go any damn where if you gloat.”

Jazz pantomimes zipping her lips but does a little shuffle in celebration as we slide into the two seats in the front that haven’t been taken. Xavier boards last and takes his customary seat beside the driver not before shooting me a quick glance, smiling when my eyes meet his. I hear Jazz’s lips part before I remind her of my previous declaration. “One word. I mean it. One, singular word.”

I can’t shove my headphones into my ears fast enough to drown out the sound of her boisterous laughter.

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[blcssom]

after what feels like YEARS i've finally finished the muse page built into my theme (u can find a less fun/detailed list of my new muses here too) which means it's time for a STARTER CALL : ' )))

below the cut are my new muses and a lil bit abt them !! like this and i'll throw you a few starters with my new/rebranded babies !! note: i'll likely slide in your dms to ask if there's anyone in particular you're interested in <3

abigail hyland || twenty9 - waitress/folk singer // bisexual // margaret qualley

mean trailer park queen trying to bury her white trash roots and fear of abandonment !!!

catherine meyer || forty3 - interior designer // bisexual // jessica chastain

walking cleanliness complex who holds herself and everyone else around her to impossibly high standards

daphne barlowe || thirty3 - art curator // bisexual // meghann fahy

trust fund baby who resents her upbringing but not enough to stop living off of their money altogether O:)

ines morreno || twenty5 - bottle girl (succubus au) // bisexual // camila morrone

literal demon (if u so choose) who goes through men faster than she goes through singles on a busy night at the club

josie tanaka || twenty7 - vet tech // bisexual // fivel stewart

likes animals more than she likes ANY human but is willing to forego judgement until you share a blunt w/ her and she can suss out the vibe

lydia xiao || twenty5 - classical violinist // bisexual // havana rose liu

sheltered princess strikes out on her own !!! as much as you can when you're auditioning to join the met :' )

maeve willis || twenty8 - assistant choreographer // bisexual // taylor russell

people pleaser w/ the memory of a goldfish !!! REALLY wants to do a good job but REALLY can't say no when someone invites her out either so... c'est la vie

rosie burton || thirty2 - florist (royal au) // bisexual // laura harrier

classic oldest child mother to all but lacking a caretaker herself but that's !! fine !! she's fine !!

sylvie bane || twenty4 - social media influencer // bisexual // lily rose depp

party princess desperate to prove she can make it w/ out daddy's money or a rich s/o (spoiler alert: she can't xx)

taylor corbyn || twenty3 - drummer // homosexual // reneé rapp

GAY and way more confident abt it until she actually has to act !! queen of talking a big game and absolutely blowing it after that

beau crawford || twenty7 - phys ed teacher // bisexual // mason gooding

just a big ole puppy witfh too much energy not even a day of back-to-back p.e. classes can burn it off !! good vibes only except when he doesn't get what he wants :o

dominic hyland || thirty - dj/bartender // bisexual // nicholas galitzine

chasing down his abandonment issues with straight gin and pretending it's fine !!! absolutely not running from his own traumatic past why would u ask that

ezra bhatti || thirty8 - tattoo artist // bisexual // rahul kohli

v chill v calm v antisocial and yet always somehow at the center of all the action !! unbearable know it all that's probably why he just HAD to correct someone

hugo danaher || twenty9 - firefighter // bisexual // paul mescal

reckless physically and emotionally always falling in love and always running into burning buildings w/out thinking twice

jace warren || twenty8 - mechanic // bisexual // nick robinson

basically raised seven siblings in a double wide when his parents bailed and he's TIRED now v responsible but also v apathetic deadly combo

jacob park || thirty3 - newspaper editor // bisexual // charles melton

perfectionist who keeps succeeding but the bar is just getting higher and he's !! nervous !! golden child of his family and they're banking on his success no pressure

miguel avila || forty4 - literary agent (vampire au) // bisexual // oscar isaac

functioning alcoholic who soothes whiny writers all day he's doing GREAT !! failed (in his own mind) writer who's helping others live out their dreams yay

oliver kothari || thirty5 - pediatrician // bisexual // dev patel

came across the pond to escape his mother but she just followed him here so... constantly being the perfect boy but v lonely up on his pedastal

reid whittman || thirty4 - fashion photographer // bisexual // callum turner

party boy photographer living his bachelor dream even tho it isn't !! actually his dream but it's what he's good at so .... luvs being the fun uncle his TRUE calling

thomas thorne || forty2 - novelist (pirate au) // bisexual // michiel huisman

dramatic nervous king prone to rambling on about his ideas but then never actually following thru with them :' )

[doctorbrown]

what color do you associate with your muse?

is there a song that reminds you of your muse?

how do you get yourself out of a writing funk?

do you have any advice for other writers?

would you hug your muse?

how are you and your muse alike?

how are you and your muse different?

do you follow canon, or dump it in the trash?

best scene featuring your muse? (chapter, film, episode)

1-4 answered here!!

5. Would you hug your muse?

In a goddamn heartbeat actually. Doc is absolutely the kind of supportive, awesome adult figure I wish I could've had growing up and he's one hell of a friend on top of it all.

6. How are you and your muse alike?

We're both very animated. When I'm with my friends and especially when I'm getting into something, you'll find me moving/hopping around, gesturing wildly with my hands, just absolutely full of energy. I'm not nearly as into science as Doc is, but I do enjoy and appreciate it a lot and there's a part of me that wishes I went into some kind of engineering.

We're also both good at fixing cars, albeit to varying degrees.

We're both the ones typically considered weird amongst others.

7. How are you and your muse different?

Oh in so many ways. The obvious being I do not have a doctorate but I do have a law degree haha.

For one, Doc's far more comfortable in his skin than I ever will be and I kind of envy Doc his confidence in that regard; I've never had that and who knows if I will.

You'll be hard-pressed to ever get Doc on a motorcycle and I'm over here dreaming about the second one I want to buy myself.

Doc's also far more optimistic about things than I am. I've got more of a realistic approach to things and also lean far more heavily into morbid jokes and joke about how if I live to forty, I'll already have exceeded my personal life expectancy. Some of these jokes are rooted in reality, because again, I ride a motorcycle, I like to do a lot of things considered dangerous, and you just never know what's going to happen on any given day. I've well outgrown my youthful phase of I'm invincible! and sometimes you just gotta make jokes about things to get through the days.

Doc would also probably faint if he heard how much I curse on the regular tbh.

8. Do you follow canon or dump it in the trash?

I follow film canon for the most part! I've got my gripes about pt2, of course, but 1 & 3 are solid films and I adore them with my whole heart and 1985A is one of my favourite underexplored timelines; I want to do way more with that, short-lived as their time there was. Then again, I suppose they were there for probably ~12 hours, despite Marty being unconscious for 9 of them but hey.

Everything else outside of the films, really, I pick and choose from at will to use as inspiration. Nothing in the comics or game for example I consider having happened in Doc's canon proper, maybe save for the comics with Doc & the family with the Time Train during that time before they get back to Doc's present to settle down. I do love some of those adventures the family get up to and they've definitely had some of their fun.

The games/comics otherwise, though, I consider more of a, this could be an alternate reality so I'm not going to completely discard it, but the events won't be referenced here, certainly not in the same way.

9. Best scene featuring your muse? (chapter, film, episode)

Another really amazing Doc scene is from pt2 again and it's the the scene where Doc inadvertently does exactly what he'd been cautioning Marty against since they arrived back in 1955 to track down Biff—he meets his younger counterpart in Courthouse Square rigging up the cable for the lightning strike.

That scene to me is just incredible, not because you can see the small differences behaviour-wise between his younger and elder(current) self or even because it's so interesting hearing the way Doc talks to himself, but because of the way you can see all of Doc's reactions so clearly written on his present-self's face. The wonder and amazement at seeing this from a different perspective, free of any time constraints and worries. Doc knows how this is going to all play out, of course, so seeing his work now is fascinating.

I'm sure he's thinking of all the other better ways he could've done it/things he should have done that evening to save him a heart attack or two. Hindsight's 20/20.

I also love that this cements what a fantastic memory Doc has. This moment, for him, happened thirty years ago. For Marty, it was, what, two days ago? But Doc remembers. Vividly. To the point where his younger counterpart asks for the 5/8 wrench and Doc immediately makes that face and goes 5/8? Don't you mean 3/4?

And it's the fact that you see Doc's expressions change from awed to surprised to uncertain, to a little more confident, and there's even this, to me, moment of realisation. Now maybe isn't the time to think about it—he'll have plenty of time in 1885—but he met his temporal counterpart and the fabric of reality didn't unfold just because of their meeting.

Doc's the first one of them to meet his other self, iirc, and idk I just really really love that scene.

[caltropspress]

RAPS + CRAFTS #17: PremRock

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

My name is PremRock, I’m a solo artist but ½ of ShrapKnel, ¼ Wrecking Crew. I’m currently working mostly with Backwoodz Studioz, but also with Ockham’s Blazer in conjunction with Fake Four and will always put out projects on my own when I deem that fit. I’ve been releasing music since 2010 I suppose officially.

2. Where do you write? Do you have a routine time you write? Do you discipline yourself, or just let the words come when they will? Do you typically write on a daily basis?

I would say the best way to describe my process is chipping away. I am always thinking of phrases and “bars” so to speak and often don’t have control over when they come. For that, it’s on the notes app and later I’ll comb it for things I feel are usable or something to expand on. I work a full-time night job so days off typically start late but I like to use them for the bulk of writing practices but the muse often strikes at late hours. Deadlines make things different and are absolutely necessary and most are self-imposed. I wish there was more of a routine or structure but the schedule is a balance between carving out time through discipline and when inspiration strikes.

3. What’s your medium—pen and paper, laptop, on your phone? Or do you compose a verse in your head and keep it there until it’s time to record?

iPhone notes, Gdocs, pen and Moleskine in that order. My iPhone notes are full of couplets at all times. Typically I will try to compile them all into one place at some point, but they are pretty piecemeal at first a lot of the time.

4. Do you write in bars, or is it more disorganized than that?

I just write and hopefully it fits a four count. I’ll work it out either way.

5. How long into writing a verse or a song do you know it’s not working out the way you had in mind? Do you trash the material forever, or do you keep the discarded material to be reworked later?

I think pretty soon at times and sometimes it’ll take months. I don’t think I ever trash anything forever. Good writing should find a home.

6. Have you engaged with any other type of writing, whether presently or in the past? Fiction? Poetry? Playwriting? If so, how has that mode influenced your songwriting?

Playwriting is a def. Or screenwriting rather. I have a couple outlines of screenplays I pick up and put back down depending on my mood. I think it’d make for an exciting second act (pun!?). Fiction I think plays a role in that. I’ve mostly sought out fictional work when I’ve read, save for autobiographies or historical things that interest me. Poetry and rap are pretty intertwined to me so perhaps down the line I’ll compile a list of things that don’t fit the song structure I’m into making. Who knows? A lot is certainly on the table.

7. How much editing do you do after initially writing a verse/song? Do you labor over verses, working on them over a long period of time, or do you start and finish a piece in a quick burst?

I always revise and edit. At least once but usually twice and sometimes more. This all depends on what the work calls for. A guest verse will typically see less revisions simply because the assignment is often laid out in plain terms so I grasp it quickly. Solo work will be revised more as I whittle down a lot - I write too much there it needs refinement. ShrapKnel or Wrecking Crew stuff comes easiest. Spirit of both competition and collaboration makes the work really enjoyable and easy. I labor over solo stuff more than I would like. Maybe I’ll change that! 

8. Do you write to a beat, or do you adjust and tweak lyrics to fit a beat?

Def write to a beat unless it’s a weird circumstance but couplets are always being written and sometimes when I’m at work so they’ll be grafted and fit to a beat later. No writing is definitively assigned to a particular beat unless it’s very clear at first or that’s the distinct job I have to do. I will move verses around if I see that fit.

9. What dictates the direction of your lyrics? Are you led by an idea or topic you have in mind beforehand? Is it stream-of-consciousness? Is what you come up with determined by the constraint of the rhymes?

A theme will carry and pallbearers vary.

I love a strong idea and interconnectivity. Death, love, life are heavy so if I address those I like to build trusses to support my claim. A lot of it is stream-of-consciousness for certain. It’s interconnected in my mind for a reason and sometimes that reason isn’t clear at first. It takes time to see why I thought of that. All of it makes sense to me in its own way. Even if it starts out very knotty I like to untangle it. When you’ve been rhyming for a long time, rhymes appear as guardrails and sometimes accidentally. It’s up to you to keep, polish, or discard, I suppose. Some people can write a 100 songs a year and they all sound like they’re keepers. I don’t really work that way, but I suppose if people heard a lot of what I cut they’d ask why I cut it. My answer would be rooted somewhere between “vibes” and “quality control.”

10. Do you like to experiment with different forms and rhyme schemes, or do you keep your bars free and flexible?

I don’t believe in 16 bars. Unless that’s what you pay for or ask for. I don’t believe in a lot of structure in general. When the rhyme is finished the rhyme is finished, but I understand metrics and not everyone should go beyond 16 bars simply because there’s not more to say in an interesting way. But I think we are past the point or need for defined structure. Just write until the writing is finished to you. Jazz and prog rock began taking things far out and you should take things as far as you feel.

11. What’s a verse you’re particularly proud of, one where you met the vision for what you desire to do with your lyrics?

I am definitely proud of “Gravity Falls” on the most recent ShrapKnel album (that people have heard, that is). Felt like I captured a very particular mood and stylistically took some chances. Sometimes that connects and sometimes it doesn’t, but here it did. Certainly validated by the fan and peer response!

12. Can you pick a favorite bar of yours and describe the genesis of it?

Nobody planning to leave…Context to come in '24.

13. Do you feel strongly one way or another about punch-ins? Will you whittle a bar down in order to account for breath control, or are you comfortable punching-in so you don’t have to sacrifice any words?

Whatever best serves the record. Twenty years from now you will be awarded no points for one-takes, only the quality of the records you left behind.

14. What non-hiphop material do you turn to for inspiration? What non-music has influenced your work recently?

Phil Elverum, David Berman, Big Thief, Japanese Breakfast, lots of SAULT...Jason Isbell, Alton Ellis.

Ocean Vuong...Kurt Vonnegut, Clarice Lispector…recently.

15. Writers are often saddled with self-doubt. Do you struggle to like your own shit, or does it all sound dope to you?

It's because we are sensitive to everything. The good, bad, beautiful, and hideous. We are also the most observant. That’s a dangerous cocktail in general. Couple that with societal pressure to conform to something we are not and a self-imposed barometer hard to match and you have a struggle on your hands. I labor over my work, but ultimately I have a healthy respect for myself and my output. So when I doubt myself, I don't languish for long. I hope others who struggle get there too. Most writers have great triumphs and poignant lulls. The triumphs are a reminder of your brilliance. I try to hold onto those.

16. Who’s a rapper you listen to with such a distinguishable style that you need to resist the urge to imitate them?

Would say Saafir but that’s past tense…I think. I used to imitate unwittingly in freestyles. Perhaps early Del was one, and the way Tash from Tha Liks rode beats, plus Daz. Always fancied myself an East Coast rhymer with West Coast sensibilities. Like stepchild of Wu and Hiero…Boot Camp…Death Row.

Current? I think I am a pretty good appreciator of art at this stage of my life. I can observe and admire without picking up tendencies. I feel bad for people who say they can’t listen to much music while creating because it will influence theirs. I think that’s part of the point. You’re not supposed to jack their style. Rather, it’s like one of those sticky-hand things kids used to play with, but except for dust, dirt, and grime, you pick up bits of inspiration and process it through your filter. Nobody has or can change your filter.

17. Do you have an agenda as an artist? Are there overarching concerns you want to communicate to the listener?

My agenda as an artist is to be remembered as a writer who took the craft very seriously and left behind a wealth of work to sort through. It’s to be remembered as a kind spirited artist who sought to empower others if I was lucky enough to get the chance. It’s to have practiced tolerance, inclusion, and used the privilege I’ve had in a way that hopefully spread this exact sentiment. To be useful in the tool of collaboration and have seen a great deal of the world and left behind an imprint that you remembered. To have been as great a performer as I possibly could be. Maybe, folks leave the show and know they have to get to the woodshed. As grandiose or idealized as that sounds, that is what I want. I want people to feel proud to have known me. And above all I want people to have said, “He sure was a motherfucker with the pen.”

RAPS + CRAFTS is a series of questions posed to rappers about their craft and process. It is designed to give respect and credit to their engagement with the art of songwriting. The format is inspired, in part, by Rob McLennan’s 12 or 20 interview series.

Photo credit: Edwina Hay

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Sunshine in Another World - Feeding

I have officially launched Sunshine in Another World, an alternate universe spin off of Sunshine in Hell. Unlike SiH, SiAW is a collection of short stories that vary in theme, length, and at times continuity. This is where I will post all of the various alternate universe ideas I get based on Something's Wrong with Sunny Day Jack.

This story is for Adults Only. No one under the age of 18 may read it. It also contains elements of horror and violence.

@channydraws, I have more hot clown content for you to enjoy. Have fun~!

...

Jack had to admit that he underestimated how delicious blood was for a vampire. He enjoyed the taste far more than he ever expected. If he wasn’t careful, he might wind up addicted to it. It gave him a newfound appreciation for just how much Alice struggled with her thirst for it.

This was why it was so important to practice moderation, Jack mused as he licked the blood from his sunshine’s mouth, getting another taste of the delicious vitality of the man he drained. It was someone who had been on his mind for a while, the first man that he saw Alice feed from more than a month ago. He could’ve gone for any of those animals in the club that were eying his sweet sunshine like a piece of meat tonight, and perhaps he would get to them all eventually, but this particular man was first, followed by the rest of the trash who dared to put their dirty hands on Alice.

Jack checked his jacket and shirt for any bloodstains. Fortunately, what little splashed onto him was minor enough that he would wash out if he took care of it quickly enough. As he straightened out his clothes, he couldn’t hold back the impulse to softly caress his sweet sunshine’s soft curves. Even in her sleep, he felt her respond to his affections. Her dreams were so difficult for him to read, but he could’ve sworn thoughts of him flickered through her mind at his loving touch.

The man groaned through the gag stuffed in his mouth, interrupting the intimate moment. Jack glared at the crumpled heap on the floor. He knew that he needed to clean up the mess, but he needed a moment to compose himself first. Putting his sunshine’s mouth on a piece of filth like the man lying prone before him had been revolting. Even if the blood tasted far better than he expected, he hated that he had to bless such scum with not one but two kisses from his sunshine’s lips. Unfortunately, he didn’t know any other way to close the wound he made with her fangs except for a kiss like the one she graced on him and let her instincts take care of the rest.

It would take time, but eventually Jack would figure out how to use these vampire powers properly. Fortunately, Alice was being very cooperative with him even in her sleep. With her help, he was sure that he would get the hang of them in no time. Then she would never have to feel guilty about hunting people for their blood ever again. She could depend on him to take care of her hunger and every other need she had. She didn’t need anyone else but him.

Jack held a gloved finger up over bloodstained lips. “Shhh…,” he hissed in a sweet lilting voice that didn’t belong to him. “I told you to be quiet. My sunshine needs her sleep.”

The man, as if to prove how much of a waste of space he was, just let out another muffled moan.

“Really now,” Jack sighed with a shake of the head. “You just can’t listen to instructions, can you?” He brushed back the strands of curly blue hair that fell in front of his face. “This is all your fault to begin with, you know. First you touch other people without their permission - and in such inappropriate places too - then you call them such horrible names, and then you just had to resort to violence, didn’t you?”

Violence against his sunshine… Just the memory of this filthy animal trying to strike her made Jack see red. It wasn’t his fault what happened after that. Sunny Day Jack wasn’t a violent person. He would never hurt anyone. He just defended Alice from someone who dared try to hurt her. Unfortunately, sometimes such actions were necessary. It was the only thing worthless people like them understood.

This man had no one else to blame but himself that things turned out this way.

Jack crouched down and prodded at the darkening bruise he left on the man’s neck, drawing out another moan of pain. It really did seem that the intent of the vampire not only affected the person they fed on during the bite, but afterwards as well. Touching the mark Alice left on him gave him an echo of the pleasure she shared with him, practically turning it into an erogenous zone, while prodding the one he left on this man cast shadows of the pain he left behind.

Good.

...

Read the rest of the story here, and please let me know what you think. I absolutely adore reviews and they inspire me to keep writing stories like these. Thank you! ❤️💛💙  

[are-we-really-doing-this]

‼️About mE‼️ (tagged by @bl33ditout, wasssssssssssup, you got me like always)

Nickname: Tagz (glad I finally came up with one) and my friends call me Bic (like the lighter)

Sign: Yield, lmao. No, I'm a Cancer. Lil crab bastard.

Height: 5'11" (in my chunkiest sneaks)

Last Google Search: JDevil (fr I'm writing a cyberpunk DnD campaign and I needed a muse, catch me spacing out to some Killbot)

Song Stuck In My Head: Uhhhh, GlitchGang (Remix), hands down. When I heard that Hed (P.E.), Crazy Town, and Twiztid did a collab I think I came in my pants. I've listened to it like twice a day for the past week.

Sleep: I probably need some right now, but fuck that. I took a nap today.

Dream Job: Obligatory pro wrestler or rap metal musician pipe dream, but fr I really want to go into child psychology to become a youth councilor. Or a s//ugar b//aby, lmao.

Wearing: Just my whites and some black basketball shorts.

Favorite Song(s): Right now? Literally anything ICP adjacent but I've been getting very into Crazy Town recently. Yes I am the worst person you know. Also really feeling any track off Significant Other rn.

Favorite Instrument: Bass and turntables.

Aesthetic(s): Hoo bitch, I've been waiting for this one. Carcore saved my life. Y2K will never die in my opinion. My own personal brand of post-modern-southern-gothic-redneck-white-trash-whatever. Does the general concept of trashiness count? Well it does now. Old dead memes and image macros are a vibe on their own. Glittery shit. I'm not into rave or scene myself but I think it's hot. And shiny silver plastic electronics. Oh and juggalo shit, but that's pretty much carcore. (this is like my catch all for striking color combinations, oversized clothes, murdered out cars, facepaint, 90s and 00s hip hop and rnb, -core music, sweets, etc.) Plus the generic metalheadisms.

Favorite Author(s): glitchesaintshit and slapfool on Ao3

Favorite Color(s): Neon Green 💚 Electric Blue 💙 Blood Red ❤️

Last Song: Callout by Attila (sorry but I'm going there)

Last Series: Breaking Bad (I finally started it!!)

Random: I miss watching Minecraft letsplays but they all suck now, I don't even know what the fuck an SMP is.

[lokadottr]

knowing your partner well can make writing a lot easier

name: mari pronouns: she/her preference of communication: tumblr im for quick things, discord for like-- everything else because honestly i never get tumblr notifications

name of muse: torvi lokadottir

experience: uhhhh, 2012-ish? i know it was after i got surgery for something and kinda got stuck in bed for awhile

rp pet peeves & dealbreakers:

anon hate. like, get fucked.

people, following & unfollowing & refollowing to get my attention.

people just, straight up ignoring boundaries. 

fluff,  angst,  or smut:   fluff or angst. i can’t choose. i enjoy making my muses sad but i also love cute stuff.

plots or memes: memes to start, plots to come later

long or short replies: it depends on the type of thread? i love short for fun things but for more serious threads i prefer longer replies

best time to write: whenever the mood strikes me. usually very early in the morning or late at night.

are you like your muse?: not really. we have some similarities like our love for britney spears and trash television. overall we aren’t really similar.

tagged by: stolen tagging: anyone

[ashasmonsters]

The Skateboarder

Female reader x Female orc (Morn)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: brief alcohol, stupid memes

Words: 9k

Morn reached between the legs of some intertwined partygoers, retrieved a beer from the strategically placed cooler, then opened it on the strike plate of the living room door. Some of it foamed out and fell on the carpet with the bottle cap but she didn't seem to care. The owners of the sorority house didn't care either.

"...so yeah, she said I stank and got up and left." Morn finished her tale of an attempted one-night stand.

"She didn't even touch you yet?" You asked, leaning in close so she could hear you over the thumping music. As was usual for parties like these, you and Morn had carved out a corner where you could be ignored by everyone else and gossip.

"Well, yeah, but not below the belt. That's what pissed me off. She was all over me all night and as soon as I say I want her to go down on me, she insults me and leaves."

"I mean..." you grinned, unable to resist, "did you stink down there, though?"

Morn punched your shoulder and chuckled.

"Fuck off, it's not like roses and daffodils are the norm. You know, it's like I always say..." It was Morn's turn to grin mischievously.

"Don't fucking say it. I swear to God, Morn. I'm going to laugh really hard and everyone's going to look at me weird. " You pleaded. You knew what would come next; Morn's favorite turn of phrase that she managed to use more often than one would think.

"—like I always say, good pussy smells like the heat coming out of the PS4."

You were true to your word. As you caught your breath between peals of laughter, a few partygoers did in fact stare at you. Despite your prior protests, the stares didn't bother you that much. Here in Morn's gossip corner, all that mattered was whiling the time away until the other half of your group was ready to leave. Dera's whereabouts were unknown but Lash was visible in the corner of the room.

"Looks like Lash's plan is all coming together." You noted. Morn turned to look as well; she was aggressively making out with an Elf boy. He licked her tusks. You grimaced.

"Goddamn. When Lash wants something she gets it."

"She mentioned that guy... what, like, yesterday?" You asked. "From staring at him across the classroom to heavy petting in less than twenty-four hours. That's a new record."

"Makes me feel like I'm not even the same species," Morn complained, finally turning away from Lash's public display of affection. "I know Orc boldness is a stereotype but it's not one I'd mind living up to."

"That's not Orc boldness, that's Lash boldness," you chortled. "Don't be down on yourself for not having it. Besides, she's not looking for a one-night deal; if that Elf doesn't call her back tomorrow she's gonna have her week ruined."

"I guess that's true..." Morn sighed.

"Morn." You firmly squeezed her shoulder and stared at her. "I love Lash to death, but you've never called me at three in the morning crying over the end of a week-and-a-half-long relationship. It's okay to not be dating a new person all the time."

"Yeah, I know." She finished her beer and smiled a bit.

"Besides, if you were hunting down an object of desire every time we were at a party, I'd have no one to chill with. Morn's Gossip Corner is the only thing getting me out of the dorm on Friday nights."

"I'm glad to be of service." She dramatically saluted. "You're right, though. I guess it's just the party atmosphere that makes me forget sleeping around and dating have drawbacks."

"Definitely the party vibe getting to you," you affirmed. "Speaking of sleeping around, though... where's Dera?"

"If I had to guess, upstairs. Text her." Morn suggested.

You pulled out your phone and opened the group chat, aptly titled "THA HOOLIGANZ 👩‍💻👩‍✈️👩‍⚕️🕵️‍♀️" and sent a message:

You: dera where tf are u, its almost been an hour

Almost immediately the indicator that Dera was typing popped up, followed by her reply:

Dera: upstairs. firbolg football player. huge 🍆

"Oh, god." You gagged. Morn pulled out her phone in response to see the cause, then had a similar reaction. She started tapping away at her phone's keyboard.

Morn: damn, dera, chill. we just wanted to make sure you were ok.

The typing indicator preceded yet another reply from Dera.

Dera: lol ok mom

"She's got an attitude tonight, sheesh." Morn shook her head and put her phone away.

"I think tonight an early exit might be a good idea. Dera and Lash seem pretty occupied," you said. You couldn't find Lash or her Elven paramour in the room anymore.

"I think you're right. Text the group and tell 'em we're leaving."

You nodded and did so, receiving 👍 responses from both Dera and Lash after a short pause.

"Let's go." You got up from your place on the sunken-in couch and helped Morn up. The two of you navigated through the fire code-violating sorority house to the front door, where you met the cool night air and the odor of cigarettes. Morn's skateboard was next to yours, propped against the thick trunk of a long-dead tree.

"I don't wanna go back to the dorms yet. It's not that late," Morn said, checking her watch.

"Pizza?" You suggested.

"Pizza."

Before long you were both skating into the night. The entire university town was built into the side of a mountain with the greek life houses at the top, making it a breeze to fashionably exit parties like this one. There were a few drunken revelers to dodge on the way down, but once you cleared the sororities and fraternities it was smooth skating. The incandescent streetlights flew past as century-old houses gave way to newer corner stores and parks. Before long, you and Morn were skating through the thick of the city on a course set for Main Street.

The pleasant sound of plastic wheels on stamped concrete was soon married with the aroma of cheap, indulgent pizza. You wouldn't have needed any senses other than smell to know you arrived at your destination: "Get Stuffed," the type of place where a slice was a dollar and you could write on the walls. As was usual for the time when Friday became Saturday, it was packed with the university crowd; too packed to even sit inside.

You and Morn shimmied to the counter and ordered your usuals. Fortunately, Get Stuffed had nailed speedy service and it was only a few short moments before you were on your way out with greasy pizza on flimsy paper plates. You set your skateboards on the curb and sat on them, side-by-side.

"Thanks for fleeing with me," Morn said, folding her slice of pizza and tucking her loose black curls behind her ear.

"Anytime, Morn." You mimicked her pizza fold before noticing something about the beanie she wore. It was oddly familiar, so you delayed your first bite. "Hey, where's that beanie from?" Morn looked at you, chewing.

"This thing?" She tugged at the chunky burgundy yarn. "You should know."

"I should know?" You mused, finally chewing on your first bite of pizza. It was just as greasy and gratifying as you expected it to be. Then, as realization dawned on you, it almost fell out of your mouth. "You kept that thing for this long?!"

"Of course. It's a good beanie. It's lasted... what, since second grade?" She smirked. "It's one of the best birthday gifts I've gotten. Thanks, by the way."

"Thank you for holding onto it," you countered. "The memories... wow."

"That was the birthday party where we had a sleepover afterward. We played tag, and—"

"Oh, no," you moaned, remembering.

"...you ran so hard that you threw up." Morn giggled. Your cheeks still burned at the vivid memory. You almost forgot crocheting Morn's beanie, but you never forget throwing up at someone's birthday party.

"It's crazy we've been friends for so long." You gracefully changed the subject and started working on your pizza slice in earnest.

"It's not that crazy. You've always been there for me."

"I mean... I try..." you were hiding your blush, feeling warm as Morn readied to shower you with compliments.

"Like the time Chrissie Becker rejected my invitation to prom. You started crying when I started crying, and I hadn't even told you what happened yet." Morn giggled warmly. "Or when our families went camping together and you let me share your sleeping bag when I forgot mine."

"I couldn't just let you sleep on the ground!" you sheepishly defended yourself against the flattery.

"Even though you knew I kicked in my sleep." Morn looked up from her plate and smiled at you, her tusks glinting under the streetlights.

"You're more important to me than my shins," you said quietly.

"Hah!" Morn laughed heartily, bumping her skateboard into yours and wrapping an arm around you. "You're more important to me than my shins."

In Morn's embrace there on the sidewalk, you melted. She had such a way of effortlessly making you feel safe and loved. She had been there for you as well several times and was damn good at it. You enjoyed the feeling so much that you just sat there quietly until she got a little worried.

"Hey, did I tease you too much?" Her wry grin had been replaced with a slight frown and sympathetic brow.

"No, no..." you reassured her, savoring the dreamy feeling. "It's all good. I'm glad you're here with me. I'm glad we're... friends," you stumbled a bit over the last word.

"Me too," she gave your shoulder a little squeeze.

You both finished your pizza in silence, enjoying each others' side and the ambiance of the city street. After a moment you both tossed the greasy plates into a trash can and skateboarded back to the dorms. The courtyard was where your paths diverged, and after bidding one another goodnight and farewell, you parted. You shared your bed that night with a familiar feeling. Embarrassment, shame, and maybe even guilt. All for the way your heart skipped a beat when she put an arm around you, or the unstoppable smile when she recounted her memories of you. You weren't super familiar with love, at least not in the way Lash and Dera were, but the way Morn made you feel in recent months was more than simple friendship. You agonized over the thought that she wouldn't return those feelings. It was a miracle you managed to sleep at all.

Saturday morning arrived, and with it, a text. You groggily pulled your phone into bed with you to read it after rubbing the sleep from your eyes. It was from THA HOOLIGANZ.

Dera: hey sorry about my sass last nite. i figured y'all left early and that's cool, i was kinda doing my own thing anyway

Lash: LOL sameeee. anyway, does anyone want to meet up for coffee or something? i’d rather be hungover around you guys than my parents 😭

You considered the offer; it would be nice to actually see Lash and Dera after missing them last night. Your moment on the curb with Morn still bothered you, and a distraction from that would be nice.

You: im down, where u wanna go

Dera: u know that cute little cafe on that corner? main street i think?? the one thats literally 100% pink???

Morn: you're thinking of tokidoki cafe! i'm down to go, that’s my spot!

You sighed. This outing wouldn't be very good for distracting you from Morn if Morn was seated across from you.

Dera: thats the one. lets gooooooo

Lash: yes. literally right now. start running

Morn: thanks, but I think I'll skate there. see y'all in a bit

You: same

The morning air was crisp and cool in the way spring mornings always were. It was a shame Lash and Dera were too busy downing aspirin and chugging water to truly enjoy it. Your skateboard served you well as a means of transport on mornings like this; you and your friends were the rare few students who didn't usually sleep in on Saturdays, so you enjoyed the empty sidewalks. The soft plastic wheels gripped the concrete well enough to accommodate any street corners.

The cafe was 100% pink, as promised. The sweet, pillowy smell of crepes mingled with the robust aroma of coffee and met you as you hopped off your skateboard. The tiny size of the place made it easy to tell you were the first to arrive. You ordered the latte-crepe combo that took up the most space on the menu and sat while you waited. You were idly scrolling through your phone when you heard the rhythmic thumping of a skateboard wheels on slabs of sidewalk.

She looked painfully good as she stepped through the cafe's front door. The morning sun made her long black hair golden around the edges and she still wore that damn beanie. Her tusks poked out from her smiling lips when her eyes met yours. Illuminated by sunbeams, her well-toned arm showed every muscle and vein as she gripped her skateboard by the trucks to carry it in.

"Good morning!" she beamed at you. The employee behind the counter smiled at her knowingly.

"The usual, Morn?" he asked.

"Yep!" She quickly answered before sitting across from you, the pins on her denim jacket jingling. "You got here quickly."

"Yeah..." you answered weakly, your conversational skills still recovering from the way Morn held you last night.

"You weren't drinking last night, were you? You alright?" Of course, Morn immediately picked up that something was the matter. It would be stranger if she didn't.

"I'm fine. Where are Lash and Dera?" You deflected. As if on cue, your phone buzzed. THA HOOLIGANZ chimed in.

Lash: lol srry, throwing up. cant make it

Dera: yeah same.

"Unbelievable. Those girls can't seem to show up anywhere lately." Morn had a slightly disapproving tone. She tapped away on her phone.

Morn: this is going on your attendance sheet

Lash: see u in detention, dera

Dera: enjoy your crepes you two!

You chuckled at the exchange.

"That's more like it. I like when you smile." Morn chimed in. "Do more of that."

