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littlemissnoname13 · 3 years

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Wisps of Smoke (Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!reader) - Part 5

Summary: y/n and Draco find themselves drawn to an abandoned classroom every night

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader ft. Theo Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini

Warnings: Excessive smoking, mature language and themes, smut labeled as ⚜️, 18+ content, reader discretion is advised, also Draco is kinda soft in this one. Just sayin.

A/n: Ik this was supposed to be the final part but I wanted to wrap things up properly. The last part will be dedicated to the ball itself.

A massive thank you to everyone that has read WOS. Your feedback makes me so fkn happy. I love you all sm.

Word count: 3700

Link to Part one, two, three, and four if you haven’t read them already.

My other stories are over here. And you can join my tag list here.

As always, Smoking is injurious to health y’all.

24th December

Home was just the way you’d remembered it.

From the Goldchild Ivy covering the white colored walls and the stepping stones leading all the way to the main entrance to the way your parents kept nagging you about your “future” with Adrian Pucey.

“You still haven’t told me what kind of dress you’d like to wear to the ball.” Your mum reminded you after taking a small sip from her wine glass.

“I don’t know mother.” You sighed,stabbing repeatedly at the sautéed mushroom on your plate. “Can’t I wear something I already own? Like the blue one I wore last year.”

“Well, what is Adrian wearing? May I suggest some colour coordinating?”

“I really don’t know mother.” You coughed.

“Well, why don't you ask him?”

“I can't.” You mumbled dropping your fork on your plate. The loud clanging sound earned you an eyebrow raise from your otherwise quiet father.

“Why not?”

“We broke—we aren’t seeing each other anymore.” You said quietly before quickly standing up and dismissing yourself from the dining table before your parents could ask you a thousand questions.

As you walked away from the table and towards the balcony, you could still hear your parents calling after you while simultaneously speculating about just what you may have done to scare Adrian away.

You weren’t going to tell them about Draco because you weren’t even sure what to tell them.

I broke up with Adrian because I’m sleeping with Draco Malfoy.

Yes, the one that is getting engaged soon.

No we’re not together.

I may or may not have developed feelings for him.

Yes, it is inconvenient because I have no idea how he feels.

Did I mention he is getting engaged?

You tugged on the sleeves of your sweater to warm your hands up as you stared up at the surprisingly clear night sky splattered with only a few clouds and shimmering stars.

You took it upon yourself to start counting the stars to distract yourself from thinking about Draco again.

Unbeknownst to you, Draco was standing on the balcony of his room trying not to think of you too.

The only difference for him was that the sky was a little less cloudy where he lived and he wasn’t going to bother counting stars.

“Happy Christmas Draco.” You whispered to yourself,staring at the shiny emerald ring on your finger.

“Happy Christmas Y/n.” Draco mumbled into the night air as he fidgeted with your amethyst ring.

~~~~~~~~~~

25th December

It was a surprisingly quiet Christmas Morning at the Y/l/n household.

Your parents were still fast asleep when you walked towards the kitchen to fix yourself a cup of coffee.

It was probably because your parents hadn’t quite processed your break up with Adrian and had spent their night discussing it.

Seeing it was Christmas, you decided to put a dash of white chocolate and whipped cream in your cup of caffeinated goodness in order to feel a bit more festive.

You were feeling anything but festive.

There was a kind of dread crushing your insides when you thought about the ball.

You’d have to watch him dance with her and kiss her lips at midnight.

Fuck, you’d have to congratulate him after he slipped a ring onto her perfectly manicured finger.

Just when you were about to take a sip of your drink, you heard a knock on your door.

You frowned and walked towards the door because it was way too early on in the morning for anyone to come over.

When you yanked the door open, you saw him of all people, standing on the other side of the door with his white blond hair messier than usual.

He was wearing one of his rare genuine smiles that showed his pearly whites making you feel wobbly in the knees.

“Draco—What are you doing here?”

“Happy Christmas to you too.” He said with the smile still fixed on his lips. “Tell me y/l/n is this how you greet all of your houseguests?”

“How rude of me.” You muttered to yourself still befuddled as you stepped back to let him in. “Come in, sit down. Cup of tea?”

“I’m actually in a bit of a hurry.” He said as he fidgeted with his blazer pocket. “Just came to drop off something—ugh hold this.”

He placed a pack of cigarettes in the palm of your hand before fumbling with his pocket again.

“Ahh. There we go.” He retrieved a lilac colored box from his pocket and brought it back to its normal size before handing it to you.

“What’s this?”

“What does it look like y/n?”

“But—But I haven't even gotten you anythi—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, tenderly pressing lips against yours.

The softness of his lips made the heaviness you were feeling on your shoulders fade away as you faded into him—only him and the way he held you firmly around the waist as he suckled on your bottom lip.

“Thank you.” You whispered burying your face into his chest, trying to inhale a scent of his cologne. “Thank you.”

When Draco left, you ran up to your room and opened the lilac box to find a blush coloured slip dress folded neatly with a note on top of it written in his neat handwriting.

~~~~

Dear Y/n

I really am sorry about what happened to your old silk dress but I just couldn’t help myself.

I hope you’ll understand.

I also hope I get to see you wear this one someday.

Yours,

D.L.M

~~~~~~~~~~~

26 December

The day after Christmas, the boys decided to do a little cleanup.

Quidditch and house memorabilia, novelty artefacts they no longer cared enough for and items of emotional value.

The boys wanted a fresh start.

A clean break.

A clean slate.

Theo and Blaise were done with their cleaning so they were now at the Manor helping Draco who was surprisingly not very convinced about the whole “fresh start” ordeal.

“Remember this?” Theo chuckled, clearing out all the books that covered Draco’s desk and using his wand to cast a quick spell that revealed carvings they’d made the summer before their second year.

“Oh?” Blaise gleefully raised his eyebrows walking towards Theo. “I’d forgotten about this.”

Draco rolled his eyes and followed Blaise and the three boys stood around the table reading out everything they’d managed to carve out.

There were some very unholy words, tally sticks and unfortunate looking doodles of Harry on the table.

“Theodore Nott was here.” Draco read out loud looking unimpressed.

“Read this one.” Theo chuckled pointing at a carving. “Daphne Greengrass + Blaise Zabini.”

“Hey! We were barely second years.” Blaise protested while his eyes kept scanning the table.

As Blaise’s vigilant eyes trailed to the farthest corner of the table, a wicked grin started to form across his cheeks making Draco’s face turn pale.

“Y/n Y/l/n.” Blaise read out loud smirking at Draco. “Well well Malfoy—From the second year?...Interesting.”

“It was always obvious even though he expressed himself in questionable ways.” Theo shrugged.

“What was obvious?” Draco quirked an eyebrow with a scowl on his face.

“The fact that you were and are absolutely enamoured with y/n.” Theo rolled his eyes. “It has always been obvious to everyone but you. Back me up here Zabini.”

Draco crossed his arms and looked at Blaise who just gave him an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry but he’s right mate.”

“I am not enamoured with y/n.”

“If you say so.” Blaise shrugged.

“And what if I were?” Draco spat, clearly irked by the condescending look on Blaise’s face.

“If you are, then I only have one question for you.” Blaise said with carefully selected words.

“And the question is?”

Blaise went quiet for a brief second before looking at Draco, dead set in the eye.

“What is holding you back, Malfoy?”

~~~~~~~~~~

27th December

Draco wondered what life decisions he’d taken to find himself seated at a murky little pub with Astoria reclining against his shoulders—sipping on Butterbeer.

Pansy, Theo and Blaise were taking shots next to him and you were awkwardly seated right across the table next to Adrian fucking Pucey.

What was he doing here anyway? Who even invited him?

Even though he’d overheard you telling Pansy that Adrian was there only because of your parents nagging you, seeing you seated together bothered him nonetheless.

Draco wasn’t even meaning to eavesdrop on your conversation with Adrian but he just couldn’t help but divert all his attention to your sweet voice and the way your lips moved.

You were telling Adrian about the sweet shop next door and Draco’s lips involuntarily twitched and curved upwards when he noticed just how excited you were about sweets.

It was like you softened him—made him vulnerable. And the whole feeling terrified him.

Between smoking his fifth cigarette, occasionally chatting with Astoria and looking at you from the corner of his eye, one rather simple thought encircled Draco’s mind.

Why didn’t he knock Pucey off his broom when he had the chance to?

~~~~~~~~~

28th December

Lightning crashed. Thunder clapped.

Fat drops of rain started to fall on the enormous glass window in Draco’s bedroom.

You placed your finger on the glass as you watched the infinite droplets race all the way to the bottom of the window.

The howling winds brought in the scent of wet grass and sent the dark curtains flying in all different directions.

You took in the smell of fresh rain and sighed sinking blissfully into his embrace.

Lucius and Narcissa were away, preparing for the upcoming ball and Draco had owled you asking to meet.

And so, both of you were now sitting on the windowsill in his room that was much larger than the one in the abandoned classroom.

In fact, it was so spacious that it served as his own personal reading nook—complete with a velvety throw blanket and some cushions.

His hands held open a book and you let yourself get comfortable between his long limbs, still counting raindrops on the window.

“What are you doing?” He asked looking towards you and away from the worn out pages of his book.

“I’m watching the raindrops race each other.” You said with your eyes still fixed on the glass. “infinite little droplets.”

“It's just rain.” He shrugged as his eyes went back to his book. “Quite mundane if you ask me.”

Sure rain was mundane.

But this rain felt different. It sent you into a state of melancholia.

You couldn’t dare to tell him but those infinite droplets resembled the amount of times you’d wanted to tell him that you loved him.

Even though you couldn’t find the courage to tell him, it was like the look in your eyes gave it all away.

It made his features soften as he slowly shifted and got up from the nook to fully open the window.

You shielded yourself as cold drops of rain started to hit your face. “What in the actual fuck?”

“Shut up and follow me.” He said as he climbed out of the window and onto the ledge.

“Are you mental?”

“Just do as I say.” He said helping you onto the ledge.

Both of you laughed hysterically as the rain seeped through your clothes as you sat on the ledge with your bare feet dangling in the air.

One wrong move and both of you could fall to our deaths. But there came an adrenaline rush with the risk of it all.

He pushed away the hair sticking to your face and brought your face close to his before pressing his rain soaked lips to yours.

Theo was right.

He was fucking enamoured.

~~~~~~⚜️~~~~~~~~

After coming back inside, you walked into his ensuite to fix your ruined hair and cast a quick drying charm to your clothes before heading home.

You had barely managed to pick at the tangles in your wet hair when an equally soaked Draco walked up behind you—clothes sticking to his toned body and hair sticking to his face.