The waiter saved you from needing to respond by stopping at your table with your orders. A steaming, folded crepe landed before you covered in a sauce just as pink as the rest of the cafe. A warm latte arrived with it and you wrapped your hands around the warm mug. It soothed you a little.

"Morn..." you began, not quite sure what you were going to say. Was this it? Were you going to lay your feelings on the table right here, right now?

"What is it? You can tell me anything." Morn leaned in over the table. "I can tell something's been bothering you lately."

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You didn't even know how to begin; should you preface it with an apology? Some sort of explanation or disclaimer?

"I don't even know if I can tell you. Like, if I can get the words out," you said before sipping your latte. You savored the taste, hoping the espresso would ground you somehow. At the very least you wouldn't be expected to talk with your mouth full.

"There's no rush. I just... I want to help. I've known you long enough that I'm sure there's something I can do." Morn hadn't even touched her crepe yet.

"Let's just, um, eat." You answered.

"Good idea. I'm sure you'll feel like yourself once you've eaten and the coffee starts kicking in." Morn nodded to herself, cutting open her fruit-filled crepe. You similarly started to work on yours. The two of you ate in silence and, for a moment, you did feel better. Fully focusing on the aromas, flavors, and textures of your breakfast stilled your trembling hands. The slightest bit of confidence grew within you halfway through the meal.

"I... um..." the words slowly formed in your mouth. Morn paused, setting down her fork and knife and looking at you intently. "I fell in love. With someone I don't think I should be in love with."

Morn listened but said nothing. She was thinking.

"How do you know it's love?"

"What?" you asked.

"How do you know it's not just a crush? Or, you know, lust?" Morn inquired. You considered the question carefully. Memories of platonic cuddles, impromptu sleepovers, and late-night conversations with Morn came to mind.

"It's love because it's lasted way longer than any crush. I trust this person, and they trust me. I'm not like Lash, pining for the new guy from across the classroom; I know this person really well."

"I see." She paused again. "Why would it be bad to love them? Wouldn't a good history make a romantic relationship easier?"

"Only if they felt the same way..." you sighed and nestled your head in your elbows.

"Ah, right..." Morn looked sheepish. "Well, personally—and I do mean personally, so it might not apply to them—if I had a long-time friend that I had feelings for, I would just tell them."

"Really?" Your eyes widened.

"I mean, yeah. If I and this person had such a long history of trust, then I would trust them to still be friends with me afterward if they didn't feel the same way. I'm sure it would be awkward for a while, but I really don't think it would be, you know... destructive or anything."

More memories came to you. More times where you felt completely open and vulnerable with Morn, and when she did with you. Times when you comforted each other and shared secrets under blanket forts and playground swings and gymnasium bleachers. Words formed inside your mouth, desperate to make themselves known to the world. Perhaps now would become another one of these memories. You'd look back on it in the future and remember the smell of pink crepes in the pink cafe.

"Morn... I have these feelings for you. I'm talking about you."

You fought the urge to cover your mouth, and you didn't stutter or stammer in the slightest. Though working up the courage was difficult, letting the words go was one of the easiest things you had ever done. Morn didn't react much; an eyebrow rose slowly as she finished chewing. The silence was agonizing.

"I'm happy you trust me enough to share that with me," Morn said calmly. You wanted to shout that's all?! but held your tongue. She took a sip of her latte, clearly in no rush to say more.

"So..." you began, well and truly lost. All your effort had gone into mustering courage and now you had nothing left. Even your anxiety and worry had gone, and you were strangely content, though eager, to hear Morn speak.

"So..." Morn parroted, "does that mean you want to... you know, date me? Like, romantic dates, not besties dates. Kissing dates."

Again, your impulses screamed duh!

"Um, yeah..." you said sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. "I'd like that, but... only if you'd like that too."

She sipped her latte again, still calm.

"You know, over the years, I've imagined what we would be like if we were romantic with each other. Like, girlfriend-girlfriends. How could I not? We've known each other for so long."

You nodded, bidding her speak more.

"I never knew you wanted that. I can't imagine how you felt; I could tell something was wrong but I couldn't figure out what." Morn set the mug and her cutlery down, intentionally and warmly looking you in the eye. "I think...

You didn't even breathe.

"I think we should give it a shot." Morn smiled widely. "Does that sound good to you?"

"Yes, yes it does," you finally drew breath. If Morn was feeling a similar tumult of emotions that you were, she was hiding it considerably well. Morn wiped her lips and tusks with a napkin and got up from the table.

"Well, I've got to visit mom and pops tonight, but we've still got Sunday tomorrow. How about we have our first real date then?"

"Uh, sure!" You sat there, dumbfounded. Was it really going to be this easy?

"Cool. I'll let you pick where we go, just like most of our... non-date hangouts," she said, turning to the cashier. She gestured widely to the table. "Put it all on my tab."

"You have a crepe tab?"

Morn chuckled. Making her way to the door, the sunlight caught her hair and skin deliciously.

"I'm a regular. Anyway," she grabbed her skateboard, "see you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow." You answered. She gave you one last toothy grin and stepped out before gliding out of sight, disappearing past the edge of the window. You rested your chin in your hands and sighed like a lovestruck teenager in a coming-of-age movie. Before long, your window-gazing session was interrupted by an employee.

"All done, ma'am?" he asked politely.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, I was spacing out."

"No, it's all good. Thanks for coming by, and if you don't mind me saying..." he looked somewhat pensive.

"What?"

"Don't tell Morn I said this since she's proven that she could snap me in half like a twig, but... speaking as the crepe guy she visits several times a week, I think she's a good match for you."

"But you've never met me before. Maybe once or twice, but—"

"She's told me all about you. All good things, don't worry. It's less about you and more about how Morn talks about you. She gushes when she mentions you, seriously." He paused awkwardly then started to clean up the table. "I've said too much."

"No, thank you," you said. "It's good to know."

"Glad I could help. Anyway... um, thanks for coming in." He waved at you as you got up and left. You nodded and made your exit.

Back at your dorm, you couldn't decide if you wanted to pace or lay in bed and kick your legs. You had so much energy inside you, trapped. It was equally nervous and thrilling. You wondered how Morn kept herself so well composed; something in the back of your mind nagged at you, wondering if it was because she didn't really feel that strongly for you. Enough, you thought to yourself. Morn was your best friend for almost as long as you could remember. She wouldn't toy with you like that. Hell, she explained her entire thought process on the topic before you even confessed to her.

You decided to pace to distract yourself. Those thoughts weren't helpful. Right now you had to choose a place for your first officially non-platonic date. It was never this hard to pick a place to hang out with Morn before...

Then, an idea. It sprung into your mind out of nowhere, and it just felt right. You made sure that the place was open on Sunday, checked the ticket prices... it was perfect. You readied your phone to text Morn the details... but Lash had already sent you a private message. You opened the notification.

Lash: yo how did crepes go?? sorry i no-showed

Your brow furrowed a bit. Lash's random interest was a bit strange, even more so since she was hungover. A dehydrated, vomiting Lash was bedridden for a good half-day in your experience.

You: the cafe was cool! the crepes were good

Unsure if you should be forthcoming about your new development with Morn, you figured they could find out tomorrow once your first "real date" was underway. A change like that would likely be a big deal in your friend group, so a text message wouldn't do the announcement justice anyway.

Lash: how's Morn?

You: shes fine? did something happen??

Lash: no lol, just wondering lol

Two "lol" in one text? You wanted to indulge your suspicions and investigate further, but you decided to leave it at that. You had a date to arrange.

You: still at your parents' place?

Morn: yeah, I'll be back in town tomorrow though

You: k, cool. does meeting at the aviary at 2pm work?

Morn: yeah definitely! what made you pick the aviary?

You: idk if you remember, it was so long ago, but it was the first school field trip we went on as friends

There was a pause as Morn's typing bubble hovered on your screen.

Morn: 😭OMG YOURE SO CUTE IM GONNA CRY😭

Morn: i cant wait to see you tomorrow!!!

You: me too 💕

Your phone landed on your bed with a thump and that nervous energy returned with a vengeance. More pacing, more leg-kicking, even some giggles. This situation felt both extremely real and like a scene from a movie; you never imagined this sort of thing happened in real life, especially in yours. Against all previous expectations, things were going fine. It was thrilling, scary, and made your heart race, but it was going fine. The homework you had to do took a back seat to your excited daydreaming and scheming about tomorrow. You thought about how you would greet her, how you would hug, if and how you would go for a kiss, walking while holding her hand... predictably, sleeping that night was incredibly difficult.

In the morning, you finally executed the plans you fantasized about prior. You decided to err on the side of being overdressed, picking an outfit that wasn't formal but still a little more special than what you would usually wear. You showered, brushed your teeth, swished some mouthwash, and even flossed! Breath mints, a small assortment of Morn's favorite snacks, and an extra water bottle found their way into your bag. If you were going to overthink, then you would take advantage and be overprepared as well. Squeaky clean, dressed to impress, and with a heftier bag than usual, you skateboarded down to the aviary intent on arriving ten minutes early.

The journey was uneventful save for your steadily increasing heart rate. By the time you were waiting for her by the entrance gate, you were fully flustered. You stood still with a kind smile on your face, but anything more complex would have been asking too much of you. The mental rehearsal in your mind's eye ran over and over again: smile, say hi, hug. Smile, say hi, hug. These were all things you had done with Morn before, but with platonic intent instead of this newfound "why not?" intimacy. With how calm and composed Morn had appeared throughout this whole process, you felt as if you were at a disadvantage somehow. You worried in a juvenile sort of way that she was too cool for you.

The way she pulled up to the aviary in her car didn't help that worry at all. Her ride, an old, angular, black thing that roared like a beast, was her pride and joy. She had practically built the thing herself with the number of parts she swapped out of it. It was fully manual and she had the skills to maneuver it gracefully into the parking space. Out from it stepped your actual, honest-to-god, bonafide date.

She smiled at you and your brain melted. You held up a hand in a sort of mellow wave, offering a faint grin. By the time she closed the distance, your simple three-step plan was gone with the wind. Luckily she also decided that greeting with a hug was the correct choice and you were in her embrace quickly. You paused before realizing you should probably return the gesture and wrap your arms around her as well.

"It's so good to see you! You look great," she said, pulling away and looking you over.

"You too..." you breathed, taking your own chance to get a proper look. Her outfit was just as sleek and dark as her car: a pair of black jeans with accompanying boots, a matching leather jacket, and of course, that classic burgundy beanie to top it off.

"Shall we?" She extended a green, competent hand to you. She wasn't wearing her driving gloves today, which was good for your composure; otherwise, you would have well and truly swooned. You accepted her grasp and she gave your hand a firm squeeze before strolling with you to the ticket booth. Thanks to your student IDs, you got in with discounted admission.

The aviary itself was fairly large, and on this particular Sunday, you and Morn practically had the place to yourselves. Other than the idle chatter of a few other scattered visitors, there was only the sound of wind in the leaves and bird calls. The two of you meandered between the exhibits, chatting but not about much in particular. Instead, you were simply content to enjoy each other's company and look at the birds. The birds liked looking at you, too; at one point a pair of free-roaming peacocks followed you and Morn around the aviary.

"Looks like it's a double date," Morn quipped, gesturing to the two plumy birds. They were both mostly brown and lacking the massive, fan-shaped tails.

"They're a pair of girls too. Male peacocks are the ones with the crazy feathers," you noted.

"It's almost like having Lash and Dera tagging along." Morn chuckled. "In fact, if they keep failing to show up these birds would make good replacements."

You looked at the two peacocks, who had started preening each other's feathers.

"Do you think they're besties or girlfriends?" You playfully asked. "That's some pretty intense preening."

"Maybe they're both, like us." Morn wrapped an arm around you and offered you her shoulder. You melted again. "If you had feathers, I'd be preening you right now."

"If I knew how to return that compliment, I would." You said, deliciously rattled by her closeness and warmth.

"I have an idea... if you're cool with it." Morn kept holding you close, turning to make eye contact with you. You faced her and realized how close you were. Trapped in her gaze, you couldn't speak. You gave a faint nod.

The first thing you felt was her tusks on your cheeks. They met the corners of your mouth, pressing gently just before her lips met yours. In reality, the kiss was a quick peck. In your mind, time froze. You could no longer hear the birds calling or wind blowing, only the sound of your heart beating like a drum and a feeling like fire in your chest. Morn pulled away from the kiss with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry if my tusks poked you. I'm still getting the hang of that."

"Hey, practice makes perfect, right?" you let slip with a suaveness that surprised even you. Morn's eyes widened in surprise before she let out a hearty laugh.

"That's the spirit!" She cheered, squeezing you hard. "I'm gonna hold you to it, so be aware: I'm gonna kiss you a bunch more before we're out of here."

"That's fine by me." You couldn't do anything else but giggle. Morn gave you another peck immediately after, angling her head a bit so her tusks didn't have such a lead on her lips. Your first kiss with Morn was perfect as far as you were concerned, but this second one was a bit more graceful.

"Better?" she asked.

"Better."

Your stroll through the aviary continued in this fashion: chatting about this and that, generally gushing about each other and punctuated by more quick kisses. It was strange to have a first date with someone that you knew so well, but you weren't complaining in the slightest. Each kiss felt natural and fun, not nerve-wracking and awkward as in the dates of your past. Before all this, you scoffed at yourself for wishing that there was a switch you could toggle to go from best friends to girlfriends, but so far it seemed to work precisely like that.

To the sound of your giggling, the sun was poised to set soon. The aviary closed early because it was Sunday, and you found yourself with Morn leaning against the gleaming hood of her car. You saw your reflection in it, the two of you framed by the orange sky. She came to your side, attaching to you like a magnet.

"It's probably time we headed home, huh?" she suggested.

"Yeah, probably," you replied reluctantly. "I almost don't want it to end."

"It doesn't have to." Morn smiled. "Did you really think I'd kiss you goodnight and leave you on the curb?"

You giggled. That would certainly be the plan for a first date with a stranger, but this was Morn.

"You could come by and hang out with me in my dorm for a bit?" she asked.

"I'd love to." You answered. Her dorm building and yours were right next to each other, after all. She stood up from the hood of her car and opened the passenger side door, offering the seat to you. Not long after stowing your skateboard in the trunk, you were cruising through the city streets bound for the university. Morn's focus made the ride a smooth one, her hands expertly gripping the steering wheel and gear shifter. She wore a focused but pleased expression as she deftly maneuvered the growling vehicle.

"Oh!" Her concentration broke. "We should get food! We haven't eaten at all."

Tires squealed as she veered right, making a turn she wasn't expecting to make. You gripped your armrest and giggled. The engine roared and, within moments, delivered you to a drive-through whose location Morn seemed to know by heart. She was so familiar with it that she blew past the lit-up menu and instead went directly to order.

"Don't worry, I'll get you something you'll like." She reassured you before making it out of the drive-through, takeout bag in hand, in record time. The bag landed in your lap and delicious smells wafted from it. You were tempted to peek inside and sample its contents, but even while entranced with Morn's driving skills you knew eating in her car was a no-no. Untoasted Pop-Tarts during a late-night study session on her bed were okay but her car was like a temple. You folded the top of the bag to make it easier to resist the temptation.

After she had parked and gotten out of the car, you followed her with takeout bag in one hand and skateboard in the other. This late on a Sunday night, the sky was a deep navy. Stark white light from the lamp posts illuminated the web of pathways that connected the dorms, parking lots, student union, and myriad other places you'd typically skateboard solo to.

A few beeping locks later, you made it to Morn's dorm room. Like yours, it was spartan and tiny, but it belonged to her and her alone. You set the bag down on the solitary table and determined to chow down, but Morn caught your attention. She sat on the twin-sized bed that you had shared with her many times before; platonically, of course. She had an expression that you couldn't quite decipher.

"You okay?" You asked, not sure where to begin.

"I'm great, actually," she said, brushing her hair out of the way so she could look at you. "Sorry if I overdid it with the kisses earlier—"

"You didn't," you interjected.

"I just... It felt great to kiss you. I don't know if it's just my nerves, or the newness of it all, or something else, but... I'm kicking myself for not making the first move on you sooner." She looked away, blushing a forest green on her cheeks. You sat next to her on the bed before she could say anything more.

"Hey, don't feel bad just because I was moping for a bit. The fact I was so worried is proof that you can't really know how someone feels about you until you ask. Even if you were friends since forever ago." You reversed the usual arrangement by wrapping your arm around her. She chuckled softly.

"I can't believe I was stressing myself out over random sorority chicks at parties rejecting me. Being with you just feels so much better than the dating apps and the parties and shit like that," Morn sighed. "I know it's technically only our first date but I really think we're something special."

"We are special," you held her tighter, "we went on our first date after... what, a decade and a half of knowing each other? That kind of history sure beats cheesy Tinder pick-up lines."

"Sure does," Morn punctuated her sentence with a kiss. Instead of giving you a quick peck, she pressed her lips into yours even harder. Within the privacy of her dorm room, your heart fluttered at the notion of Morn being able to do whatever she wanted to you. You felt the beginnings of her tongue at your lips, then she pulled away and took a deep breath. Her face was inches from yours as you caught your breath.

"I really like kissing you," Morn uttered. "Now that we're alone... are you okay if I really kiss you?"

"Really kiss me?" you teased. She got even closer.

"Please?" She played along with her best begging tone.

"Go ham." She kissed you again, giggling at your choice of words with her lips pressed against yours once more. She immediately cradled your head in her strong hands, gently placing you into a reclining position. There wasn't much room, but she managed to fit alongside you in the twin-sized bed all without breaking the kiss. You opened your eyes after pulling away to breathe, and all you could see were her dandelion-colored irises.

"I'm gonna go again," She said, smiling. "I just had to get a good look at you first."

"You can do whatever you want, Morn." You grabbed her arm and placed her hand on you. "Just don't keep me waiting."

Morn kissed you hard for the third time, the hand you held now caressing your body ravenously. As her tongue gently played at your lips, her hand found its way to your chest and played with your breasts. She hardly gave you time to gasp, coming back to your mouth with fervor. Her tongue met yours in earnest now, both of you closing the space on the bed between you. Her body flush with yours, you could feel every muscle as she held you close.

You felt one of her legs settle in between your thighs, and you whined into her mouth as she teasingly rubbed you against it. Even fully clothed the sensation was electric, no doubt due to the person giving it to you. Many nights alone had involved fantasies just like this. Now they were coming true.

Desperately, you began grinding yourself against her leg. You chased the sensation as far as you could, moaning into Morn's kiss. Just as you felt yourself approaching the edge, she removed herself from you. Her leg pulled away and the kiss stopped. You opened your eyes, bewildered. Morn had gotten off the bed and kneeled just next to it, her eyes level with your aching need. She grabbed the waistband of your bottoms before looking you in the eyes again.

"You said you didn't want me to keep you waiting," she grinned, tusks glistening. "This okay?"

"It's more than okay... stop teasing me!" You whined. She nodded, pulling your bottoms off entirely before hovering in between your legs. You could feel her breathe on you through your underwear. God, she was so close; you twitched with each puff of warm breath. Her tusks brushed against the inside of your thighs. With a tentative finger she eased your underwear out of the way, gently planting kisses all around your bare mound. She held your legs in place as they twitched and reacted to her electric touch. She deliberately avoided your tender nub with her warm lips. She was playing with you.

"Morn, please," you begged. She paused to look up at you and give a toothy grin.

"You're so cute when you're frustrated," she teased, quickly going back for more. She felt unimaginably warm against your already hot entrance. It wasn't unlike all those other times you melted at Morn's touch, only now it was so intense you couldn't help but let out gasps and squeaks. She held nothing back this time. Hungrily, she lapped at your slit, each lick finishing with a flourish on your sensitive little nub. You mewled in time with her curling tongue.

"Oh! That's— ah! So good!" You moaned, your back beginning to arch as you squirmed around on the mattress.

"You flatter me," Morn uttered between licks, looking proud. You saw something in her eye before she let go of one of your thighs and brought her hand to your entrance. Her tongue didn't let up at all as she slowly introduced one of her substantial fingers. It fit comfortably inside you at first, but you gasped hard when it started moving. Morn added another soon after, stretching you deliciously.

"I'm gonna come if you keep that up," you panted, your face burning red and lungs desperate for air.

"My pleasure," Morn said before redoubling her efforts. Her fingers curled inside you, making a "come hither" motion that made your hips rock. By this point, Morn's tongue had trouble staying on you as you writhed. You gasped with every finger curl, well and truly lost in the heat of the moment.

"Ah! Morn!" You cried, rocking yourself against her fingers desperate for more. She gave up on trying to lick your nub, instead palming one of your breasts with her other hand and pinning you to the bed. With the new leverage, she worked your insides with her fingers, pumping them in and out of you with her muscular arm. You could see sweat beading on her taut green skin.

"Come for me. I wanna see you come," Morn urged. You could do little else but cry out and oblige her. Your body spasmed hard as you cried out gibberish interspersed with her lovely name. Her fingers didn't stop rubbing against your inner walls, leaving you breathless and faint and tightly wound around her. The coiling pleasure within you finally snapped. Your back arched, completely leaving the bed as Morn pressed her lips into yours. She kissed you hungrily as you wailed into her mouth. There was nothing in your mind but the feeling of her fingers coaxing you through the height of your bliss and holding you there for as long as possible. When the pleasure finally started to subside and your breath returned to you, Morn finally withdrew her fingers and lips and wiped her forehead. She smiled at you wordlessly.

"I love you, Morn," you said, panting. There was nothing else to say, nothing else on your mind. If you had given yourself that sort of bliss on a lonely night, you would be drowsy and lethargic. Instead, with Morn turning her love for you into pleasure that made you cry out and curl, you had never felt more alive. She gave you a moment to catch your breath. Leaving your lips unkissed, she sat by your side and stroked your hair.

"I love you too," she planted a quick kiss on your forehead. "Are you tired?"

You shook your head enthusiastically. Sure, you would likely be sore in a few hours, but you wouldn't dream of denying Morn more of you.

"Good, because I wanna get off too." She chuckled and pecked your lips. Undressing herself completely, she helped you out of what clothes remained until you were both completely bare. You were completely flush against her on the bed once more, your skin perfectly complimenting her green form. Her body was toned and full, muscled yet smooth. Even after all you had just been through, the sight of her still made your heart skip.

"I've always wanted to try this. Spread your legs," she commanded, gently grasping your ankles. You complied and she lifted one of your legs aloft just in front of her as if about to hug it. Still holding your leg pointed toward the ceiling, she straddled your dripping warmth with her own. She eased herself onto you and those lovely electric feelings returned. She moaned for the first time, her pleasured sounds like music to your ears.

The position was a little awkward and bent your back in a strange way, but the feeling of her slick sex pressed against yours was delicious.

"I'm gonna start moving," Morn said. She initiated a gentle rocking motion that made you both gasp. The friction between the two of you felt gorgeous and you soon found yourself reciprocating with your hips. Interlocked and sharing the same squeaks and mewls, you wanted desperately to kiss her but couldn't. You had to lay there at her mercy as Morn clung to your leg and ground herself into you. She doubled up on her pace.

"Oh, shit," Morn groaned, both with pleasure and with effort. She had the same expression as when she was driving; when her head wasn't thrown back with a sigh, she was looking at you with love but also intent. Her grinding made you moan and her glare made you shiver delightfully. You had never felt anything like this before, nor had you even fantasized about Morn pressed up against you like this.

"This feels amazing... ah! Morn..." you sighed between yelps when the friction between you peaked.

"I—I..." Morn gasped, her entire face contorted and flushed. She had brought you to your peak once already, and now you wanted nothing more than to see her reach her own ecstasy.

"Please, Morn, come," you pleaded, mirroring her own urgency when she had brought you to orgasm earlier.

"No, I... Shit, I've got a cramp." She sighed, this time tinged with disappointment as she stopped her grinding. "Ouch." She gently disentangled herself from you, rubbing her thigh. The realization that her creased brow had come from pain and not pleasure embarrassed you a bit, an emotion that Morn echoed.

"Hey, it's okay." You sat up and held her shoulder. Her eyes were downcast as she massaged the cramp out of her muscled thigh. "Just so you know, I'm having a great time."

"You were having a great time." She winced as she shifted her kneeling weight on the bed. "Serves me right for thinking I could fuck like a pornstar on the first date, huh?"

"I already came once, Morn," you reminded her. Sitting alongside her, equally naked and sweaty, there was a clarity in the air that made it effortless to speak your mind. You felt bold, yet comfortable. You felt like you wanted more of Morn's body. "Let me take care of you. I think I can make this work."

"Take the lead, babe," Morn relented. The way she said babe made you giddy inside, but you were focused on her now. "Just mind the leg, it still freakin' hurts."

"Morn, when I say I'm gonna take care of you, I mean it. Just lie down," you said, easing her onto her back. With the positions reversed, you had a moment to look her up and down. Laid bare before you and anticipating your next move, the sight of her awoke something within you. Something that told you not to hold back.

You practically pounced atop her, squarely laying yourself on her body. She met you with a kiss that you eagerly returned. You channeled all your built-up desire to please her into that kiss, at the same time aligning your mound with hers. It took a few tries, but eventually, you found the angle where your clit could meet hers without requiring pornstar-style flexibility. Pleasure jolted through both of you and she broke the kiss to gasp.

"Told you I could make it work," you grinned, focusing now on the movement of your hips. You started slowly at first as to not tire yourself out but quickly increased the pace as the coiling warmth inside you grew. Instead of kissing her, you buried your face in her shoulder so you could hear her sing. With every roll of your hips she moaned, louder and louder as you humped her harder and harder.

"Oh, god, babe," Morn panted. You could feel her frenzied breath on your neck as she cried out. You could feel your own orgasm building but all you cared about was her.

"Tell me how you feel," you commanded, maintaining your hips' pace. "I want you to come so bad."

"Keep going," Morn grunted. "I'm close, I'm so fucking close!"

You furthered your efforts, grinding your desperate nub into hers with vigor. You panted as you began to feel tingles in your extremities and your breath became impossibly tight. Morn matched your desperation, her hips weakly pushing upwards so that her mound would meet yours sooner. Just a little more! More! You shouted to yourself mentally as Morn's hands squeezed your waist to signal her impending orgasm.

You frantically let go of her body with one hand, giving up precious leverage in order to make sure Morn couldn't escape the pleasure you were giving her. There was nothing you wanted more than to reach the peak together. You gently caught her pearl between your fingers and rolled it as you ground into her, drawing out deep moans from her. She spasmed in your grasp, gasping in time with your own pleased sighs.

"Oh god!" She cried out, throwing her head back into the piled-up blankets. Her whole body tensed and you could feel each of her rippling muscles press against you in a desperate bid to ride out her orgasm. You followed soon after, the air forced from your lungs as an explosion of tingling warmth knocked the wind out of you. All you could do was cry out with her and press your nub into hers where your hand was still at work. You rubbed and rolled, trying your best to prolong the mutual climax before finally catching your breath and collapsing into Morn's tired embrace.

With your body limp and your face buried in her neck, you could feel her breasts rise and fall with each breath. You held each other loosely for a moment, just listening to her breathe. After only a few heartbeats, she started giggling.

"What's so funny?" you asked, lifting your heavy head to look at her.

"Nothing," she stifled her giggles, a tear rolling down her cheek. "That was just really, really good."

"Are you crying?" You asked, concerned but secretly proud of your handiwork.

"No, I'm not crying. I'm tearing up, there's a difference," she chuckled. "Thank you."

"Thank you. You're the one that started it," you cooed, stroking her hair. "plus, you ate me out first so I think I owe you."

"It's on the house," Morn sighed contently. "But you're still on me... could you roll over, please?"

"Oh, sorry!" you quickly shifted your weight off of her and onto the mattress.

"Don't worry about it, I just figured the bed was softer than me." She chuckled again.

You said nothing, instead opting to resume your embrace with her from the side. She reciprocated, rolling over so she could be the big spoon. She wrapped her arms around you snugly.

"Ah, shit," Morn cursed under her breath.

"What? What's wrong?" You craned your neck a bit to see her golden eyes in your periphery.

"Our food is definitely cold by now," she grumbled, "and I don't have a microwave."

“I’ve got snacks in my bag.” You replied.

Morn readied a compliment, but delayed when both your phones buzzed. THA HOOLIGANZ had something to say.

“What is it now?” Morn rolled over and grabbed her phone, reading the messages as they rolled in. You did the same.

“What the…?”

Lash: did you two kiss yet???

Dera: they did more than that 😳😳😳

Morn shot you a look of disbelief before tapping away frantically.

Morn: wtf are you guys talking about?

You: ^

Lash: the crepe date! u two are dating now right?

You: what do u mean crepe date? the breakfast u failed to show up to u mean??

Lash: lol, relax. we just thought you two needed some time alone. for the record, i was actually hung over. me and dera just agreed you two needed to talk it out

Dera: seriously, u look at Morn the way she looks at crepes, and she looks at u the way Lash looks at literally anyone

Lash: or the way u look at dudes bulges

Dera: shut up

“I…” Morn began, jaw agape. “I don’t know if I should be mad or amazed. I’m both.”

“They set us up like lonely freshmen.” You shook your head, chuckling.

Lash: u two are dating now right???

Morn: yes dumbass

You: can confirm

Lash: CUTEEEEE

Dera: morn fucks on the first date. respect.

You: wait how- what?

Dera: ur in Morn’s dorm right

Your texting was interrupted by three solid thumps coming through the wall.

Dera: i’m right next door and these dorms are made of fucking paper

Morn: hey, i’ve dealt with hearing every single time you slept with some guy. fair is fair

Dera: no judgment from me!

Lash: suddenly i’m glad i still live with my parents…

You put your phone down as you really didn’t have much to say. Morn gave up on it as well, your phones resting together on the floor. She resumed spooning you and a moment later, you felt her chest start to heave with laughter; a hearty laugh loud enough for Dera to hear through the walls. You joined her, laughing until your diaphragm ached. The whole situation, the realization that Dera and Lash knew before either of you did and that they had a master plan… utterly ridiculous. It was like something out of a movie, yet with your arms wrapped around one of Morn’s, completely real. You feared this was all a dream, and as soon as you succumbed to sleep in Morn’s cozy twin bed, it would dissolve.

Morn could tell sleep started to take you.

“I love you,” she whispered into your ear. She squeezed you tight. You had never been more sure of anything in your life that Morn would still be cuddling you when you woke up.

[undercoveravenger]

Closing Cases

Written for my 2021 Halloween event

Pairing: EJ Caswell x Male!Detective!Reader

Prompt: EJ with a Nancy Drew/Scooby gang reader investigating something haunting the school and EJ steps up to help. With “I am running on two hours of sleep and fifty tiny candy bars” and “Can we go five minutes without talking about ghosts, ghouls, or goblins?”

A/N: This is prompt # 2 for my Halloween event! The next prompt will be posted Thursday, October 7th.

-------

East High was being faced by an unexplainable problem. Each night, lockers were being broken into and various class and club rooms had been found vandalized. The faculty had examined the footage from all of the security cameras near the areas that had been attacked, but weren’t able to see anyone in the videos; only that the halls looked normal in one frame, and had been trashed in the next.

As someone who had spent his entire childhood looking up to all of the great detectives, you took it upon yourself to get to the bottom of the situation. You had told Miss Jen, the theater teacher, that you’d be missing rehearsals one afternoon in order to conduct your investigation, but she had been the only person you told.

You supposed that was why it came as such a shock to find EJ Caswell, a popular senior and star of the water polo team and drama department, leaning against the locker beside yours after school.

You disregarded his presence, moving to open your locker and tuck away your textbooks.

“So I hear you’re not going to be at rehearsals today,” EJ said after a moment, turning to face you. “Care to share why?”

“I’ve got more important things to do,” you said easily. You knew it was kind of a weak response, but it was the first thing that’d come to mind.

He rolled his eyes, lips quirking up into a grin. “Yeah, we both do, I guess.”

That gave you pause. You turned to look at him incredulously, and you had to force yourself to ignore the way the amused glint in his pretty blue eyes threatened to make you smile. “Excuse me?”

“You’re investigating the break-ins, right?” EJ asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched you.

“I’m not convinced that they have been break-ins, but yes,” you said, grabbing a different backpack entirely out of your locker and leaving the one with your school supplies in it before shutting the door. “Is there a reason you’re talking to me?” You turned away at that, making your way down the quickly emptying halls.

EJ scrambled to keep pace with you, weaving around the remaining students and faculty to stay at your side. “I want to help! I’ll be the first to say I don’t really have experience with investigations, but I want to help stop what’s going on.”

You let out a sigh, turning abruptly to face EJ. “Fine. You can help,” you held up a hand to interrupt him when he made to let out a victorious whoop, “But if you get in the way of my investigation, I will tell you to leave and you will listen. Do we have a deal?”

The brunet nodded vigorously, falling back into step beside you as you resumed your previous path, “Deal. So,” he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Where do we start?”

“Here,” you said as you came to a stop outside of a janitor’s closet on the second floor.

EJ’s brows furrowed in obvious confusion. “Our investigation starts at the janitor’s closet?”

You nodded, twisting the door open and entering the small room. You sat down, nestling your way between a set of shelves and several empty garbage cans. “Well, this is where we’ll be waiting until the time is right.”

“And when is that?” he asked as he crept into the closet with you, wincing as the door slammed closed behind him.

You snickered, pulling out your phone to set an alarm. “Well, the thief only strikes at night, right? They’ll probably emerge at around nine o’clock, which means we have,” you glanced back at your phone, “About five hours to kill.”

“Five hours?” EJ asked incredulously, blue eyes wide as he looked at you. “What the hell are we going to do for five hours?!”

“Well, I was going to play games on my phone since I wasn’t planning on having company until a few minutes ago,” you said, glancing pointedly down at the device. “You’re still more than welcome to leave, if you don’t want to wait?”

EJ shook his head stubbornly, shifting to sit with his back against the opposite wall from you. “No, but my phone definitely isn’t going to hold up for that long.” He paused, thinking, “Maybe we could play twenty questions while we wait?”

You shrugged, figuring that humoring a cute boy wouldn’t kill you. “Alright, sure. But since it was your idea, you have to go first.”

He smiled widely, clearly delighted that you’d agreed. “Okay!” He hesitated for a moment while he thought, but a question seemed to strike him pretty quickly. “So, do you make it a point to hang out in sketchy janitor’s closets often?”

You barely managed to bite back a snicker, but the upward tilt of EJ’s lips made you suspect that he knew about your poorly concealed amusement. “I do when my cases require it,” you said by means of explanation, but you found yourself elaborating further at the confused-puppy expression on his face. “Today’s a Tuesday, which means that the cleaning staff isn’t in tonight, so no one will be checking this closet for stragglers like they would the library or a classroom. Waiting in here means that I’ll be able to remain in the building after the doors are locked, which means that I’ll be able to find out if anyone else comes into the building after it’s locked down for the night.”

“Wow,” EJ said, eyes wide as he processed everything you’d just said. “You put a lot more planning into this than I would’ve thought?”

“What, you thought I’d just wing it?” you teased. You had to admit, you were enjoying his company far more than you had anticipated. “I like to think that I take my job pretty seriously.”