“Draco. Sorry for hogging the mirror. I thought I’d be done sooner but these tangles are—hmmm.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind you and pressed his cold lips against the base of your neck.

Even though your hair was entangled and unruly, you looked bewitching to him.

Especially the way the thin and drenched fabric of your seafoam colored dress draped your body—transparent and accentuating all your curves.

He just couldn’t help himself from unzipping your dress while he admired the sight of your dress slowly leaving your body in the mirror in front of you both.

“Draco?” You whispered as you watched his lips move their way from your neck to your shoulders. His hands gently gripping and massaging your breasts.

“Yes?” He whispered into your hair as he began nipping on your earlobe—his hands never leaving your breasts.

You wanted to tell him that you were in love with him but the words just refused to leave your lips.

“I—I missed you so much.” You said instead as you watched the corners of his mouth twitch.

He didn’t say a word back.

Hips lips were too occupied with sucking love bites against your skin.

He didn’t need to tell you that he missed you too. The deep reddish purple markings on your body said it all.

Draco intertwined his fingers around yours and placed your palms flat against the marble basin in front of you.

Your dainty fingers brought out the verdant tones of the emerald ring and Draco couldn’t help but admire his family heirloom on you.

He slowly moved his hands up your arms and let them brush against your bare back—trailing lower and lower till he was barely touching your soaking wet cunt.

“You like it when I touch you here?” He murmured pushing one of his fingers inside for a fleeting second.

“Hmmm.” You moaned gripping tightly onto the basin and pushing your hips backwards to get more.

Draco brought his hand to your arse and struck once causing you to hiss through your teeth.

“Words darling—use your words.”

“Yes….” You whimpered, opening your eyes to stare into the reflection again. There was a kind of unrestrained hunger in his eyes that only made you want him more.

“Good girl...so fucking perfect..so beautiful.”

He reached out and wrapped his left hand around your throat and brought your face close to him while the pad of his right thumb rubbed steady circles on your throbbing clit.

He loved that you were always so wet and ready for him.

“Draco..I want you inside me..Please..”

He could have spent hours on end just teasing you with his fingers and tongue if he could. There was just something about you that just made him want to take his time to worship you—to ruin you.

But time was not on his side and the reflection in front of him was making him increasingly impatient so he did not tease you any further. He simply unbuckled his trousers and pushed his cock where it belonged.

“Fuck...yes Draco..”

A whimper let your lips at the sudden push and your knuckles turned pale as you gripped tightly onto the marble basin.

“Look at you…” He murmured against your shoulder as he stared ahead into the mirror—his cock pounding in and out of you. “Taking my cock like such a good girl.”

He let go of your throat and used his hands to hold your hips firmly in place as he fucked you mercilessly.

Every time you two had fucked before this, Draco had constantly reminded himself to be a little gentle with you—but today, he wanted to wreck you.

He wanted you to scream his name in a bittersweet mix of pure pleasure and pain as he fucked you relentlessly.

“More...Draco...oh..fuck…yes.”

Beads of tears started to slip out of your eyes and you started to squirm—clenching him inside of you as your started to feel your orgasm approach.

“Don’t.” He growled digging his nails into the flesh at your hips. “Don’t fucking come just yet.”

You winced when he slipped himself out before carrying you back to his room where he sat down at the edge of the bed—positioning you on his lap with your legs on either side as he slipped back into you.

Draco let you adjust to the new position for a few seconds as you gripped his shoulders as you moved your hips, slowly riding his cock.

“My perfect little slut.” He sighed cupping your face in his hands as you continued to move against him.

After letting you ride him for a little longer, he gripped your hips and started to pound into you making your tits bounce up and down.

“Feels so good Draco—feels so fucking good. Oh god yes.”

With one hand on your arse and his mouth attached to your nipple Draco kept thrusting into you till the room was filled with the sound of your screams mixed with the sound of his skin slapping against yours and the sound rain splattering against the window glass.

“Fuck y/n...your cunt is so perfect, you take me so fucking good..god.”

“Harder…”

“So good when you clench me in like that... fuck y/n..I need to fucking fill you up…”

“Draco please..don’t fucking stop...oh..I’m so close..”

You always submitted to him so easily, he enjoyed the control he had over you.

But your sweet moans, the way your lips moved when you sighed his name was enough to make him weak for you.

You were completely oblivious to the power you held over him.

He loved you.

And he wanted to say the words out loud over and over again.

“I love—I love being inside you..I have missed you so much” He said instead.

“Draco I’m—I’m fucking cumming.” You whined as he continued to move his hips.

“Let go. Fucking cum y/n. Cum with me.”

You let your head fall against his shoulders and dug your nails into his biceps as you succumbed to your orgasm.

He soon followed, painting your walls with his release as he murmured sweet nothings into your skin.

You held each other close as you both recovered from your highs and and when he eventually fell asleep you whispered into his ear.

I’ll be thinking of you too Malfoy.

~~~~~~~~~

29th December

Once glimpse of the calendar and all the feelings you had shoved into a deep dark part of your mind trickled out in the form of tears.

Silent tears.

The kind of tears you cry when the silence of the night gets unbearable.

The kind where you suppress the sound of your wail and hopelessly try and mute any kind of sniffle by pressing your face hard into the pillow because you don’t want to wake anyone up.

Silent tears are the most painful of tears when mixed with the sound of the clock ticking.

For some bizarre reason, every second gets more prolonged than the other.

You had tried to hold it together for days. You tried to pretend like Draco’s engagement didn’t bother you.

But it did.

You turned your head on your very damp pillow and eyed the pack of smokes on your night stand. Draco had left when he came to drop off your present.

On an impulse, You stepped out of your bed as your trembling fingers reached for the 25 pack of expensive looking cigarettes.

The second you opened the box, the slight scent of nicotine wafted up your nose and you slowly placed a cigarette at the corner of your chapped and dry lips and lit it up.

Like always, you coughed and wheezed the second you inhaled.

You hated how it felt.

But you loved how close you suddenly felt to Draco.

In a twisted kind of way, It felt like you were submerged in his presence again.

Your lips tasted like they had been kissed by him again.

The more you inhaled the better it felt.

In a fucked up kind of way, The word felt right again.

And slowly, the night faded into morning as one cigarette turned into another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

30th December

Pansy had flooed to your hour the minute she received a letter last night in your drunken handwriting talking about how amazing cigarettes were and how pretty Astoria was.

With a mug filled to the brim with tea in between her hands, she rested her back against the armchair in your room, tilting her head to get a better look at you.

Your face was pressed sideways against the pillow and she could tell you’d been crying by the dried mascara stains on your cheeks.

A half smoked cigarette was pressed into the makeshift ashtray that you’d made out of your bedside table making Pansy wonder if she’d ever seen you this miserable.

Your duvet was barely covering your shoulders and just as Pansy was standing up to pull them up, your bedroom door creaked open.

“I just wanted to drop something off.” Draco mumbled almost like he was talking to himself as he took a step into the room—hand in his blazer pocket.

Pansy didn't say a word as she watched Draco with her eyes narrowed. She observantly watched him pull out a tiny box from his pocket and mumble a spell to restore it to its original size.

“What are those?”

“Assorted sweets.” He said softly, with his gaze not leaving your sleeping form once. “She wouldn’t stop talking about exploding bonbons the other night at the pub.”

Pansy heaved out a sigh as she watched Draco place the box of sweets on your bedside table before reaching to gently push away your hair from your face.

“Don’t get me wrong Draco, but you really shouldn’t be here right now.”

His weary eyes flickered as he turned to look questioningly at Pansy—retreating his hand from your face.

“You are getting engaged tomorrow—look at her, look at the state she is in. She won’t say it out loud but It’s clearly killing her.”

As much as Draco hated agreeing with Pansy, she was right.

Even while asleep, you looked worn out and restless with your eyebrows scrunched up indicating tension.

He wasn’t even going to get himself started on the cigarettes and wine bottles on your night stand.

“Will you let her know that I came by?” He looked half expectantly at Pansy who gave him an apologetic smile in return. “Never mind I guess.”

As Draco reluctantly backed away from you, Blaise’s words lingered in his mind.

What is holding you back Malfoy?

(To be continued...)

~~~~~~

Part 6: Final Chapter Preview:

The Malfoy Manor was being decorated and every little detail of the decor screamed nothing but aristocratic, pristine, perfect.

It was like everything was just a futile attempt to conceal the dullness, loneliness and the fucked up pure blood traditions hiding deep within the manor walls.

Much like his so-called arrangement with Astoria that seemed so perfect on paper.

Pure blood families, rich family history, old money.