He gestured wildly with his hands, like he was trying to wave away his previous words. “No, no, no; that’s not what I meant- I meant that-” He cut himself off as he noticed you beginning to laugh, “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” He faked offense, but the appearance of his dimples gave away his amusement. “Fine, you got me.” His grin widened as he looked at you, “Alright, Mr. Holmes, what’s your leading theory?”

You let out a thoughtful hum, “Currently? Vengeful spirits.”

EJ let out a surprised laugh. It was deep, uncontrollable and infectious, and you were helpless to hide the grin it brought to your face, though it faded after a moment, “You’re serious?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure what else to think,” you started softly, fingers twisting nervously in your lap as you were forced to admit that, for once, you really weren’t sure about what the outcome of your case would be. “Any normal person would have been caught on camera, and the only people in this city that have the ability to manipulate the footage to make it look like no one was there either wouldn’t care enough to do it or they’ve got an alibi.”

EJ’s brows furrowed, “And none of them could have lied about the alibis?”

“Mr. Mazzara could’ve, I suppose,” you mused, “But I double-checked it with Miss Jenn and it sounds legit.”

“So ghosts then, huh?” he prompted, scooting a little closer to you until his knees brushed lightly against yours. “Seems like a little bit of a leap in logic.”

You shrugged helplessly, a tired grin forming on your lips, “I am running on two hours of sleep and fifty tiny candy bars. Ghosts weren’t the least probable option, if I’m being honest.”

“How would you even get rid of a ghost-” He stopped as the rest of your statement caught up to him, “Wait, you’ve had fifty candy bars?!”

“Just the little ones.” You said, waving off his concern and checking the time on your phone. “Depends on the type of spirit, but I’ve talked to some sophomores who practice witchcraft and they say that sage and pure intention to banish it should take care of whatever we’re seeing, as long as it’s a normal ghost or spirit. I just want to eliminate any other options before I take action.”

“Can we go five minutes without talking about ghosts, ghouls, or goblins?” EJ demanded, taking your phone from you and setting it aside so he could get you to focus on him, “You’ve gotta take better care of yourself,” he said quietly, normally bright eyes turned stormy with concern, “You’ve got a lot of people that care about you-”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “Like who?” At his stunned silence, you pressed on, “Everyone at this school thinks I’m a weirdo. You don’t think I’ve heard people call me Scooby-Doo or Nancy Drew or Sherlock?” You shook your head, pushing yourself to your feet as your frustration mounted, “This was a mistake. I’m leaving; I’ll solve this case on my own.”

“Wait,” EJ exclaimed, shooting up to his feet and grabbing your wrist to stop you from going. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong?” you asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow as you looked up at EJ. “About what part?”

He nodded seriously, eyes locked with yours, “About no one caring about you and about everyone thinking you’re weird.” He took a deep breath, and, for the first time since he’d joined your investigation, you watched his confident facade falter. “I care about you,” he started softly, like he was afraid to finally say it. “And I really like that you’re so passionate about solving mysteries.”

Your brows furrowed as you turned to look back at him, “You… like that?”

“I like you,” he said, so quiet that he was barely audible, but when you didn’t pull away he continued, volume picking up as he did so, “I really like you and I can’t believe I get to help you do something I love, and that probably sounds pretty dumb since we don’t really know each other that well, but I would really like to get to know you better and maybe even take you out to dinner sometime if that’s okay with you?”

It took you a long moment to find your voice again. “Okay,” you found yourself saying as you tugged your wrist from his grip to link your fingers with his instead. “Okay,” A wide smile spread across EJ’s face and you could feel an answering one as it tugged at your lips, “When we close this case, I’ll let you take me on a date.”

“Really?” he asked, like he almost expected you to tell him it was some cruel joke. He let out a breathless laugh when you nodded, “Then what are we waiting for?” he asked joyfully, tugging you towards the door by your joined hands. “We’ve got a case to solve!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you were led out into the long-abandoned halls of East High, glad to have finally found someone who matched you. After all, all the greats came in pairs; Daphne had Fred, Sherlock had Watson, and now you had EJ.

[jimlingss]

Love Pages

➜ Words: 18k

➜ Genres: 60% Angst, 40% Fluff, Yandere!AU, Inspired by Death Note

➜ Summary: You've always had feelings for Park Jimin, star soccer player and cute boy-next-door. But it's been unrequited for years and you expect it to continue that way. Or at least until a certain notebook falls into your hands.

➜ Warning: toxic relationships, loosely implied smut, some victim blaming. This is not your typical love story.

The more he ran, the deeper you fell.   You couldn’t help it. Not when the breeze was whisking through his dark strands, sweat was rolling down his face and his brows were furrowed in concentration.    To some, it looked like Jimin was just playing soccer — a mischievous boy kicking a ball in the grassy field. But to you, it was much more than that. He was magic. Leaping through the air. Irises glistening each time the coach hollers and he smiles. The corner of his mouth tugged as his team members jump on his back.    Jimin is the one who manifests the butterflies in your stomach. And that’s magical enough for you.   “You’re drooling.”   Jihyo is startling when she throws her arm over your shoulders and pulls you away, shattering your trance. She giggles as you scoff, finally tearing your eyes from the boy across the field.    “No, I’m not.”    In spite of your denial, you check if you are indeed drooling and your hand wipes at the corner of your mouth.   “You have it so bad for him, Y/N,” your best friend laughs loudly as you shush her. “Relax. No one’s gonna hear. The whole neighbourhood’s gonna find out anyway if you keep staring at him like that.”   “I am not staring.”   “Uh-huh.” It’s clear she doesn’t believe you. “Are you actually going to talk to him or keep looking and making it obvious.”   “What would I even talk to him about, Jihyo?”   “I don’t know. You’ve been crushing on him since what? Eighth grade? Shouldn’t you know what he likes by now? What do nerds like?”   “Jimin is not a nerd,” you defend futility and end up sighing a moment later. Jihyo has a point. But whenever it comes time to strike a conversation, your brain empties and all you can think about is how he’s actually paying attention to you. The problem isn’t that you don’t know what to say, you just don’t know how to say it. “I always end up getting too nervous and make myself look stupid.”   “Need my help?”   “No.”   You glare as she grins. You know Jihyo’s definition of help is screaming his name for the entire school to hear. The whole soccer team would turn their heads as she’d wave and point to you. She did that once and you were beyond mortified. Thankfully, Jimin was considerate enough to smile and wave back.   The two of you begin turning and walking away before you’re late for library duty. “I’m just saying, there’s only four months left before we’re graduating for good. What’s there left to lose?”   “My dignity.”   “I thought you didn’t have any.”   You throw a weak punch, but Jihyo dodges out of the way and laughs.   You know your best friend is merely trying to help. It’s not like you like being this hopeless anyway. But you’re aware that even if Jimin spares a moment for you sometimes, you’re nowhere near his league.   As you pass by the bleachers, your peripheral vision catches Jimin looking your way.   Immediately, you turn your head — heart stuttering. But then you realize he’s looking at Seulgi.    The girl is standing at the front bleachers, sweater tucked into her skirt, cheering him on and waving. And he waves back with an even bigger grin.   Jihyo doesn’t miss the interaction. You feel her hand on your arm, guiding you away quicker.   “I heard Jimin and Seulgi have been getting close.”   “Really? I haven’t.”   Jihyo’s lying. The rumours are running rampant that he’s interested in her. You were hoping it wasn’t true, but of course he would. She’s popular and cute, and even dances. You can’t do any of those things. You can’t be those things—   “Y/N?”   “Sorry?” You blink hard, attention taken by the youthful librarian behind the desk smiling gently.   “Are you alright, dear? Do you need to go home early?”   “No.” You shake your head, feeling the weight of Jihyo’s gaze as well. “I was just thinking about something else. I’m sorry.”   “It’s quite alright. I was saying how all the books have thankfully been shelved and all the things I needed to be cataloged into the computer system is done. Of course, it’s thanks to you two ladies helping me out recently.”   The pair of you respond that it’s not a problem and she smiles before guiding you towards the back and flicking on the lights of the dusty room.   “I was thinking we could tackle cleaning out the storage area today before we close up for the end of the year. It hasn’t been touched since the previous librarian.” She sighs. “I’ve been meaning to get it done but we’ve just been so busy.”   Bookshelves on all sides and a table in the center, there are books without covers and ripped pages coating the surfaces. But it’s still not as terrible as that time you had to reorganize the entire science fiction section. That task alone took two weeks.   Jihyo seems to agree. “It’s actually not that bad.”   “We can probably finish it in a day or two,” you add.   “You girls are more helpful than you’ll ever know.” The older lady breathes a big sigh of relief. “I was thinking we could inspect all of these and sort them into books that can still be used, donated or thrown out. I’ll run and grab you boxes so you can organize them. Oh and if there’s anything you’d like to take home, feel free to! Take it as a perk of volunteering to help out.”   She smiles and you and Jihyo nod before getting to work.   “Look at what I found.” Your best friend holds up a bright coloured book five minutes into it and you burst out laughing. The novel reads ‘You’ve Got A Dog in Me’ and aside from the ridiculous title, it’s completely tattered with a brown stain in the middle. “It looks like it’s some romance comedy. Whatever.”   She chucks it in the garbage can and you notice an old guide on how to spank children from the fifties. It raises your brows and you throw it in the trash too.   There’s a ton of books to go through, but you have fun looking at some of the ridiculous titles or synopsis with Jihyo. Some of them are able to be donated while others are in a good enough condition to be kept after the layers of dust are blown off. It’s clear that no one’s touched this storage area for years.   The room is crowded, so with Jihyo at the front, you venture to the very back bookcase. You dodge stacks and bins, and squat down to the last shelf. Almost instantly, your attention is taken by shiny green spines that seemingly shimmer even in the dim lights. The books are large and heavy duty, requiring two hands to be pulled out with how tightly they’re stuffed into the shelf.   But you manage.   The first book reads ‘The Magical World Explored’. The second is ‘Dark Magic: Beginner Spellbook’ and the third, ‘17th Century Witchcraft History’. Latin and other symbols surround the titles and two of them are with small locks, the other without. Yet you can’t seem to open it no matter how hard you pull.    What’s even stranger is that the textbooks are immaculate. It looks like they’ve been untouched.   “What is it?”    Jihyo asks at your ongoing silence and approaches with the same curiosity that twists to befuddlement you have. “Looks like something edgy you’d pick up on ebay for that witch aesthetic.”   You burst out laughing. “I can’t even open this one. It’s like the pages are...glued together.”   “Maybe they’re cursed,” she says jokingly and your next laugh is a bit more uncomfortable than the last. At the same time, the librarian pokes her head through the door, asking how everything’s going. You take the opportunity to ask her about the odd books.   “Hmm, this is strange,” she muses, tapping her chin. “It looks like it’s from the previous librarian who worked at this school. I only met her a few times but she told me she was from a small village out in the middle of nowhere, so that’s where these probably came from. Anyway, she already passed away so I can’t give them back. If anything, just trash them.”   “Okay.”    You set them into the garbage can before continuing without thinking twice until there’s an interruption.   “Excuse me?”   There’s a familiar gawky boy with rounded glasses at the front desk. With the librarian busy on the other side of the library, you grab your best friend and quirk your head towards him. “Jihyo! Jihyo! It’s Namjoon!”   “What?!”   “Go help him!”   Her face flushes pink. “No! Why don’t you?!”   “Because!” You grin. “Didn’t you say that we have nothing to lose since we’re graduating?”   “Don’t you know I’m all talk and no action?” Her last syllable is a squeal when you nudge her forward and out the side door where she stumbles into his line of sight. Jihyo throws a glare over her shoulder before she clears her throat. “Is there something you need? Or are you here to bother me again?”   Namjoon smiles. “Both.”   You watch the cute interaction for a moment before leaving to give them some privacy. Humming to yourself, you resume inspecting and sorting the books, turning to the back shelf again. And as you clear it out, you grab a stack of novels at the top shelf.   Inadvertently, something topples on top of your head.   Luckily, it’s thin. Not painful whatsoever. Merely flopping to the carpet—   A pastel pink notebook and in small text at the front, simple words read ‘Love Pages’.    It draws you in. Bewitched. Unblinking. Unbreathing.   A mysterious magnetism has you spellbound, curiosity coming within waves.   So you reach down to grab it, fingertips grasping the very edges of the few pages.   You flip it over to the back and your eyes skim the white text on the blushing cover:

The human whose name is written first shall fall in love with the human whose name is written second.

The Pages can only take effect if the writer has the person’s face in mind.

The only way the Pages’ powers can be removed is through erasing the names.

A name cannot be written first more than once at a time. 

Warning: The more naturally compatible a couple is, the more effective the Pages shall be. The less compatible a couple is, the more likely undesired consequences shall arise. Utilize with caution.   You’re confused.    You wonder what kind of prank this is. Whoever did it had a really detailed and elaborate yet creative plan to fool someone. But you wonder if they accidentally left this notebook here.    You’re not sure if the notebook should go straight into the garbage, so you toss it on the table and continue cleaning.   It’s not long before you come across a crime novel you’re actually interested in and place it aside to remember to take home. And it’s not long before Jihyo’s coming back in with her backpack.   “Hey, our shift’s over. She said we can finish tomorrow. Wanna go grab fries on the way home?”   “Sure.” You grin. “How’d your talk with Namjoon go?”   Jihyo smiles, the usual assertive girl grown shy under the topic. “How do you think it went?”   You grab the novel and shove it into your bag haphazardly without looking. You don’t realize a certain soft pink notebook underneath that you’ve taken as well.   //   It’s evening by the time you get home. Tired and grimy from the long day, you beeline straight up the stairs to your room as your mother’s voice chirps from the kitchen.   “Have you had dinner yet?!”   “I already ate with Jihyo!” you call back before shutting your bedroom door.    You swing your backpack off your shoulders as you collapse into your chair. Your desk is cluttered with loose leaves of your bored scribbles, college pamphlets and school forms you never read. The attempt to make your room pretty and aesthetic failed years ago with your messy tendencies, but what catches your eye as you look around is the candle of Bundled Roses Jihyo gave you for your birthday.   Golden lid and shell pink container, you reach out and uncap it to dig the wax into your nose. Even after burning half of the candle already, it still smells good.   You smile to yourself, placing the candle back in its spot next to the lighter.   The desk lamp is switched on and you reach for your backpack to dump out your homework. In a few months, you’ll be freed from ever having to sit down and be forced to do quadratic equations again. Graduation was definitely something to look forward to.   But as you spill the contents of your bag out, the crime novel and a certain pink notebook comes tumbling out.   “Shit.”   The Love Pages stares back at you.   It’s tiny print letters on the cover are simple yet annoying. You didn’t mean to take it with you, but that mistake’s gonna cost you a walk all the way to the library tomorrow. Or you could simply dump it in the trash bin now. Dust your hands off. Call it a day.   But for some reason, you don’t.   You don’t turn to stuff it back into your bag.   You don’t shift to drop it in the trash.   Perhaps it’s on a whim, riding the wave of procrastination, preferring to delay homework for just another moment—   You flip it open.   Min Yoongi            Kim Seokjin   Amane Miki        Jeon Jungkook   Kim Taehyung      Ellie Windsor   It’s funny. In a strange sort of way. There’s an endless list of names spanning across the pages, each line consisting of exactly two but the writing is starkly different. For some of them, it’s clear that they were written by the same person. Straight lines, small letters, the occasional loops.    Yet for others, it’s chicken scratch writing or scribbles, hearts drawn on the side, thin lead to thicker ones. It looks like the notebook’s been passed to lots of people in spite of its immaculate exterior.    As you flip, you find faded names barely legible as if they’ve been erased. More importantly, there’s more than ten pages that have yet to be written in.   For how silly and complex this prank is, maybe it’s a good luck charm.    Maybe these couples actually got together and this notebook somehow fell into your lap as a sign of fate. Maybe. It’s ridiculous. But would it hurt to try? It’s not like anyone would know. Plus, you’ve doodled your name as ‘Park Y/N’ more times than you could count. Secretly, of course.   Compelled and childish, you reach for the pencil on your desk.   You flip to the next clean new page and recall the rules of the Pages.   And you call to mind kind smiles, half moon eyes and a sweet voice. Your pencil loops his name onto the paper.   Park Jimin              L/N Y/N   It’s done. Your breath hitches.   You blink once. Then twice.    But — nothing happens.   “God, I’m such a fucking idiot.”    You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it’s not like Jimin’s going to fall in love with you simply because you wrote his name down in some stupid book. That’s not how love works.   You shut the Love Pages and shove it away before cracking open your algebra textbook with a tired groan.    //   It’s early morning when you’re trudging along the path to school, rubbing your swollen eyes that you’re sure Jihyo will make fun of you for. But it’s not your fault that you ended up scrolling through your phone instead of tackling the chem assignment and forgetting that it was due today until you were laying in be—   “Y/N?”   It’s an unfamiliar-familiar voice.    Unfamiliar in the ways that you’re still not used to it. That you haven’t heard it directed to you enough times. But familiar in the ways that you’ve always listened to it. That your ears always perked when you passed by him in the halls, trying to pick up on the sweet syllables that rolled off his tongue. You’ve always hung off every sentence that he had to say.   Holy fuck.   Park Jimin is looking at you.   “Y/N?”   And he’s smiling, tilting his head, eyes tender. He’s so close and if your mind could actually function, you would realize that he’s just standing there by the school entrance as if he was waiting for you.   “Are you alright?”   “Y-Yeah.” The word chokes out of you and you try to shake off your nervousness. You muster a smile as your heart begins to pound into your ears. “S-Sorry.”   “Good morning,” Jimin tweedles with a growing grin.   “Morning.”   You start walking alongside him. “How’re you?”   “Good. You?”   “I’m good too.” Jimin’s eyes are crinkled and he steals a glance at you at the same time you do. It’s a moment that has your heart stuttering in your chest. “It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”   You’re caught off guard, unable to believe this is happening. But his presence is more than welcome. In fact, Jimin doesn’t know that he’s already making your day.   “Y-Yeah, it has been. How’s….soccer practice been?”   “Really great actually. We have one more game left. We’re versing West Side this time.”   “It’s the final match of the season?”   “Yup! We’re all pretty excited. Everyone wants to win but even if we don’t, then we come in second place in the entire school district.”   Your steps slow as you get to the front doors, still wanting to savour each second and luckily, he slows as well. Neither of you are eager to move on. “That’s incredible, Jimin.”   “Y/N!” Right as the conversation is simmering down, Jihyo disrupts any awkwardness that might settle. She appears out of nowhere and swings her arm over your shoulder. Your best friend gives you a knowing look and then to Jimin. “Hey there, Park.”   “Hey.” He smiles politely, then redirects his gaze to you. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”   “Y-Yeah. Totally. See you.” You wave, still struck and baffled by the interaction.   Jihyo seems equally surprised as well.   And once Jimin’s gone from sight, she nudges you roughly with a sly smile. “What was that all about? Did you finally grow some balls?”   “No. He was the one who approached me,” you murmur, not sure what to say.    You wonder if this is the Love Pages’ doing, but that’s impossible.   It was merely a prank notebook made by someone bored.   //   It’s hard to focus in class with what happened in the morning. You keep replaying the scene in your head. His soft voice. The look in his eye. How he was standing around and his smile lit when he saw you. It’s a record, a movie, that’s played again and again in your mind. Soaking every second you couldn’t take in at the time. To some it might simply be mundane small talk, but to you, who’s always looked at him from afar, the butterflies are still tickling your tummy.   The world has never been so rosy.   It’s after class that your head is still in the clouds and you’re trying to repress your giddy smile to yourself.   You’re holding your textbooks to your chest as you pass by the field, making your way home alone with Jihyo at her after-school anime club. She had a small interest in it but it only grew after befriending Namjoon there. As much as she likes to make fun of Jimin for being a nerd, Namjoon’s the real geeky one.    But that only makes your best friend and him all the more endearing. You hope they get together soon.   In the midst of your thoughts, you don’t notice the soccer practice going on.   Not until there’s fast sprinting steps crescendoing to your left.   “Y/N!” There’s an out of breath shout of your name and you halt with your eyes wide. Jimin’s panting as his team members disperse from the field. He grins. “I thought I saw you!”   You’re stunned and watch as he wipes the sweat dripping on his forehead with his blue jersey.   You blink hard, mouth full of cotton. Before today, Jimin never approached you when you were by yourself — most certainly never twice in a day.   You’ve never had this much attention from him before.   “I was worried you weren’t going to drop by like you usually do!”   “Like...I usually do?”   “Yeah.” He steadies his breath with a cheeky smile. “I’ve always noticed that you came to practice. Honestly, you’re kind of like my good luck charm. It feels weird if you’re not there.”   Your brain goes blank. You process a single word at a time. And you manage one nod.   “Hey…” Jimin scratches the back of his neck, cheeks blooming with a subtle hue. “Do you want to wait till practice is over? I want to walk you home. If you’d like.”   “S-Sure…”   “Park!” his coach shouts and Jimin whirls around with a grin. “Break’s over!”   “Yeah, I’m coming!”   Park Jimin’s smiling to himself as he runs back onto the field — leaping in the air, wind whisking through his dark strands. In the meanwhile, you’re left rooted to the ground, staring at his backside. Your face is on fire and the butterflies erupt all the way to your throat. It’s magic.   “—hot dogs down at East road….”   “You comin’, Park?” Kyungsoo looks at his team member, noticing the quietness of the soccer star.   Jimin smiles before pulling the clean shirt through his head. “Nah. I have plans.”   “With who?” another interjects. “Seulgi?”   “No, someone else.”   Instantly, obnoxious ‘ooh’s fill the locker room and he rolls his eyes with a growing grin before throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder and shutting his locker. Jimin exits and finds you waiting meters away.   Jimin runs to you. “Sorry for you leaving you waiting!”   “It’s okay.”   The walk home is a bit awkward. You’ve never had anyone accompany you other than Jihyo before — most certainly not a boy, and not the person you’ve been crushing on for practically four years now.   You clear your throat and steal a glance. “Is there a reason you wanted to walk me home?”   “Why?” Jimin is immediately alarmed. “Did you not want me to?”   “No!” Your eyes look into his, equally as rounded. “That’s not it. I’m...just not used to it, that’s all.”   “Honestly.” Your steps are synced together and colour blooms on his cheeks. “I wanted an excuse to talk to you more and get to know you better.”   “Oh.”   “I guess you can say I realized the other day that we went to the same elementary, but I don’t even know you that well. You can tell me if you don’t want to—”   “I want to,” you blurt before you can realize what’s coming out of your mouth. Jimin’s eyes are as big as saucers and he nods. At the same time, you frantically turn away out of embarrassment, not noticing the way Jimin was smiling to himself.   The comfortable silence simmers between the pair of you as the sun sets over the horizon, painting the sky in a pastel tangerine hue. You can hear children on the playground nearby, see the other sidewalk occupied by a couple pulling along a stroller and the grandma in her front yard pinning up her laundry to dry.   And as you savour the moment, the back of your hand accidentally brushes against Jimin’s.   It’s soft and you flinch subtly before glancing down.   Jimin must feel it too because he follows your line of sight and clears his throat.   “Hey.” His timbre is husky and nervous. “Is it...okay if I hold your hand?”   You answer with a bob of your head.   And Jimin timidly reaches out, fingertips first, and then his palms clutch yours. Your hands are slotted together perfectly and you muse how soft his skin is.   Heat rises to your face. Heart stuttering in your chest. Butterflies a whirlwind in your stomach. But unfortunately, the moment is all too short.   “This is it.” You stop in front of your house and Jimin lets go of you.   He looks at your home and smiles. “It’s cute.”   “Thanks.” You pull open the gate, eyes diverted elsewhere lest he can see how flustered you are. “Well, I’ll see you later, Jimin. Thanks for walking me home…”   “Wait!” he shouts when you’ve taken three steps and you spin around to see him scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, um, Y/N. Would….would you like to...like to go out sometime to catch a movie or get some food this weekend. I mean you don’t have to, no pressure.”   Your mouth is twitching as you try your best not to scream on spot. “I’d like that, Jimin.”   “Okay.” A cheeky grin spreads gradually into his cheeks, eyes crinkled into crescent moons. “I should probably get your number then…?”   “Sure.”   The exchange is quick and then you’re running into your house, stomping all the way up the stairs, ignoring your mom’s shout. You launch yourself into bed face first, mattress bouncing at the impact. While your limbs are sprawled out, you scream into your pillow with your furnace hot face.   You roll around in your covers, kicking your blankets.   Jimin just asked you out on a date.    He asked you out on a date and he walked you home. Park Jimin walked you home and talked to you this morning.   You’re certain your heart’s about to give out with how fast it’s beating, that the butterflies bursting in your tummy’s about to explode up your throat and out of your mouth.   You can’t believe it.    You rise up in your bed with your hair in a disarray and your bed ruined, and you look over to your desk where the pastel pink notebook is. You wonder if this is the Love Pages’ doing.   //   “You’re going on a date?!”   Your best friend is taken off guard, but when you vehemently nod, her confusion is overcome with excitement. Jihyo engulfs you in a hug. “This is so fucking exciting! I’m so excited for you! Oh my god!” She squeals and you laugh, jumping together. “Do you know what you’re going to wear yet?”   “I have no idea.”   “I’ll help you.” She grins. “It’s going to be fine, you’re going to sweep him off his feet.”   “Easy for you to say,” you counter, “Your crush already likes you back.”   “Namjoon’s just a friend,” Jihyo sighs and then her peripheral vision catches the tall brunette passing by as if calling his name was enough to summon him. “Shush! He’s coming!”   Except you look him straight in the eye and smile. “Hey, Namjoon.”   “Hey.” Namjoon snorts as if he overheard the conversation, a smile placed on his features as his eyes linger on Jihyo before he passes by.    She remains nonchalant as if he’s invisible. Or at least until the moment he’s gone and she steps on your foot. “You were being way too obvious!”   You pout at Jihyo, grabbing her arm. “No, I wasn’t.”   “Go be cute to Jimin instead,” she scoffs while you giggle, hoping he’ll find you half as endearing as you know your best friend does.   //   The weekend comes slower than you wish it would, but arrives nonetheless.   You’re waiting at the station — intercom noisy overhead, the sound of the train breaking echoing from afar. It’s the bustle of the afternoon, of overtime office workers and other couples shuffling amongst themselves with parents following their children.   You tug on the hem of your dress that Jihyo insisted you wear. You’re not sure if it’s too much or if you caked on too much makeup, but there’s no time to overthink.   “Y/N!” Jimin meets you, dressed in casual attire of jeans and a white tee underneath a black hoodie. “I’m sorry I’m late!”   “You weren’t late, Jimin. I just came early.”   “But how long were you waiting for?”   “Not that long,” you assure and he glances at you before smiling.   “You look really nice. Like really nice.”   “T-Thanks,” the word stutters out of you and you look around, feeling conscious under his sole attention. “Where are we heading first?”   “I was thinking of catching a movie, if you’d like.”   “Sure.” The both of you start moving towards the exit. At the same time, the intercom announces the arrival of the Northbound train. It pulls up on the other side and the doors whir open a beat later, flooding the platform with passengers exiting and pushing to enter.   In the chaos, your shoulder is roughly shoved and you’re pushed aside by the rushing mass. You wince and open your eyes to discover you’re losing sight of the boy with dark strands.   But the second hopelessness begins to settle—   “Are you okay?”   Jimin’s hand has clasped yours and he’s pulled you out from the crowd. You stumble in a place where you can breathe again. Jimin smiles sweetly and you’re not sure if he’s an angel or not.   “I thought I lost you,” you admit in an exhale.   “Don’t worry, I would never let you out of my sight.” His grip is firm and secure. Jimin squeezes tenderly and leads you out the exit again — this time with you in hand.   You feel your palm getting warm. “Sorry, my hand’s a bit sweaty.”   “I don’t mind.”   Your heart catches in your throat.    You hope this lasts forever.   The pair of you end up catching a romance movie in a cute, local theater called When Spring Meets Autumn. But towards the end, you’re not sure what it’s about. Not when all you can think about is the fact that Jimin’s beside you, how he’s leaning your way, your elbows are brushing. The way his arm ends up draping over the back of your seat.   All you can do is steal glances at him.   Your eye eventually catches his and your attempt of pretending you weren’t staring is futile.    You feel Jimin lean even closer, noticing a soft smile playing on his lips. “Is there something wrong?” he whispers.   You shake your head. It’s the opposite. This is a dream come true.   “I’m usually more into action than romance,” he says as the both of you walk alongside one another over the bridge. “I can’t believe that actress died ten minutes into the movie though.”   “Oh yeah.” You laugh awkwardly, not able to recall. Your eyes travel towards the cityscape and then the lake that you were crossing. Your ears perk at the giggles of couples in pedal boats, blue boats they’re using to cross the waters together. Envy stems in your mind. They sure were taking advantage of the warm weather.   Jimin notices your fixation. “Have you ever been?”   You shake your head. “I’ve always wanted to go in it with my family, but I never got the chance.”   “We could do it now.”   Your eyes meet his. “Right now?”   “Why not?” He grins boyishly, already taking your hand again.   It’s ten dollars for ten minutes and you split the cost in half, in spite of how much he insists on paying for the ride. The boat wobbles as you get in, but Jimin holds your hand and guides you, laughing while the instructor asks if you want a life jacket for the second time and shows the rules nailed onto the wooden board.   The two of you get settled in and start pedaling with your feet.    But you don’t get anywhere and bump into the dock instead.   “The left person paddles!” The instructor yells and Jimin’s wide-eyed before he nods and follows.   “This is actually my first time too,” he admits shyly as you finally get into the lake. “I wanted to look cool.”   Laughter unabashedly bubbles out of your throat. “It’s okay, Jimin. You’re very cool to me.”   “Now you’re just trying to make me feel better.”   “No!” You retort in the midst of giggles. “I’m being honest!”   You both paddle to the middle of the lake and it’s a lot more work than you expected. You’re sure you don’t look flattering in your dress pedaling a boat but there’s no time to dwell when you’re having this much fun.   At least not until you feel your toes getting wet.   “Oh my god!” You flinch. “There’s a hole in the boat!”   Water leaks up to your ankles and it’s only getting faster. “Paddle to shore!” Jimin shouts in the midst of laughing. You giggle and as if to make matters worse, the rolling clouds over the horizon begin pouring rain. It spits and then starts showering on top of your heads.   You’re becoming soaked from both ways, but rather than being upset, you’re laughing and giggling hysterically with one another.    Jimin helps you up onto the harbour and holds your hand as you run away to get some cover. You find some under a closed store canopy on a nearby quiet street. The pair of you face the road, unable to see far with the thick, heavy rain morphing the city to monochrome.   Warm giggles fill the spaces beside you. “I’m going to be honest, I imagined the first date with you would be a lot better than this.”   You meet Jimin’s eye and take the chance to tease him. “You imagined it?”   But he doesn’t make a snarky comeback. Jimin is genuine as he is shy. “Yeah. I have. I like you a lot, Y/N. I think...I have for a long time. I just didn’t realize it.”   It’s silent — the peaceful kind of quiet that lingers. As cold as the rain is, your face warms. But you wonder if this is how Jimin really feels or if it’s the Love Pages’ doing.   Your trance is shattered by an embarrassed laugh.   “You shouldn’t leave a guy waiting after they confessed, you know.” Jimin tilts his head, eyes tender and smile kind. “It makes it feel like you’re about to reject me.”   Reject him?!   “I’ve liked you since eighth grade,” you blurt loudly, the honesties pouring out of your mouth. They’re words you never thought you would have the chance to say. A confession you’ve always held in your throat. Secrets you held so close to you and were too cowardice to speak.   But the compassionate Jimin you’re facing makes you brave.   He grins, a growing smile that spreads into his cheeks and makes his eyes gleam. “Really?”   “I have ever since you helped me in that group project.”   “I did?” His brows furrow. “I can’t really recall.”   It’s disheartening to hear considering that the memory is significant to you, but you elaborate as if you could jog his mind. “Science class with Mr. Chen. No one was listening and I was really stressed, but you helped me.”   The recognition never seems to set in his eyes, but instead, they flicker down to your lips. “Can I kiss you?”   You nod furiously and Jimin smiles before he leans in with heavy lidded eyes. His fingers lift to hold your chin and your eyes flutter shut. Soft lips meet yours.   It’s a sweet kiss, a brief and chaste one. Your very first. And your heart feels like it’s about to burst. You can practically hear Jimin’s thundering heartbeat underneath the thumping rain.   //   The giddiness lasts an hour later. You can’t resist the enormous grin on your face even when you slap your own cheeks and tell yourself to calm down. It’s still cloudy outside when you get home, the rain subsided into scattering droplets, yet you feel warm inside.   “I’m hom—”    The announcement is cut short when you stumble on a pair of shoes. You catch yourself and look down to find odd brown loafers that don’t belong to your mom, dad or you.   There’s only one other person.   “Hobi?!”   As if the day couldn’t get any better.   You sprint into the living room to find your older brother sitting on the couch and he turns around with a small smile. “If it isn’t my baby sister.”   “What are you doing here?” It’s not like him to visit unannounced, but as you step forward into the evening light, you discover his reddened eyes and the swollen area underneath is as if he’s been crying. Colour instantly drains from your face and your expression falls. “Is...there something wrong?”   Your pupils stray to the suitcase beside him.    Hoseok musters another smile. “Surprise. I’m moving back.”   “W-Where’s Irene?”   “She’s not coming.” His voice is hoarse. “It’s…..over. We’re getting a divorce.”   What?   //   Life — he told you is what happened. Careers got busy. Staying together turned out to be more of a chore than expected. And it seemed like there were more arguments than there were proper conversations.   Hoseok followed it up with a hard swallow and nonchalantly told you that sometimes things just don’t work out. But by the look on his face, you know he was holding back tears.    You’ve never seen your brother cry before.   “What do you mean?!”   “What happened? Did she kick you out? For how long?! Where are you planning to go now?!”   Your parents are in hysterics, exasperated and stunned by the situation. Your dad is tense in the armchair while your mother is pacing the floor. You watch the three of them through the gap of your bedroom door, not sure if you should intrude or what you would even say.   “This doesn’t make any sense! The two of you were fine last week!”   “We weren’t, mom,” Hoseok assures in a weak voice with his downcast head.   “Have you spoken to her yet?! Did the pair of you sit down and talk properly?”   Your older brother releases a staggering exhale from his lungs. “We have,” his voice cracks, “enough times. And...it’s...it’s over between us.”   This isn’t right. This shouldn’t be happening.   Your mother cries, “Hoseok, are you giving up?! You can’t just give up! This is your marriage that we’re talking about. This is serious!”   “This isn’t just up for me to decide!” Hoseok retorts in a shout, finally lifting his face. “I can’t do anything about it when she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore!”   You shut the door quietly, pressing your back against the surface. You’re as shocked as your parents are — maybe even more so. You were the one who saw it first hand. You’re the one who tagged along when they went to play, when Irene knocked on the door every morning to go to school together, you’re the one who sat in the backseat as they took a road trip down to the beach six summers ago.   The two of them grew up together in this neighbourhood. They’re soulmates.   And you know that best.   Your dad’s voice is muffled through the walls. “—happened exactly?”    “—doesn’t love me anymore……..wanted a break weeks ago.”   Hoseok’s eagerness, Irene’s calmness. Their sense of humour, their ambitions in life — it all aligns like puzzle pieces meant to fit. And you’re not the only one who thinks so. Everyone who has eyes and ears would’ve thought that their relationship would be inevitable.    They’re soulmates — better together than apart — and you could bet your entire existence on that fact.   You march across the stretch of your room and sit yourself down in the chair. Swiftly and silently, you pull open the last drawer of your desk and grab the pastel pink notebook.   Pushing your chemistry textbook, candle and lighter aside, you flip open the pages.   Kang Irene            L/N Hoseok L/N Hoseok          Kang Irene   The names are written without needing to blink twice, straight lines and big print. Twice to make sure that both sides are the same, that affections will be reciprocated. But you know it’s childish.   You can only hope it works.   //   Dinner is stiff. Little bites are taken, each person nibbling on the food. No words are exchanged across the table when the tension is so thick. Neither your mom or your dad speaks another word about the issue with the way Hoseok’s brooding. There’s no point in making futile commentary, in adding gasoline to the fire after all, so you don’t press on the matter either.   But ten minutes into dinner, the silence is interrupted by the doorbell.   It echoes throughout the home and heads lift, eyes looking at one another.   Hoseok is the first who moves. As if he has a sixth sense or a foolish wish of who it could be.   Who he hopes it is.   And as you and your parents follow after him while he opens the door, that wish is granted.   Irene stands at the doorstep in a cream coat and leggings, bag thrown over her shoulder. She’s out of breath as if she rushed over, yet the pair of them don’t speak. They gaze at one another quietly. Hoseok grips the doorknob, eyes pinned on his wife as she looks back into his brown irises warmed by the dim light of the foyer. Their eyes are tender, expressions pained.   “C-Can I come in?” she asks in an exhale.   Hoseok nods fervently.   As much as your parents would like to listen in to the conversation, they both give Hoseok and Irene a private moment. One you observe through the crack of your door.   There’s an exchange of sighs and muffled apologies.   And when your brother finally asks what she’s doing here, Irene responds in a beat. “I still love you.”   “W-What? But just a few hours ago...you….you said….we were done. This is so sudden.”   “I know.” With her downcast head, tears trickle down her cheeks. “I know that. But I regretted it the second you were gone, Hoseok. I’m sorry. I...I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everythin—”   Hoseok pulls her in close, cradling her face against his shoulder as he embraces her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I love you too.”   The corner of your mouth tugs and you look away when they kiss. They’re surmounting the bittersweet moment together, leaving behind the point where they were so close to abandoning their relationship.   Your parents emerge with you lingering behind and you’re relieved as they are.   “I’m sorry.” Irene dips her head.   Your father glances at your mother and then smiles. “Don’t worry about it, dear. Couples fight all the time. It’s only natural when you’re living together.”   “Does this mean you’re not staying over?” You intrude, quirking your head at your brother who smirks. “I thought we were gonna have a massive sleepover.”   Your mom nudges you. “Let him leave with Irene. They should spend time together.”   Hoseok laughs. “Maybe next time, squirt. I’ll make sure to come home next week and visit. This time, properly.” He gazes at his wife who nods.   The two of them leave hand in hand, closer than they were before.   It's the perfect outcome. All you could have hoped for. What you know is meant to be.   But it isn’t a mere coincidence that Irene came here, that they made up with one another.   You know it in your bones — the Love Pages works and it’s your saviour.