What could go wrong right?..

~~~~~~~~~~~~

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strangeradventuresofp · 4 years

Text

happy together (five x reader)

requested by : @asphodelshare - omg would u be willing to do a five x reader harry potter au 🥺 like a collection of slytherin!five and ravenclaw!reader cute moments/little scenarios and everyone even the professors can’t deny their chemistry (dumbledore would be a shipper for sure) and just them being known as the badass, real smart, match made in wizard heaven couple 😫❤️

a/n : thank you so much this was so fun to do!! little bit of ooc five but obviously hes gonna be different in a different universe i think anyway. i loved this idea so much cus personally im a ravenclaw so it felt PERFECT but anyway thank u sm for this i hope u enjoy <33333

Everything started on the train. The train to Hogwarts, that is. You said a tender goodbye to your parents before stepping on to the train. You were so focused on waving goodbye to them that you had forgotten all about actually getting a seat, and they were filling up fast. Eventually, you got to this carriage that had only two other people in it, a boy and a girl. and you hesitantly slid the door open.

You cleared your throat. “Do you guys mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

“Of course not.” The girl flashed you a friendly smile and you hummed happily in response, taking your seat beside the window, sat next to the girl. Considering she had actually answered you; you felt a lot more comfortable sitting beside her than the boy, who merely shrugged one of his shoulders when you had asked.

His hair was carefully swiped over and looked as though it was made of silk. When she caught a glimpse of his eyes, they were a piercing blue, the kind that made you squirm under the stare of them. His face was chiseled kindly and he radiated with confidence. It seemed like he put no effort at all into his appearance, but at the same time, it seemed that he put every single effort he had into it. His demeanor seemed rather uppity, like he was too good to even respond to someone who had asked a simple question.

As you studied him, you watched his brows furrow in confusion and you lightly leaned over to read what he was writing down on the piece of paper in front of him.

“Three hundred and sixty-nine, point eight. (369.8)” You answered to the question he didn’t ask. He quickly snapped his head up to look at you and you sat back in your seat, offering him a small smile.

“What?” He spat, his eyes narrowing as he looked over you. You swallowed, moving uncomfortably in your space.

“I—I said, three hundred and sixty-nine point eight. (369.8). That’s the answer, isn’t it?” To your equation.”

His eyes widened in shock as they scanned back over the page he had scribbled over, biting the inside of his lip as you pulled out a book, reading it though you could feel his curious gaze on you.

Then, there was the sorting ceremony. You were sorted into Ravenclaw, which you knew you was your house anyway. The boy, whose name seemed to be Five, was sorted into Slytherin, and his eyes couldn’t seem to leave you as you tucked into your food.

The start of the year seemed to go on pretty similarly, Five continued to stare at you from afar or even from beside you in some lessons.

One day, you were feeling particularly rubbish. Your head resonated with pain and the bags under your eyes could not be mistaken for anything other than complete exhaustion. When you sat beside Five for your transfiguration lesson, you had entirely expected him to make some snarky comment, or snicker at the rough sight of you, but instead he simply looked at you, offering a small smile, much like the one you had given him on the train on the first day.

“Are you alright?” He whispered.

You smiled at that, nodding slightly, applying pressure to the centre of your forehead. “Yep. I’m okay.”

“You sure? I could try a spell to fix your headache if you want.” A cheeky smirk spread across his face and you giggled quietly.

“Hm, perhaps it would feel more pleasant than—”

“Mr Hargreeves, Miss L/N. Stop talking.” The teacher glared at the two of you from the front, and the entire class turned to stare at the two of you. A pink blush dusted over your cheeks and you swallowed.

“Sorry, Professor.” The two of you said in sync, keeping your heads down to get on with your work.

Just from that tiny interaction, you were pretty much inseparable from that moment on. The two of you had made a plan of the school, so that whenever you had lessons apart, you would pass each other in the corridors. You would make sure that you sat back to back in the Great Hall, so you could chat at every available opportunity. He would walk past you in potions and steal your ingredients. You would stay late in the library with each other, doing your homework and just talking. Quite quickly, the two of you were the top of every class you had, constantly battling for the very top spot.

Then there was Christmas. You had planned to go home, but something came up and you simply just couldn’t get home. Your parents were devastated, as were you. But at least you got to spend it with your best friend. Five hadn’t gone home. He hadn’t said much about why and you were hesitant to ask, but you were still glad that you weren’t alone for Christmas.

You skipped into the Great Hall, where he was sat reading a book. When he heard footsteps he looked up, his eyes lighting up when he saw you.

“Y/N! I thought you were going home, what happened?”

“Something came up, and I couldn’t get home.” You shrugged and he frowned, squeezing your hand gently.

“I’m sorry. I know how excited you were.”

“It’s alright. At least I’m not alone.” You flashed him a grin and he chuckled, returning your smile and you took a seat opposite him. “Why aren’t you going home, anyway?”

“Oh, I, uh… I don’t exactly have the best relationship with my family.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Y/N. It’s okay.” He laughed and you smiled. Your gaze turned downwards onto the table, where your fingers were picking regrettably at the skin around your nails. Five’s brows furrowed together, watching you curiously. “Are you alright?”

“I, uh… I got you something. For Christmas.” His widened slightly, as if he had never received a gift before. You could’ve sworn you saw the slightest hint of a tear in his eye, but he quickly blinked it away, a confused look on his face.

“Why?” His brows knit together in genuine confusion and you didn’t quite know how to respond.

“B—Because I wanted to.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.” He scoffed at your words and you frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, why would—”

“Five.” Your stern face made his collapse and he sighed, his eyes turning soft.

“I’ve never been given a gift before. And I didn’t get you anything, I didn’t even think about it.” He admitted and your heart simply shattered for him.

“Five, I got you a gift because I wanted to give you one. You’re my best friend. I didn’t get you a gift because I wanted one in return.” You smiled and the edge of his lip turned up slightly. He faked a yawn, grabbing his books and standing.

“I’m pretty tired, I’m gonna get to bed. Goodnight.”

Christmas morning, you made your way to the Slytherin common room, waiting outside like you said you would for Five. After a while of waiting, you sighed. You knew he wasn’t coming. Luckily, you had made chums with a fair few people in Slytherin house, and they gladly let you inside. A frown fell over your face when you saw Five sat by himself, staring into the roaring fire in the center of the common room.

“Five?” You said softly, and his head turned to you. You made your way over to him, sitting beside him. “If you don’t want it, I won’t give it to you. If it’s too weird.”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” He sighed. “I don’t know what to do, what I’m supposed to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” You smiled. “Tell you what, I’ll give it to you, you can put it n your bed now, until later. You don’t have to open it in front of anyone else. Okay?” He nodded and you smiled. Handing him the parcel that you had neatly wrapped.

That night, Five stared at the present lingering on the edge of his bed with hesitance. His arm kept stretching out to then and then pulling itself back in again, but eventually he ripped off the paper, feeling awful that you had probably spent so long making it look nice, but he wasn’t too bothered. What lay inside the paper, however, had Five bubbling with excitement. There was a notebook, a book and a small envelope. The book was all about time travel, something Five had shown a frequent interest in. The notebook was completely blank, save from a little doodle that you had drawn in on the back of the cover. It was a doodle of the two of you, of him not being able to stop reading the book you bought him and you getting angry that he wouldn’t listen to you. He opened the envelope. Its contents contained a little letter you had wrote, explaining how grateful and happy you were being his best friend and taped to the back of the letter was a small polaroid photograph of both of you, that took not too long ago at all.

Five had not noticed the stray tears of appreciation falling down his face until one landed on the note he was holding, and he gasped, swiping his tears and blowing on the paper to dry it out. He didn’t know why, but he felt comfortable being vulnerable around you. He felt comfortable showing his emotions, he had felt it from the very first time you had met. Something in his heart told him you were a good person and you wouldn’t leave him.

The next three years carried on the very same but what was different in your fourth year was the Triwizard Tournament. You planned on asking Five to the Yule Ball, or rather you hoped he would ask you, but when he did nothing of the sort, you decided to start dropping hints yourself.

“I got my dress for the Ball. Have you got your dress robes yet?”

“Y/N, I’m not going to the stupid ball!” He snapped, completely unnecessarily rudely. You sighed, clearing your books off of the desk before clutching them to your chest, walking back to your common room without a word. It was at that moment when a boy from your own house decided to ask you to the ball, and you gladly agreed, your heart burning with excitement that you would actually get to go. You would much rather go with Five though. Your heart fluttered when you imagined the two of you dressed up, holding hands while you danced together. Years of close friendship had led to you developing deep feelings for him. But regardless of how you felt about him, you were going to the ball, whether he was going to take you or not.

The night finally arrived, and you stood at the top of the stairs before the entrance to the Great Hall. You looked incredible. Five’s eyes landed on you in no time at all, an incredulous look slapped across his face. His jaw dropped to the floor, his eyes scanning every inch of you, his heart thumping vigorously. His face fell when he watched you call out to your date.

“Sorry, Y/N. I said I’d actually go with Allison.” Your date wandered off, hand in hand with another girl and you frowned, tears welling your eyes. Storming away, you swiped angrily at the tears falling from your eyes. All you wanted was a simple dance and a nice evening. Your head fell into your hands as you sat on the steps, hot tears steaming from your eyes. A soft voice called out from behind you and you quickly wiped away the tears on your face, plastering a smile in your face as you turned around.

“Five! I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Are you alright?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, blinking away the new tears that formed in your eyes, glancing over his frame covered in his dress robes. “You look nice.”

“Y/N, I saw. Are you okay?” A deep sigh left your lips at Five’s words, and he came to sit beside you.

“Yep. I’m perfectly fine. Y’know, I didn’t even wanna go to the dance in the first place.”

“You don’t? Oh, well that’s too bad… I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go with me.” He gently took your hand in both of his, intertwining your fingers and your eyes lit up, receiving a smile from Five.

“Are you serious? I—I thought you didn’t want to—”

“I changed my mind.” He cleared his throat after a while, speaking in a whisper. “You look beautiful.”