“You look like you’re in a good mood,” Jihyo notes with a brow raised and you snap back to attention, realizing that you’ve been humming and smiling to yourself.    “I guess I just have a lot to be happy about,” you sing-song and your best friend scoffs lighty with a tiny smile of her own.   “Yeah, cause you’re dating Park Jimin and even wearing his sweater. Life’s good, isn’t it?”   You look down to the navy material that’s soft to the touch, sleeves draped past your fingers. He gave it to you after noticing that you were cold one evening and said you could keep it. You’re happy to wear it too since it carries his comforting scent and makes it clear what your relationship with him is.   You smile, unable to retort Jihyo’s snarky yet playful tone.   And she notices your love-struck state, rolling her eyes before she’s interrupted by a gawky brunette whose height towers over her sitting form. “Jihyo, you said you had the homework answers?”   She looks up and deadpans, “I never said I would give them to you, Namjoon.”   You’re stunned at how your best friend can be so cold to her crush, but you know it’s just a front to keep herself from being flustered and out of control.    Namjoon seems to know as well since he grins. “I thought we could compare.”   “Fine.” She exhales, acting like it’s all a chore when you’re certain she’s ecstatic. Jihyo brushes a strand of her dark hair behind her ear and smooths out her skirt as she stands. “Let’s see what you have, Joon.”   You watch them stride across the classroom to his desk, eyes tracing their backsides. And then you’re reaching down to your backpack for the pastel pink notebook. You’re not sure when you started bringing it around with you, but the Love Pages have become your good luck charm. You feel naked without it in your possession.   No one notices when you push aside your biology textbook. When you flip it open. When you take your pencil and begin scribbling names inside.   Kim Namjoon       Park Jihyo   There’s a reason this notebook fell into your lap and you’re not going to let it go to waste. Out of everyone you know, Jihyo deserves her feelings to be reciprocated. And you’ll play cupid if that’s what it takes.   Swiftly, the notebook is closed and you slide it back into your backpack.    A beat later, your best friend is returning and colour is drained from her face. She plops down in her desk chair, the seat in front of yours.   “Jihyo?” She looks like she’s seen a ghost and you’re alarmed, wondering if something went wrong. “What happened?”   “Namjoon...he….he….” She blinks hard. “He just asked me out…?”   “What?” Your head whips across the classroom where said boy is smiling at your friend. You didn’t know the effects of the Pages are so instantaneous. “When? Right now?”   She nods after a delayed second and a smile spreads into your face. You try to keep your squeals down before it collects the attention of the rest of the class. “Oh my god, Jihyo! I’m so happy for you!”   Her brows furrow. “I don’t get it….it came out of nowhere….”   “Does it matter?” You grab your best friend’s hands. “You’re going on a date with Kim Namjoon!”   “I am. I...am!” Your best friend finally looks you in the eye, giddy at the idea. “I need to go shopping!”   //   “—and then she came back and told me that he asked her out!” You’re smiling from ear to ear, twirling around to face Jimin as he watches you with a smile. You don’t think it’s possible that you could be any happier than this. Not only do you have Jimin by your side, but you’ve granted both your brother and your best friend their wishes. “They’re going to catch a movie this weekend, I think.”   “You’re so excited,” he laughs. “Sounds like you’re the one going on the date.”   “Jihyo’s liked Namjoon for so long. I’m just happy for her.”   “You spend a lot of time with Jihyo, huh?” Jimin comments as you come to a stop at the light, waiting for the pedestrian signal to come on.   “She’s my only friend,” you admit with a small smile, reminiscing over the years. Your steps sync with Jimin’s again. “My best friend. We’ve been through thick and thin.”   “I’m jealous,” your boyfriend squeezes your hand, eyes glimmering. “I want you all to myself.”   You lightly scoff at his flirtation and his smile only widens until you let go of your interlaced hands to open the mailbox in front of your house. But unfortunately, there’s nothing inside. No acceptance or even rejection letters from any colleges or universities like you were anticipating.   There’re no bills or advertisement pamphlets either which probably means your dad’s home from work and beaten you to the punch.   “Well, I’ll call you later then, Jimi—”   “Can I come in?” he asks, eyes twinkling with hope. You’re taken aback and glance over your shoulder, not sure if introducing your boyfriend to your parents so soon is a good idea. While you know they try their hardest, your parents can be extremely overbearing. They tend to bombard anyone you talk to with a million questions, yet somehow, they’re still out of touch with your life.    Your relationship with your parents isn’t spectacular to say the least. But when Jimin takes a step forward with confidence, you have a feeling that they’ll like him as much as you do.    After all, who doesn’t like Jimin?   And you’re not wrong.   “Hello. Nice to meet you.” He dips his head in greeting, tone respectful as he stands in the foyer of your home. Your mom’s brows are raised to her hairline while your dad is seemingly sizing him up. “My name is Park Jimin. I’m Y/N’s classmate.”   “Actually, he’s my boyfriend,” you clarify, deciding to be straightforward with it and your parents exchange expressions.   But within minutes, you know they’ve fallen for him too.   “Oh dear, you’re on the soccer team as well?”   Jimin nods. “I’ve been playing since elementary, but I’m not that great at it.”   “That’s a blatant lie,” you object while sticking your head from the kitchen into the living room where they’re seated. “Jimin’s the star of the soccer team.”   “That’s very remarkable,” your father notes with stars practically in his eyes. You have to hold back laughter just watching them. “How do you manage to be so studious, keep up such great grades, maintain a social life and play sports at the same time?”   “I’m not as impressive as it sounds,” Jimin laughs shyly, scratching the back of his neck. “I just do a little every day. I think having supportive parents help a lot and having Y/N around does too. She’s always supported me, even before we got together, so I owe her a lot.”   Their smiles are bright, bodies relieved and you match Jimin’s soft smile. Any nervousness of having Jimin meet your family vanishes like it never even existed. And for a moment, you imprint the scene in front of you in the forefront of your brain. You wonder if your future will someday look like this — Jimin sitting across from your parents in your family home.   “Would you like to stay for dinner, Jimin?” your mother asks and he enthusiastically nods.   //   Life is perfect.   “You’ll come to my game, right?”   “Of course, I will!”   The days and weeks are flying by fast, and you’re getting closer and closer to graduation. It’s hectic but a busyness that isn’t tiring — not when you’re enjoying every moment of it.   “And the winner of the final soccer match of this season goes to Daykey High!”   Cheers erupt from the stands and as you shoot up with your own hollers, Jimin whips his body around after being dogpiled on by his teammates and grins. He races up the stands when he gets a chance, engulfs you in his embrace and gives you a sweaty kiss full of vigour that has you smiling.   Months ago, you would’ve never known your last months of high school would be spent so perfectly. It feels like a dream come true, like your biggest desires have been granted.   “Jimin!”   “What?”   “Are you going to come, dude? We’ve missed you at like five hangouts so far. C’mon, this one’s gonna be the last one, you have to come.”   “Nah.” He grabs his duffle bag. “Sorry, guys. I'll probably have to back out of this one too. Can’t leave my girlfriend waiting.”   “What’s going on, Chim?” The soccer captain steps forward with his brows furrowed. “This isn’t like you.”   “What do you mean?” Jimin laughs. “Nothing’s going on.”   Another snorts and slings an arm over his shoulder. “You got it bad for your girl, don’t you?”   Jimin’s sheepish when he admits it. “She’s the only one for me.”   Sometimes you’re frightened that you’ll wake up one morning and find that everything you’ve been living through was really just a dream. But time and time again, you open your eyes to see the pastel pink notebook on your desk. And it’s a reminder that it’s what brought you all this joy.    The Love Pages made this possible.   “H-Hey, Jimin.” Seulgi lingers outside the locker room, struggling to meet his eye as she teeters from side to side. “Congratulations on winning.”   “Thanks! It was a tough game, but I’m glad we pulled through.”   “Yeah...well..um…I—.”   “I’ll see you around?” Jimin smiles and Seulgi nods after a delayed second. They exchange small smiles full of distant politeness, but as Jimin turns to catch up to you, his expression grows genuine.   You hope this lasts forever.   //   “Hey, Jihyo….”   “What.”   “How are your eyes so beautiful?” Namjoon mutters and the girl busy with her paper turns her head to glare at him. The corner of his mouth curls and he hums, “I wonder how I’ll go on without you. I might miss you to death.”   She scoffs, unwavered by the greasy lines. “Get your ass to class before you’re late.”   Namjoon grins and as he gets up, grabbing his bag with him, he makes sure to plant a surprise kiss to the top of her head. The gawky boy laughs at his partner’s scandalized expression and takes his leave.    In the meanwhile, the smile itching up your features finally reveals itself and you march across the library floor to plop down into the seat that Namjoon had occupied. “You two lovebirds really need a room.”   Jihyo makes a noise of acknowledgment at the back of her throat.   “How did the fourth date go?”   “What? Oh yeah. It was fine.” Her response is short and you chalk it up to her merely concentrating on finishing her assignment, but after a minute, Jihyo lifts her chin and looks at you. “Hey, Y/N.”    “What?”   “Do you think Namjoon’s off somehow?”   “What do you mean?”   “I know him.” Jihyo pauses. “Namjoon would rather die than say something as cheesy as he just did.”   You loll your head to one side and shrug. “I don’t know. Love changes people, Jihyo. You should stop overthinking it and just let yourself be loved.”   She blinks and hums, returning back to her work.   //   The library is becoming quieter and quieter as summer arrives. Jihyo doesn’t blame everyone for preferring to spend their remaining days outside with their friends than hanging out in a place surrounded by bookshelves and studying for exams. But if anything, it makes her job easier.   There are fewer books to shelve, fewer people to attend to and less to clean up.   With only a student here or there, she’s able to savour the last shifts of library duty left.   “Joon.”   “Hmmm?”   Not to mention, no one really bats a lash with her boyfriend hanging around beside her.    Ever since they started dating officially, Namjoon’s been glued to her side. But Jihyo doesn’t mind. The company and conversations are welcome. Even the librarian finds him endearing.   “When did you become interested in me?”   Namjoon is seemingly perplexed by the question and their eyes meet as they stand between the thin aisle between two looming bookcases. “I don’t know. One moment, everything was fine and then the next, I started feeling this way.”   Jihyo’s frowns. “Suddenly?”   “It was a bit weird for me too, but then I realized I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It...hit me and it was intense, so I asked you out.” His smile softens, dimples creased into each side of his cheek. “Why?”   Jihyo sighs and shakes her head. “No reason. It just seemed like you never liked me like that before or at least you never hinted at it.”   “That’s true. I saw you as just a friend for the longest time.” Namjoon leans in, his smile sweet towards his girlfriend. “Is that such a bad thing?”   Jihyo scoffs lightly but then shakes her head with a tiny smile.    Maybe you’re right. Maybe she is overthinking it.   “I just have to get used to it.”   It’s that same afternoon that Jihyo walks home by herself — Namjoon busy with his other clubs and unable to accompany her. She doesn’t mind much, actually finding solace in her alone time.    But Jihyo’s mind wanders and she realizes it’s been a long time since she’s hung out with you outside of class or library duty. Jimin’s monopolized you these days and as happy as she is to watch you giddy, she misses her best friend.   4:38 pm. Jihyo: wanna go out for ice cream or something   4:39 pm. Y/N: hell yeah!!! :D 4:39 pm. Y/N: omw home 4:39 pm. Y/N: wanna meet up there?   Jihyo smiles to herself and turns down the familiar street to your house.    The school’s boundary lines are narrow, so most of the students live in the same small neighbourhood. And considering that Jihyo’s been your friend since grade six, she’s no stranger to your house, the white mailbox, the gate, and the small yard that the pair of you used to play on.   They’re all nostalgic memories to her.   “About time!” she calls out when she sees you.   You laugh, quickening your strides. “It only took me five minutes!”   “On another date with Jimin?”   Jihyo follows after you, through the door and up the stairs to your room. It’s quiet which only means your mom’s running errands and your dad’s not home from work yet.   “We just went to a bookstore and grabbed food.”   She laughs and drops her backpack by your bed. “Can you eat ice-cream then?”   “Don’t you know there’s always room for dessert?” You grin while patting your stomach. “Speaking of which, I need to take a leak before we leave. Be right back.”   She snorts and pulls out her phone to check her usual apps. But there’s nothing much to see aside from the string of heart emojis that Namjoon sends for no reason. She rolls her eyes, but smiles to herself.   Namjoon’s an idiot. But he should be lucky he’s a cute one.   Jihyo boredly wanders to your desk, eyes falling upon the shell pink container. She holds the candle up, glad that you actually liked the birthday present enough to burn half of it. Then she sets it down and picks up the lighter, rolling the wheel and observing the flame that sparks.   She puts it down, looks over the polaroids you have strung on the wall, and then her eyes stray to a crime novel you have pushed on the side of your desk.   Jihyo smiles to herself in amusement. She didn’t know you picked up reading recently.   Curious, she flips it over to read the synopsis of the book, but then something underneath catches her eye.   A baby pink notebook.   The Love Pages.   Her brows furrow and she discards the crime novel to the side in favour of the magnetizing pull coming from the notebook. She’s curious. Her intuition forces her to look.    Jihyo turns the notebook over, and she becomes more and more bewildered as she reads the rules. As she reads the warning. Then, she flips it open. At the same time you return.   “J-Jihyo?”   You’re frozen at the door.   “Y/N. What is this?”   “Nothing.”    You damn yourself for not putting the notebook in the drawer, for not bringing it with you like you so often do. You forgot about taking it with you this morning when you were in a rush to get ready and now you’re paying the price for your mistake.   You take two wide strides across the floor to snatch—   But Jihyo’s grip remains firm.   She doesn’t let you rip the notebook from her hands. Her tight hold crinkles the corners of the pages.   “Y/N.” Jihyo’s eyes meet yours. Cold. Firm. “What is this?”   You release your sigh and your arm comes to your side. “Remember when we were cleaning out the storage room of the library two months ago? I found it there and it works. I know it’s hard to believe, but it works, Jihyo.”   It takes a second for the words to sink in.   But then it hits Jihyo like a freight train, slamming into her form, smashing into her brain. She doesn’t want to believe it — not when it’s so outrageous and outlandish — but it all clicks.   Everything finally makes sense.   “Is this….how you got Namjoon to go out with me?” Her pupils trace his name on the lined paper and then the straight lines of her own name. Jihyo looks up at you, colour drained from her face. She whispers as if someone could overhear, “Is this how you got Jimin to go out with you?”   “I wrote it as a joke first.” Your voice is pitched as you frantically explain, “but then Jimin started to pay attention to me and the next day, he even asked me out! I...I didn’t think it worked but then Hoseok came home and he was about to get divorced, Jihyo. It was really bad. But I wrote their names in and they’re fine now. See? It works and it’s a good thing!”   She shakes her head slowly, connecting the dots.   “You wrote my name in it...and you didn’t even ask me.”   “I know and I’m sorry.” Your palms are clammy. You’re not sure why she’s so upset with you, why she’s giving you such a horrified look as if you did something so wrong. “But I didn’t know if you would believe me and since it worked, I thought...why not.”   “Why not?! You didn’t ask for my consent! I didn’t want this! I can’t believe you did this, Y/N!”   “What do you mean you didn’t want this?” It’s your turn to be upset — if anything, you did Jihyo a favour. You were looking out for her as her friend. “You liked Namjoon for the longest time! I did this for you!”   “This isn’t what I wanted!” Jihyo’s voice is shrill and you flinch. “This is so wrong, Y/N. This is so fucked.”   “How? We got what we wanted, didn’t we?!”   “But have you ever thought about the other side?! Have you ever thought about them?” she asks, coming face to face with you. “You’ve made everything artificial! Why would you go against their will and control them like this?”   “It’s not against their will!”   “It is!” Jihyo screams, voice straining in her throat. “Namjoon only saw me as a friend and nothing more, and Jimin didn’t even know you!”   Her words reverberate in your ears.    Jimin didn’t even know you.   Your fist curls as you tremble. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as tears threaten at your lash line. You can’t believe she just said that, that she can be so ungrateful. She doesn’t get it. And you thought out of anyone, Jihyo would be the one who would understand you most.   “How do you get rid of it?” she demands, thrusting the notebook to your face. “How?!”   “You….have to erase the names.”   “Then fucking do it!”   “Fine! Move!” You push her aside and press the book to your desk, grabbing the pencil that nearly rolls off.    You take the eraser end and rub her name and Namjoon’s from the paper. Fine. If she wants you to erase it, you’ll erase it. But you know she’ll come running back to you to write it in again.   You scrub the names hard enough that the shiny surface of the paper dulls. Hard enough that the pink eraser bits fill the page. That your hand physically hurts.   You show her when you’re done.   “There. Happy?”   “Erase Jimin’s name.”   “What?” By sheer instincts, you pull back and press the notebook to you. “No.”   “Y/N. This is crazy. This is so wrong. You’re violating your morals for—”   “I have no morals,” you cut her off. She can yell at you, shame you, make you erase what you did for her. But you draw the line here. “Don’t you realize, Jihyo? You said it yourself. Jimin never looked twice at me. And I know he would’ve never asked me out. He would’ve never gone on that date, he would’ve never made me his girlfriend. He would’ve never told me he loves me.”   “Y/N—”   “I’ve never been loved or looked at like this before.” You swallow hard, eyes stinging, the lump in your throat makes it hard to talk. Most of all, your heart aches. “For the first time in my life, I’ve actually had someone like me back. For the first time in my life, I’ve had someone love me like that. Without this notebook, it would’ve been impossible.”   “But you can’t force him—”   “I’m not forcing him to do anything!” Blood curdles at the back of your throat. You wish someone else was in the house, then they could rush upstairs and take Jihyo away from you. Away from threatening your happiness. “That’s not how the Love Pages works!”   She steps forward, arm extending. “Then if that’s true, erase his name.”   You flinch away from her. “I will never erase Jimin’s name!”   “Y/N!” — “Leave me alone!”   You try to push past her, but Jihyo grabs the notebook.   Your attempt to rip it from her grip and shove her away is ultimately futile. Jihyo’s grabbed hold of the edge and she’s not letting go. In your desperation, you catch a fistful of her hair and she stomps on your foot, shouting ‘bitch!’ at you. You cry aloud, wonder why it’s so hard for you to be happy.   You love him.   Your hands are slipping, but you untangle your fingers from Jihyo’s head and manage to seize the cover with your right hand. The notebook flips open, papers dangling downwards between your struggle.    Jihyo screams for you to let go, that this is crazy, but you ignore her. She knows nothing.   You love Jimin. And all you want is for him to love you back.   The pair of you yank back and forth. When it looks like you’re about to win, Jihyo snags a page near the back. And it rips as you snatch it towards you.   The paper tears.   You both stumble to the ground from the force of your grasps.   Your own hand slams into your mouth, bruising your lip. Jihyo across from you has her hair in a disarray and you’re horrified to find her holding her eye. She cusses again, tone venomous.   The notebook falls beside you, the empty white page fluttering in between.   It’s silent as you two hyperventilate. Then Jihyo stands. She brushes past you, roughly grabbing her bag.   “Suit yourself. But don’t get me involved anymore. I want no part of this.”   The girl stomps out and you don’t look behind you. You don’t race after her, tell her to wait, explain that there’s a misunderstanding. Because there isn’t. You already said your piece.   You allow the slamming of the front door to echo. But you do get up to watch her from the window. She acts like this is your fault, that you did something so horrible to her when what you did for her was a miracle.   She’s the ungrateful bitch. Self-righteous in the dumbest ways. And you hope she never comes back.   //   Even when your anger has subsided, you know there are certain things that can’t be forgiven.   Jihyo ignores you when you glance in her direction, when you move past her, when you stand in front of her. At school and lunch, she hangs out with the other girls, never once sparing you a look or the friendly smile she gives to her new friends. And it’s a change that others notice.   “Is everything okay?” your classmate asks curiously. “Did you and Jihyo have a fight or something?”   Your bruised lip and the skin around her eye blossomed blue speaks for itself.   “Something like that.” You muster a smile. “But I’m fine.”   “Oh. Well, make up soon then.”   But you highly doubt that’ll happen.    If she wants to be a bitch, then you can be one too. You can ignore her. You can pretend she doesn’t exist…..   But unlike Jihyo, it’s always been harder for you to be cold. Not when you’ve spent so many years and made countless memories together. So you’re unable to resist when Namjoon comes by during the last shift of your library duty — one that you know she’s arranged to be absent at.   “Do you know where she is?”   Yet, the tall brunette merely shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t. Jihyo...actually broke up with me yesterday, so….yeah….”   “Oh. I’m...I’m sorry to hear that, Namjoon.”   He smiles. “It’s okay. It was pretty mutual.”   You watch him leave, not batting a single lash, without a single trace of heartbreak on his features and then you divert your vision. You know things will never be the same for them again.   Jihyo and Namjoon might never become as friendly as they were prior to their relationship. But you also know she’s wrong. You never forced Jimin to do anything. You didn’t force him to have feelings for you. That’s not how the Love Pages works—   “BOO!”   A hand comes down on your shoulder and a scream tears out of your throat as you spin around. You nearly fall on the ground from startlement, but Jimin latches onto your wrist, stabilizing you.   “Y-You almost scared me to death!”   “Sorry, sorry.” Your boyfriend laughs. “I didn’t know you would be so scared.”   “Don’t do that again,” you scold, heart rate steadying. “How long were you even following me for?”   “Not that long. You seemed a bit off. I had to make sure you got home safe and didn’t talk to anyone else.” Jimin syncs his steps into yours, familiar with the route you take home after accompanying you so many times. But as silence simmers between the pair of you, he takes notice. Jimin slips his hand into yours, slowing down. “Y/N. What’s wrong?”   You shake your head, words caught in your throat. You don’t know what to say, where to start, what you can tell him. How he’d even react. And it’s all too overwhelming for you to bear.   Against your will, you burst into tears.    The tsunami of emotions — anger, sorrow, regret — they clog your chest and shed in the form of teardrops. It hangs on your lashes, drips down your cheeks, clouds your vision. And the only comfort you receive is when Jimin reaches out, guiding your head to his shoulder.   “J-Jihyo….she….she hates me…”   You hang onto him, tight fists clutching onto Jimin’s jacket.    You were scared — scared when your only friend turned their back against you and found others to replace you so quickly, frightened when you realized just how isolated you are, petrified when you had a taste of what it’s like to walk the halls alone, to eat alone, to sit alone. To be alone. To be abandoned.    If Jimin leaves too, you’ll truly have no one.   “It’s okay,” he hums, locking you in a secure embrace. “You don’t need anyone but me.”   Jimin consoles you without needing to be asked. He soothes you and says the things you’ve yearned to hear since yesterday. You return his hug, quieting your sobs and strengthening your resolve.   You can’t give him up.   //   You’re not sure why it took you so long to realize what is and isn’t important. In a blink of an eye, the entire world seems to have shifted. The things — people — you treasured can so easily throw you away and all this time, you didn’t know. You’ve been played. Time wasted.   “Y/N, are you home?” your mom calls from the kitchen as the front door shuts and she stumbles out with a frown. “You’re later than usual today. Were you with someone? Jihyo?”   “I was with Jimin,” you sigh, kicking off your shoes.   “Where did you go?”   “Nowhere. We just talked.”   “About what?”   “Nothing! God, can you stop asking me questions?!” You stomp up the stairs.   Your mother exhales in frustration and calls after you, “Well get yourself looking nice! Your brother and Irene are coming over for dinner tonight! Are you listening to me?! Don’t ignore me, Y/N!”   But you do ignore her as you zip to your room and shut the door.    Finally, you’re able to get a moment of peace and quiet, and once it settles, you take two large strides across your room. You swiftly slip the Love Pages out of your backpack and into the bottom drawer of your desk. Without blinking, you grab the half-burnt pink candle and dump it into the bin.   I can’t believe you did this, Y/N!   Your bottom lip trembles but your determination hardens as you begin tearing off the strung polaroids on your wall. You’re suffocated just looking at them.   Bitch!   Your sixteenth birthday spent with Jihyo — sleepovers in seventh grade — summers spent at summer camp. You rip the photographs all off and they follow the candle in the trash.   Suit yourself. But don’t get me involved anymore. I want no part of this.   An unpleasant feeling sits at the pit of your stomach and you flop down onto your bed. You shut your eyes before being plagued by the moment she turns her back, how she passes by the hall, giggling with other classmates. They’re moments played over and over until you feel nauseous.   “It’s fine,” you mutter to yourself and repeat, “It’s fine.”   You’re graduating soon. You can finally get away from here. You can move far away, to a university out of the city.   You open your eyes to stare at the ceiling, tears stinging. And you inhale a staggering breath.   Soon. You can go with Jimin and the two of you can vanish together. You’ll never have to think about your lost best friend or what you did. You can leave the Love Pages behind.

It’s a permanent turning point.   Your friendship with Jihyo never mends or is even a topic of conversation. Sometimes, you can feel her looking at you from the corner of her eye as if she’s judging you for the secret she knows. One she’s aware no one would believe her for, but that you both know what you did.   You don’t speak to each other, merely passing by in the same spaces and no one asks. After all, friends drift apart all the time. Everyone merely finds a new normal and so do you.   Jimin becomes your new best friend.    Sometimes, you eat lunch with his friends. Sometimes, it’s solely with him. The two of you continue going on dates and when you’re not, it’s conversations through text or shy talks on the phone.   And sometimes—   “C’mon, no one’s home.”   “Yeah, but what if your mom returns and finds me in her son’s bedroom? That would be a bad look.”   He laughs. “I promise she won’t. And even if she did, she’d still love you.”   “I don’t know about that, Jimin.”   “I’ll still love you and that’s what’s important, right?”    Jimin pulls you into his cozy house and before you know it, your back is pressed against his soft sheets as he hovers over you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. No teasing words are spoken when the boy leans down to capture his lips with yours.    It’s an eager kiss where you’re able to relish in the softness and the warmth of Jimin’s skin. Your arms automatically loop around his torso and you feel his smile against you. Jimin steals all the breath from your lungs and you’re left gasping as his mouth trails from your jaw to your neck.   “J-Jimin,” you pant his name with swollen lips, leaning into his touch.   “I missed you.”   “What’d yo..u mean? I saw you today.”   “Seeing isn't enough.” His mouth sucks into the juncture of your neck, marking it red to his liking and knowing it’ll bloom blue. Jimin lifts himself and smiles tenderly. “Tell me you’re mine, Y/N.”   His gaze is soft, full of affection and endearment, and it swells your heart.   “I’m yours.”   “That’s right. You’re mine,” he whispers and kisses you again. He fiddles with the hem of your plush sweater and not long after, he’s tugging your camisole down.   Sometimes you stay in Jimin’s bed, limbs tangled with one another’s. Other times, he’s busy with soccer practice and you come home by yourself—   “Huh, did someone….move my cardigan?”    You frown, wondering why it’s draped over the back of your chair and not the bed. Maybe your mom was trying to clean up for you again.   “Hello?” you call, poking your head out your door. There isn’t an answer.    You scoff to yourself, wondering what you were expecting.   Anyway, life for the most part is normal again. With Jimin by your side, he’s become a pillar of your strength and a reason for your resiliency. He is the many of your firsts. And he makes you look forward to even better days.   “Hey. Jimin?”   “Hmm?”   The pair of you are laying in his small bed and you shift your head to find him gazing at you with tender eyes and a softened smile. It tickles your own lips and you stare at him — his brown kaleidoscopic irises, his dark strands of hair nearly pricking into them.   It’s quiet in his house with his parents gone and the fuzzy afternoon sunlight casting through the window makes you sleepy. If you don’t blink, you can spot the specs of dust floating in the air.   “What are you thinking about?”   “Nothing much.” Your voice is a murmur and you inhale gently, senses filled with Jimin’s comforting scent. “Do you think...you would’ve loved me before this school year?”   “Of course, I would.” Jimin smiles as if you’re silly. “We’re meant to be.”   He twines his hand with yours, fingers interlaced, and your sleepy smile stretches into cheeks.   But Jihyo’s cursed you. She’s done the worst possible thing.   She’s planted a seed in your mind. A seed of doubt. And it’s sprouted, taken root, embedded and coiled deep enough that you can’t tug it out. Even beautiful moments like these, you’re plagued by her words. You can't help wondering if this is really Jimin or the Love Pages’ doing.    It’s chilly one night as you’re walking by yourself, going home from the convenient store down several blocks. The street lights are bright, illuminating both your figure and casting your shadow on the brick.    But then you halt. Feet against the asphalt. Turning around.   You swear, you felt eyes—   Ring. Your phone rings suddenly and you jolt in startlement. You fumble before pulling it out and pressing it to your ear.    “Hello?” You continue walking, except this time, your steps quicken. “Jimin?”    “What’re you doing?”   “Nothing,” you exhale, feeling comforted with him on the other line. “I’m so happy to hear your voice.”   He laughs boyishly and you smile to yourself, practically able to hear his grin.    Jimin sighs quietly, “Why does that make me feel happy?”   “Did you finish running errands with your dad? Where are you?”   “I’m always with you,” he quips playfully and you roll your eyes.    It’s a joke, but as you peek over your shoulder, unsettlement sticks in your stomach. It feels like you’re always being watched.   //   “Jimin.” You stare up at the popcorn ceiling of his room, eyes running over the pointed ridges and dips, and drawing constellations from your imagination. “Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?”   He turns his head, having been folding his laundry on the floor. “What do you mean?”   “The other night, I was grabbing something for my dad at the convenient store and while I was walking home, it felt like….someone was watching me.”   “Was there?” he asks.   “I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone.”   “Maybe you’re just being paranoid,” Jimin comforts with a small smile and finishes folding his last shirt. He comes up on the bed and you make room for him to lay next to you. “Or maybe it’s your guardian angel protecting you.”   You scoff. “What guardian angel?”   “Me,” he giggles softly and reads your expression. “Would that be so bad?”   Your brows furrow and you go silent. Blood drains from your face and confusion makes your head dizzy. It’s outrageous to ask, but you do so— “Were you the one following me, Jimin?”   He hums, “Maybe.”   Instantly, you push your boyfriend’s hand away that was playing with your hair and you sit up. “I’m being serious.”   Jimin follows after you, getting up. “I don’t get why you’re so upset.”   “It’s weird! You’re stalking me!”   “I’m protecting you,” he corrects and his voice softens. “I’m doing this for your own good, Y/N. I see people on the news getting kidnapped all the time. I just…I don’t want you to be taken away or put in danger. I don’t think I could live with myself if you got hurt and I wasn’t around to help.”   You press your palms against your forehead, not knowing where to even begin.   After a beat, your voice croaks, “How long have you been doing this for?”   Jimin shrugs. “A while.”   His intentions might come from a good place, but it makes you nauseous to think about how Jimin’s been following you. How he’s been tracing your steps, watching you from behind. And you didn’t even know.   You don’t want to ask what else he’s done.   “I’m not going to get hurt, Jimin. You don’t need to follow me like that.”   “But you don’t know when something might happen. No one knows. I just want to be there for you.”   Your thoughts are in a disarray, not sure how you should even reason with him. Shouldn’t it be common sense?   At your ongoing silence, Jimin reaches out to hug you. But you stand, slipping away from his arms.   “I think I need to go home.”   “Wait. Y/N.” Jimin’s agile and swift, capturing your wrist in his hand before you’ve grabbed your bag. He stops you in your tracks. “Don’t be mad. I’m sorry!”   “I just need a moment by myself, okay?” You try to shake him off. “I-I’ll see you tomorrow.”   “Please. Don’t leave me,” his voice drops into a trembling whisper and your head whips around. Your eyes meet his, teary and shaking. Jimin suddenly gets onto his knees, cradling your hand in both of his hands and pressing it to his nose as if he’s praying. He begs, “Don’t leave me.”   But his affectionate behaviour only serves to freak you out more. It’s more than bizarre and you quickly tear your hand back, pulling it to your chest and out of his grip. “You’re not being yourself, Jimin.”   You grab your bag, turning around and making it to the door—   “I love you!” he declares loudly, startling you. His sheer desperation radiates waves and you turn around with wide eyes. Jimin looks like he’s in the midst of a break down. “You’re mine! Is it so wrong to look after you like this? I did it because I love you. I love you, Y/N.”    You clutch your bag against your body and divert your vision away from the boy.   “Then...promise me you won’t do that again,” you murmur after a handful of uncomfortable seconds have passed, “I’m safe and fine. Secretly following me is excessive and it makes me…..uncomfortable.”   Jimin begrudgingly nods.   You slowly close the distance and hug him, allowing him to sniffle into your shoulder. He’s fine with letting you leave after the pair of you have made up. Yet, when you arrive home the next day, you swear you feel eyes on your backside.   It’s easy to pretend nothing’s wrong when you haven’t noticed before.   But once you lock the front door and make it to your room, you nimbly peek out the window.   You catch Jimin standing across the street, expressionless.   //   The situation isn’t mentioned again in fear of another dramatic confrontation, but it dwells. A disturbing discomfort weighs on your shoulders and every sweet call of your name on his lips is startling. You’re not sure why you’re like this, how you can go back to how it used to be, when a mere glance from Jimin had your heart soaring and the butterflies in your tummy tickling.   It feels like the rose filter of your eyes have rubbed off. And that you’ve found out the world is darker than the pink shades you previously saw it as.   You leave the bathroom, hands still a bit damp in spite of drying them—   And you flinch when you see dark strands, brown irises and rounded cheeks standing in the hallway, leaning against the lockers.    Jimin smiles. “You’re about to have lunch, right?”   You nod.   “I was thinking we could eat together today.”   “With your friends?”   “No. Just us.” As the two of you walk, Jimin slings an arm around your shoulders. It feels heavy instead of warm and comforting. It’s quiet too, until he breaks it. “Have you been avoiding me, Y/N?”   You shake your head.   “Good. I wouldn’t want you to be distant.” He lovingly presses his head to yours, nuzzling into your hair. “That’s not what a good girlfriend does.”   You swallow hard. The food ends up tasting like nothing.   This isn’t right. This isn’t the boy next door you fell in love with years ago. Obsessive, controlling, a crazed look in his eye, desperate enough to beg on his knees — this isn’t Jimin.   And you know the cause.    You know why and how this happened. But you can’t bear to acknowledge the truth. Even when you’ve been plunged so deep, you still want to savour this a little longer.    This impossibility. This dream that you’ve been granted.   Tears fill your eyes and you gaze at him. Your boyfriend notices your softened expression that searches his face and he smiles, lifting his hand to pat your head.    He prepares to walk off to class, but you take the leap while diverting your eyes.   “Jimin. A-After graduation…...we need to talk.”   His hand comes to curl around your wrist, firm enough that you can’t escape from. His voice drops an octave. “Are you breaking up with me?”   You shake your head. “I’m going to tell you the truth.”   Jimin’s brows furrow hard and he leans in close. “What’s the truth?”   “I’ll tell you afterwards. Just wait a little longer,” you plead, “be patient with me. Please. I love you.”   He stares and then nods.   Jimin embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to console the turmoil bubbling underneath your skin. No one’s around to witness the intimate moment, so you allow yourself to savour it. “I love you too. I won’t ever let you go.”   You nod against him. And you really hope what he says is true.   You hope he loves you for you and not because it’s the effect of the Love Pages.   //   “I’m home!” you call out and shut the door. But instead of hearing your dad’s greeting or your mother’s nagging, there’s a smooth timbre coming from the living room that’s all too familiar. It raises the goosebumps around your arms and you stalk the noise, feet sliding against the floor.   “—thinking of maybe renting an apartment—”   “Jimin?” You stop in your tracks, bewildered at the sight of him sitting on the couch with your parents across from him, mugs and half-empty glasses of water on the coffee table in between. “W-What are you doing here?”   “Oh, sit down! Jimin’s just discussing your plans with us,” your mom says with an endeared smile. “I didn’t know the two of you had so many arrangements for after you graduate, Y/N!”   “You should’ve kept us in the loop,” your dad states with a satisfied smile.   You swallow hard, approaching on weak knees and collapsing beside your boyfriend.   “I’m going to the same university as you are,” Jimin informs with a proud smile, hands knitted together and posture straight. He’s the picture perfect son-in-law, an image crafted to perfection.   “What? I mean….h-how do you even know what school I’m going to?”   “I saw the acceptance letter, silly.” Jimin smiles. “I can’t believe you hid it from me.”   “It was supposed to be a surprise!” you lie frantically, in a rush and spilling out the sentence before your brain can catch up. And once it does, you add in a laugh and quirk your head to the side. “I was waiting for you to get your round of acceptance letters.”   Jimin believes you and apologizes for ruining the surprise to which you brush off and tell him it’s okay, that it isn’t a big deal. The crisis is averted until he presents another idea—   “We should probably move in together. I’ll have to move out anyway and you will too.”   Your mouth opens but your mother exclaims, “That’s a great idea! Jimin’s a good boy who will protect you, Y/N. It’ll make me feel a lot better about you moving so far away.”   Jimin smiles.   He stays for dinner and your mom fusses about to make sure his stomach is stuffed with her home cooking while your dad reminisces and tells old stories. But you don’t hear anything or taste the food you’ve grown sick of. It’s bland and white noise buzzes against your eardrums—   “Y/N.” Jimin slips a hand on top of yours and you flinch before catching yourself. “Y/N. What’s wrong?”   “Nothing.” You realize your parents have left the table. “I’m fine.”   But you fail to notice how Jimin stops smiling when you turn away.   //   The long awaited day arrives on a brisk morning.   You’ve imagined it countless times before — when your head was laid on your desk, when your face was buried in your textbook, when your hand hurt from gripping your pencil. Graduation is the liberation day, another step to moving forward. After years of schooling, it marks another end and another beginning.    You always envisioned getting ready with Jihyo, looking at Jimin from faraway, being swept by the crowds and walking away without too many regrets.   In many ways, your fantasy is better and worse in reality.   It’s worse in the ways that Jihyo doesn’t look at you.    When you call her name, catch up to her, she doesn’t so much as acknowledge who you are. She doesn’t even say her last goodbyes. She doesn’t promise to keep in touch. It’s uncomfortable, for you and those around who witness. Your parents aren’t one of them, but they bombard you with questions when you tell them not to call out to her. Questions you beg them not to ask.   Jihyo doesn’t even give you the chance to admit your mistakes. So you let her be.   You’re not sure what you expected when she’s the master of holding grudges. All you know is that until the end, you did your part on trying to make amends. The rest is on her.   You hope she doesn’t regret it.   Nevertheless, there are silver linings.    Instead of having to peek at Jimin through the masses, of having him accidentally in the background of pictures, he’s by your side. Your crush is yours to call, yours to hold.   But a weight still dwells on the back of your mind. As time passes, you know it’s getting worse and worse. He’s becoming less like Jimin and more like a person you no longer recognize. He’s grown distant with his friends as he solely focuses on you — calling you, texting you, asking where you are, telling you how excited he is to move in with you and how you’ll finally be together.   And the more Jimin surrounds himself with you, the more sure you become.   You have to erase his name from the Love Pages. Even if you don’t want to.   There are consequences of the Pages. You’ve stared at the papers, the names, the rules enough to know. The more naturally compatible a couple is, the more effective the Love Pages will be. The less compatible a couple is, the more undesired consequences will arise.   And this is a consequence.   If Jimin’s worsening obsession is because of the Love Pages, then you need to stop it. You have to vanquish your doubts about him being with you before this future together begins.   You want him to love you for you.   “Y/N! What are you doing standing there? Move in!”   Hoseok is holding his phone to his face, camera open and ready to capture a picture of you and Jimin together. Irene stands beside him with an enormous grin, temporarily holding the bouquet of flowers they gifted to you. In the meanwhile, your parents and Jimin’s are chatting away.   “Okay! Perfect! Ready? One, two three!”   Your smile is stiff.    No matter how hard you try to maintain it, it twitches and never reaches your eyes.   When it’s done, Jimin holds your hand and pulls you to his family.    Jimin’s dad is friendly and open while his mom is more soft-spoken, but her features are reminiscent of Jimin's. You’re moved when she gives you a bouquet of peonies on top of the flowers Hoseok and Irene, saying how she just bought some from the stand.    “Congratulations, sweetheart.”   “Thank you.”    Jimin playfully pouts. “You didn’t get me any?”    His mom lightly scoffs and bats at him. “You don’t even like flowers.”   “I swear Y/N’s gonna be drowning in them by the end of this,” he sighs and everyone laughs.   Jimin seems so normal on the surface — no one knows what you do.   //   Your heart is thumping against your rib cage hard enough to bruise. It’s violent in your ear drums and you could clap to the rhythm of your pulse if you chose. But unfortunately, it isn’t from excitement. Not the feeling of rushing down a roller coaster or falling infatuated within seconds.   It’s different from the flutter of a first love or the anxiousness of a class presentation.   It’s dread. Hope. Remorse.   The day has come — time is up. You’ve finally managed to pull Jimin aside in the chaos of graduation celebrations, alone in the house with your parents over at your brother’s. There’s no room for disturbances, for interruptions, no way you can back down from the promise you made.   The two of you enter your room and you inhale a deep breath as you turn to face him.   Jimin’s brows are furrowed and he searches your expression. “What is it? What have you been wanting to tell me? You know I don’t like it when you keep secrets from me.”   Wordlessly, you stride to your desk, pull the bottom drawer and reach below the file folders. Jimin is solemn as he watches you and you pull out what started this all—   A pastel pink notebook and in small text at the front, simple words read ‘Love Pages’.    You brace yourself, grip tight enough to crinkle the cover. But then you hand it to Jimin.   He deserves to see it for himself.   Jimin takes it, curious and confused. “What is this?”   “You have a right to know what I did, Jimin,” you murmur quietly as he studies the notebook, flips it over, reads the rules, the warning. “I found this notebook by accident and I know I’m going to sound crazy, but it works. Whoever’s name that’s written in it will fall in love with the second written name. And….I-...I wrote your name back in February.”   Jimin’s frown deepens. He flips open the pages.   You’re too ashamed to look at him. Your downcast head avoids his glance.   “I’m sorry,” you snivel and repeat, “I’m sorry.”   You’re not sure how many times will be enough — you don’t think it’ll ever be enough.   “I….I’m the one who made you this way, Jimin. I liked you and I thought this was a joke and that it would be harmless, so I wrote your name in it and it ended up working...and I was so happy for the longest time,” your voice breaks and you realize your cheeks are wet. “But this isn’t you.”   He’s gone completely silent and you swallow hard, the need to explain compulsive.   “The way you’re acting, the person you are when you’re with me, it’s—...it’s a consequence of the Love Pages because we’re not compatible.” You’re sobbing and your heart aches as the words choke out of your closing throat. “And I tried to force something that isn’t compatible. So I’m so...so sorry. I made you lose yourself. I...I shouldn’t have ever done this. So I’m going to erase your name. I’m going to undo all of this, I promise.”   Jimin stares at you, lips in a straight line, eyes dimmed.   “I know you wouldn’t lie to me, Y/N,” he starts and you muster the courage to look at him, “If what you say is true and if this notebook made me love you, then it’s the greatest thing to ever exist.”   “What?”   “I got the chance to love you, to be with you when I otherwise wouldn’t have, Y/N.” Jimin’s eyes catch the evening sun through the window and his irises glimmer as the corner of his mouth quirks into a smile. “Why would I want to erase my name?”   You shake your head. “This isn’t right, Jimin.”   You’re not sure how he drew this conclusion on his own and you quickly approach, but then Jimin holds the notebook up. He extends his arm high above his head and out of your reach.   “Jimin,” you beg him, “snap out of it.”   “I love you, Y/N. Do you not love me?”   You try to reach up, get closer to the pink notebook held mockingly above you. But Jimin swiftly dodges your attempt and rounds towards the desk. “I love you, Jimin. Trust me. I really do love you. But it shouldn’t have been this way. I shouldn’t have made our relationship artificial.”   “But I love you, Y/N,” he argues, becoming angry. “That’s not artificial!”   “If you love me then p-prove it. Let me erase the names!” You lurch forward, fingertips finally gripping onto the edges, but victory is short an inch.   Jimin grabs it hard enough to wrinkle the entire book and all its pages. He screams, “No! I won’t let you erase it! I love you and I won’t risk falling out of love with you!”   “Stop this, Jimin, please, I’m begging you, let go,” you desperately spew through gritted teeth and it’s all too familiar—   Pushing one another, trying to rip it from his grip, grabbing hold of edges, not letting go.   You’ve once stood in the same spot, having the same fight with Jihyo. And it’s an irony that makes your mouth bitter. She was right — and you wonder if she would laugh if she knew.   But the difference between then and now is that winning twice is harder than once.   Jimin’s backed up against your desk, nearly falling on it but his right hand comes to cushion himself. Though as it does, he feels the objects on your desk. In desperation, he grabs whatever he can to succeed, to perhaps distract you with. And he finds the lighter.    It takes one second.    One for Jimin’s strength to easily overpower yours. For him to yank it hard. For the smooth, pink cover and its white pages filled with endless names to slip from your fingertips.   For Jimin to scrape his thumb across the wheel of the lighter. And for you to hear the flickering flare, the rasping sparks, the quiet hum of the orange flame igniting.   Jimin brings the fire to the notebook.    He burns it, sealing the Love Pages together.   “No!”    Your last attempt to grab it is futile. You’re left to drop to your knees.    The blood-curdling shriek in your ears is unrecognizable until you realize it's yours.    Your pupils reflect the tangerine hue of the fire, the ash of the pages curling together, the soft pink that turns to black cinders fluttering down like Spring cherry blossoms in front of you.    Jimin’s smile is sweet. “The only way to remove my name is to erase it, right? Look, Y/N. This way, we can always be together.”   A tear drips from your lash down your cheeks. Your mouth opens but the sob doesn’t come from your throat already sore from yelling, screaming, apologizing. Instead, you cry like a marble statue shocked in time.   Jimin drops the burning corner of the Love Pages and the last of the binding melts into your carpet. He lowers himself and wipes away the tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.   “You made me better,” he coos, “the Love pages made me better.”   Jimin sighs and caresses your head gently. “If this is what the issue was then I’m actually relieved. I thought you were going to try to break up with me. This obstacle means nothing to me, Y/N. It means nothing to us.”   He laughs and quickly reassures, “Soon enough, we’ll move away. No one will be able to find us. We can finally get away from….this. All these distractions. I can finally have you all for myself.”   He embraces you, arms wrapped around your body, propping his chin on top of your shoulder and breathing in the scent of your hair.    It’s suffocating.   Your eyes dim.   Jimin’s trapped you. He’s caught you in his web.

You think about running.   Even when he follows you half across the country under the guise of continuing education, you think about running in the middle of the night while he’s asleep. You fantasize about slowly slinking the arm slung around your body off, moving his dead weight from you, or moving during the day when he’s forced to be away.   Before it’s too late. Before it worsens. You can still escape.   But somehow, Jimin always knows where you are.   He texts at night when you’re gone for too long. He calls when you’re at the grocery store to buy certain things he forgot. And you know for a fact, he would track you down and look for you until his last breath if you tried to flee.    But your hesitance is not only because of him. It’s your fault too.   A part of you always stops, with one foot out the door of the apartment and your bag slung over your shoulder in the middle of the night. You’re unable to abandon the faded image of the boy you used to long for. Unable to stop the guilt from overwhelming you that you began this. That you’re the one who reduced him to this crazed state from your own selfishness. And the only way to undo what’s happened to him is gone.   For just a moment, you wanted to be loved.    But what was an innocent wish morphed into a sin you blinded yourself too. All those months ago, had you done nothing, had you sat still, it would’ve never been like this.   And that haunts you.   You can’t bear to abandon Jimin, to try to get away, to call the police and attempt an escape. You can’t make him surrender his entire life, disappoint his family, lose his scholarship, mark his history with red. You can’t make him lose more of himself than what he’s already lost.   Jimin is both the benefit and the consequence you have to shoulder for the choices you made.    “Y/N! Come here!” Your mother rushes you in for a hug and pastes a wet kiss on your cheek. “I’m so glad the two of you could make it back for your winter break! I missed you so much.”   Jimin shadows you, dragging in the suitcases and your mother smiles at him.    “Jimin! You too! Get in here!” She hugs him as he giggles and pats her back. The festive music plays in the background, your dad, brother and sister-in-law in the living room chatting away.   But you don’t enter the warm room. Rather, you ascend the darkened staircase.   The pitch black envelops your form until you reach for the knob of your old room. The door creaks as it swings open.   Your room is undisturbed, just like you left it except for the thin layer of dust sitting on the furniture. You remember when you sat at the desk, when you knew absolutely nothing.   Stiffly, you take two strides and sit back down on the creaking chair.   You flick the table lamp on and off, watching how it illuminates the space before darkening it again, listening to the click of the button. Then, your eyes travel to the discarded lighter.   You pick it up, rolling the wheel and observing the flame that sparks.   A moment later, you put it down and instinctively from the habits you’ve built, you reach down to tug open the bottom drawer. As if you’ll see the Love Pages reappear. As if the notebook will sit right there as it did for so long. But instead, you notice a folded piece of lined paper tucked at the side.   You take it out, studying the page in a transfixed state.   The lines are a light blue, the white crisp and clean, but it’s completely torn on the side.   You remember.             “Erase Jimin’s name.”   Jihyo all that time ago, tried to convince you to erase his name. You should’ve listened to her then, salvaged your friendship while you still could. But what was left of her and that fight was this page torn out of the Love Pages.    You stare at it. The final evidence of such a notebook ever existing.    And then you’re grabbing the pen on your desk.   The ink bleeds on the page, letters feathering away, but you scratch it hard enough to hear, looping the names onto the paper, knowing it’s permanent—   L/N Y/N       Park Jimin   Jimin shuffles into the room and notices your backside cowering over the desk.   “Sweetheart, is there something wrong? Are you hiding something?”   You turn from the chair and he’s startled from your enormous grin and your brightened eyes. You shake your head and run to him, lurching forward.    “Jimin!”   You throw your arms around his neck and he stumbles back from the impact of your embrace.   “I love you so, so much.” It’s hard to express the feelings that have suddenly devastated you, so you tear yourself from him to kiss him. It’s an eager kiss, one where your mouths smack together, where you’re gripping his sweater, tasting him and trying to get as close as you can but to no avail.    All you’re aware of is the need to have Jimin by your side. You might die without him here.   When you pull away, he’s grinning, happy that you aren’t so distant anymore.   “You love me, right?”   “Of course, I do!” Jimin’s almost upset at the question. “Why would you even ask that?!”    You laugh joyfully, the sound chortling from your throat. Your chest is rising and falling, pupils blown wide as your massive grin makes your cheeks ache. “Then you’re mine.”   “That’s right. I’m yours.”   You embrace Jimin again, arms wrapped tightly around his warm torso as your nose digs into his shoulder and his own arms cage your body. It feels like you’ve been sewn to each other by your skin and the thought makes you even more giddy.   You love him so much, more than the whole world itself.

[fantasia-monogram]

As the clock strikes midnight, part 1

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / epilogue

♥️ Taeyang x reader (nonbinary, female anatomy) x Jaeyoon; mentions of other SF9 members

♥️ Suggestive (~2k words); smoking, mentions of alcohol, (lightly) implied BDSM. Mutual pining. Next part is going to be NSFW (and reveal more about the characters’ history).

♥️ You’re a beast at work, having to be tough to climb up the corporate ladder, but what you never thought of is that your attitude might be intimidating to your long time crush. Luckily, your much more laid back friend is here to help... both of you.

♥️ Disclaimer: this is just for fun! I’m not claiming that’s how they are in real life, it’s just my imagination doing whatever it wants. Read at your own discretion.

“Ah, the exciting world of corporate banking.”

You were too tired to check the time, but one look over the room gave you a clear idea of what kind of stage the party has reached: vast office space, with all the desks pushed against the wall and a long table situated in the middle, was littered with barely-sober people, most of them in groups of two or three. The goal was to let coworkers of various titles and positions mingle in a casual manner, as the fairly young company’s hierarchy and employer count was expanding proportionately to its growth - friendly office culture was a staple in this place. Truth was, after a couple drinks (or, in case of some tougher individuals, whole bottles of soju), everyone would group into their regular lunch break cliques, usually within the same department.

Long gone were the days when the business was much smaller, and it was easier for people from different departments to form close bonds.

Luckily, you remembered them very well, and that’s why, as the party was dying down, you shared a (small and not very comfortable) couch with your two best colleagues: Lee Jaeyoon and Yoo Taeyang.

“Look at him. What a fighter,” Jaeyoon said with a hushed voice, pointing his almost full glass of whisky towards another corner of the spacious room. There, behind one of the squished-together desks, Quality Department leader Kim Inseong was still angrily babbling about work-related statistics to the nearly-wasted Training Supervisor, Baek Juho. The latter, with his forehead propped on his hand, kept waving at his superior to stop, as coherent words would not come out of his mouth at this point no matter how hard he tried. Inseong, incredibly professional yet warm and welcoming when sober, would do a total 180° after a single bottle of soju and turn into a snarky bastard ranting at everything going on in the company.

“Supervisor Baek is holding on strong, though,” Taeyang added in a matter-of-fact tone before taking a sip from his glass.

You couldn’t help but cover your mouth and snort with amusement.

The three of you were an unusual group. 

You all joined the company on the same day, and underwent basic training for a couple weeks. Even though Jaeyoon was close to your age, the gap between you and Taeyang was much bigger. Add their impressive height and you had to admit, it was awkward to sit between these two guys every single day. Soon enough though, your small talk during short breaks would turn more and more enjoyable, and when the last week rolled in, as the oldest one, you mustered up the courage to invite them to a nearby coffee shop. Formally, you just wanted to celebrate the end of your training stage, but honestly… You grew fond of them, so there was no harm in getting to know them better away from the workplace.

Who knew the three of you would find common ground during that fateful meeting?

“Hey… Y/n… You there?” Jaeyoon’s voice snapped you out of a trip down the memory lane.

“Yeah. What were you saying?” you asked, a bit embarrassed.

“You don’t seem to be having fun at all. I haven’t seen you around the bar even once,” Jaeyoon ranted, haphazardly shaking his glass.

“You know I don’t drink.”, you stated calmly.

“Aish… It’s a party! No need to be so strict. Am I right?”

For some reason, Jaeyoon looked towards Taeyang with a wicked grin, and you followed. The youngest one, sitting by your right side, cleared his throat theatrically.

“I’ll go get myself another one.” he mumbled, already leaving the couch.

“Don’t overdo it!” Jaeyoon yelled, then turned back to you. “You could really use some percents, though. Just saying.”

“I have an image to maintain,” you said quietly, crossing your arms against your chest.

“You dressed like it’s every other day at work, too,” your friend pointed out, “It’s just a different colour.”

You looked at him resentfully. That’s true, tailored suits were your usual look, not just because you simply didn’t like dresses or skirts. It was the easiest way to elongate your silhouette, and you were already lacking in height compared to all the higher-ups attending company meetings with you.

A powerful look was expected from the Compliance Supervisor who rose to that position in a record-breaking time and was nowhere near done career-wise. 

Besides, you had to admit, your neat suits in a whole variety of colors boosted your confidence every single day. You had all of them adjusted, so they would accentuate your figure in all the right places. Oh, all the times you and Jaeyoon would shamelessly ask poor Taeyang who’s got the best ass out of you two (“Okay, forget it. Taeyangie does,” Jaeyoon would end the competition each time, making Taeyang cringe).

"You're just jealous because I look better in red than you do," you barked, although lacking any real bite. 

"Listen, what I'm trying to say is…" Jaeyoon leaned dangerously close to your ear. "...I don't mind your uniforms, but someone over there is on the brink of losing his mind right now." 

You backed off, wide-eyed. Your friend discreetly threw a glance towards Taeyang, who just came back with his glass refilled. 

Still dumbfounded, you kept looking back and forth at each of your friends, not realizing how silly it must have looked.

"Did I miss anything?" Taeyang asked, clearly feeling something went down during his absence. 

"Yeah, I just said that maybe we should leave this remnant of a party and move somewhere else," Jaeyoon replied, looking over your shoulder at the youngest. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, but ultimately decided his idea wasn't that bad after all. 

"I don't know… Wouldn't it be rude to leave so early?" Taeyang mused. 

"Seokwoo left, like, at 9," Jaeyoon pointed out. "Way before anybody had a chance to get drunk." 

"Ah, our lovely Escalation Specialist," you sighed, talking about Kim Seokwoo, your right hand man at the Compliance Department. "You could say the party escalated too much for him."

"At nine!", the older of your friends laughed. 

“What time is it anyway?” you asked. It didn’t matter that you could just check it yourself. You were used to people doing things like this for you around this place.

Jaeyoon, who knew it very well, fished his phone out of his shirt pocket.

“Uh… Fifteen to twelve,” he announced.

Taeyang tapped your shoulder. 

"Happy early birthday," he threw casually. 

Pleasant warmth rose to your cheeks. You were just starting to smile, your eyes crinkling already, when Jaeyoon jumped in his seat, startling both of you. 

"Wait, what?!" he yelled, making a few heads turn for a second or two. 

"What kind of a friend are you, really?" Taeyang snorted dryly, "It's y/n's birthday tomorrow." 

Jaeyoon let out a sound that could best be described as a happy roar and pounced forward in an attempt to give you a bear hug. You dodged it by moving backwards, thus colliding into Taeyang's side. 

You briefly glanced at each other, awkwardly nodding as an apology, before he uttered a quick it's fine and slid further into the couch. 

"Hey, that hug was supposed to be a present!" Jaeyoon whined, recovering his dignity after the failure. 

"Thanks, but no, thanks." you retorted, staying at a safe distance.

"Okay, but now we really have to go somewhere else. This calls for a celebration!" Your overly enthusiastic companion wasn't giving up that easily.

You turned to your other friend. 

"Taeyang?"

"That's enough social interaction for today," the boy in question replied, "One more crowded place and I'll pass out on the spot." 

He was known for his introverted tendencies; even at work, he occupied a desk that was a bit further from everyone else, guaranteeing him all the peace he needed, and had only one coworker he was somewhat close to apart from you two. 

"What about we go to my place instead? I've got no alcohol, but there are plenty of leftovers for a late dinner if you're hungry," you offered instead. 

"Sounds like a plan!" Jaeyoon clasped his hands. "I'll pay for the cab." 

Taeyang bottomed out his glass. 

"Wanna go for a smoke while we wait?"

As soon as you put a cigarette in your mouth, Taeyang was there to light it. You could swear his eyes lingered on your lips, but maybe it was so late that your eyes started pulling tricks on you. 

A good five minutes passed of the three of you smoking in silence, enjoying the cool summer breeze and the sight of a nearly full moon above you. Taeyang was the first to finish, with you following. Jaeyoon was the last to end his cigarette, throwing it into the trash can nearby in a somewhat angry manner. 

"Taeyang, I can't possibly imagine a better time to tell them than now."

Both you and Taeyang turned your heads towards Jaeyoon.

"Tell what?" you posed a question, confused. 

The guys exchanged looks. After that, Taeyang averted his eyes, while Jaeyoon locked his with yours. 

"I think he should be the one to explain." Jaeyoon stated firmly. 

"It's fine," Taeyang's voice was unexpectedly weak, "I'm fine with you telling them." 

You felt your heartbeat quicken all of sudden. 

"He's head over heels for you." 

And then, it was as if your heart just stopped. No, that couldn't be. Your pretty, soft spoken dongsaeng you always had your eyes on? In love with you?

"No way." you muttered, turning to face Taeyang. He still couldn't bear to look at you. "Is that true?" 

Internally, you were screaming for him to say yes. 

Poor guy seemed like he was about to get a panic attack, breathing in and out loudly, hands balled into fists. You could see him biting his lips.

"Come on." Jaeyoon ushered, "I did the hard part for you. Now it's your turn." 

Taeyang slowly raised his gaze. His doll-like eyes were glazed over with tears - a sight so stunning it almost made you gasp. 

"It's true. It's been going on for more than two years now." His voice was quiet, but steady.

You kept staring at his gorgeous, flushed face, unable to say a word. It was a clue for him to continue. 

"I knew I had a chance. I'm not stupid. I noticed you treated me differently than Jaeyoon or any other friend at work. But I also knew your no relationships at the workplace policy and your attitude towards age gaps, and decided to keep it to myself." 

Your heart was about to burst. 

"I'm just as demanding in love as I am at work," you explained, "I'd ruin you."

Jaeyoon circled you. As soon as he stopped, he put his left hand on Taeyang's shoulder, while his right on yours. 

"Tell them," he encouraged the younger guy again. 

As if on command, there was fire burning in Taeyang's gaze. You felt it consume you as a whole.

"I'm not fragile," the boy declared, “I want to be ruined.”

You thought you were dreaming, but a squeeze of Jaeyoon’s hand on your shoulder anchored you back to reality, this reality being your crush at first sight confessing to you.

“Your confidence… How strict and relentless you are…” Taeyang went on, his voice breaking, “The tone of your voice… And your suits. Oh, your suits. It all turns me on so much.”

“What a guy,” Jaeyoon chuckled, shaking his head.

Both you and Taeyang decided to ignore him for now.

“I repeat,” Taeyang insisted, “I want to be ruined.”

Despite Jaeyoon’s continuous hold on both of you, you reached towards Taeyang’s face to caress his smooth cheeks with the back of your fingers. That was all he needed to surge forward and plant a brief, fluttering kiss on your lips that still managed to leave you with your head spinning, needing more.

“Happy birthday, y/n,” Taeyang whispered, holding his forehead against yours.

It was only then when you realized you were both breathing heavily, even though nothing had happened yet.

The moment was interrupted by the ringtone of Jaeyoon’s phone. At last, the guy ceased his hold on you to check the device.

“Okay, lovebirds, the cab is here. It’s gonna be a fun night.”

You glanced at Jaeyoon, then locked your eyes with Taeyang’s again. He reciprocated your devious smile.

(to be continued)

[whoppert]

Sunna 3 (loki/reader) (stephen strange/reader)

◂ previous chapter first chapter ▴

4007 words

warnings: none

AO3 Master Fic List

The story continues with Stephen Strange . . . .

The name’s Doctor Stephen Strange M.D., Ph.D, actually.

Well, and Sorcerer Supreme.

Master of the Mystic Arts.

Cleaner of cosmic messes and

Cosmic Mess, himself.

I almost pull a muscle trying to look positive as I left her at the Sanctum. She definitely recognized my hesitance. Finally, after a month of avoiding her I had rallied together a plucky enough attitude to be able to sit quietly in her presence. I thought maybe it had been long enough that the sight of her wouldn’t twist my heart into a million pieces.

I had been wrong of course, but since when does anything go right for me?

Didn’t matter if I was a surgeon or sorcerer, it's all the same to me, the only thing I ever botched was my love life.

AO3 Master Fic List

Surprisingly, the basilisk ends up being the high point of my day.

Wong hadn’t been kidding about a beast downtown. We portal behind a food truck, but Wong's already taken off so I'm following, but I can't see anything and I can’t hear anything unusual in the sounds of the city.

Of course, it wasn’t until I make it around the corner that the giant snake comes into view. Easily twenty feet long, green and blue, but in the light of the setting sun, the scales shone a bright turquoise, easily scaling its way down a building. It wasn't particularly girthy, so to speak. Like a very large python. Judging from the trail behind it and the way the garden balcony wilted and died as it slithered through, the poisonous energy it radiated wasn’t purely an aesthetic choice.

I guess this thing isn’t in a very good mood.

"How does a supernatural snake even find its way to Greenwich Village?"

"Don't look in its eyes," Wong ordered bluntly.

I tear my wandering gaze away, the glimpse of the snake’s striking golden lamp-like eyes filling my body with adrenaline.

"What's it going to do?” I joke, watching the snake tongue flickering in the air as it tasted the rich, smog-heavy scents of the city. “Turn me to stone?"

"Probably."

"Awesome. Awesome."

"Any ideas?"

"What did the kid in Harry Potter do?"

"I haven't seen it."

Great, because how could this day possibly get any worse? Hmm, what would Stark say if he was here? Probably, ‘you got this Steve Urwin.’

There are times in life when having a photographic memory really sucks (like when you walk in on your college roommate getting pounded by his lit professor, not speaking from personal experience or anything) but it sure is helpful when it comes to situations like this, where you needed to quickly recall everything you’ve ever read about a monster. Preferably, before it eats you.

Basilisk… name originates from the Greek form 'basilískos', meaning ‘little king’. According to Naturalis Historia, by the questionable Pliny the Elder, this thing is supposed to be tiny, spanning the width of two adult hands. He was right about the trails of scorching poison at least.

The snake is making its way down the building towards the sidewalk, where the people are. Together, Wong and I jog underneath it and try to encourage it down without looking in its eyes, which is easier said than done. The bonus however, the crowd parts. They walk around the two crazy men yelling at nothing.

Pliny had claimed that the smell of a weasel was enough to kill a basilisk.

“Dammit, fresh out of weasels,” I finish aloud. "Shit."

Suddenly the snake drops into a large coil on the concrete. Wong and I are saved by our reflexes, but before I try to trap it with magic the snake squeezes itself between a tree and a garbage can, knocking the can over in the process, trash spilling all over the pavement. The rolling receptacle is narrowly avoided by a suit talking into an ear piece. No one was gawking at the beast, no one even seemed to notice it.

“Even a New Yorker would take a second glance at a basilisk,” I muse. When I check, I can only see the snake with my third eye. "They can't see it."

It isn’t uncommon for normal people to miss magic even when they are literally surrounded by it every day. Most people’s brains can’t process it without developing trauma from the experience, so the prefrontal cortex tends to filter out the stuff you can't explain.

Even if the people around us haven’t noticed the snake, we can, and judging from the way it steadied its head to examine us, it finally gave us the time of day. The snake hisses and slithers off down the street.

“For fuck’s sake,” I groan. Moons of Munnopor, I’m an idiot. I hadn’t let my lack of sleep get this bad on purpose, but even I have to admit that going a month without sleeping wasn’t the smartest idea, but my cognitive reasoning was impaired. Thank Agamotto for Declaran Energy Elixirs and caffeine.

The New Yorkers are oblivious to the jade green monster sliding on its belly amongst them, but they sure can see the two men in robes and a cloak. To avoid mass-panic, using magic to trap this thing was a no-go until we can find a private place where passersby won’t be in the line of fire. There are some positives that come from the public's inability to see the snake though, it rendered the snakes

I jog carefully after it, trying not to let it out of my sight, but no matter how close I manage to get, it was always just quick enough to evade me, and it doesn't taken me long to lose track of how many blocks we ran just trying to catch the beast. It's been forever since I last went for a run and I can feel the burn.