Your eyes locked with his as you tilted your head up to his, gently pressing your forehead against his. His eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips and slowly, his face was drawn closer to yours, the temptation and want too huge for him to bear. When his lips found yours, the two of you were in a complete heaven, your lips moving together so generously, at a gentle but steady pace. The hands came up to hold your cheeks, holding your face close to his, both of your hearts racing at a lightening speed while the world around you turned to slow motion.

When the two of you finally announced to your friends that you were dating, you were met with a sea of ‘finally’s and ‘it’s about time’s. All you would do is chuckle, pressing a gentle kiss to Five’s cheek and he smiled. You were happy. Five was happy. You were happy together.

my masterlist

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gwoongi · 5 years

Text

acts of love

bts / reader, all members / reader genre: best friends au, fluff + crack rating: general words: 9.6k warnings: platonic relationships, smoking, so much fluff you might need to book an appointment with ur dentist for tomorrow morning ASAP a/n: if u want 2 be bts’ best friend, raise ur hand *thousands of hands raise*. this fic fuels my genuine need to be their bff. i saw this post last night + wrote this immediately. hope u love it like i do :D

➸ As long as you’ve got a good group of friends, anything is possible. Thankfully, you’ve got the best group you could ever ask for.

(01) taking pics of ur friends without them asking u to bc they looked so pretty in that exact moment

“Well, at least the views not so bad. Honestly, I thought it would be a lot worse.”

Beside you, at the top of the bleachers that surround the large football pitch below, Taehyung huffs and kicks his feet up onto the empty row in front of him. It would be easy to just move rows, considering the game’s due to start in ten minutes time, and there’s plenty of empty seats closer. But, he’s bought these seats, and by the looks of things, Yoongi and Hoseok are already comfortable where they are, sharing a big bag of sticky popcorn between them. Casting a look to the right, you notice that Sana and Seunghee are making their way up, dressed in jerseys and caps, and you suddenly feel very out of place.

“Tell me why I came again?” you ask, not looking away from the pitch below. The grass is bright green, and every wandering body down on the pitch is just a small speck.

“Because,” Taehyung starts, unlocking his phone and checking his messages. You snoop- one missed text from Jeongguk and two off his Mom, which makes you smile. Taehyung’s always been a Mommy’s boy. “You love me, and you know that I worked my ass off for two whole months saving up for these tickets. And, since Jimin’s sick and couldn’t come, you decided to be a good friend and take his place.”

With a frown, you look back towards Taehyung. “I don’t know shit about football.”

“Cheer when we do,” Taehyung suggests honestly.

Yoongi perks up, patting your arm roughly. “Do what I do, and cheer for the team with the prettier uniform.”

“Don’t!” Taehyung hisses, grabbing you back. “The other team have a prettier uniform, but if you cheer for them on this side of the stadium, you’re going to get mobbed. Hey, Yoongi, don’t tell her that, she doesn’t know any better.”

“Just football,” Yoongi shrugs.

“Just football…” Taehyung scoffs and shrinks back down in his seat.

You laugh quietly, petting Taehyung’s leg with faux sympathy. As you move your body to glance around the stadium, strangely anticipating the start of the match, a flash out the corner of your eye makes you look over in Hoseok’s general direction. Hoseok holds his phone up, taking a photo, and then smiles as he checks it on the screen.

“Jung Hoseok, delete it now!” you gape, realising what he’s done. “Oh my God, I bet I look so ugly...you could have warned me.”

“Sorry,” he laughs sheepishly. He then shows you the screen, “you looked pretty! And it’s your first live match ever, we had to document it. Yoongi, look. Wow...I’m sending this to Jimin for proof that you’re having fun.”

“What if I’m not having fun?” you ask.

He glances up, “you are.”

Well. If he says so.

(02) randomly giving tiny gifts (a comic book that ur friend likes, a heart-shaped piece of paper with a sweet message on it)

“Can anybody here share the exact chemistry behind Elephant Toothpaste?”

Chemistry is the absolute bane of your life. It’s only been a few weeks, and you’re already regretting taking additional classes in it. Technically, it was Jimin’s fault you were here in the first place. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jimin was afraid of enrolling into classes alone and therefore had guilted you into taking advanced chemistry with him, then you wouldn’t be here. You sigh for the fourth time in the last ten minutes and shove your chin into the palm of your hand. The clock above Professor Han’s head seems to be still, taunting you with zero movements.

Can boredom kill you? You wonder about that, letting your mind wander as Professor Han continues to quiz the front two rows on the exact chemical formula of the affectionately named Elephant Toothpaste. You’re so close to finding the answer when you feel somebody poking your upper arm. The finger that pokes belongs to Jimin, and you angle your head to look at him with a questioning glare.

Jimin smiles, his hair falling into his face. Like you, he rolled out of bed this morning and tried his best to look semi-presentable; if you counted borderline pajama wear and a serious case of bed-head to be presentable and acceptable for a 9am lecture. Jimin says nothing, just smiles and pushes something towards you with two fingers. The sound of the paper sliding towards you brings your gaze down, and as you look away to stare at it, Jimin returns his attention to Professor Han. Bare in mind, his notebook is empty, save doodles of Yewon on the front row, occasionally losing focus and staring around the room for long periods of time.

What Jimin has pushed before you is a small little piece of paper, smoothly cut into a heart shape. Now the sound of scissors makes sense… It’s just scrap paper from the back of his notebook, decorated with tiny stars and circles, a pathetic hand drawn galaxy on the front like a book cover. You slowly pick it up, more interested in this than the lecture. You turn it over curiously, your heart thumping endearingly and a smile picking up on your face as you read what he’s written on the back.

you and me have some serious chemistry. love u

Jimin refuses to make eye contact again. He’ll say something along the lines of, “you’re taking it too seriously” when you’ll no doubt ask him about it later, but really, Jimin’s just a softie, with the sudden need to tell his friends that he loves them. You’re not complaining.

(03) handwritten letters with cute stickers

Something’s been left in your shared kitchen, something with your name on it and closed in an envelope with a small Gudetama sticker. You set your cup of tea to the side, sliding up onto a stool near the breakfast bar to read it. The front is in a bold font, in handwriting you don’t really recognise. Careful of the time and effort put into the appearance, you carefully open the envelope and take out the contents.

Y/N

Good morning. I hope you slept okay - when I came home last night after judo, you were actually passed out on the couch in the common room so I piggy backed you up to your room. Hehe, your room is so dirty though...I think I definitely tripped over a plug that connected your fairylights, so sorry if that doesn’t work anymore. Anyway. I left this morning and left you some nice tea and some tablets (Yoongi said that I should put them in your bathroom, so I literally just left them on your sink). I know you haven’t been having a fun time with midterms and you need to take care of yourself! If you get too sick and can’t do anything, then how will we eat?? You’re our uni mom!!! We need to live too!!!!! D:

I also rented out Harry Potter for later. I know you get really sad and lonely when you’re stressed out, and so we can watch it together when I’m home after my shift at work :D

Hehe, feel better <3 Just remember that Jeonggukie loves you!!!

Drink tea and stay warm :)

Lots of love, Jeongguk :D

The paper is signed with Jeongguk’s messy handwriting, like he ran out of time as he was writing it. The page is littered with tiny Gudetama stickers and the sight of it makes you smile. Along with other little notes Jeongguk’s left for you over the last few months, this one earns a spot on your cork board above your desk.

(04) remembering what ur friend likes or dislikes

You were so late.

Almost getting run over by a bus in the process, you sprint across the small road that separates your flat and the University central campus, missing a deep puddle as you step up off the road and onto the pavement. It pours, your hair soaked and makeup no doubt running and staining your cheeks. Holy fuck, you were so late.

Every Friday, without fail, Flat 6 (aka the large and slightly stinky flat you share with two of your best friends) host an annual movie night, inviting literally all of your extended friendship group which definitely is not allowed, but who cares? You noticed Namjoon’s car pulled up in the car park next door and curse again, knowing you’re the last one to arrive to a movie night you’re technically hosting.

You rush up the stairs, since the elevator is still down for maintenance, and burst into the flat with an announcing groan. From somewhere in the living room, Jeongguk looks up with happy surprise and jumps up off the couch, approaching the hall.

“Y/N! You made it.”

You wince, smiling as you hang up your coat to drip dry on the mat near the door. “Yep. I made it. To my own movie night. That I’m technically helping host.”

“No sweat,” Jeongguk shrugs. “It’s okay. Here, I’ll dump your bag in the closet. Get changed, I think Yoongi’s still preparing snacks, anyway.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jeonggukie.”

He gushes, smiling and raising his shoulders cutely. “It’s okay, Y/N.”

Jeongguk swiftly takes your bag from your clutches, faking the weight with the droop of his knees just to hear you laugh, and then he turns to shuffle down the hall to quite literally toss it into the shared storage closet. You’re not too worried; on days like today, in which you have one 1 hour seminar to attend at 5pm and nothing else, there’s nothing inside your bag worthy of being broken by Jeongguk throwing it to the ground. As he does this, you shudder out of your shoes and make your way to your bedroom, to change into something warm and comfortable for the movie.

The sound of laughter makes you hurry to change, one leg out of your damp and cold jeans whilst simultaneously fishing for some old jogging bottoms out of your bottom draw, a jumper from Yoongi that he thought he lost left for you to grab on your bed. What he doesn’t know and will find out in five minutes won’t hurt him. (Yoongi also doesn’t care, because he’s a whipped best friend who lets you do what you want, including steal clothes he actually needs and can’t really afford to replace. Oh well, sharing is caring!).

Your hair is still soaked, and you move towards the single bathroom squeezed between two bedrooms to ring it out in the sink. Once you’re done, and your hair is thrown up into a scrunchie-decorated pony, you pace back towards the kitchen where, rightly so, Yoongi stands with his back facing you, filling up a glass with Pepsi.

“I thought we threw that shit out,” you announce as you walk in. “You know this flat is Team Coca Cola, those are the rules.”

Yoongi sighs, not looking up. “Yeah, I know, but Namjoon is a monster.”

“He’s so annoying...why can’t he just admit that Coca Cola is better?” you sigh, moving towards Yoongi to see the small bowls of snacks he has ready to be taken into the living room. It’s full in there, people stuffed onto the sofas and the floor where a bed of blankets lies like a mattress.

Yoongi’s outdone himself; the bowls are neatly organised by colour and ingredient, and you smile. Yoongi was a lot of things, one of them a secret perfectionist. Even when it concerned bowls of snacks. God, you love to love him.

“Namjoon’s a man of unpopular opinions, I mean, he really thinks the live action of Attack on Titan is good, like, who actually thinks that?” Yoongi rants, and then he glances to the side towards you, is silent for a moment, and then asks, “is that my jumper?”

You look down at it with a smile. “Yep. It’s comfy.”

Yoongi hums, like he’s bored. “Whatever, looks better on you than it did on me. Who the fuck lied to me and told me dark green was my colour...?”

“Every colour is your colour,” you say, patting his back and reaching for the bowls. “Should I take these in?”

Yoongi then nods, humming again. “Yeah. Yellow bowl is for you, by the way.”

You look to it. “And why is that?”

“Cause I know you don’t like the barbeque flavour chips that are in the red bowl, but everyone else does, so I went out and got you the salty ones. Oh, and there’s a bar of Galaxy in the fridge. Don’t tell Jeongguk, cause he’ll get pissy about how I didn’t get him something.”

As Yoongi tells you this, your heart flutters. You had told him that when you first met, after he offered you some of his chips noticing you were the only person not eating.

“You remembered that?” you wonder, and Yoongi looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“I’m a good friend,” he states, as though it were obvious. “Don’t get it twisted, though. I only did it because I don’t want to hear you complaining about it all night.”

You’re sure that’s a lie, but if it makes him feel better, you’ll accept it. You’ll also ignore the embarrassed tinge of red on his cheeks.

(05) inside jokes

[15:16PM] jeongguk: alright fuckers 🔪😡 [15:16PM] jeongguk: who left the kitchen window open all damn night [15:17PM] jeongguk: there’s three spiders in the sink and it rained so the work surface is all wet [15:17PM] jeongguk: [1 Image Attached] not happy bois [15:23PM] jine: i dont even live with you why are you asking the gc this [15:24PM] jeongguk: yoongi has the flat gc muted and idk how else to yell at him [15:28PM] y/n: blame me,,,,i have failed u,,,,,,,im sowwy [15:29PM] jeongguk: hehe its ok ❣️💘💕💓 i’ll clean it up 🥰 [15:32PM] haseul: eye….. [15:39PM] jimin: YALL LMAOODIUGJFKDSLJ [15:39PM] jimin: guess what TF just happened in my maths class [15:41PM] jimin: i forgot that on one of my assignments me and y/n had drawn a camel in the library on the back and he saw and asked me 2 stay behind after class so he could have stern words with me or smthn…..anyway so i go to the front of the class at the end and he’s like “mr park what the hell is this camel doing here” [15:42PM] jimin: and i said sir thats not a camel [15:42PM] jimin: thats my WIFE [15:43PM] y/n: HA HA HA… [15:45PM] yoongi: IF YALL DONT STOP [15:47PM] taehyung: THIS IS THE THIRD TIME YOU’VE MADE THIS REFERENCE AND I DONT KNOW WHAT IT MEANS [15:47PM] taehyung: this inside joke stinks….someone explain to me please what this means 😭😭😭 [15:48PM] hoseok: i hate this damn gc

(06) long phone calls

[Incoming Facetime Call From: Seokjin 👪]

“Hey.”

“Hey. Y/N, are you sitting down because I have some major tea on Professor Kwon and Professor Kim and I’m not supposed to be saying anything and it’s killing me.”

“Oh shit.” Audio shuffles. “I’m lying down now, bitch. Tell me everything.”

“Okay. So…”

[Five Hours Later]

“I’m still in shock about Kwon and Kim.”

“Me too. What’s Kim gonna do, lie and say she had heat rash on her titties?”

“Hopefully she doesn’t get them out for people to see.”

“Literally. God, I hate how our life has resorted to teacher gossip. Are we those students?”

“Yup. Two students bitching about teachers at...like ...midnight?”

“Oh, shit, it’s midnight already??”

(07) facetiming while ur both doing something else (study dates like that are on another level of intimacy)

Jimin’s had the same cold for about two weeks now, and nobody knows what the hell’s up with it. He walks around his flat, according to Hoseok, wrapped up in a blanket and surrounded by a necklace of matted tissues. To be honest, it’s not as bad as he’s making it out to be, but he’s a guy, and so anything that involves a slight stomach pain and a blocked nose instantly translates to man flu, which is almost as bad as the plague.

That being said, Jimin’s set himself under “house arrest” and is therefore glued to his bed or desk chair, still managing to move his sore and aching joints to write a few words on his lab report. With the first round of finals creeping up, Jimin actually wants to go to the library, but, man, what with his man flu and everything, he just can’t seem to do it.

On the other hand, he has you to set the mood for him. After snagging a corner table in the library near the big windows, you make a barrier out of your bag and books to watch the sunset, Taehyung opposite using minimal space with his laptop and headphones, watching a documentary he’ll need to cite for his essay. Jeongguk naps next to you, having exhausted himself from his shift last night that ran into the early hours and Sana secretly paints her nails, blowing them dry as she takes a break from writing.

Once you’re settled and comfortable, you reluctantly peel away the slice of tape covering your webcam (because Black Mirror has forever scared you into thinking 4Chan are watching you and will hold your endless hours of Games2Girls dot com against you) and open up Facetime, ringing Jimin who waits patiently back home.

After a few rings, Jimin’s bright and tired face pops up on the screen and you both silently wave. Jimin has his mic muted, but yours is on, allowing the ambience of the library trick Jimin into believing he’s actually there. It’s not quite like an ordinary study date, but for now, it’ll do. He opens his textbook and starts to work, comfortable and happy now that he’s listening to his friends discuss work, like he’s there. He smiles, occasionally glancing up to see your face working or Jeongguk unintentionally leaning into frame. It’s comforting. He works well.

(08) cooking something for ur friend

“Merry Christmas, Tae. Oh, wait, I have something for you.”

Taehyung is hosting a Christmas party this year, in the apartment he shares with some of the girls in your group and Namjoon. His flat is lit up with lights, draining the electricity, the tree sparkling like diamonds in the front living room that looks out onto the Seoul city. The sound of Michael Bublé sings out festively and Taehyung leads you through to the kitchen, out of the loud madness of the party that’s getting into full swing. In one hand, you have a big bag of presents that both Jeongguk and Yoongi kindly left for you to haul all by yourself to Taehyung’s flat, and in the other, you balance a box across your arm, the corner sharp on your inner elbow.

“Cool. Your gift is under the tree,” Taehyung says.

“Oh, yeah. No, this is an early gift.”

“Just for me?” he asks.

You set down the box. “Well, you can share if you love us all a lot. But, it’s for you.”

Taehyung wastes no time in opening the box, a smile widening across his face as he reviews the contents. The box is stuffed full with cookies, baked big and crumbly for his tasty pleasures. They’re decorated too, because you love him so much and you know he liked them last year.

“Last year you ate nearly all of my batch, so I just decided to make you some of your own this year,” you tell him casually. It’s really no big deal, but Taehyung feels like he might actually cry because the thought is so sweet. You notice this, the glassiness of your eyes. “Ew, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m touched!” he exclaims. Taehyung turns on his spot and wraps an arm around your neck, pulling you in for a hug. With your arms wrapped around his torso, Taehyung smiles with a thrilled sound and kisses the crown of your head. “Thanks, Y/N, you’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

(09) sending texts when u randomly think abt them

[11:15AM] namjoon 👨🏼‍🚀: i stopped by at kyobo’s today and found a cards against humanity add on pack that was harry potter themed and i thought of u lol [11:15AM] namjoon 👨🏼‍🚀: i bought it for u btw 😊

(10) listening without judging

When the front door slams shut, you know that something’s wrong.

Having opted for sitting in the natural light of the living room to finish your lab report, the sound of the door echoes loudly throughout the empty house. It’s only you home, since Yoongi has volleyball practise until six this evening, which means it’s Jeongguk who’s home and apparently, not in a very good mood.

Jeongguk doesn’t realise you’re in the living room until he enters it, stopping suddenly in the doorway when he sees you cross-legged on the carpet near the coffee table. His eyes are red and swollen, his nose shiny from where he’s been crying and sniffling. The sight makes your stomach churn with an indescribable feeling, and you immediately rise to your feet.

“Jeongguk? What’s wrong- did something happen?” you ask him, not stepping forward until you know he’s okay.

Jeongguk’s sensitive, the baby of the friendship group, and sometimes you forget to go easy on him. He sighs loudly and drops his backpack to the floor with a thud. His books curl inside loudly and he drags his feet across the floor to get to the couch. He moves as if he’s going to sit down and then stops, turning to you. His bottom lip curls like he’s about to cry, and then he opens his arms for a hug. You immediately move forward.

“Oh, Jeonggukkie,” you coo, stroking his hair and moving to sit on the sofa. Jeongguk comes down with you and you rest his head on top of your breasts, granting him this once in a lifetime opportunity and he doesn’t even register it. He just cries, loudly and comfortably, his arms around you as he sobs. “Oh, my baby. What happened?”

Jeongguk hiccups. “Do-Doesn’t matter. It’s dumb.”

“No, it’s not. Something hurt your feelings, and your feelings aren’t dumb,” you tell him seriously. Stroking the hair out of his face, you peer down at him. “Come on. Tell me, I won’t judge or tell anybody else. You can trust me.”

He sniffs loudly, but you don’t cringe. He blinks, tears falling and he embarrassingly wipes the tears away, nodding. “Okay.” And then the words come out like vomit.

“I just. You know how I liked Sooyoung, right? Well, we were talking- everyone knows we were, but still, we were talking, and I just really liked her and wanted her to like me. I did all this stuff for her, planned all these dates and got her flowers. I thought she liked flowers, girls like flowers. I know we joke that you’re one of the guys, but even you liked those flowers I got for you. So, I got her this pretty necklace with an S on it and was going to give it to her and so I went to her practise room. She does dance, you knew she does dance, right? Yeah. And so I went to the room and was in the room talking to her when the door opens and this guy comes in and he comes up to her and they kiss and I just. She. She told me she didn’t want to rush into dating and that she liked me, and then she suddenly started dating someone else and I’m just really hurt and confused. Did I do something wrong? Am I ugly? Am I annoying, I just...I don’t know what I did. I really liked her.”

You don’t say anything as he talks. You just listen intently, nodding against his head with a low hum and stroking his hair gently.

“I know it’s silly and stupid that I’m crying over a girl, it’s just…” He sighs. “It hurts.”

You sigh, too. “It’s not silly and stupid. What Sooyoung did was really shitty and it’s natural that it hurt your feelings. You did absolutely nothing wrong, though. The flowers were pretty, and you didn’t force her into anything, and you were so kind and patient. Any girl would be lucky enough to have you as a boyfriend. Sooyoung missed out! You’re so good, Jeongguk, one of the best guys I know. And you’re not ugly! That’s an insult to actual ugly people! If you’re ugly, then what are we?” He laughs shyly and you smile, “Huh? What are we?”

“Okay, sorry,” Jeongguk laughs, pressing his cheek into your torso with a wide smile. His hands loop together behind your back, meek and timid, and he sighs, this time less sadly. “Maybe I’m destined to be alone forever…”

“You’re being dramatic, now,” you sigh. “The right person is waiting for you. Just give it some time.”

Jeongguk thinks about that for a moment. “Wanna date me if I end up alone and single aged thirty?”

Loudly, you let out a laugh. “Yeah right. You know what, fine. Even though I know you won’t be, if we’re both single by thirty, I’ll marry you. How about that?”

Jeongguk hums. “Cool. Is it safe to have kids after thirty?”

You let out a wheeze, taken aback by Jeongguk’s question. “Woah there. I said I’d marry you, not birth your children! Besides, you’re acting like thirty is ancient! Lots of women have kids aged thirty.”

“Okay, sorry, I didn’t know! My Mom was only young.”

“I can’t believe you just asked me to have kids with you when we’re thirty…”

“Might as well make our marriage interesting,” Jeongguk shrugs.

You quite literally have nothing to say to that.

(11) making someone laugh so hard that their whole body shakes

“Ow- stop! I’m going to pee!”