The snake slows only once on our journey, pausing to swallow a pigeon whole. The feathers of the bird are quickly regurgitated, leaving a young boy, the only person who seemed to have noticed, tugging nervously on his father’s jacket. If the boy can see the snake, then the snake can make eye contact. I take the opportunity, sprinting straight at the snake, almost getting hit by a town car as I leap into the street without looking. I ignore the horn, leaving Wong behind me to apologize.

The boy's dad, looks down confused when he realizes his kid is missing.

Shrinking back away from the snake, the boy has finally caught the attention of the animal, who slithers up to the child, rearing its head, fixing its rising gaze on his shoes, then his pants and dinosaur tee shirt and-

"Hey," I yell, waving my arms in the air. "Hey! Over here!"

I get everyone's attention, but most importantly, I get the kid's attention for a second. Long enough for the boy's father to gather him up in his arms.

The snake senses me closing in and twists into the open doors of a building. It's dragged me all the way to Clinton, and in my sleep-deprived state, my patience is wearing thin. I need to catch this thing. Bursting into the building after it, I catch a hint of emerald green as the snake disappears up the stairwell.

I really needed to take up jogging again.

The only open door from the stairwell leads tp a law office, ‘Nelson and Murdock’ said the newly-etched gilded door plate, and from the sounds of the commission, the basilisk has wormed its way inside.

Cautiously, I step into the small greeting area, just as a man flies out of his office, slamming the door after him. He doesn't even take a second to breathe before he's noticed me.

“Ah, are you after the snake?” he asks, “cause it’s in there.”

"Strangely enough, I am actually after the snake, thanks."

I didn’t have time for further chat, instead opening the door to the adjacent room.

Nestled amongst moving boxes on the desk is a massive fucking snake, coiled and hissing at me. My line of sight almost catches on those golden orbs. It spits at me, but at this point in the life throwing up a shield is second nature, and thank goodness for that. The acid in its venom eats away at the box that caught the ricocheted droplets. I'm not willing to risk indirect eye contact through a reflection but...

The snake rolls its long body out, pushing the last of the steaming box off of the desk, and filling the space on top of the wood almost entirely, before rearing up to eye level.

“No you don’t.” With some concentration I thicken the shield until it is opaque, and then twist my hands, turning the shield into a two-way mirror. I can see the snake, but the snake could only see itself.

I am a genius. Problem solved, the snake will see it's own reflection and turn itself to stone.

Only the snake never stops launching its entire body against my shield.

New problem: Plan A failure, so Plan B it is (there is no Plan C).

“Hey there, little guy.” Shield stays up as I take another step closer to the beast, despite its obvious aversion to my life. Stray droplets of acid melt tiny holes in my trousers. “I need you to come with me, and if you’re not going to play nice, PETA is going to end up making a video about me for their social media. And it will go viral.”

The snake swivels attempting to go under my shield.

I do the only logical thing and summon a weasel with a portal to the woodlands and open up a hole in the shield, tossing the poor mammal at the snake.

When nothing happens I dare to look, only to find that the pigeon from earlier had only been the entrée.

Yikes, sorry weasel.

I am too tired for this. I'm to stupid when I'm sleep deprived. People depend on me. I'm an idiot.

It takes me several seconds to close the hole in my shield and in that time the snake pulls up, rearing back on its spine to stare into my eyes. The movement is so quick I can't save myself.

A prominent wave of nausea washes over me. Terrible feeling, but I feel nauseous all the time, it's part of the toll magic takes on me, so I'm a little surprised when I realize I haven't actually turned to stone.

Springing at my shield, the snake launches at me, hitting the orange, attacking again, and again, and again, and again, biting and spitting, with no regard for its own skull. I definitely do not want to see what those fangs could do to human skin.

I lengthen the shield, curving it over the head of the snake and behind it and in my state it took all my concentration just to keep the shield from disintegrating. The snake begins thrashing in every direction in an attempt to escape, but I manage to seal it on all sides. The dome reducing in size until the snake was forced to coil tightly on the desk, subdued.

“Hello there,” I sigh, finally safe enough to approach the animal. I press my palm against the curved pane of magic.“Where did you come from?”

But in response the snake just bares its fangs at me.

A moment passes, before I am rouses by the sound of voices in the reception area, and Wong, who was breathing heavily, joined me in the office.

“You couldn’t let me know where you’d gone?” he snapped, irritated.

“Had a job to do.”

Wong sighed impatiently, but stepped forward to examine the creature. “It’s a baby.”

“So that’s why it didn’t turn me to stone when I looked in its eyes.”

“You- I told you not to do that!”

“Eyes are the windows to the soul, and we were bonding, Wong. I think it likes me.”

The snake hisses on cue.

"You could have been killed-" Wong started.

"I know, I know."

“Oh, good,” owner of the office, the man from earlier, steps into the room, hands nonchalantly slung inside his pockets. “You got it! I really didn’t want to deal with that thing myself. You make a hell of an animal control.”

I process the man’s dark sunglasses and, with a start, realize that he is blind. In the face of all the New Yorkers that hadn’t seen a giant snake weaving through them, of course it was a blind man who had noticed it.

"Thanks, I'm volunteering for the local shelter."

"Local shelter has robes and cloaks as their uniform?" I barely have time to look confused before he taps his ear, adding, "I can actually hear the extra fabric when you move."

"Huh."

Wong lets out a noise like a deflating balloon from where he stands studying the snake. “Strange, we have to get home. Now.”

I looked at him, eyebrows raised, “I don’t think-”

"The snake is from Svartálfar."

"Remind me where that is again-?"

“This is a juvenile Svartálfar Basilisk, it can only have come by way of Asgard,” Wong interrupts, muttering some incantation that I can't hear over the sound of blood in my ears.

The snake was a diversion.

Without a word to the man from the office, I use my sling-ring to create a portal, on the other side of which was the house’s foyer.

The Sanctum Sanctorum felt empty of people. Something was wrong.

I called her name, and called it again and again, louder each time, but I was met with nothing but silence. I checked all the common areas of the house by teleportation, eventually finding a trail of magic from the library.

According to the laws of Mystic Arts, all magic and magical beings leave a residue behind, a vestige like some esoteric GPS tracker. I could feel her where her magical trail lingered in the library, probably from our earlier translation exercise, but there was a fresh trail laid over it and it reeked of the Prince of Asgard.

The trail led upstairs, but I came to a grinding halt outside of her room, empty, the door wide open. Dread began to seep into my blood as I noted the remnants of Loki's seidr hanging like a fog in the air, the spot on the floor containing textbook shards of telepathy magic. What had he done to her?

“She’s not here,” Wong was at my side in seconds, the basilisk forgotten.

"Her trail of magic leads here," I say, "it doesn't leave this room." Everything is very far away right now. "But she is not here."

I’m an idiot, my mind begins to whir uncomfortably; considering every possibility. I left her alone. Alone with him. He created a diversion- what could he want with her? I can barely think over the rush of expletives in my thoughts.

A presence behind us shifts, and Wong and I both turn ready to fight, rings of orange around our wrists.

From the shadows of the room, Loki steps into view, hands raised in peace.

“Where is she?” My sentence slid through my teeth.

Loki, being faux cheerful, ignores my question, “Strange, how did your mission go?”

“Where is she?”

I begin to step towards him, prepared to force an answer if needed, but Loki steps back a few paces with a defeat-ridden gesture.

“She left, about an hour ago,” Loki offers the information like he might actually be remorseful. “I thought it best to let her go, she was, uh, none too pleased with me.”

“Alone?” Wong asks, voice deep.

Loki nods.

Neither Wong nor I have moved out of our defensive positions. Red. Everything around me was turning deep shades of scarlet and crimson and growing impossibly hot. “What did you do?”

The corners of Loki’s mouth tug downward. “Recently I was visiting… an acquaintance, Nightmare. Anyway, while I was in the Dream Dimension, Nightmare received a report from one of the dream construction sites about a foreign dream, forced into the network-”

“All dreams originate from the network,” I interrupt, “get to the point.”

“Normally, yes. With some persuasion Nightmare mentioned that there had been a series of dreams transplanted into the network from some outside source. Odd. He’d never had a problem before.”

My gut knows where Loki is going with this, and all my hot anger shifts until I was frozen in my spot. I could have been swallowed up by the ground and I wouldn’t have been able to stop it.

“So I asked him just who had been the recipient of these dreams, and when he said it was you, well, it piqued my interest.”

Heat swept across my face, and I watch as his eyes zero in on it, like a predator stalking its prey.

The grin from the god reveals white, straight teeth. He was ancient. He had been navigating these kinds of power plays for a thousand years, and Loki knew that he had shifted the power. Sacred Vishanti, Deathless Vishanti, protect me. Loki knows about my dreams.

There was no reason Loki had needed to report to me upon landing in the city to catch his prisoner… if he even had a prisoner to catch. A trick, it had all been a trick.

“So, you went into her mind to see if she had any knowledge of these dreams, but she didn’t,” I spat. The way that he had looked at her that day… Under normal circumstances I might have rolled my eyes, said a little quip and portalled the bastard to kingdom come, but I just froze, like I was frozen now. I remember being annoyed. I remember a flash of insecurity when Loki spoke with her, the way he looked at her like she was something to be stolen, something to be fucked. I remember the strong desire to beat him to death for it.

Loki nods. “She doesn’t know, I didn’t reveal your secret to her."

There it was, I suppose, conformation that she isn't behind these dreams. Nightmares.

"Really, you should thank me!”

“Stop speaking, Laufeyson.” Wong’s deep voice is the only thing anchoring me to the realm at this moment. “Why are you doing this? The snake, forcing yourself into her mind- I assume she was not willing.”

The dream I'd had the night after she and Loki had met had been one of the worst nightmares I had faced. Worse then anything I had seen even in real life. I had watched her die - not for the first time - but it had been so violent, so sharp and in focus and real. Slaughtered in her bed, and I was unable to stop it, unable even, to look away. Torture.

“Very few are awarded their soulmate on such a silver platter, Strange. Not only did you manage to discover her, you’ve been dreaming of her since before you even met.”

When I awoke from that dream, I couldn't stop my body from moving, and then I was halfway down the hall, padding shirtless and with bare feet, and then outside her door with my palm against the handle when I hear it. Gentle breathing. It had just been a dream. Just like the others.

There was a moment of silence, and then the dam broke, the rage courses like a floor through me; thrashing through me like the snake Loki planted; and in parallel to those minutes after I had awoken from my dream, I was mobilized.

“And you stayed here so I could kill you?” I hiss, releasing a wave of magic that should have blasted Loki back to the icy wasteland from whence he came.

The magic ripples right through him.

“I did not stay,” Loki replied, the illusion flickering, “but she interests me, and for her own safety, I thought it best to let you know.”

I haven’t slept in a month because every time I blink I find her mangled form behind my eyelids. Had Loki influenced that dream subconsciously? Perhaps Loki, himself, was involved in the dreams productions?

"Be gone, giant."

Loki looked as though me might hiss at me, himself, but a movement from Wong banishes Loki's visage.

“Don’t think about the dreams right now,” Wong mutters, as though I could push them from my mind at will. “We’ve got to go find her.”

Outside, we split up, both going in different directions to cover more ground. There was no trail. Nothing to indicate where she had gone. Nothing, period. It was like her magic had retreated deeply within herself, traumatized from Loki's violation. Wong and I had agreed to meet back in two hours at 11pm to regroup.

It feels impossible. The natural magic already present in the city is making it even harder to find her trail.

Deep breath, my inner voice commands. Find her, then panic.

My tracking spell bounces back to me like some preternatural form of echolocation, and there is nothing on it to indicate that it had found her.

If she’s hurt, I am going to lock Loki in the basement and let my friend down there enjoy him.

My mind replays the signature of magic I had found in her room. I can read it, I know he had trapped her against the floorboards of her bedroom, I know that he restrained her-

I grit my teeth. Stay calm. Just think about finding her.

Using a location incantation, I call to her in my mind, the basis for the spell centered around a memory of her, and I search for her magic, like I had done those months ago when I had sensed it walking past the museum. We’d chatted briefly, with me pretending to have an interest in Babylonian art, but I had been truly starstruck. In front of me was the woman I had dreamt about for half a year, and she was real, not just a trick of an ill mind.

This time the spell lets me know, that she is still far, but I am moving in the right direction, the trail fading in and out. I portal now, following the trail, uncaring of how the people around me react.

If she’s hurt, it’s your fault, the thought pierced through my concentration and the incantation breaks, forcing me to start over. She’ll never want you now, Stephen. How would you feel if you found out your soulmate, someone who was supposed to love you, had left you alone with a wolf? I start the spell again. You fell for Loki’s trick and now you’re paying the price. I start again. Hope she hasn’t been kidnapped, between the concerning lack of magic, and the probably disorientation, she wouldn't stand a chance. Some freak probably followed her into an alley. You hold back when you train her to fight, Stephen, you disadvantaged her in a real fight. You’ll be lucky to find her alive. This time I stop when I start again, pressing my hand against the brick of a building, something to ground my mind amongst its panic. If she only knew, knew that your dreams had made you search for her, that finding her in the museum hadn’t been a coincidence, she’d be horrified. You moved her in with you to keep her safe while you figured this out, but maybe it was you that she needed to be protected from. Images of the last dream flashed into my mind’s eye, broken bones and blood and gore in all its glory. That oppressive, villainous evil that had been hurting her to punish me for my moral failings, physically ripped her into two pieces along the vertical access of her body, guts connecting each half.

Stop, I demand of my mind. The spell bursts outwards, unable to be contained, the wave of magic exploding from me.

The magic returns seconds later, with just the hint of her on it.

I run east.

With that, we return to our hero . . . .

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AO3 Master Fic List

[gukyi]

four weeks | kth

summary: four weeks. that’s how long you’re trapped on campus after missing your flight home because of a grossly overtime final. and as you’re walking around your empty campus, thinking that you could sink no lower, you find yourself alone in the art building with a certain freshman-year-dorm-neighbor from hell, and he’s got an offer that you don’t think you can refuse: he’s staying on campus this winter break as well, and he’s happy to let you live with him.

or, four weeks is all it takes to fall in love.

{enemies to lovers!au, roommates!au, college!au}

pairing: art and chemistry double major kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, comedy, the whole nine!! word count: 20k warnings: alcohol consumption (be safe!), unwanted sexual advances (not between main characters and not at all explicit), and a ton of college tomfoolery. a/n: i’m finally finished with my very first semester of college! it was a lot, but finishing this fic was a treat after my damn finals, which were very stressful. this is part of the stranded for christmas collab, and i’m so honored to be doing this with such amazing, talented writers! please give them and their fics lots of love, and enjoy this super fun train wreck of a fic!

Admittedly, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century has never treated you particularly well. 

Your lecturer is about as interesting as grass growing, the readings are low quality scans of book pages with the tiniest font and absolutely no line spacing, and any friends you had in that class in the beginning of the semester dropped out of it by the time mid-September rolled around, leaving you trapped due to societal pressures and a History and Politics general education requirement you still have yet to finish. 

But, of all the things you could imagine Global Politics in the Twentieth Century doing to you, like charging you an exorbitant $200 dollars for a textbook you would never open anyway, burning your house down, or even straight up just murdering you, this is by far the worst. 

It’s bad enough that your final for Global Politics in the Twentieth Century is on the last possible day for finals at the latest possible time, but when the clock strikes 8:00PM and you have just about fucking had it with this semester, you realize that no one else is standing up. 

This panic intensifies as you begin thinking of all of the terrible things that could be the reasoning behind this: you’re just the dumbass who finished their final first and got all of the questions wrong, the clocks have yet to adjust to daylight savings and you think that it’s 8:00PM when really it’s 7:00PM, or, worst of all, your final is running overtime. 

You have only ever heard of horror stories about overtime finals. Things like having to cram the next three-hour final into one hour, or having to reschedule the final to some other time that is equally as conflicting. Stuff that is, to a normal human being, a minor to moderate inconvenience at best (and to an overdramatic college student—pure, unadulterated hell), but when this is the last final on the last day at the latest time, there are no other finals to be had. No other school-related scheduling conflicts barreling into you. 

It’s just your luck, really, that on the last day of the semester, at the latest time you are allowed to be here, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century would come back to bite you in the ass one last time. As if all the times you dozed off in class (or just plain skipped), forgot to turn in your reading analyses, and showed up late to your recitation are finally catching up to you. Like the very worst kind of karma that could ever befall you. 

Well, to be fair, it’s not as if the rest of the day has treated you any better. The entire time you’ve been awake on this fine December day has been an absolute trash can of a day. 

This is how the beginning of your very last day of the semester played out:

Your alarm went off at 8:00AM sharp, purposefully set that early so you could wake up and have a productive day studying before your final at 6:00PM.

You hit snooze and ended up waking up around 11:33AM.

You scrambled out of bed very inelegantly and attempted to get your life together before noon so you could at least have six hours worth of a productive study day before your final. 

You remembered that you hadn’t packed yet, so you spent the next hour frantically stuffing your belongings into the singular carry-on sized suitcase meant to last you through your month-long winter break. 

You also realized that you hadn’t done your laundry for the week (well, week and 6 days…), and you obviously want to bring clean clothes back home so you spend the next two hours doing your laundry and finishing up your packing.

By the time you finally managed to get the time to study, the panic had fully nestled itself into your bones, so you could not focus and spent the next three hours staring at your study guide and praying that osmosis would kick in so you could actually retain information. 

You left to go to your final five minutes later than you should have and then ran across campus (with absolutely no dignity left) in order to get there on time. 

You arrived at your final just in time, only for there to be technical difficulties with printing the exam because your professor is a procrastinator, just like you are.

The next thirty minutes were then spent contacting the IT department, attempting to fix the printer, having to go print in another building, and then coming back with the final exam to a room of aggravated students who thought that they would be thirty-minutes into the exam by now. 

You are taking the final exam. It’s stupid difficult and you’re absolutely going to tank it. 

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about half an hour.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour. 

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour and a half.

And on your very last day of the fall semester, your final runs overtime by two whole hours because of some mystic force determined to ruin your life, and your flight heading back home took off fifteen minutes ago. 

You know, it could be worse. You could have failed all of your classes. Instead, you paid an exorbitant $500 to miss your flight, fail your Global Politics in the Twentieth Century final, and end up trapped on campus for all of winter break because you don’t have the money to buy another plane ticket at such late notice (or at all). 

So, it could be worse. 

You trudge out of your final exam and try not to burst into tears on your way back to your dormitory. Barely anybody is left on campus now that finals are officially over, but you still want to save that last shred of dignity. As you’re walking down the pathway, you begin to feel wet splotches on your face. For a moment, you think that they are fat tears rolling down your face, but you look at the cobblestone beneath your feet and realize that instead, it’s raining. 

The perfect weather to match your mood, if you’re being honest. 

Not wanting to get caught in a downpour, you end up taking refuge in the coffee shop connected to the art building on campus. It’s a genius business design, if you say so yourself, because there is no one more dependent on caffeine than sleep-deprived, eyebag-laden art students. Surprisingly enough, there are still people behind the counter bustling around, so you use the last of your university dollars to order a peppermint hot chocolate to warm your insides (but not your cold, dead soul). 

From there, you take a quick detour to explore the art building, a building you have, admittedly, never really taken much of a look at. It must be empty now, with everyone off campus—except you, of course—which gives you the perfect opportunity to wallow in peace while admiring art. 

Walking inside, you stare at your reflection in the enormous glass walls. Look at your tired eyes, slouched shoulders, lips pressed thin, and hands warmed only by the heat of your cardboard coffee cup. Count each acne mark and hair out of place. It’s almost like you’re watching yourself as you look in the mirror, a third person standing in the background. The audience. Like the person who’s looking back at you isn’t you at all. 

It's quite artistic, actually. Ironically enough.

But no matter how picturesque, how cinematic this particular moment of your life is, nothing can really soothe you after missing your flight, failing your final, and pretty much having the worst day of your entire life.

Just then, you hear footsteps echoing down the halls.

You assume that it must just be a professor leaving their office, or even maybe one of the hardworking security guards, but as you watch the glass walls to catch a glimpse of who's passing by, you realize that it's not a professor, or a security guard, or even a very large mouse scurrying across the floor.

"I thought I would be the last one in here," Kim Taehyung says when he spots you, stopping in his tracks with a canvas about half the size of him underneath his arm.

"So did I," you muse in response, not really wanting to turn around to save yourself the trouble of talking to him.

Still, Kim Taehyung has always been one hell of an observant guy, so by the time he's stopped behind you, he's already peering into the reflection of the glass windows to look at who he's talking to.

"Y/N?" He asks, walking up to you with his eyebrow raised. He comes over, standing next to you as you look at each other's reflections in the glass. "Never thought I'd see you in here."

"Me neither, to be honest," you say. Seeing as you aren't a visual studies major, you never really considered the art building to be a location of top priority. Until now, that is.

The last time you spoke to Kim Taehyung was the last day of your freshman year, when everybody was getting ready to move out, packing up their belongings and removing the fifteen thousand Command hooks stuck to their walls. You and him made eye contact as you placed the last of your boxes for the semester into those enormous Residential Services carts, glaring at each other from your adjacent rooms. 

“First year flew by, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks, smirk lacing his features. 

“Thank God it’s over,” you tell him. 

“Not gonna miss me, huh?” Taehyung winks, and it makes you want to take this cardboard box filled with all of the notebooks and lined paper and folders you used throughout the year and chuck it at his head. 

“Miss you?” You ask with a scoff. With the final box finally out of your room, you can officially lock the door behind you, closing the chapter on your very first year at university. “Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

“Why are you still here?” Taehyung asks, tapping his fingers on the side of the canvas underneath his arm. “Thought you’d be off campus by now.”

“I had a late final,” you say, pretending that your life and every aspect of it is fine when it is, in fact, not fine at all. The best case scenario is that Taehyung accepts your bullshit answer for what it is and heads off to do whatever it is that he does, leaving you alone so you can wallow in pity and ponder the meaning of life. The worst case scenario is that Taehyung stays. 

And Taehyung has always been very good at picking the latter. 

“Ah, sucks, for what class?” Taehyung asks. You can’t tell if he’s genuinely curious or just wants to interrupt your personal self-wallow time for as long as possible. 

“Global Politics in the Twentieth Century,” you tell him with a sigh. You don’t want to have to hear, say, read, or write that name ever again. 

“Oh, really? I took that class last semester,” Taehyung says with an eyebrow raised, surprised. “I thought it was super interesting.”

As if you needed any more proof that you and Kim Taehyung are exact opposites in every way. You are hardly surprised that Kim Taehyung enjoyed Global Politics in the Twentieth Century—not when the two of them have so much in common, like inconveniencing you, being annoying, and sort of always having it out for you. It’s like they were meant to be together. 

“I can’t say I thought the same,” you say pointedly, lips pursed into a tight line. 

“Ah, well, I never did peg you for a history buff,” Taehyung says with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“Why are you still on campus? I thought art students had to turn in their final projects on the first day of exams,” you ask, turning the focus onto him. It’s obvious that he has no intention of leaving you alone, so your next best option is to interrogate him until the tension between the two of you is so suffocating, so thick and heavy, that he wants to leave. 

“I had a couple of chem finals after I finished up my art classes,” Taehyung says. Right. You forgot he was doing a double major. “And, my parents are actually travelling this winter break, so I was planning on staying on campus. Didn’t really want to go back to an empty house, you know?”

After the day you’ve had, you can think of nothing better than opening the door to your home, knowing that you have the entire place to yourself and can spend the night in your bedroom, watching Netflix. 

“You’re staying on campus?” You ask. Great. The only two people who will be on campus this winter recess are you and Kim Taehyung. Fantastic. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, clearly unaffected. He seems particularly unbothered by the fact that he can’t go home, almost like he’s been looking forward to having the entire university to himself. “You’re about to head home, then, aren’t you? Just taking a quick break in the art building?”

Well, almost to himself. 

The chances of running into Taehyung this winter break, despite being probably the only two people on campus, is still slim. It’s a big campus, and there are people who are not part of the university that walk on campus all the time. 

And still, you don’t know what you’ll do if you lie to Taehyung and tell him you’re about to fly home, and then bump into him at the local coffee shop. You might just perish. That might be what happens. 

So, for once in your life, you suck it up and tell the truth. For once. 

“Actually, I missed my flight because of my final running overtime, so I’m sort of stuck here,” you tell him, and as the words leave your lips it feels like your whole body gets weighed down, like you’re cemented to the floor.

It’s only then that Taehyung actually turns to face you, so you aren’t standing shoulder to shoulder and staring at the rain pattering on the pavement outside. You look at him, meeting his eyes and to your surprise, they aren’t filled with mirth. He hasn’t got this pleased grin on his face. He’s not milking this situation for what it could be milked for at all. He could be standing here, bathing in the satisfaction of your timely demise, and he’s not. 

He actually looks quite sad. 

“Really?” He asks, genuine. 

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s then that you accept your fate, resign yourself to the fact that you’re trapped on campus with no way (and no money) to get home, and try to look for the silver lining. “So, I’ve actually got to get going, grab my stuff and everything.”

“Oh, do you live off campus?” Taehyung asks. “We should get together sometime this break. Who else are we gonna talk to, right?” 

Spending time with Taehyung on your lonely-ass winter break sounds like the absolute worst thing in the entire world. It’s been two years since the last time you were forced to be within fifty feet of each other, so even having this conversation is taking you by surprise.

“No, I’m still staying on campus. But my dorm is closing for the winter break, so I need to go and find an Airbnb or something to stay somewhere,” you say, feeling your heart break at the notion of spending even more money this winter break after having watched your $500 dollar airplane ticket get flushed down the toilet. 

Taehyung stays silent, eyes gazing at the lines between the linoleum tiles on the floor. He’s stopped tapping on the side of his canvas, a painting which you still haven’t fully gotten a glimpse of. In the quiet of the art building, the dust settles, and you wait for Taehyung to say something. Anything. 

After a few more seconds, you decide that the two of you have been standing in awkward silence for long enough. 

“Well, I’ll see you around, I guess,” you say nervously, letting out an unnatural and forced laugh as you turn on your feet and begin to head towards the exit. You have no idea where you’re going to go or what you’re going to do, but what you do know is that you have to be out of your building by noon tomorrow, so you’ve got less than a day to figure it out. 

And then, Taehyung says the worst thing he could possibly say at this given moment:

“Do you wanna stay with me?”

You stop dead in your tracks. 

“What?”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Taehyung immediately clarifies, as if that makes the offer any less sudden. “But I live in an off-campus apartment year round, so you could always stay with me if you’d like. You wouldn’t have to book an Airbnb or anything. But you don’t have to.”

You close your eyes, feeling your chest rise and sink as you inhale and exhale. You can’t believe you’re actually considering his offer. You can’t believe that Taehyung would willingly offer up his personal abode, his private apartment to you, the freshman year next-door neighbor who knocked on his door every six hours to tell him to shut the fuck up. You cannot believe that you are on the verge of accepting. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, both eyebrows raised. Yes, the idea of free lodging and no-hassle appeals greatly to you, but you’re not so certain that Taehyung or you actually want this. After all, you spent all of freshman year hating on each other’s living habits as personal hobbies of yours. “You don’t have to offer just because I don’t have a place to stay. Seriously.”

“No,” Taehyung says, taking a step towards you. It’s barely a foot, but it feels like he’s a thousand miles closer to you than he was before. “I mean it. If you want to stay with me, you’re welcome to. I have a futon in my living room that you can sleep on. I’m being serious.”

You cannot believe that he’s asking this. 

You cannot believe you’re considering this. 

You cannot believe you’re about to say yes to this. 

“You really mean it?” You ask one more time, just so you can be certain. You’d hardly be surprised if this whole thing was just a mindfuck. 

“I do,” Taehyung says. “No matter what, I don’t think anybody should be alone for the holidays.”

“Then yes,” you say, letting Taehyung catch up to you as you begin to walk towards the exit, step by step. “I’d really appreciate it.” You turn to look at him, your eyes meeting his own chocolate brown ones, nearly ink black in the dark. You can’t offer much, certainly not anything to top this gracious proposal, but you smile, and he smiles back, and you think that’s enough. 

Your first order of business is trekking back to your dormitory and grabbing your fully-packed suitcase. At least spending an hour shoving as many of your belongings as possible into a tiny carry-on has its benefits despite you not setting foot in the airport. 

“Been a long time since we’ve done this,” Taehyung comments mindlessly as you walk through campus, following the cobblestone path as a shortcut to his apartment. 

“Done what?” You ask snarkily. “Hung out with each other?” You scoff. You and Taehyung spent all of freshman year skirting around each other, desperately trying to avoid contact while also banging on each other’s doors every ten minutes. It was essentially two semesters worth of shouting at each other through walls and sneering when you actually locked eyes. 

“Talked,” Taehyung simplifies, because he’s right. 

“Isn’t that what we were aiming for?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, turning to look at him as your suitcase wheel skips on a stone out of place. “I thought we had reached that consensus already.” It’s been a year and a half since you last spoke to each other. You were almost confident that, without any overlapping classes, you would be able to keep that streak going long after graduation. 

As it turns out, things change. 

“I don’t know if we ever actually agreed on that,” Taehyung says, thinking back. “Almost like it went…” he pauses, and you can’t be sure if it’s for dramatic effect or because he actually doesn’t know what to say. “Unspoken.”

The irony is not lost on you. In fact, it hits you smack dab in the forehead as you watch Taehyung’s curious expression morph into the sleazy frat boy one he wore so much back then. He looks very pleased with his pun. It makes you want to sock him in the face. 

And as it turns out, some things never change. 

You resist the urge to punch him in the shoulder because he offered you a place to stay for this break and you sort of (actually, really) owe him big time right now. But that doesn’t mean you can’t send a disapproving frown, which seems to do the trick. 

“I distinctly remember how you were so excited to never have to live next to me again when we moved out,” Taehyung says like he’s remembering a fun trip to the zoo. Almost like he looks upon the last time you ever interacted with each other fondly. 

You mentally sigh. If only freshman year you knew what was going to happen in the middle of your junior year. If only your final hadn’t run overtime by two hours. If only you had booked a later flight. 

If only. 

“I don’t remember that at all,” you lie like a liar, saying the words as the picture of you snarkily spitting them at Taehyung at the end of your freshman year plays in your brain on repeat. 

“You sure about that, Y/N?” Taehyung says, turning to look you up and down. He’s always been such a people reader, and you’ve always felt so helplessly transparent in front of him. Even back then. Even now. “Because I don’t really think that your memory is that bad.”

“Nope, no, I don’t,” you say quickly, trying to get Taehyung to stop eyeing you like you’re a question on an exam that he thinks is suspiciously easy. 

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter then, does it?” Taehyung muses as you round the street corner and his apartment complex comes into view. “Since we’ll be living together, anyway.”

“Miss you? Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

Before you can wheel your cart down the hallway and kiss your freshman year goodbye, Taehyung opens his mouth and says one more thing. You almost don’t hear him, too busy reminding yourself that you’ll never have to see him again, but then he says, “One day, Y/N, you’re going to realize that we’re closer than you think.”

When you walk into Taehyung’s apartment, your eyes zero in on these three things: the navy blue futon pushed up against the wall by his television and the fact that it doesn’t look like the kind of used furniture from off of the street that most college kids typically resort to, the little wooden kitchen table that looks straight out of a family-owned Italian restaurant (looks like the two of you will be eating dinner together), and the paintings on the walls. 

“Did you paint these?” Is the first thing you ask once you’re inside, putting your suitcase up against the wall as Taehyung takes off his coat. 

“Those? Yeah, I did them early last year. My walls looked so damn plain without anything on them.”

In freshman year, Taehyung seemed like the kind of artsy hipster who shopped at Urban Outfitters and put vinyl records on his wall with Command Strips but never actually listened to them. 

But the pieces on his walls aren’t vinyls of bands like Arctic Monkeys and Modern Baseball. They’re paintings, oil and acrylics and even a bit of charcoal. Still life and portraits and shadows. 

You had never seen one of his paintings before. You never imagined you’d ever want to, or even get the chance to. And now, you’re standing in the middle of his apartment, and you’re surrounded by them. 

“They’re…” You trail off, eyes bouncing from wall to wall as you take all of them in. There’s at least ten, one, if not two on each wall in sight. His bedroom is probably filled with them. His apartment’s not enormous, rather small since it’s only got one bedroom, but the paintings make the whole place bigger. Make it feel full of life. 

“They’re alright,” Taehyung finishes. He’s already grabbing extra blankets from the storage closet in the side of the wall. “They were assignments we had during the semester so I figured that they’d be put to good use on my wall.”

“It’s very impressive,” you admit. “Kind of a flex, but an impressive flex.” There is something so perfectly Taehyung about the fact that he’s got art all over his walls, but they’re his very own pieces that he has framed and hanging, on display for the entire world to see if they’d like. 

“They’d collect dust otherwise,” he says with a shrug. He tosses two blankets and a pillow your way, letting them plop onto the futon. “Are those enough blankets? It can get fucking cold in here, so I don’t want you to freeze to death or anything.”

And for a moment, you think that Taehyung has actually outgrown his asshole-y freshman days, maturing into someone with an actual moral backbone.

“How considerate,” you say sarcastically, “but I think I’ll be alright. I’m a big, strong girl.”

“Just don’t come crawling into my bed if you want a taste of that weighted-blanket life,” Taehyung says, pretending to flip his hair. “Though, I wouldn’t blame you if you did want to sleep with me.”

With a pillow right at your disposal, you waste no time grabbing it and chucking it straight at Taehyung’s face. He easily dodges, having spotted the move from a mile away, and chuckles. 

“Come on, Y/N, you can do better than that,” he says disapprovingly, shaking his head as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Your arm was much stronger back in freshman year.”

Scowling, you watch as he puts on the kettle to boil, letting the water begin to bubble as he goes about his business like he doesn’t have a guest in his living room that absolutely can’t stand him. 

And you realize that maybe Taehyung’s a couple of years older, a couple of years wiser, but that doesn’t make him a couple of years any less unbearable.

If you were a sleep-deprived engineering student three cans of Monster deep who, in their 4AM haze, invented a time machine to go back to freshman year, and you told your eighteen-year-old self that you would be living under the same damn roof as Kim Taehyung in two years time, freshman year you would probably sock you in the face. And ask you if you changed majors. Which, you did.

It’s not a far reach to wonder why. By the time October rolled around, the two of you had already established yourselves as archenemies until the end of time. 

It was a natural progression, really. Two tiny dorm rooms right next to each other, two beds pressed up against opposite sides of the same paper-thin wall, and two disgruntled freshmen trying their hardest not to die of alcohol poisoning. 

Now, you don’t have a track record for going to sleep at a reasonable hour. In fact, you don’t think you’ve gone to bed before 11PM since middle school. But is it really that irrational of you to want to get some well-deserved shuteye at two in the morning after a long day of procrastination and a long night of doing the studying you should have done during the day? Your roommate is fast asleep across from you, having gone to sleep at midnight like a regular college student who has her life together, which means that she’s immune to the fact that right next door, you can hear nothing but pounding drums making the very linoleum floor of your dormitory shake. 

Scowling, you scramble out of bed, sliding on your shoes to go give a certain Kim Taehyung a bit of a reprimanding. 