You don’t think you’ve seen Seokjin laugh at a joke that’s not his own in quite some time. Tonight, across the table in the retro diner that’s been converted and opened in town, he has surprised you. The entire booth shakes with laughter, from all sides and directions. Seokjin leans up against the window, clutching his side with Jimin, Mina and Yoongi all stuffed next to him on the skinny one seater. Next to you, on either side, is Hoseok and Taehyung, with Jeongguk and Namjoon at the counter ordering more drinks.

“What?” you ask, laughing. You’re not laughing because it’s funny, but more so because you have no idea what it is you did to make him laugh so hard. “What did I say?”

Seokjin can hardly get his words out, choking halfway on air and having to reach for his drink which shakes in his hand. He sips and gasps for air: “Just-your...face!” Then he cracks up again, like it’s the literal joke of the century. You just don’t get it.

“What did I do?” you ask. “What’s so funny?”

Seokjin can’t breathe.

“Oh my God,” Yoongi comments, smiling with disbelief and covering his mouth as he laughs. Mina’s french fries are stone cold as she laughs and leans into Yoongi’s side for support.

“Fuck. Y/N, you’re so funny, I love you so much,” Seokjin cries. Cries, literally; there are tears pooling out of his eyes, and he wipes them, sighing loudly as he laughs a few more times.

You’re going to take the compliment happily, and move on. To this day, you never found out what was so funny…

(12) hanging out in furniture stores and testing every couch there is

“Take a picture of me so we can pretend this is our house for Instagram.”

You sigh, taking out your phone and snapping a photo of Taehyung, lounging his legs apart across a lime green sofa that looks like it’s been hauled out of a 70’s magazine. One of the best things about Taehyung is that he’s easy to please, eccentric and adventurous just like you. Taehyung could be taken to a junkyard for a first date and somehow he’d still find it fun. He didn’t watch Bottletop Bill and his best friend Corky and leave not taking some inspiration on what to do with scrap junk.

It slowly became a tradition to go to the weirdest places with Taehyung as your date. On weekends or free weekdays you shared, you’d text Taehyung and get him to come with you to somewhere new. On today’s list, IKEA. It’s not totally crazy, or weird or wacky, just something you don’t think you’d do with Yoongi for fun. Taehyung loved the idea.

Taehyung’s making it a mission to sit on every bit of furniture he can find. As he takes a ride up the elevator to the first and main starting point of IKEA, he immediately notices the display couches and stares at you excitedly: “Let’s pretend we’re about to buy our dream house and test all the couches.”

Your eyes light up. “Yes! We can pretend we’re on a TV show reviewing them.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Taehyung more excited. “Oh my God, yes!” Then he grabs your hand, tugging you towards a cream themed living display. “Let’s go, wifey! Time to review.”

(You very nearly leave IKEA with a bright red sofa that looks like it’s been handmade and the bottom pillows are patterned with tiny cherries. Sadly, you’re both broke and you don’t have a car to take it home.)

((Taehyung’s devastated.))

(13) deep conversations when it's deep in the night

Sometimes, Yoongi stays awake until the early hours in the living room and kitchen. On days where you can’t sleep, you can hear him pacing around, softly grunting as he walks, something he does without really realising and something you love about him. On occasion, you join him. Like tonight, for example.

Yoongi’s curled up on the kitchen counter when you wake up and leave your room to find him. He sits with his back up against the cupboards, the kitchen window open with a cigarette out the window. Catching your gaze wide-eyed, he moves as if he’s going to put the cigarette out but you stop him.

“I told Jeongguk I’d stop,” Yoongi explains. Inside, he’s just grateful you’re not Jeongguk tonight. The cigarette lets off steam. He doesn’t smoke as often as he used to, just when he needs to. Yoongi looks away from the window as you pick yourself up to sit on the cupboards parallel to him. A bottle of wine is out, and you quietly take off the top and take a large swig.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” you tell him honestly. “It’s okay. I won’t tell Jeongguk, too. There’s a new air freshener in the cupboard under the sink. Use that when you’re done.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah. Thanks, Y/N.”

“Why’d you go back to smoking anyway? Didn’t you tell Jeongguk that you were stopping because you didn’t want to die, or something?” It’s a joke, Yoongi snorts in reply.

“You know how he feels about it. I do too, and I guess I just felt bad about it. It was bad enough for him growing up and at home, and he told me about his brothers asthma attacks because of it and how he almost died, and how his parents smoked religiously and it made them act a certain way.” Yoongi sucks in his breath, like he’s realising what lighting the cigarette means. “It’s not weed. Not what his parents did, but. Still, fuck.” He decides to put it out.

For a while, you don’t say anything to Yoongi. Staring at him is telling enough, and you watch as Yoongi regrets what he’s done so much that he pales, his eyes watering.

“I don’t want to let him down,” Yoongi admits truthfully. “He’s like my little brother. I don’t wanna hurt him, fuck.”

He rocks his head back, sighing into the night. Down below the window, over the small little cliffside that he can see from his window that looks down onto the freeway behind the flat, he watches the lines of traffic whiz by, like long white lights, the honks like ASMR in his ears.

“If you’re going back to bed, can you go in my room and take the rest of my cigs out? Don’t wanna feel tempted by them. Toss them out or something, will you?”

You nod immediately, taking another drink of wine. This gulp stings. “Course. Yeah, I’m gonna go now actually.” You hop down off the counter, handing the bottle and placing it next to Yoongi. “Don’t stay up too late, mkay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You shrug in reply, Yoongi frowns. As you walk towards the doorway that separates the kitchen and the hall, you turn around and look back at Yoongi, calling his name. Yoongi looks over and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Love you,” you tell him. A smile follows, and Yoongi blinks tiredly.

“I love you too. Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches as you disappear into the darkness of the hallway and then faces the nighttime again. The smell of cigarettes lingers, and his stomach churns. Yoongi reaches for the air freshener you mentioned and sprays it generously, sniffing and then turning off the lights to the kitchen. Jeongguk will wake up and complain about the window being open, and might even notice the ash on the windowsill, but, like you, he still loves his big brother regardless.

(14) holding hands while jaywalking so that u Both get hit by a car

“Now!”

A squeal leaves your mouth as Jeongguk grabs a hold of your hand and literally pulls you across the road. A car that speeds down the road presses the horn loud enough to turn a few heads and Jeongguk grins boyishly, raising his hand as if to say sorry even though you’re far enough away to not get hit. Jeongguk’s motto for jaywalking is We Hold Hands, Because We Go Together Or We Don’t Go Down At All, or something. You know he stole half of it from an All Time Low song, but it works, and the song slaps.

From across the road, on the side you and Jeongguk are running towards, Hoseok gapes at the both of you and his eyes bulge out of his head.

“You two have a death wish!” he yells.

“But we lived, bitch!” Jeongguk replies, raising a gang sign to which Hoseok pulls a face at.

“I literally cannot stand you,” Hoseok seethes, walking away even though he’s supposed to be going out for dinner with the both of you. You and Jeongguk share a look that ends in a burst of giggles and run after Hoseok, capturing each of his arms with your own. He complains all the way to the restaurant, even though he loves it.

(15) randomly buying a flower for someone

“Delivery.”

Namjoon’s voice lifts your head. He stands behind the reception desk of your flat complex with a small bunch of flowers in his left hand. If he didn’t already know that you were working your two hour shift today, then he’s lucky he caught you. The sight of a bouquet of wildflowers makes your heart soar curiously.

“For someone special?” you wonder. Maybe he’s delivering to someone in the complex. Namjoon’s a sweetie like that.

Namjoon blinks. “Yeah. You.” He holds the bouquet outwards, with a bright smile. “They were for sale outside as I got off my subway. Thought of you, again. Happy early birthday.”

“My birthday’s in, like, seven months,” you say.

“That’s why it’s for your early birthday,” Namjoon replies.

You don’t know what to say. “They’re so pretty, thank you. Hey - can you go up to my flat and put them in a vase? I’ve still got an hour here, they might dry out if they’re kept down here.”

Namjoon nods instantly. “Sure. Gimme your key?” You slide the key across the desk towards Namjoon and he takes it swiftly. “Cool. Glad you like them. Enjoy your shift, Y/N.”

“Unlikely,” you groan. “Thanks, Joonie!”

He smiles as he reaches the door, sticking his tongue out to you as he prepares to climb the stairs. That elevator needs fixing urgently, and all you can think about is how much you love your friends.

(16) letting ur friends taste ur food and also tasting theirs to the point where u basically ate a fair amount off of each plate on the table

“What do you mean you’ve never tried a steak before?” Yoongi sighs so loudly that it turns a few heads. “Okay. Take a bite, it’s called charity and I’m generous. Come on.”

Yoongi even cuts you a slice and leans over the table to let you taste it. Beside you, Namjoon cringes when you close your teeth around the fork and pull the steak off, taking several bites and widening your eyes with wonder a Yoongi. You have just unlocked a taste sensation!

“Like it?” Yoongi asks.

“Mhm! It’s so easy to eat,” you observe. You look at Namjoon, “try his.”

Yoongi sighs. He willingly shares his food out. You glance down at your own meal, a pretty pasta dish that Jeongguk looks at from next to Yoongi.

“What is that? It looks good,” Jeongguk asks.

“Spaghetti Al Pomodoro,” you quote from the menu. Jeongguk laughs, because who goes to a restaurant and orders spaghetti? “Stop, I don’t know the menu, I played it safe!”

“Lemme try,” Jeongguk invites himself to try the taste, twirling his fork around the pasta and sucking it up like a scene in Lady and the Tramp. This sets off a sequence around the table, something you can’t help but snigger at. Namjoon lets you try some of his curry and Yoongi tries Jeongguk’s burger. By the time everybody on the table has tried everybody elses meals, you finally look back at your plate and notice that literally half of the meal’s now gone. Yoongi has about one bite of steak left, and Jeongguk could easily finish his burger in one bite.

“I hope everyone enjoyed my meal,” Yoongi says sarcastically, and he angrily chews his last piece of steak.

Namjoon looks up with a bright smile. “Yeah I did. Thanks!”

(17) "give me that I'll carry it for u"

Sometimes, Hoseok stops by at the reception to help out, especially during finals or midterms when you could really use those two years of monitoring an empty email inbox to study. Today, one of the newer residents, Somi, is on the desk and is playing Club Penguin on the computer, and you’re shoved into the back storage room with Hoseok, filing everybody’s mail and parcels.

It’s so messy in here, and looks like it hasn’t had a good clean out since it was first built, which might sound ridiculous, but have you seen all of this dust?

“Can you guys take out the trash?” One of the other workers, Siwon, pokes his head into the back room.

“You only just asked us to do this, though,” Hoseok points out with his hands on his hips.

Siwon shrugs, “Okay. And? Get to work.”

He turns and leaves as Hoseok gives him the middle finger, groaning as he arches his back to relieve pain that’s developed from being hunched over for too long. The trash bags are enormous and bulky with weight, shoved into a single room that absolutely honks. Hoseok grimaces as he opens the door and drags some bags out, deliberately ignoring a suspicious juice leaving a trail behind one of the ones he’s just brought into the back room.

“That literally stinks,” you complain.

“Yep.”