Why the fuck does he listen to heavy drums at two in the morning? What the fuck is he doing? Does he not own headphones, or anything that might restrict the sound to his own two ears and nothing else? Does he not have any respect for the people next door to him that might also have to listen to the sound of a thumping bass while they’re trying to go to sleep?

Some of you have 9AM’s tomorrow morning. And by some of you, you mean you. 

You quietly shut the door behind you so as not to wake your roommate, dead-bolting it so you don’t get locked out and have to trudge down to the Help Desk looking like a tired piece of non-recyclable garbage, and immediately bang on Kim Taehyung’s door. He hasn’t got a roommate, and you know he’s awake, which means that if he doesn’t respond, you’ll know why. 

Surprisingly enough, he does, opening the door and immediately grinning once he sees who’s on the other side, like he can’t get enough of the fact that his mere existence bothers you. 

“It’s 2AM,” you tell him, in lieu of a greeting. 

He checks his watch. “That it is.”

“Would you mind turning down the music? I’m trying to go to sleep.”

“This late, Y/N?” Taehyung asks, an eyebrow raised. “No wonder you’re always so cranky.”

“Maybe it’s because my next-door neighbor plays loud fucking music when I’m trying to go to sleep!” You say, already beginning to raise your voice like a loser who can’t control her emotions.

Which is exactly what you are, actually. So this is very on brand for you. 

“Hmm, never thought about it that way,” Taehyung says innocently. He’s got a gleam in his eye that says otherwise. 

“I’m being very nice to you right now, Kim Taehyung. Please turn your music down. Because it’s loud and you’re probably bothering other people as well,” you say, restraining yourself. If you were any more sleep-deprived you’d storm into his room and pound in his face like it was the fucking drums he’s listening to. 

“But you’re my only neighbor,” Taehyung says, a bitter reminder that you were unlucky enough to be the second-to-last room in the corridor, and he, the very last one. 

You inhale, trying to not lose your cool despite having probably already lost it. Kim Taehyung makes you want to tear your eyeballs out. Or buy heavy-duty earplugs off of Amazon Prime. The thing is, one of those options costs you money, and one is entirely free. So, it’s not difficult to see which one you’re leaning towards. 

“Taehyung, please turn your music down, or so help me God. I’m asking nicely,” you can feel the carbon dioxide paths coming from your nose as you breathe, in and out and in and out. 

“Just for you, Y/N,” Taehyung says with a grin. God. You could just straight sock him in the face right now. “It helps me focus, but so does getting to see you.”

“Perish immediately,” you tell him sharply before pulling the door shut, marching back off to your room. 

True to his word, Kim Taehyung does turn off his music. Or puts in headphones. At least he’s conceded.

That is, until you wake up to a crash of glass later that morning at 7AM, coming from only one direction. 

The fact of the matter is, everything you and Taehyung did that year bothered the other so immensely that hatred, pure, unadulterated dislike, was really the only thing that could have come out of it. 

“You still listening to loud ass drums in the middle of the night?” You ask, eyeing the speakers by Taehyung’s television as you sit on his couch (as far apart from each other as possible) and eat some leftover spaghetti. 

“I invested in some AirPods as a treat to myself last year, so yes, but don’t worry,” Taehyung says. He’s mindlessly flicking through the available Hulu options on his TV, severely unimpressed by every one of them. 

“Wow, AirPods, sounds like you’re moving up in the world,” you say callously. “At least I don’t have to listen to it with you anymore.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it helped me focus,” Taehyung says, all matter-of-fact about it. “It was from a Spotify playlist of modern orchestral music. You should give it a listen, it really gets you into the zone.”

“My relationship with classical music has, unfortunately, been tainted by a certain someone,” you remind him, taking the time to shoot him a glare just in case he doesn’t already know who exactly is at fault. 

“What a shame, you might actually like it,” Taehyung says sadly, shaking his head. 

“So what are the speakers for, then? If not for your fuckin’ drums,” you ask, motioning to them again as you slurp up the last of your spaghetti. It’s not as if you’ve got some sort of sacred reputation to protect in front of him. He’s seen you at your best (the first day of freshman year, when there was still light in your eyes), and at your worst (2AM, coming out of a drunken stupor, and bedhead-ridden). Like an ex-boyfriend, or something. 

“My friends really like singing karaoke,” Taehyung says. He points to the bluetooth microphones underneath the television as extra proof. 

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse to yourself. Taehyung always struck you as someone that needs people not to calm him down, but to elevate his already boisterous personality. Friends who are equally as unabashed as he is. 

“Since you’re here for a whole month, we should try it some time,” Taehyung suggests, taking the empty bowl from your hands and heading back to the sink to wash up. 

“You need help with that?” You ask, immediately getting up because even if Taehyung has a tendency to drive you up the wall, you’re still going to be a good guest.

“No, don’t sweat it,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “You know, I have karaoke for All I Want For Christmas Is You. Super seasonal, right?” 

You dust off your hands from where you’re standing, loitering in that weird halfway point between his kitchen and his living room. Checking the clock underneath his television, you realize that it’s already past ten. And while you haven’t gone to sleep this early in a while, being in Taehyung’s apartment makes you feel all sorts of strange. Subdued and exhausted, too grateful to be your normal aggressive and witty self. And after such a long goddamn day, passing out on his navy blue futon seems like absolute heaven. 

“Not right now,” you say, shaking your head. Karaoke is something that friends do with other friends. And despite currently living under the same roof, you and Kim Taehyung are not friends. 

(But perhaps you will be. And that’s the scary part.)

You sigh, absolutely tanked. It’s been a stupidly long day. “Maybe later.”

Living with Taehyung is a sort of strange limbo you never, in a million years, pictured yourself in. You aren’t close enough to be friends but you’ve matured out of being the true enemies you had both envisioned the yourselves as in freshman year. The both of you walk around his apartment like you’re afraid to talk to the other, waiting patiently for the bathroom when the other person’s inside, trying to keep yourself busy with nonexistent work (it is winter break, after all) and the apps on your phones. 

This is the sort of thing you dreamed of when you were a freshman. A Kim Taehyung that you could co-exist with peacefully. Someone who didn’t spend every waking moment of his life making every waking moment of yours unbearable. You used to find excuses to sleep overnight in the library (it was open 24/7, after all) just so you wouldn’t have to go back to your dorm and see his stupid face. Now, the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch minding your own goddamn business and doing two totally unrelated activities. In silence. The only noises being his refrigerator/freezer combo when it starts making ice and the sounds of your fingers hitting the keyboards on your laptops. Maybe he’s playing a video game on the Playstation 4 he keeps out in the living room, but he has headphones on and isn’t saying a word. 

It’s a very strange sort of limbo indeed, because no opportunities arise for you to become friends nor do any arise for you to become enemies. At this rate, you’ll live together for the month-long winter break and when it ends, you’ll go back to never speaking to each other again. 

And that, strangely enough, makes you sad. Makes you want to reach out to him, try and build up a relationship that last ended in absolute chaos so that when you leave this place, it won’t have been for naught. You will have gained something from it, no matter how small. 

But just like usual, Taehyung beats you to it. 

“Hey,” he says one day, walking into the living room and already pulling on his overcoat. “You free right now?”

“Yeah, why?” You ask, shutting your laptop as you turn to him. He’s all dressed up and you’ve been wearing the same hoodie for the past forty-eight hours. 

“Let’s get hotpot. I’m freezing and I want some hot soup and meat.”

So, you go and get hotpot. 

Like any normal university with more than approximately three East Asians enrolled, there’s a hotpot place right off campus that many a college student frequent. You have, admittedly, not been since freshman year, but this winter break you seem to be reaching back into all of those memories anyway, like a can of worms. Memory worms. 

“I’m starving,” Taehyung says as the two of you sit down. He’s already opening the menu, eyeing all of the different ingredients he can order for a simple All-You-Can-Eat fare. “Plus, I’ve been craving hotpot for weeks now.”

As if on cue, his stomach grumbles and you can hear it from across the booth.

“Even my tummy knows,” Taehyung says, placing a palm to his belly to soothe it. “Have you gotten hotpot before?”

“Yeah, but it was a while ago. I just never had the time to go for a whole two hours and pig out on food,” you say with a sigh. It’s been so long that you barely remember what it tastes like. 

“Then we’ll spend every minute that we’re allowed to here, eating as much food as we want and gaining a few pounds while we’re at it,” Taehyung says, determined. The waiter comes by to pour you both some water and he already begins to order, pointing to about fifteen different things on the menu before the waiter whizzes off. 

“I don’t think I heard a single word you told that guy,” you say candidly. Taehyung listed everything off so quickly that it went right over your head. 

“I just ordered a lot of food, so be prepared,” Taehyung says like it’s a promise. He’s got this glint in his eye, one that tells you that you should be glad you came on a fairly-empty stomach because it’s about to be filled to the brim. 

And prepared you are. Within five minutes of Taehyung ordering, there are plates and dishes and boards of food in front of you and a steaming pot of broth in the middle. There’s so much on the table that you can hardly see the marble table top underneath. 

Taehyung dives right in, clearly an experienced hotpot eater. He grabs two bowls filled with various sauces and pops a couple of the vegetables into his mouth as he waits for the broth to boil. And when it begins to bubble, he immediately begins dumping everything in sight into it, from meat to noodles to vegetables. It all looks ridiculously appetizing. 

When the first round of hotpot is over and done with, you already feel yourself starting to get sleepy just from the consumption overload. Taehyung, on the other hand, has apparently no limit and is already ordering more, pointing to another fifteen things on the menu. 

“Never thought we’d be doing this, did you?” Taehyung asks, and you can hear the knowing tone in his voice. Like he already knows how you’re going to answer him. 

“I have to admit that I never did,” you say. It must the food that’s softened you up. No wonder Taehyung invited you to a place where you can literally eat as much as you want in a two-hour timeframe. 

“This is nice, though, isn’t it?” He asks. 

And for once in your life, you agree. It is nice. Not just the food (though the food is very nice) but being with someone on a winter break that would otherwise be overwhelmingly lonely. Eating out with someone, even if it’s someone with whom your relationship isn’t all that strong, isn’t that sturdy. It’s nice. Because it means that, somewhere along the way, you both wanted something to change for the better. 

“It is.” You nod. “Way better than all the times we fought during freshman year.”

“Remind me why we never went to our RA to resolve things like we should have?” Taehyung says, but he doesn’t make it sound like you both made a mistake. He asks because he’s curious, and because the past is the past. 

“I think we were both too fucking prideful for our own good,” you say, shaking your head. You now would disapprove of you in freshman year so strongly. “We thought that we could either resolve it ourselves or spend the rest of our lives hating each other.”

“Isn’t that crazy?” Taehyung asks, holding up his water like it’s a glass of vintage red wine from the 1800’s. “That we thought that we could just spend the rest of our lives hating each other?”

“I was prepared to do it,” you say, taking another piece of meat from the hotpot in front of you, letting the steam waft from it like a tiny campfire. “With how big this school is, I was convinced that you and I would never have to see each other again. Never have the opportunity to change how we felt about each other.”

“But that’s not how life works, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you, looking into your eyes like he’s trying to reach into your soul, pick apart the memories of freshman year and watch as your relationship deteriorated as each day went by. “It doesn’t matter if we see each other every day for the rest of our lives or if, after this, we never say another word to each other. You will always have the opportunity to change how you feel about someone, even if you aren’t with them. Even if you aren’t seeing them at all.” He takes a deep breath, and reaches over the steaming pot of soup to nudge your shoulder with his finger, ever so slightly. It makes you look up at him, meet his dark brown eyes with your own, foggy from the steam. “That’s what makes us human, Y/N. We’re human because we can change.”

Your heart, still and silent, begins to thump. 

“Do you wanna go to New York?”

“Today?”

It’s early in the morning on Christmas Eve, and the two of you are wide awake after Taehyung’s neighbors a floor below him called the fire department as an early wake-up call for the entire complex. You’ve always been a light sleeper—Taehyung made sure of that in freshman year—but even he woke up as the fire trucks pulled up to the fire lane next to the apartment building. He came stumbling out of his room in nothing but a t-shirt two sizes too big and sweatpants hanging low on his hips, locks of his hair sticking every which way, face illuminated by the blue, red, and orange lights of the emergency vehicles beneath the window. 

And he stayed like that, even as the noise died down and the sun rose. He marched around looking like he had just rolled out of bed, barely sparing himself a second glance in the reflection of his refrigerator. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung responds like it’s obvious. “If we hopped on a bus now we could make it there by nine and spend the day there. How about it?”

“You mean, right now?” You ask, just as clarification. College and its many features have forced you to grow used to spontaneity, but it usually came in the form of “I’m hungry, so I am going to eat an entire bag of Hot Cheetos at this exact moment” or “Yes, my bank account is crying but these pants are very cute,” and not, “Do you wanna go to New York?”

“In a bit. Buses leave from here every hour to go to New York, especially since it’s the holiday season. Tickets are ten dollars. We could do it, if you’d like,” Taehyung says casually, like he’s suggesting that the two of you go grocery shopping or something else equally mundane. 

“Just for the day?” You ask, a girl of both many questions and a shocked expression. 

“Sure,” Taehyung says with a shrug, biting into a tomato as if it were a goddamn apple. “We can go to a museum or two, eat a nice lunch or dinner, and go ice skating at Rockefeller. See the tree, too. It’ll get us in the holiday spirit, don’t you think?”

And normally an outing to New York would have you planning weeks in advance, organizing reservations and buying tickets for entry into exhibits, but it’s winter break and you’ve got more free time than you know what to do with. 

And maybe you’d hate to admit it, but you need someone like Taehyung to get you off of your ass and out of the house, do something fun and spontaneous like college students do in the movies. 

Taehyung is practically a movie portrayal of a college student in real life. He’s spontaneous, secretive, sage. He’s artsy and worldly, paints but is also extremely smart and well-educated. He lives in a quaint off-campus apartment by himself and spends his days making friends and keeping busy. He loves to tease you, and has that sort of lopsided smirk that all casanovas do. And he is, as much as you’d hate to admit it, always been something of a looker. He’s got the same sort of handsome, classic look that young European men in paintings from the eighteenth century have, a portrait of them in the prime of their lives. One wink and he’d send every preteen girl in the audience to their knees.

And you? Well, you suppose you’re the tragically unlucky female lead who has to live with him until classes resume. 

Taehyung’s standing in the kitchen, leaning on the counter island as he scrolls for bus tickets on his phone. “There’s a bus leaving from the station in thirty minutes. Think we can make it?”

It might be the fact that you’ve been holed up in Taehyung’s apartment for the past forty-eight hours that makes you say yes. Or it’s the desperation to do something, anything, literally anything, to keep yourself busy this break. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that little voice in the back of your chest, one buried in the depths of your heart, that makes you go. Because there is something so wonderfully exhilarating about being spontaneous.  And there is something even more exciting about it being with someone you know. 

You grin. “Let’s do it.”

Two hours later, the two of you are standing outside Penn Station in New York City, staring at the road signs to try and orient yourself. It’s chilly and a little windy, but the sun beats down regardless, shadows of skyscrapers cast along the streets. 

You pull out your phone to pull up the Maps app, looking up directions, but Taehyung just begins to walk down 7th Avenue, not a care in the world. 

“Where are you going?” You say quickly, scrambling to catch up to him. This early in the morning, your breath still turns to fog as you jog towards him to meet his abnormally long strides.

“Do you want to go to the Met, MOMA, or Guggenheim?” Taehyung asks simply, like he’s trying to decide which type of Doritos to get in the chips aisle. 

“Uh…” you are, admittedly, not that particular to the art that you’ll see. Art does not have as much of an immediate relevance to you as other things in your life, like your bank account, or your final semester grades. “Why don’t you pick the museum, and I’ll pick the restaurant we go to?”

“Deal,” Taehyung says, that same devilish gleam in his eyes, a trick (or two) up his sleeves. Only this time, you aren’t afraid of what he’s got in store. 

You find that you are very much looking forward to it. 

Twenty minutes later sees the both of you standing outside the gigantic glass doors of the MOMA, surrounded by a pitch black exterior about as edgy and contemporary as the pieces of art inside. 

“You never struck me as a modern art kind of guy,” you tell Taehyung as the both of you walk inside, glass windows and ceilings on every side of you and a bustling crowd right in front of you. Modern art seems rather stuffy. And perhaps, two years ago, you would have equated Taehyung to such, but now, stuffiness couldn’t be the furthest adjective to describe him. He may be a little obnoxious and overwhelmingly charismatic, but he is certainly not stuffy. 

“I prefer Impressionism and the subsequent periods,” Taehyung tells you, another fact you never knew but happily stow away. “But I am, admittedly, a bitch for modern art, no matter how goddamn stupid it is.”

“Good to know we’re spending our money on a museum that will definitely be worth our while,” you say dryly, taking the two tickets from the woman behind the desk. You pick up a map while you’re at it, almost certain to get lost in this maze of a museum, but Taehyung is already zooming off, forcing you to scurry through the herds of people just to keep up his pace. 

“Do you know where we’re going?” You ask, entirely serious. You fumble to open up the map and suddenly you’ve got a piece of shiny paper larger than your backpack in your hands, overwhelmed. 

Taehyung stops, the two of you standing right by the middle of a doorway, blocking everybody’s path. And he places his hands on top of yours, lowering the map as you gaze up at him, wondering why the heck you haven’t moved to the side so you aren’t inconveniencing the thousands of people roaming the museum. His brows are soft, a little furrowed, like someone began to knit them together but then forgot halfway through. Like he’s thinking. Like he wants to tell you something. 

“No,” Taehyung says softly, large hands enveloping yours as he begins to fold the map back up, “I don’t know where we’re going.”

You open your mouth, about to prove your point, but Taehyung continues. 

“But I don’t need to. Because we’re supposed to get lost,” he tells you, honest, candid, and true. “That’s the whole point. It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.”

You scoff, heart a little warm on the inside but wit still sharp. “You sound like an infomercial for a cruise.”

Taehyung laughs, tilting his head back in the way that says that he means it. “I’m serious, Y/N. Please. We don’t need a map. We can guide each other. All we need is faith, trust…” He pauses, leaning in and waiting for you to finish his sentence. 

Begrudgingly, you give in, mostly because he’s too naturally charming not to. “And pixie dust.”

Taehyung grins, satisfied, before he catches you by surprise, takes your hand in his, and pulls you into the elevator. 

Much like the corrupt businesses whose main offices are only a few minutes walk away, you go from the top down. Taehyung says that it is like a very, very long slide. You say that it’s an extremely slow walk. 

He’s an art student. You don’t really know what else you were expecting. He stares at each piece until it bores into his eyes, fills up another cup in his soul, overflowing with color, with light and meaning and everything in between. Every now and then, he and you stop at the same one, inspecting each and every detail, and Taehyung will lean to the side and whisper in your ear. 

He will tell you what he thinks of the medium, what he thinks of this piece and what he thinks of the positioning of that specific object. He tells you not how he interprets it in the eyes of the artist, but what it means to him, and how he perceives it. And, as the hours pass, you realize that, while you have been in museums before, you had never felt like you were truly there. And here you are, standing in front of priceless pieces of art with a boy in love with art beside you, and he holds your hand as he takes you through what brings him more joy than anything else. 

(Well, besides perhaps, chemistry.)

When you reach the first painting and sculpture floor, Taehyung lets out an audible gasp. 

You round the corner and before you know it, you’re standing in front of what could very well be the most famous painting of the nineteenth century. 

“I forgot it was here,” Taehyung says distantly, like he’s forgotten who he’s talking to. In the ink black of his pupils, you can see the oil painting reflected, the thick blue and yellow brushstrokes, each and every line on the canvas. 

“Now, this piece I’m familiar with,” you say, standing next to him and staring up at The Starry Night, an artistic feat, worth more than probably a hundred times your tuition, and a legacy. The legacy that The Starry Night left behind is one that you see still reflected today. You see it in all of the other people in this little room, clambering over one another just so they can get a glimpse. You see it in the little children who draw self-portraits in art class, Sharpies and markers and crayons littering the page. 

And you see it in the boy next to you, who loved something so much he knew that he would be doing it for the rest of his life. He would be following a legacy, forever, until he forged one of his own. You look not at the art but as Kim Taehyung gazes at it, memorizing each and every stroke and imprinting it onto his brain. And you finally realize what art means: passion. It means that it fills you up, flows through your blood and into your heart, consumes you. And it means that the only thing you can do to prevent it from eating you alive is to spread it, and let others get a taste of the madness. 

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it,” you muse. You don’t know much about art but when there is something so mesmerizing, so stunning, in front of you, it’s difficult not to notice. 

You feel Taehyung turn his head, letting the gaze of his piercing brown eyes rest upon your figure for a split second before he turns back. “It is,” he says. 

The way that the two of you go through art museums, by the time you emerge, it’s already dark and the streets are beginning to empty as tourists and cityfolk alike find places to eat, walking into every bar, restaurant, cafe, and house on the hunt for a good meal, whether homemade or curated. You had spent nearly an hour in the gift shop alone, laughing at the overpriced t-shirts and kitschy pillows. 

“Where to next, m’lady?” Taehyung asks as you push open the glass doors and let the biting cold hit your noses. 

“You know, we were so busy in there that I didn’t even have time to find a nice place to eat tonight,” you admit sheepishly. 

“That’s alright,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I like surprises. Spontaneity is my thing.”

“You don’t say,” you comment sagely, making Taehyung roll his eyes. 

Knowing that it’s nearly impossible to get a reservation now, you and Taehyung make your way south, following the flow of traffic heading towards Times Square and keeping an eye open for any places that look relatively nice and busy, but not too busy, the perfect sign of both a delicious and available restaurant. 

After walking for a few blogs, cuddling together (in a totally platonic way) to preserve as much body heat as possible in the now freezing weather, air no longer warmed by the sun’s rays, you stumble upon a tiny hole in the wall Mediterranean place. You can’t really see anything inside due to the fog on the window, forming from the combination of cold air and hot, but Taehyung does a quick google search and says that it’s a modern Mediterranean restaurant that specializes in pizza. Google says it has two dollar signs. You hear the word pizza, and everything pretty much goes out of the window. 

“Hi,” Taehyung says as you squeeze through the little hallway to get to the host, voice warm and silky. “Table for two?”

“Your last name, sir?” The man asks. 

“Oh, we don’t have a reservation,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. You two are college students. It’s not like you plan ahead anyway. 

“That’s okay, we still ask for every customer’s name for a more personalized experience,” the host says. He leans forward, eyes wide, waiting for Taehyung to respond. 

“Kim,” Taehyung says simply as the host gathers two menus and a wine list. 

“Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” the host says, and you open your mouth to correct him (Because you are not married. You’re not. You’re not even dating. This is not a date. It’s not a date, right?), but Taehyung puts a finger to his lips and tells you to zip it. It’s almost like he’s enjoying this. 

For the rest of the evening, the wait staff all address you and Taehyung as Mr. and Mrs. Kim, which is absolutely outrageous for multiple reasons: you are college students, you both look like college students, you’re not dating, you don’t act like you’re dating (other than the hand-holding and cuddling which was purely out of survival and nothing else), and most importantly, you’re not interested in each other like that. That part is obvious. Isn’t it?

When you order a glass of champagne each they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When Taehyung has a question about one of the ingredients on one of the pizzas they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When you order your food they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they come by to clarify Taehyung’s request of no anchovies they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they bring these massive pizzas and place them down on your table, wishing you a pleasant meal they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. 

Mr. and Mrs. Kim, they call you. 

“Everything alright, Mr. and Mrs. Kim?” Your waiter asks as you’re plowing through your individual pizzas very inelegantly. 

“Yes,” Taehyung grins cheesily. “Thank you very much.”

He’s positively beaming. 

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” You ask, a single eyebrow raised. 

“This pizza is really good,” Taehyung tells you. 

“Not that,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You know that Taehyung knows exactly what you’re referring to, he’s just being annoying about it, as per usual. “The whole ‘we’re married’ thing. You like it, don’t you?”

“The “Mr. and Mrs. Kim’ thing?” Taehyung says with a smile. He’s relishing in the feeling, especially when it’s obvious that you’re not as keen on the collective nickname. “I fucking love it. You don’t?”

“We’re college students,” you remind him. 

“So? That means that they think that we look old enough to not be college students. I consider that a win, especially because Jimin always says I look twelve,” Taehyung says with a shrug. 

“We’re not married,” you add. It’s the truth. 

“You’re right, we’re not, but Mr. and Mrs. Kim has such a nice ring to it, don’t you think? I love the way that it sounds,” Taehyung says. He basks in it. 

“We’re not even dating, Taehyung,” you say with a sigh, exasperated. Doesn’t he get it? It’s weird, being Mr. and Mrs. Kim, because you never have been. There never was a Mr. and Mrs. Kim. And quite frankly, there never will be. “We’re not even interested in it.”

“Who says?” Taehyung asks, and the path he’s directing this conversation down is not one you’d like to take. It’s rocky and bumpy and unclear, hazy with fog. You don’t do fog. You like when things are clear cut and visible. 

“I do,” you say with a frown. “Are you interested in dating me, Taehyung? Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to date you right now. Or, like, at all.”

Taehyung pauses. His brows are furrowed again, but all the way this time. He stares down at his pizza, and he contemplates. You sit there and watch him, feeling the weight of every second as it passes by. Were you too harsh? Maybe you were. But it was the truth, and he deserves something honest, even if it’s brutal. 

“Oh,” Taehyung says, like he wasn’t expecting those words to come out of your mouth. What you said has been lingering between you like smoke, refusing to dissipate. “Well, I—I guess that makes two of us.” It’s obvious that there’s something else there, just underneath the water, but you don’t press further. It sounds like he’d rather keep it hidden. 

When you leave, the waitstaff bid you goodbye exactly as you had predicted. 

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” they say cordially as you and Taehyung pull on your coats and hats and gloves and head out the door. 

“You too,” Taehyung says softly after a few seconds, like he was waiting for the words to fade away before speaking. “Thank you.”

Your bus leaves from Penn Station at 9:30 that night, and it’s barely seven. Plenty of time for you to continue exploring, see Times Square all lit up like it’s New Year’s Eve, go up to the top of the Empire State Building, or even take a peek into Central Park at nighttime, when the moon is high and the lanterns are lit. 

“How about we go ice skating?” Taehyung suggests as the two of you walk along the pavement, side by side. Your hands are buried deep into the pockets of your coat. 

“At Rockefeller?”

“Sure, why not?” Taehyung says. That sentence pretty much sums up your trip to New York thus far. “I’ve always wanted to go skating and see the tree during Christmastime. When else will we get the chance?”

Five minutes later you’ve paid for rental skates, a locker for your shoes, and a ticket to the rink. Visible right next to you is the enormous tree, the lights twinkling and cameras flashing as everyone scrambles to get their Instagram picture to prove that they actually went to the tree at Rockefeller Center in New York City. 

When the zamboni is finished and the employees have skated over the ice enough to increase the level of friction, Taehyung and you balance on your skates as you walk towards the entrance. Slowly, everybody begins to glide on, wobbling at first before eventually getting the hang of it. There are a couple of small children holding onto those little penguin skate assistants, laughing as their older brothers and sisters guide them along the ice. 

“I’ve never skated before,” you admit nervously, about two seconds before you’re about to enter the rink. 

Taehyung’s mouth drops open. “Never?”

“No,” you reiterate, even more nervous than before. “I have no idea what I’m doing, I just said yes because like you said we’re in New York and it’s nearly Christmas and we should just seize every opportunity that we have and—”

“Y/N,” Taehyung says, calming you down as he ushers you away from the entrance so you aren’t blocking other people’s paths. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry,” he tells you, holding onto your wrists to make you look up at him. “I can show you how to. It’s easier than it looks, I swear. I won’t let you fall. You just have to trust me, alright?” He shakes your wrists to catch your attention, make sure that you heard him. “Alright?”

Deep breath. Inhale, exhale. 

“Alright.”

Everything is, in fact, not alright. No matter what Taehyung says, ice skating is way more fucking difficult than it looks. Taehyung steps onto the ice and it turns into second nature for him, gliding around a small circle to get warmed up as you cling onto the side railing like an idiot. You have no idea how to move, you have no idea where to go, you just shuffle along the railing with the rest of the children who are far younger than you, also trying to skate for the first time. 

This is embarrassing. 

“You’re a liar,” you tell Taehyung pointedly as he circles around, coming up to rest next to you. You’d point at his chest for emphasis, but you’re afraid you’ll fall without both hands on the railing at all times. “This is—” you pause, remembering that there are children present, “—very difficult.”

Taehyung just chuckles. “You have to be brave, Y/N, come on,” Taehyung implores. He holds out his hand, motioning for you to let go of the wall and take a leap of faith. 

“No, I will not be brave. Please let me be weak,” you beg, scared for your life. One wrong move and you’d go splat in the middle of the rink and embarrass yourself in front of all of New York City. 

“Come on, Y/N,” Taehyung says, holding his hand closer. “You said you trusted me. I told you, I won’t let you fall. Come on. Be brave.” And then he adds, leaning in to meet your eyes, “for me?”

He’s always been too charming for your own good. 

Tentatively, second by second by painstaking second, you remove your hands from the railing, first the left and then the right, as Taehyung pulls you right next to him, holding on tight. 

“See?” He asks as you begin to move on your own, Taehyung’s short glides pulling you along the ice. “Look, it’s not that bad.”

“I am scared for my life right now.” You blink. 

“Focus on me, okay,” Taehyung says, making you meet his eyes once more. “Eyes on me, alright. You’re doing fine. You’re skating, isn’t this fun?”

“I am terrified that I am going to perish on this very rink,” you repeat for emphasis. 

“Look, Y/N, look! You’re skating!” Taehyung tells you, and finally you glance down at your feet and realize that they’re beginning to move on the ice, all on their own. 

“Oh my God! I’m skating! What the—heck!” You say, eyes widening in excitement. 

“I knew you could do it,” Taehyung says, hands gripping on tight. You can feel the warmth from his palms seep into your own, feel the back of your hand burning from the touch. “You just had to trust me.”

“This is so cool,” you say, immediately very pleased with yourself. “I’m such a pro, I can do anything. Who said skating was scary?”

Taehyung opens his mouth to respond, but you shoot him a warning glare and he zips his lips. 

“Watch this, I can even do it on my own. You’re gonna be very impressed, Kim Taehyung, just watch me!”

Within the next moment, you’re letting go of his hand and pushing yourself away from him, gliding along the ice ever-so-slightly as you begin to balance on your own. 

But power is short-lived, and much like every leading male in Greek tragedies, your hubris gets the best of you, and you face the ultimate demise. 

The moment you attempt to pick up your left foot, your right toe pick gets caught in a dip of the ice and you go toppling over, collapsing onto the ice in a cold, bruised ball. 

Luckily, your coat takes most of the hit, its length preventing your knees from hurting into the next century, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. Ashamed of yourself and even more mortified to have to face Taehyung after boasting about how amazing you are, you slowly push yourself off of the ice, wobbling like a baby deer. 

“What was that, Y/N?” Taehyung says with a raised eyebrow as he skates over. He’s clearly just recovered from a laughing fit. 

“Fuck off,” you mutter, and you don’t even care if children hear you. “I got excited.”

“Clearly,” Taehyung notes, eyes wide and knowing. He holds out a hand, and before you even have time to think of a snarky retort your palm is reaching out for it, letting him pull you up off of the rink. “Here. Come on.”

One hour and two fairly bruised knees later, you and Taehyung are taking off your skates and relishing in the feeling of your feet, flat on the ground like feet should be. 

“You alright?” Taehyung asks. You didn’t have any massive falls following the first spectacle, but you admittedly, still cannot ice skate very well. You’ll have to figure out a way to learn. 

You round out the night by going to look at the Christmas Tree. Now that it’s fairly late, the massive families with young children have all gone home, leaving only the young adults left to bask in the glory of the peak of Christmas decorations. 

“It seemed bigger in photos, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks as the both of you crane your necks to look at the tree in all of its glory. “Like it was the size of a small tower.”

“Yeah,” you agree. It looks somewhat disappointingly small, now that you’re here in front of it. “Today was a lot of fun, Taehyung. Your spontaneity paid off.”

“When does it not?” Taehyung asks, proud of himself. He even has enough of an ego to do a little hair flip, making you shake your head disapprovingly. “But I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I certainly did.”

“What was your favorite part?” You ask. 

“Definitely when you were in your prime for one moment and a puddle on the ice the next,” Taehyung says, and for that, he earns a punch to the shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But I did really enjoy ice skating.”

“Yeah, because you can actually do it,” you remind him. 

“What about you?”

You think. This day has been so long, from getting woken up by Taehyung’s irresponsible neighbors and the entire city’s fire department outside your window, to hopping on a bus to New York, to museums and restaurants and ice skating and the city, you feel like you’ve lived three days in one. 

“The museum,” you finally decide. “I’m not really an art person, but I thought it was lovely. Nice and heated, too.”

“Yes, the best part about the Museum of Modern Art was its modern, state-of-the-art central heating,” Taehyung repeats, making you laugh. “I’m glad you liked the museum. I was worried you’d think it was too stuffy.”

You had thought that too. And then you watched someone fall in love with each and every piece, right in front of you, and you realized that there’s more to art than putting a price tag on it and critiquing it. It’s passion, materialized. It’s real.  

It’s Taehyung. 

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “I thought it was beautiful.”

On Christmas Eve, it snows. 

Correction: On Christmas Eve, it snows a lot. 

Correction for the correction: On Christmas Eve, it blizzards. 

When you listened to “White Christmas” last night, this isn’t exactly what you had in mind, if you were being honest. Maybe an inch or two. Maybe even just a flurry. But certainly not nearly two feet worth of snow, effectively trapping you inside of Taehyung’s apartment complex until the next day because not even the snow plows are allowed to go out on the roads. Not until the snow stops. 

“Good thing we don’t live on the first floor, right?” Taehyung asks with a laugh that late afternoon, taking a peek out of the window to stare down at the white expanse below you. “I’d hate to be those guys.”

“It must be so cold,” you say sadly. You’ve spent the better part of today huddled up in as many blankets as Taehyung owns in his apartment and you have no intention of shedding even one of them. Not even as you sweat right through your pajama shirt from high school. 

“We can just make dinner here, tonight,” Taehyung says, fishing around in his kitchen to see what the options are. It’s already beginning to get dark even though it’s not even five o’clock. God, you hate winter. 

“What are we making?”

Taehyung fumbles through the cabinets and his fridge, hunting for anything that might make a good meal. Eventually, he pulls out two cartons of Trader Joe’s vegetable broth and every vegetable in his fridge. 

“Wanna make soup?”

Soup is very easy to make. You set the broth to simmer, chop up vegetables, and dump them in the pot. 

But the idea of you and Taehyung sharing his tiny kitchen space, both with knives in your hands is, well, a recipe for disaster.

Luckily no knife mishaps occur, but, like the children at heart that you are, you eventually end with pelting uncooked lima beans at each other in the most adult version of a food fight you have ever had in your life. No fuss, no mess, no tomatoes or key lime pies or spaghetti doused in sauce getting chucked across the kitchen floor, the dinner table. 

No, your little food fight ends with you and Taehyung kneeling down on the tile as you pick up each little lima bean, gathering them in your palms. 

You make to toss it out but Taehyung stops you. 

“Wait,” Taehyung says, a hand on top of yours as it hovers over the trash can, “don’t toss them out.”

“Huh?” You ask. 

“I’ll feed them to the birds,” he says, taking the pile from your hands and placing all of the lima beans, along with his own, in a Ziploc bag. 

“You have a porch out here?” You ask, looking around. You’ve never seen it. 

“No.” Taehyung shakes his head. “They land on my bedroom window sill so I feed them.”

When you were in freshman year, you remember how Taehyung always left his window open. You know this because even though yours was always closed, anytime a police car, fire truck, ambulance, or particularly loud motorist drove by, the sound was always loudest on the wall of your room that bordered Taehyung’s. You hated how he always left his windows open, even in the winter. Wasn’t he goddamn cold?

And now, even though it’s Christmas Eve and there’s a blanket of snow outside nearly two feet deep, Taehyung will go and open his bedroom window again and feed the birds lima beans like a fucking Disney prince, and it makes your heart flutter, ever so slightly. 

You end the night sitting on Taehyung’s couch, only a foot or so of space in between your bodies as he multitasks, channel surfing and gulping down your homemade soup. 

“I haven’t made soup in a while, but damn, this is good,” Taehyung says, drinking the rest of it before getting up to help himself to seconds. He sticks a hand out to take your bowl as well, and wordlessly you hand it to him. 

“It’s my magic touch,” you tease. It was not. Taehyung did most of the work. You don’t have much of an affinity for cooking.

“It’s my chemistry brain,” Taehyung corrects. “Chem is basically like making soup.”

“But it can kill you,” you tack on.

“But it can kill you,” he agrees, returning to the couch. This time, when he sits down, he plops right down next to you, your sides touching as you sit in front of his television, slurping up homemade vegetable soup. “How’s your major? What is it, again?”

“English with a minor in Psych,” you say over a mouthful of carrot. 

“Sounds like too much reading for me,” Taehyung comments. “I’d only like picture books.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” you tell him sarcastically. “But it’s going well. I’m thinking of maybe adding Consumer Psych as another minor since there’s a lot of overlap, but I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.”

“Sounds busy,” Taehyung comments. 

“Almost as busy as visual studies and chem,” you remind him. “Seriously, do you ever sleep?”

“Inspiration is a fickle mistress and the will to do my chem problem sets, even more fickle,” Taehyung muses like the two subjects aren’t the absolute bane of his existence. “But yeah, I mean, I made it this far.”

“Our majors are so different,” you comment. They are. Encompassing all sides of the college major spectrum, from STEM to art to humanities. The only thing you’re missing is a business minor. But only snakes would ever be interested in something like that. 

“It’s nice,” Taehyung decides. “Because this is forcing us to talk with someone with whom we don’t already share all of the same classes with.”

“I couldn’t imagine taking the same class as you,” you say, not because you’d hate having to be in the same room as Kim Taehyung or dread the potential to be paired up for group work, but because your tastes are so different. They’ve always been different. Art, English, chemistry, psychology. Headphones or speakers. Closed windows or open. It’s always been opposites with the two of you. 

“Maybe I’ll take a psych class so that way we can,” Taehyung says. 

“Maybe I’ll take an art history course,” you retort.

“You’d really take an art history course? They’re awfully boring, and I’m an art major,” Taehyung says, in disbelief. 

You ponder it for a moment, but then nod. Yes, you would. Even if it sent you to sleep. Because it looks genuinely interesting. “After today, I wouldn’t mind it. You showed me a lot about art, Kim Taehyung. More than I thought I would ever learn in my lifetime.”

Taehyung sighs, shutting the television off. You guys weren’t watching it anyway. You hardly realized it was on. He looks down at his empty soup bowl, and then at you. He always does that—always looks somewhere else before looking at you, like he has to muster up the courage by first staring at an inanimate object. And then he says, “You’ll never stop learning about art. Neither will I. It’s a constant cycle, learning and relearning and changing your mind and revisiting old pieces. Because art is all around us.”

He looks at you, like he’s trying to say something else but doesn’t have the words. “You just have to look for it.”

New Year’s Eve is often a time of reflecting on the year that’s passed, making a list of goals to achieve once the clock strikes twelve. Thanking your friends and family, your loved ones, for being there for you this year, and promising to be there for them as well next year. 

To you and Taehyung, it’s literally your last chance to get piss drunk this year without repercussions. You’ve never stayed here, at your university in the city, for New Year’s Eve (obviously). You’d be interested in getting all dressed up to go out. Taehyung would also be interested. 

And so, after a day of slouching around and making half-assed resolutions you know you won’t keep (like managing your time better. As a college student? Impossible.), you and Taehyung decide to get dressed up and go out, pulling out the winter jackets you don’t care if you lose, or if they get trashed, or if they stain with vodka. All you want is to lose your goddamn mind in a tiny club with a bunch of other wasted young adults who don’t want to stay at home on the last night of the year. 

You are, unsurprisingly, a self-proclaimed not-a-going-out person, but tonight is something of an exception. It’s your last night to do this this year, and honestly, you can’t really think of a better way to end the year. There’s been plenty of ups (that A+ on your paper on the ethics of Beowulf, yay!) and plenty of downs (Global Politics in the Twentieth Century, yikes), and no better way to say goodbye to them all than with alcohol in your system. But even if, during the regular college season, you’re something of a stick in the mud, you remembered to pack a nice party dress just in case, so you tug on a little black velvet mini-dress that sparkles rainbow in the light, covered with tiny glitters that get stuck in your hair and never come out. 

As you’re fishing around for some tights that you don’t care about so your legs don’t freeze off in the cold, the door to Taehyung’s bedroom opens. 

Out he walks in all of his New Year’s Eve glory, a full black ensemble complete with structured belt and a leather jacket. You turn around to look at him and he stops dead in his tracks, eyes blinking like he doesn’t know where to look. It gives you a clear view of him and his simple yet extremely flattering outfit. He looks like Danny Zuko. He looks like a boy you would avoid in high school. 

Funnily enough, seeing him now draws you closer to him.

“Wow, hot stuff, you clean up nicely,” You comment, tugging on some black tights with a hole in the back that no one’s going to notice. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” he adds on, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t even know you had this.”

“I packed it just in case,” you say with a shrug. 

“Came in handy, didn’t it?” He asks. He comes up to stand by you, holding his arm out for you to wrap yours around, two people on a mission to not remember most things about this night. “You ready to go?” 

Stuffing your phone and wallet into your purse, you quickly link arms with him as you walk to the door, your black boots clopping on the floor like the obnoxious high-heel owner you are. 

“Yeah, you ready?” You ask, doing a quick double check. You’ve got everything. 

“Let’s fuck some shit up.”

And fuck some shit up you do. By the time you reach the club that Taehyung had found online, you can already hear the bass pounding through the walls, feel the ground shake from the speakers alone. Go big or go home, you suppose. 

As you expected, the club is already packed with bodies. Every young adult within a twenty-mile radius is out tonight, eager to spend the last night of the year doing what young adults in the primes of their lives do best: drink. And you and Taehyung are no exception. 

Like everybody else entering the club at the same time as you, you make a beeline for the bar, already itching to get something into your system. You don’t love being drunk, and you like the taste of alcohol even less, so you just order a simple cocktail that should keep you occupied for a while. 

Taehyung, on the other hand, well. He seems to harbor the go big or go home mentality quite firmly. It’s obvious that he’s here to do one thing and one thing only, which is not remember what he did when he wakes up tomorrow. You watch, a little impressed and a lot nervous about what exactly he’s trying to achieve, as he downs several shots in a row, pays the bartender, and immediately pulls you into the crowd of people dancing in the center of the room. 

“The more I move, the faster my body can process the alcohol,” Taehyung tells you as your cocktail sloshes around in the glass in your hand. It’s an alright cocktail. A little too sweet for you, but you suppose that that’s your fault. 

“Wow, when you said you wanted to fuck shit up, you meant it,” you comment as Taehyung dances, jumping and swaying to the beat of whatever Top 40 pop song is blaring from the speakers. You can barely hear the music over the volume of the rest of the club, people shouting to speak to each other, the sound of feet hitting the floor. 

Within approximately fifteen minutes, Taehyung is already fairly tipsy and eager to keep going, bubbling over with excitement. 

You convince him to dance a little longer before he goes back to get more, trying to make sure at least a bit of the alcohol he had at the beginning of the night goes through his body. The song changes to something much sultrier, like honey dripping from the speakers themselves, and suddenly, the entire club’s atmosphere changes. 

“I love this song,” Taehyung says, and it must be the lack of control that causes him to place a hand on your waist and pull you in close to him, making you gasp. 

“Wow, okay,” you comment, blinking. Taehyung rests his chin on your shoulder, leaning down as he holds you tight, your bodies swaying in tandem. 

“You don’t mind this?” Taehyung asks. 

“Not if you don’t,” you respond. He’s practically drunk, and you’re even a little buzzed. There are worse things you could be doing. 

“This is nice, isn’t it?” He inquires aloud. It’s a good thing that you can’t see his face, can’t watch the haze in his eyes, otherwise you might lose your footing and collapse. 

“What is?”

“This,” Taehyung repeats unhelpfully. 

The next three minutes are some of the most confusing ones of your life as Taehyung rests a hand on your waist, palm rubbing up and down as the two of you dance together like it means something to the both of you. 

But it doesn’t, does it? You chalk it up to both of your minds not being as sharp with some alcohol in your systems. That must be it.

When the song ends, the mood disappears as well, and Taehyung’s back to his bouncy, tipsy self. He’s practically stumbling over himself once he determines that it’s time for more shots, and you’ve never seen Taehyung drunk before but you can tell that he’s nearly there. You’ll probably put a hard stop on the drinks after this round, since Taehyung is the one most familiar with the way back to his apartment and you wouldn’t mind going home and sleeping after this.

“Come with?” Taehyung asks as he eyes the bartender like he’s the love of his life. 

“No, it’s alright, Tae,” you say.

“You never call me Tae,” Taehyung comments mindlessly. Even when he’s nearly drunk, he still picks up on the little things. 

“I guess the alcohol is making me soft,” you admit. “You go. I’m gonna find the bathroom and hope that nobody’s having sex in it.”

“Okay,” Taehyung singsongs as you pull away from him, looking for a dingy hallway to go down. “Be safe.”

“You too, I’ll be back soon,” you promise him, and that’s when you go rushing down the hallway.

Things are certainly weird down here. It must be the feeling of the new year looming over your heads. Like this is the last night to do everything wrong without regretting it in the morning. The bathroom is, luckily enough, empty, so you rush in and splash your face with some water, not caring about if your makeup runs. You’d sweat it off, regardless. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and this feels so stupidly like a goddamn romantic comedy that it makes you want to laugh at the irony. 

Beautiful male art student lead gets drunk, confuses hardheaded and impenetrable female lead who doesn’t believe in love and supposedly hates beautiful male art student’s guts. Tension ensues. 

Your life may as well already have a shitty Rotten Tomatoes rating stamped on top of it. 

After collecting your thoughts and praying that that white stain on the wall isn’t what you think it is, you leave the bathroom and scurry down the hallway, eager to find Taehyung and make sure he isn’t bouncing off the walls after a second round of shots. 

He’s not. 

Instead, he’s still standing by the bar as a beautiful young woman speaks to him, long dark hair resting against her shoulders and a model-esque smile on her face. She’s leaning in with a suggestive look in her eyes, a hand coming up to rub at the side of his arm. 

You furrow your brows as you watch them from afar, a little hurt by the fact that beautiful male art student lead is confusing hardheaded and impenetrable female lead even more, but then you notice Taehyung’s hesitance. The way he backs up a little when she gets closer. How he stiffens when she touches him. 

And, well, fuck that. 

 “Tae,” you say, rushing up to him faster than you’d like to admit. “There you are, I was looking for you.” 

The girl next to him frowns at the sight of you, and it’s clear she feels no shame to hide the immediately dislike. Sure, you don’t have model proportions or a smile whiter than snow, but you have morals. 

“Who’s this?” You ask, trying to be nice. 

“Nobody,” Taehyung tells you, and his hand immediately interlocks with yours. Standing next to him, you can feel as the tension fades from his body, his whole demeanor relaxing now that you’re by his side. “She just wanted to talk.”

“Are you a friend?” She asks, because she knows. 

“I’m a special type of friend,” you say. There’s no way she’ll leave Taehyung alone otherwise. And this is definitely on the cocktail you drank (and nothing else, you swear!), but you even reach up to plop a kiss on his cheek for proof. Taehyung’s eyes widen as you do, but he plays it off as catching him off guard and grins, wrapping an arm around you to pull you even closer. “Can we help you?”

The girl is absolutely pissed, which means that you did your job. 

“No, it’s alright,” she hisses through gritted teeth before turning her sights on someone else. Someone without a friend to protect them. 

“Thanks,” Taehyung whispers once she’s gone. Even though she’s probably not coming back, Taehyung keeps you close, a hand on you at all times like you’ll fly away if he doesn’t hold on tight. 

“Of course,” you tell him. “You’d do the same for me.”

“She scared me,” Taehyung says, and if his red face is anything to go by, it’s clear that he’s pretty much reached his alcohol intake limit. “I’m glad you came.”

“I could tell you didn’t want to talk to her,” you say. 

“Because I wanted to talk to you,” Taehyung says, and it’s definitely the alcohol that’s erased his filter. “I was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom and she just came up to me and started flirting with me. I think she wanted to get in my pants. I didn’t want her to get into my pants.”

“I know.”

“I’d much rather be with you than with her. Than with anybody else. I would always want to be with you, instead.” He tells you, keeping your hands firmly intertwined as you lean against the bartender counter. 

And well, huh. That’s different. Taehyung’s aforementioned lack of a filter means that any thoughts that run through his mind immediately turn into spoken words, but you weren’t expecting those words. You never thought you;d hear them, not in a million goddamn years.

“Okay, Tae,” you say, patting him assuringly. He’s just drunk. That’s all. 

“I’m serious, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you firmly, pushing your comforting hand off of his shoulder and turning to face you directly. “I mean it.”

“I know, Tae.” you reassure him. It’s easier than trying to fight him, especially when he’s this hammered. You check the time on your phone. Maybe it’s time to leave. If you go now, you’ll be able to make it back by midnight. “Let’s go home, okay? I’m ready to go home.”

Wordlessly, Taehyung nods, and the two of you leave the club before people are even thinking about ringing in the New Year. 

When you reach Taehyung’s apartment, he takes off his leather jacket to hang on the coat rack and turns the television on. Only three minutes to midnight. 

“I had fun,” you say, trying to lighten the conversation. The way back was silent, the only noises the sounds of New Year’s Eve parties on every block you turned onto. Taehyung kept his face forward and his eyes ahead, even as you tried to huddle close to him to conserve the warmth. 

“It was sort of fun,” Taehyung halfheartedly agrees. 

“Did you drink too much?” You ask. His face is still beet red. 

“I don’t think I drank enough.”

Two minutes to midnight. 

You frown, brows furrowing. Why on Earth would Taehyung want to drink more? What would change if he had another shot, a can of beer or a little cocktail?

Slowly, you begin to peel off your own layers, resting your coat on the back of the couch and slipping off your boots. The both of you stand in his living room as the TV begins to buzz with excitement, the broadcast of Times Square lighting up the otherwise silent, tense atmosphere. He’s only a couple of feet away but it feels like he couldn’t be farther from you. 

One minute to midnight. Everybody begins to count down, and you feel yourself holding your breath. 

“Will you be alright going to sleep?” You ask. Even if Taehyung’s still drunk, he’s far less bouncy than he was at the club. 

“I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, beginning to walk past. 

Three. 

“Okay.”

Two.

“Okay.”

One. 

Something overtakes Taehyung, something quick and brief. He stops right next to you and flinches, like he wants to lean in and do something, anything, goddamnit, but stops himself before he goes through with it. Everyone on television is cheering, but this apartment couldn’t be less festive even if you tried. 

Taehyung sends you a small smile as the world rings in the new year, dashing off to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. 

And you stand there, in the middle of his living room like the goddamn fool you are. Turning to the television, you watch over and over as every couple in Times Square kisses, clip after clip after clip, and like a goddamn idiot, you wish that Taehyung had done the same. 

The end of winter break approaches faster than you’d like it, just like it does every year. Before you know it, there’s less than a week left before classes resume and you go back to the daily college life. Less than a week left before you can go back to your dorm and pretend like this year’s winter break mishap never happened. 

Less than a week before you and Taehyung go back to never seeing each other. 

You’re sitting at his kitchen table, clearing out your backpack and recycling every paper, every syllabus and assignment and study guide from last semester, doing a deep cleanse of your life (because holy shit, you need it), when you come across the purchase you had made at the MOMA. 

“Taehyung,” you call out before you can stop yourself. 

“Yeah?” He asks from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading a James Joyce book. You love that novel. It was one of the very few you read for fun last year. 

You take the small paper bag in your hands, walking over to the couch. “I almost forgot about this, but since winter break’s starting to wind down, I just wanted to give you this as a thanks. For everything.”

“You got me a belated Christmas gift, Y/N?” Taehyung asks as you hold out the gift, clearly something thin like a posterboard or an art print.

“If it means I don’t have to buy you two things, then sure, consider this a belated Christmas gift,” you say with a laugh, sitting down a foot away from him as he slowly opens up the packet. “It’s sort of cheesy and very basic, but I just wanted to get you something nice as a thank you.”

Out Taehyung pulls is a print of van Gogh’s The Starry Night, big enough to fill up the empty spaces on his walls, so every inch of his apartment, of his life and his home, is filled with art. 

“Oh my God,” Taehyung says, mouth agape. “This is…”

“It’s basic, I know. But I know how much you loved seeing it in person, so I thought that a memory of that would be nice,” you say, trying to ease the nervousness that has bubbled up inside of you. 

“It’s wonderful,” Taehyung says, and you swear you’ve never seen him so happy, other than perhaps when you saw the real thing. “This is so fucking thoughtful of you.”

“I just—you told me a lot about the art we saw that day, but when we reached this painting, you were speechless. And I sort of knew, then, that it was your favorite piece. Because you didn’t have to explain it with words,” you tell him. “I could just tell. It was like your whole body warmed up the moment it came into view.”

“I’m touched, Y/N.” Taehyung beams. “This is all an art student could ever want, really. To be able to know that their love for art meant something to someone else.”

“I just wanted to say thank you for everything. Taking me in, cooking me food, being really nice me despite me entrenching on your living situation.” You smile. 

“I was happy to do all that stuff,” Taehyung tells you honestly. “I’ve had a lot of fun this winter break, even if we’re still trapped on campus.”

You loved getting to go home for winter break your freshman and sophomore years. You loved being able to escape from the college mindset and just relax, no deadlines, no assignments, no worries. 

But looking back on it, you think that you’ve had the most fun this winter break, stuck at school, a five-hundred-dollar plane ticket short, with your dorm neighbor-slash-nemesis from freshman year. Never have you done so much in so little time. 

“Yeah, me too,” you say, thinking back fondly. It feels like this winter break has lasted for years, but also as though it went by in the blink of an eye, 

“I have something for you as well,” Taehyung says, scrambling up to dash into his room. “Consider it just a Christmas gift, because I don’t really have to thank you for letting you stay at my apartment for free for a month.”

“Roast me, why don’t you,” you muse jokingly, rolling your eyes as Taehyung fumbles around in his bedroom before he emerges with an equally flat, similarly-sized gift wrapped up in some spare tissue paper. 

“I don’t recall you buying anything at the MOMA,” you tease as Taehyung hands you the gift, settling back down on the couch to watch as you open it. 

Slowly, you peel back the tissue paper, and when you reveal what he’s wrapped up for you, it drops to your lap. 

It’s a portrait of you, done entirely in pencil. It’s you smiling, with your eyes closed, lashes fluttering. He’s memorized your entire face, drawn it neatly onto this piece of sketch paper, like he was just passing the time and suddenly he had a picture of you on his hands. He’s even remembered where your freckles go. 

“What’s this, Tae?” You ask, like you don’t already know. 

“Uh, it’s you,” Taehyung says sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on drawing you, I didn’t have a gift in mind, but I was practicing sketches the other day and an hour later I looked down and I had drawn you. And I felt bad for not telling you, because that’s weird, so I thought that you could see it.”

“You drew a portrait of me? Just randomly, from memory?” You ask, looking down at the sketch in your hands like it’s just ruined your life. 

“Yeah, so?” Taehyung asks. He looks terribly nervous. 

“So, that’s—people don’t just do that, Taehyung. You don’t just draw a picture of someone purely from memory while you’re practicing sketching,” You say, reeling back as he tries to lean in, attempts to explain himself. 

“What do you mean? I did that. I thought of you and I drew you, what’s so bad about that?”

“I don’t know if you missed the memo, Taehyung. I told you in New York. We’re not dating, Taehyung,” you tell him, so firm and certain in your conviction that you hardly pay attention to the way his shoulders sink. “We’re barely even friends. I’m not interested in you like that. Please don’t think otherwise.”

“Don’t tell me what to think,” Taehyung snaps, and he’s mad. Really mad, not like the fake anger from freshman year when you tried to get back at him by being an equally-annoying neighbor. “Don’t tell me how to feel. I drew you, Y/N. Not because I’m obsessed with the idea of us getting married, or because you’re my muse or some bullshit like that. I drew you because I thought of you, and I draw what I think of. Don’t tell me what to fucking think.”

“Do you like me, Taehyung?” You ask, on the verge of shouting.

Taehyung’s furious. “So what if I do? Huh? What difference does it make? You’ve told me over and over that you don’t like me back, so why does it matter? It’s not like I’d ever have a chance.”

“I told you because I didn’t want to confuse you,” you hiss, standing up and beginning to grab your belongings. It’s clear that this conversation is turning sour. 

“Confuse me? You didn’t want to confuse me?” Taehyung shouts. “You did a damn good job at that. Telling me in New York that you hated being called Mr. and Mrs. Kim, but holding my hand as we walked around the city and looked at art together. Kissing my cheek in the fucking bar but then patting me like on the back like I’m just a sadass friend of yours. Can you blame me if I was confused, Y/N?”

“I told you,” you say again. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Taehyung bites. “I’m sorry that I fucking fell in love with you, even though half of the time you acted like it was alright. My mistake.”

“It was your mistake. I never said I wanted to date you,” you tell him firmly. You refuse to take the blame for something you had made so explicitly clear. 

“Can you fucking blame me for being hopeful?” Taehyung asks. He’s standing up, about to head back into his bedroom, absolutely furious. “You held my hand and kissed me on the cheek and I thought that meant that you felt it, too.”

“Taehyung—”

“Keep the portrait, Y/N,” Taehyung spits. “I don’t ever want to see it again.”

He slams his bedroom door. 

It’s a good thing you made friends with some upperclassmen when you were a freshman. 

After packing your belongings into your little suitcase and standing in the lobby of Taehyung’s apartment complex, you remember that one of your old friends who had graduated last year still lived in an off-campus apartment since he would be beginning graduate school at the same university. 

“Yoongi?” You ask when you hear him pick up your call. 

“Y/N? What’s up?”

“Long story,” you say with a sigh. “Would it be alright if I stayed with you until school started?”

“Holy shit, you’re on campus? What the fuck, yeah, sure, you know where I live. I’ll be here whenever you stop by,” he says without question.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing outside his door, double checking to make sure you’d got the right apartment. 

You barely get the first knock in before the door swings open to reveal Min Yoongi himself, clad in all black and looking very tired. 

“Are you okay?” You ask. He looks exhausted. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, ushering you inside. 

“Have you been up all night?” You ask, resting your suitcase against the wall. 

“I took a brief nap between two and three, but yes, I have been,” he says like it’s natural. 

“You’ve always been a chaotic sleeper,” you say with a shake of your head. 

“The grad school grind stops for no one,” Yoongi says with a sigh. “What’s up? Why are you on campus?”

“It… it’s a long goddamn story. Do you have time?”

“I have a piece due for a small indie band tomorrow at noon that’s barely finished,” Yoongi says.

“Oh,” you say. You suppose the story can wait. Yoongi offered up his abode to you until classes resumed if you needed it, and there’s no way in hell you’ll be going back to Taehyung’s. 

“What do you mean, ‘Oh’? I got loads of time,” Yoongi says. He plops down on his couch and motions for you to sit next to him. “Tell me everything.”

Yoongi has always been a particularly good listener. Not just to other people’s words, but to music, to the sounds of the chords and the notes of the piano. He has an ear for things that most others would never notice. 

It’s the same thing for when he’s doling out advice. 

“To clarify,” Yoongi says when you’re finished telling your story, thirty minutes later. You had warned him that it would be a long one. “You had once hated his guts, but no longer hate his guts?”

“I stopped hating him after freshman year,” you admit, more to yourself than to Yoongi. It’s true. The moment the two of you stopped seeing each other, everything dissipated. 

“And now you like him.”

“We’re friends,” you say, tentatively. Maybe less than friends after the disaster that just went down in his living room. 

“But he drew you a portrait of yourself,” Yoongi mentions. 

“I said that it was complicated,” you say with a frown. 

“It doesn’t sound that complicated,” Yoongi says. And maybe he is a graduate student with more life experience under his belt than you, but you think that it’s pretty complicated. 

“What do you mean?”

“It sounds like he likes you, and you like him. I wasn’t really interpreting it in any other way,” Yoongi says casually. 

You reject the notion immediately. “I do not like him.”

Yoongi frowns. “Would you really be here, in my apartment having a relationship breakdown, if you weren’t confused about your feelings for him? Really?”

“I just needed to get out of his damn apartment, that’s all,” you say, avoiding eye contact. Yoongi has this very annoying habit of being extremely reasonable all of the time, and it bothers you immensely. 

“Sure, okay. Y/N, I’m not gonna dictate how you feel and try to change your mind, or anything. But if you can look me in the eye before the end of your break and tell me, one-hundred percent honestly, that you don’t like him, then I’ll believe you,” Yoongi tells you simply. “How about that?”

It sounds like a very doable deal. Maybe it’s not doable right now, but it certainly seems possible in the future. In the future, specifically. 

“Fine. But you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” you tell him matter-of-factly. Why does he care? It’s not like you’re worried about it. 

As it turns out, you’re worried about it. 

You’re worried about it because even though you’re not in the same room, not in the same building, not even on the same goddamn street as him, you’re thinking about him. Thinking about how much fun the two of you could be having right now as you relish in the last couple days of your winter break before the cold reality of school hits. 

Think about the things you could be doing. Exploring, going out to restaurants, finding new little gold mines in this city that you call home. And instead, you’re moping around your friend’s living room wishing that the two of you hadn’t ruined the whole thing. 

Maybe you had been too harsh. Taehyung has a right to be mad at you for lashing out at him. How was he supposed to feel? You held his hand and kissed his cheek and pretended that it was still freshman year, that the two of you were still just two people stuck together by unfortunate circumstances. Acted like nothing had really changed despite the years going by. Going through with all of these adventures with him knowing, in the back of your mind, that once classes started back up, you’d probably never make an effort to see him again. 

Drawing a portrait of you says one thing, but dancing around him says another. Every time you fucking see Yoongi in his own goddamn home you try to muster up the bravery to tell him that you don’t like Taehyung the way that he thinks you do, and you can’t. 

He sets up his pullout couch in his living room for you when you go to sleep that night, you dream of Taehyung. Envision him wandering the halls of a nameless museum, priceless pieces of art hung along every wall, from van Gogh to Monet to Picasso. He turns back around so you get a view of his face, dream up his curly black hair and soft eyes, sparkling with wanderlust as he roams the corridors, stopping to spare a quick glance at every painting he passes. 

And then at the end of the hall, he pauses in his tracks, looks up at the painting on the wall. You watch as the camera zooms in on what he’s looking at, what made him stop in his tracks the moment he laid eyes on it. 

It’s your portrait. A simple piece of paper out of a sketchbook, graphite on the coarse canvas. It’s barely more than a line drawing, your eyes here, your nose there, the little freckles that decorate your skin. It’s only in one color and still, even now, it leaves you speechless. Taehyung made that. He drew that, line by line. He made that for you. 

You wake up in a cold sweat at seven in the morning. Yoongi’s fast asleep in his bedroom, and you know he won’t be waking up until the hour on the clock reads double digits. Frantic, you scramble through your backpack until you pull out the sketch paper a little bit larger, a little bit thicker than the rest, still wrapped up in tissue paper. 

Pulling the paper away to reveal the canvas, you stare down at it in the hazy light of the sunrise, small rays beginning to stream through Yoongi’s window. Your fingers trace along each line, picturing Taehyung as his pencil scratched along the paper, over and over until it looked perfect. Taehyung made this. He sat down, thought of you, and drew this. 

A picture may be worth a thousand words but this one doesn’t say a thousand words. Instead, it only says three. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you flip the sketch over to see if there’s anything else he’s drawn. There isn’t, but you find a little note in the bottom right corner. 

Y/N,

I hadn’t realized that I had drawn you until I was nearly finished with this. My bad, but it was too late to stop. I don’t know if I’ll ever give this to you, or if I’ll just have a guilty conscience for the rest of my life, but just in case I do, I want you to know this: art inspires me, and you are no exception. 

Tae ♡

When Min Yoongi wakes up that day and trudges out of his bedroom, he finds you sitting on his pullout couch, staring down at a sketch in your hands. When you turn to look up at him, he sees your red eyes and wonders how long you’ve been out here, crying. 

“I can’t do it, Yoongi,” you tell him. 

“Do what?” Yoongi asks, even though he already knows the answer. Why else would you be letting your tears drip onto your portrait?

“Tell you that I don’t like him. Because I do. And I can’t lie to him like that.”

Yoongi grins. He knew you’d come around, like you always do. You may have quite the stubborn streak, but you’ve got a big heart, and it always gets the best of you. 

He sits down next to you, glancing down at the portrait. It’s gorgeous. Taehyung did a wonderful job. He looks at you as you cry over a sketch of yourself, and he thinks that, even if he doesn’t really know this Taehyung character, the two of you will make a perfect pair. 

“You should tell him that,” he tells you with a nudge. You look up at him, scared for your life. “I think he deserves to know.”

The night before winter break ends, you ask Taehyung if tenants of his apartment complex are allowed on his rooftop. He says no, but also says that his landlord is out of town for the holidays. 

In the biting cold of a mid-January evening, you climb up the stairs of his apartment complex and push open the heavy metal door to the rooftop, a gust of wind nearly blowing you right over. Looking around, you spot Taehyung in nothing but a sweater and a scarf, sitting on the edge of the rooftop and looking out over the city. 

“Aren’t you cold?”

He turns around to find you standing next to him, wrapped up in a long coat, gloves, a beanie, and a scarf. 

“I’ve got a warm body,” Taehyung tells you, looking back out into the sea of lights. 

“This is scary, isn’t it?” You ask, sitting down next to him. Your feet dangle off the ledge, and normally you’d be insistent on sitting in the middle of the rooftop where no danger can befall you, but this feels a lot more personal. 

“Why did you want to meet me up here?” Taehyung asks, all business. 

“I just wanted to talk,” you tell him. “You know, since it’s the last day of winter break and all.”

“It went by fast, didn’t it?” Taehyung muses. 

“I remember failing my final and missing my flight like it was yesterday,” you remember fondly, laughing. It seemed like the end of the world at the time, but there’s always a silver lining. You just didn’t know what it was, back then. 

You think you have a pretty clear idea of it now. 

Taehyung chuckles, letting the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you gaze out at the rest of the city. Taehyung’s apartment building isn’t particularly tall, but it’s got enough height to it that it feels like you’re looking out over a place you hardly recognize. There are so many things you don’t know about this city, despite having lived here for over two years. So many things you are aching to find out, and only one person you’d really like to do it with. 

“What’s your New Year’s Resolution?” You ask randomly, interrupting the quiet that had befallen the both of you. 

Taehyung jumps at the sound of your voice piercing through the atmosphere, caught off guard. You lean in, expecting him to answer. 

“Oh, um, I guess to draw and paint for fun more. A lot of the stuff I’ve been making in school I’ve been doing because I had to,” Taehyung says quickly. It’s sort of obvious that he made up the resolution on the spot. “Uh, what’s yours?”

You press your lips into a thin line, smiling to yourself. “To be honest.”

Taehyung scoffs at that. “Believe me, Y/N, you are more than honest. Brutally so.”

“To others, yes,” you reason. You always were a tell-it-like-it-is sort of person. “But I’m not very good at being honest with myself.” You swing your legs slightly as they dangle over the ground below, kicking into each other. Taehyung turns to look at you, waiting for you to continue. “Yoongi says I’m a very stubborn person. I always have been. Once I determine something is the way it is, it’s very difficult to change my mind.”

Taehyung chuckles to himself. He’s probably quite familiar with that aspect of your personality. 

“But I realized recently that sometimes, things change without you even realizing it, and that instead of being afraid of those changes, you should embrace them. So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to be more honest with myself, because I think I’ll make everybody around me, including myself, happier.” You continue. 

“Good for you,” Taehyung tells you mindlessly, turning back to face out towards the city. 

“Kim Taehyung, I’m not finished talking, yet,” you demand, forcing him to look back at you. “I hated you in freshman year. You were the worst thing to happen to me that year, annoying and full of yourself. And I didn’t know you in sophomore year. We stopped talking and decided that it was better if we never did again.”

He lets out a little huff of breath, visible in the cold night air. 

“But I do know you now. You offered me a place to stay when I missed my flight after what might have been the worst final I have ever taken in my entire life. You took me to New York, and we made vegetable soup together. You let me hold your hand and kiss you on the cheek, and you drew me a portrait,” you say firmly. He looks up at you and finally, finally, his eyes aren’t foggy. There’s no haze, no mist. You look into his eyes and you can see yourself reflected in the ink black of his irises. He’s beautiful. He’s sitting on the ledge of the roof of his apartment building in the middle of January with nothing but a sweater and a scarf on, and he’s beautiful. “You are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Before you can even take another breath, Kim Taehyung places a cold palm on your scarf-covered cheek and pulls you into a bruising kiss, his other hand wrapping around your waist as you shuffle along the ledge, closer and closer. And even if his hands are cold and his lips are chapped, his mouth is warm and soft, wanton and desperate. You beam at the feeling of his lips on yours, wrapping your arms around his neck as you ring in the New Year for real. This is how it was supposed to be. This is what you had been waiting for. 

When you part, Taehyung’s lips are a cherry red to match the tip of his nose. His brown eyes are twinkling, and not from the light pollution of the city. 

“Can I be honest, too?” Taehyung asks. He’s got the biggest goddamn grin on his face. “I think I’m in love with you.”

The words are music to your ears. “My honesty is rubbing off on you,” you tease. “Because I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Smiling, grinning, positively fucking beaming, Taehyung wraps his hands around you and kisses you again. It warms your heart from the inside out, blossoms like a tulip in spring. When you started this winter break, you thought you had reached your lowest point, but you’re finishing it on a high that you hope never fades. He loves you, he loves you, and most importantly, you love him back. And as it turns out, the movie where beautiful male art student lead and hardheaded and impenetrable female lead are stuck with each other for four weeks has a happy ending, after all. 

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