While Hoseok continues to haul bags out of the trash room, you take it upon yourself to drag the bags out to the back, towards the giant tip that’s collected by the bin-men the following day. After two or three trips, Hoseok steps out of the room and notices you struggling to pick a big bag up off the floor over your shoulder, like Santa’s sack.

“Give me that, I’ll carry it for you,” Hoseok offers, already stepping forward.

“No!” you protest stubbornly. “I’ve got this.”

“You’re so full of bullshit,” Hoseok howls. He ignores you and snatches the bag out of your hands. You’ll never admit it, but it feels good to not have the twisty material burning your fingers. “Sit down. You’ve worked hard.”

“Don’t patronise me,” you scold.

He giggles, “sorry. You’re too cute. Keep filling in those forms, kill two birds with one stone?”

You wait until Hoseok’s out of the room to cradle your fingers. Fucking hell, that hurts.

(18) helping ur friend decide what to wear while also reminding them that they look amazing no matter what

“You’re not going to the Met Gala, Jimin. Just wear jeans, my dude.”

“No. No, no, ignore him.” You throw a glare in Jeongguk’s direction and shift on your stomach, watching Jimin frantically search through his wardrobe. “This is important. This is serious. He’s going to see a potential employer, Jeongguk.”

“Yeah,” Jimin taunts, “so go be jobless and broke somewhere else.”

Jeongguk snorts, “I have a job, though…”

“Okay, get out of my room. Y/N, help me.”

“You looked good in the last four outfits,” you say to him honestly. “What’s wrong with this one, hm?”

You stand up, moving to one of the outfits laid out on the floor. It’s a pretty combination of clothes; a patterned white shirt that’s both formal and casual, with black trousers and brown shoes.

“I don’t like the shoes,” Jimin mumbles, continuing to search.

“Okay...Why don’t we just…” You crouch, moving a pair of black shoes from outfit number three to outfit number two. Now the shoes are black, and the outfit looks great. “Do that? What do you think?”

Jimin looks down at it, biting his bottom lip. “Is it good?”

“Yeah, totally,” you nod with enthusiasm. “It shows your personality whilst also remaining professional. And you looked super handsome in it.” Jimin faces you with a shy smile, “Trust me. It’s the one.”

It takes some reluctance and convincing, but Jimin eventually settles on outfit number two. All it took was some convincing and abuse of his praise kink.

(And he got the job.)

(19) being involved in every bad hair decision (dyeing ur friend's hair grey in between playing with their switch)

Three games into Mario Kart, you realise that you urgently need to email Nintendo and play I’m-Karen-Let-Me-See-The-Manager. Nintendo Switches are so dangerously addictive that Seokjin has you watching him play as grey hair dye bleaches his scalp. You can’t help but watch as he wins race after race, a streak of ten to beat tonight with King Boo as his racer every damn time.

“Fuck, your hair!” You must have said that so many times that Seokjin’s bound to get sick of it. He glances up at his reflection and eyes the sight on his head.

“Looks fine,” he shrugs.

“Let me remind you that it looks fine because the colour’s okay at the front. It looks kinda...patchy at the back.” You reach for the dye, “We’re low. Seokjin, we’re in trouble.”

He shrugs again. “Whatever. We can make a new trend.”

“Hell no. If it looks shit, I’m paying for you to get it done professionally ...which, you should have just done in the first place. I'm not a hairdresser!”

“And thank fuck for that!” Jimin steps into the living room and laughs nervously. “That looks hideous!”

This time, Seokjin’s eyes raise icily.

“It’s not that bad…” you mutter. “It’s okay. I’ll fix it.”

“The only way to save your hair is to just sacrifice it all,” Jimin sighs. “You know what, I’ve got a razor in my cupboard, let’s bring forward bald Seokjin.”

“I’ll take the patchy scalp,” Seokjin threatens.

“It’s really not that bad,” you pout quietly, attempting to fix the mess at the back of his head.

Okay - you’re lying. It’s awful. It’s a total disaster. But when Seokjin gets a good look at it, and he does take a good long look, he just shrugs and puts down the mirror.

“It’s a trend,” he decides. Mario Kart resumes and you’re rendered absolutely speechless.

(20) paying attention

When forced into a group of friends outside of your own, you always had a tendency to stand out in the worst ways possible. It’s not as if you stood out for being different, or funny or pretty. No; outside of your close circle of friends, you were the obvious outsider. You stuck out like an imposter, like a red flower amongst white ones.

This get together hosted by one of Jeongguk’s other friends, Joshua, takes place in his crazy expensive lake house in the countryside, owned by his parents and left to him when he turned eighteen. It’s remarkable that you got invited, to be honest. But, when Jeongguk’s your best friend, you get vouched for, granted permission to stay for the weekend in the one of many rooms, with the exception of sharing a room with two other guys. Jeongguk doesn’t mind sharing a bed for the weekend with Jimin, as long as you’re comfortable in your own.

And you’re not blind - it’s not hard to figure out why a big group of girls who had managed invitations were clinging to your circle of friends. You had lucked out in a way that ensured your entire group were visuals, everybody stunning in their own unique way. Joshua and his friends are here too, obviously, but their eyes are only on a certain segment of the group. From this angle, one of the girls who made her way over to the sofas sits with her back in your general direction, and it sort of feels like primary school all over again where you were the odd one out.

You try not to let it bother you, though. As the guys play polite and laugh when needed and talk casually, something slips up in conversation: “Well, actually-” One of the girls is talking, blinking repetitively in Namjoon’s direction with a sweet smile, “I think I have more guy friends than girls. Girls are so hard to talk to sometimes.”

“Right?” one of the others says with a sigh. “I wish I had more male friends. I want to move in with some in the future.”

You inhale. This is a good conversation to jump into. “Same,” you say. The girl in front of you turns around slightly, perhaps only just remembering that you were there in the first place. “I’ve been friends with these guys forever now, and living with them is so…” You notice after a short ramble that the girls turned back around, and she’s not even listening. You trail off, looking bored, “who am I even talking to?”

But from across the coffee table on the other couch, Yoongi furrows his brows and sets his glass down. “Y/N’s right,” he announces, and you look up at the same time as the other girls. Like they’re confused, they look at the group and then back at you, as if wondering the connection. “You know, guys are always told being friends with girls is impossible, but Y/N’s the glue that keeps us together.”

Jeongguk nods, “Mhm, exactly! You know, they said that it would be hard being friends with girls because you’d catch feelings, but Y/N’s so repulsive that it’s not even that hard...”

You glare at him, “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“Trust me,” Chaeyoung pops up, having been sat silently in between Taehyung and Mark for the past twenty six minutes, “it’s not all that.” The girls look at her, “Men are disgusting. I don’t know how Y/N does it. These guys are the repulsive ones...I was in their flat for five minutes and I think I caught three diseases.”

“Hey, don’t drag my apartment into this,” you pout. Yoongi shakes his head with a smile and watches you, happy that the frown that was once on your features had disappeared into a smile. Hey, in a weird way, this was a good conversation to jump into!

The girls around you share glances, as though they’ve just clocked on to how important you are to these guys and how ignoring you won’t make them like them more, and eventually, you’re included in the conversation. You make a mental reminder to thank the fuck out of Yoongi for paying attention to you, even when you’re silently in the background.

(21) being aware and understanding of someone's financial situation ("dw I'll pay for u")

“We all need matching ones. Look, one each!”

Jeongguk excitedly crouches in front of one of the display cases, marvelling at the sight of tiny little charms on foam boxes, smiling up at you all. It makes you weak seeing how childlike Jeongguk actually is, how he gets excited over shiny things like a little magpie. Today is one of those rare afternoons where you’re all miraculously free, and it had been Namjoon’s idea to go out somewhere and hang out. Seoul is filled with beautiful and secret places to explore like a tourist and he takes up the opportunity.

This shop is dinky and in a weird place between an ice-cream shop and a fish market, probably scammy and has definitely seen better days. But Namjoon likes it, and Yoongi vouches for it because he’s been here before with Namjoon when they brought a watch for Jimin. Okay, yes, it was a designer watch, but it was way cheaper from this shop and, wait, who cares if it’s fake? Nobody noticed until now.

You stand behind Jeongguk, peering down at the charms. They’re all so cute and cartoon-like, each charm you view immediately reminding you of another friend. For Jeongguk, the rabbit. Taehyung could have the paintbrush or camera, Jimin definitely could have the apple because of the fact that his new favourite thing to say is An Apple A Day Keeps The Demons Away. It makes no sense, but he learns to roll with it.

“They’re cute,” Hoseok comments, smiling widely.

“They should be cute, for thirty dollars a charm!” you gape, pointing out the price. “I thought this was a shop that sold things cheaper?!”

“They’re usually around sixty,” Namjoon shrugs.

“For why?” you exclaim.

Nobody hears that, or if they do, they ignore it. With a sigh, you turn away from the case and start looking at something else. Thirty dollars for a small charm is insane, and you don’t have that kind of money. As Taehyung and Jeongguk start picking charms for everybody, your heart rate quickens.

How can you tell them that you don’t want a charm because you can’t afford a charm without disappointing them and sounding like you’re asking one of them to buy you one? In your panic, Seokjin worms his way up behind you and rests his arm up on your head like an arm-rest.

“Have you picked a charm?” he asks, and you look away instantly. “Hey,” he says, noticing that, “what’s up, buttercup?”

You sigh reluctantly. “I can’t afford to get one of those…”

Seokjin blinks and frowns slightly. “Oh. Well, that’s okay. I’ll pay for you.”

“No way!” you hiss at him, poking a finger into his chest. “Kim Seokjin, don’t you dare-!”

“Hey, I owe you, it’s cool,” Seokjin assures you.

“Owing me because I paid for your McDonalds is not the same as spending thirty dollars on a tiny charm.”

“They’re friendship charms,” he explains. “It’s symbolic for our friendship. Look, stay silent and pretty and let me get you something nice. Please?”

In this one instance, Seokjin doesn’t take no for an answer and invites himself into the small huddle of guys around the charms and picks one out for you. Seokjin picks you a love heart, because he knows that no matter what, there’s a love between the guys and you that nothing can pull apart.

(22) looking stupid in public together (dancing in stores to overplayed pop songs)

You hear it at the same time as Jeongguk.

One thing you don’t mind that much about Korea is that the sound of random K-POP groups follows you around everywhere you go. You actually kind of like it, because the songs are catchy enough and Jimin and Hoseok like it for the dances. But, my God, if you have to hear Momoland’s Bboom Bboom one more time, you might explode.

Over the hum of the refrigerators in the small GS25, where you and Jeongguk are examining the surprisingly large collection of flavoured milks, you hear those guitar strums and just as the horns roll in, you and Jeongguk share a glance and immediately do The Thing.

The Thing is recreating the entire dance routine to the song, which you had both decided to learn when you were bored and procrastinating during midterms. Everybody else in your friendship group deems it the single most embarrassing thing that you and Jeongguk do in public next to jaywalking, and maybe you can see why. The chorus rolls by and you’re both shimmying, pointing finger hearts to each other, and it’s rolling to an end when one of the cashiers turns the corner with a big tray of iced coffee in her arms.

She pauses and so do the both of you, in an intense stare off until she cowers and scurries to put down the tray and carefully shelf the drinks. Jeongguk looks at you with the urge to laugh and picks a random milk off the shelf, urging you out of the aisle to pay. When you’re outside and free from the judgement of the cashier, Jeongguk laughs on the floor for about five straight minutes.

(23) looking stupid in public together (singing loudly in ur car)

“JUST GO AHEAD AND HATE ON ME AND RUN YOUR MOUTH!”

“So everyone can hear!”

“HIT ME WITH THE WORST YOU GOT AND KNOCK ME DOWN!”

“Oh, baby, I don’t care.”

“KEEP IT UP AND SOON ENOUGH, YOU’LL FIGURE OUT!”

Both of your voices: “You wanna be, you wanna be, A LOSER LIKE ME!”

In the backseat, Yoongi shrinks further down until his bum is hanging off the chair, in the footwell where his knees are. “Please kill me.”

(24) hugging people when u say hi and goodbye to them

Hoseok is one of the best friends you could ever ask for. One, he’s friendly. Two, he’s funny. Three, he’s cute. Four, he hugs you when you arrive somewhere and again when you leave, and you absolutely love it.

“Y/N, hi!” His voice is the first to call out to you when you walk into the Open Day fair at your Uni. You look awful, overslept and still half asleep, but he comes towards you with a smile and engulfs you in a hug. “You look cute. Sleep well?”

That’s not to say the other guys don’t hug you, because they definitely do. But, Hoseok’s always the first.

(25) being there for someone even if u can't help them

“Go ahead. Laugh at me like everybody else.”

Jimin and Jeongguk are the ones who are unfortunately tasked with dealing with a tragically grieving Y/N. It’s unfortunate to you, but they don’t mind one bit. The last thing they expected to see when they came back to Jeongguk’s apartment to watch more episodes of Mindhunter on Jeongguk’s TV, was you curled up on the window seat with red eyes and a runny nose.

“Why would we laugh at you, baby?” Jeongguk asks, rubbing your back. He’s sat next to you and Jimin is by your feet, rubbing them and your legs with his soft hands.

You sniff uglily, but none of them say anything. “Cause. Cause it’s just a fish, I guess.”

“It was still your pet,” Jimin points out sadly. “Susan was a great fish.”

You sniff again, crying some more. “I just feel like a bad owner. Maybe the bowl wasn’t big enough, and maybe I didn’t feed her enough...I don’t want her to have died because of me.”

“Hey, now,” Jeongguk assures softly, “I’m sure she died peacefully. You were the best fish Mom ever. Susan’s in a better place now.” He glances over at Jimin nervously, “Like, fish heaven?”

For a moment you don’t say anything, and Jeongguk thinks maybe that was too much. But then you turn to him with a hopeful expression. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jeongguk replies.

“Susan’s still with you in your heart,” Jimin adds. He’s not too great at the comforting thing. “You were so good to her. If I was a fish, I’d want you to be my Mom.”

Jeongguk looks at Jimin with a deadpan face. Maybe that was too much, but you smiled, and that’s something to Jimin. Even if he doesn’t know what to do to help, the least he can do is be there for you.

(26) "this reminded me of u"

[03:15AM] namjoon: hehe [03:15AM] namjoon: this reminded me of u ^__^ [03:16AM] namjoon: [1 Image Attached]

[03:20AM] y/n: there r no words….

(27) allowing people to be human, with everything that this entails

University truly has been the best years of your life. There’ve been rough spots financially and mentally, but your key support system has been the circle of friends you’re proud to love and live with. Even when they’re a little bit chaotic, sometimes really annoying and loud and tiring, you still love them, and every quality that comes along with loving them.

376 notes · View notes

imaginedanganronpa · 6 years

Note

Could you so V3 boys with an artist S/O? I love your work and the effort you put into them, i wish you luck with future promts in the future♡☆ (sorry if that was awkward lol)

Thank you so much!! It means a lot! And I didn’t think that was awkward at all, no worries :) Please enjoy!

V3 Boys With An Artist S/O!

Saihara Shuichi

Saihara adores your talent since he’s never been a veryartistic person himself. He has always admired those with artistic abilitiesand he considers himself lucky to be with such a creative person.

He loves flipping through the pages of your many sketchbooks, always with yourpermission, of course. He wouldn’t invade your privacy like that. But he likesgetting a little glimpse into your mind and adores every page, even the unfinished works in progress and messy outlines.

He would be the kind of boyfriend to buy you artistic presents, although Saihara isn’t the best when it comes to ideas for gifts. He’s tried to use his Detective-skillsto figure out what you may like or need but always seems to fall short.

He does pay extra-attention to the kinds of supplies you favor, and he notices the things that other men may not. Saihara notices the small details in your art and shows his appreciation to the amount of time and effort put into each piece.

Saihara loves it when you take photos or draw pictures of him but isn’t the most confidentmodel – every time you’ve tried to draw him, he’s always had a wobbly smile and a brightblush plastered on his cheeks, and his position always feels unnatural. You stick with surprise drawings of him since he always has the cutestreaction.

Whenever you draw him, Saihara will start bumbling and tripping over his words, unable to contain his joy. His hands will fly to cover his face which is without a doubt bright red. He has a drawer full of art you’ve made for him and cherishes each and every one. When you two are apart, he reminisces on what you’ve made for him, keeping them close to his heart.

You’ll use your napkin as a drawing pad on restaurant dates, doodling himdiscretely when he’s not paying attention. You’ll end up surprising Saiharawith the end result after dinner, almost every time.

More than once, you’ve misplaced your art supplies and had to ask him, “Is thata bottle of water or paint-thinner on the counter?” Saihara will give you the parenting talkto be more responsible, since he doesn’t want you accidentally drinking paint-thinner! “W-what do you mean?! How do you not know?!” It also freaks him out and has made him much more cautious when picking up an unmarked bottle from around the house.

As much as he loves your talent, Saihara gets extremely flustered when you arefrustrated. He hates when you hit artist’s block and are unsatisfied with your works. Personally, he thinks everything you make is beautiful but knows that it’s not as easy to convince you the same.

You’d get frustrated and bury your hands in your face, huffing angrily anddropping your paintbrush. Saihara immediately flocks to your side and squeezesyour shoulders lovingly. “Are you okay, (Y/N)?”

Shaking your head, you groan and stare at the canvas bitterly. It didn’t look right: the proportions were off, the color was dull, and you just weren’t happy with it.

“Your art is beautiful, just like you.” Saihara warmly smiles and pulls you into his chest. Sighing, the Detective guides you away from your work and brings you outside for awhile, just to give you a much-needed break to recharge your creativity.

You appreciate that he was able to sense when you were stressed, but it wasn’t that surprising. He was a Detective; it’s what he does. And whenever you feel drained or like your art is lackluster, Saihara always knows how to calm you down and ease your mind.

“Please, don’t say such bad things about your art. It’s wonderful, and I think you just need to step away for a while.” No matter what, he will always support you and do his best to reassure you, especially when you are feeling down.

In Saihara’s eyes, you are the most amazing artist and person he’s ever met and he will go to great lengths to prove it.

Ouma Kokichi

Ouma completely adores you and your artistic abilities, but there’s no way he can just tell you that. He’s got jokes. Oh, believe me, he’s got jokes.

He will beg you to draw him naked, asking if he can be your next model. He’llprobably lay in the pose from the Titanic and ask you to “Draw me like one ofyour French girls.” This always causes you to roll your eyes and dismiss him with an agonizing glare.

Or, he’ll sneak up behind you and loom over your shoulder. “Oh~ (Y/N)-Chan isdrawing a nude model? How scandalous!” You insist that it’s a normal part ofany artist’s work, but he’ll just continue to tease you.

Truthfully, Ouma can be a little bit overcritical at times, but he doesn’t do it intentionally. He does his best to make sure you know that he’s just teasing, but sometimes it comes across as him seriously belittling your work. He tries being sensitive towards your art and will comfort you whenever he senses that you’re upset.

That’s just how he shows that he likes something!

“So, do you not like it?” You’ll ask with a tinge of disappointment in your voice. Ouma’s sly, smug grin gets wiped off his face once he notices your glassy eyes and quivering lip, and his attitude switches at the snap of a finger.

Raising his hands defensively, he shakes his head. “N-no, (Y/N)! I was just kidding, I love it! Seriously… believe me!” Although he means it, sometimes he tries too hard to sound sincere and this can cancel out his reassuring words, but you give him the benefit of the doubt.

Secretly, Ouma adores your art and cherishes it like a little kid. He alwaysgets ecstatic whenever you have something new to show him, bouncing up and down excitedly.

Ouma will also try peeking over your shoulder whenever you’re working. You don’t mind if he watches, but he doesn’t always respect the personal-space rule. His overbearing presence can make you nervous, especially when he starts begging, “Let me see, let me see! C’mon, (Y/N)!” and whines like a child.

Whenever you come home and tell him you have a new project to work on, he always asks if he can be in it somehow. Ouma will jump at every opportunity for you to draw him because he loves your art style and the way you depict him.

Although he won’t admit it, he has a secret locked box where he keeps all of the artwork you’ve made for him. He gets incredibly embarrassed whenever you bring it up, though.

“Maybe if we kill Angie, you can take her spot as the Ultimate Artist! Youdeserve it way more, anyway~!” Ouma exclaims in a cheery tone, and you shake your head. “No way, there’s no way I could be an Ultimate,” you laugh. Ouma looks a bit disappointed by your comment, frowning slightly.

“You totally could, (Y/N). You art is amazing, so don’t say that.”

And he also begs you to teach him how to make art. He genuinely wants to learn and hone in his abilities, so you give in. Ouma’s persistent nature wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He doesn’t catch on very quickly, though. A lot of his art comes out as messy and unorganized, and he more-so tries copying you rather than developing his own style. And rather than listening to you, he insists that he can handle it and tries finding his own ‘creative’ and ‘unique’ ways to do the same thing you do.

When that doesn’t work out, Ouma gets easily flustered and gives up within the first hour, crumpling up the paper and tossing it into the trash-can. “Why am I not amazing at this? I don’t get it! Is there some trick you’re not telling me?”

Rantaro Amami

It takes a lot to impress this boy, but he’s always over themoon whenever he watches you work. The focused look on your face and the passion you put into every piece never ceases to amaze him.

Rantaro has a fine appreciation for the arts, and he wants to adapt some ofyour skills and abilities to better his own nail art when he works with his sisters. After all, he’s a bit of an artsy guy himself but he doesn’t even come close to your skill.

He provides a relaxed, calming, and peaceful environment to work in with no pressure. He’ll come up behind you while you’re working and just linger there, silently admiringyour art with a tiny smile on his face. Rantaro won’t say anything since hedoesn’t want to disrupt you, but instead he’ll just stand there and watch contently.

He finds something so relaxing about watching you work. Rantaro will also take goodcare of you while you’re busy, asking you if you need anything and providing assistance whenevernecessary. He’ll bring you water or snacks, or offer a small massage if you’re tense; he’ll do anything to make you feel comfortable.

Rantaro absolutely loves going to art stores with you and helping you pick out supplies.He has learned so much from you – he patiently listens to you talk about differentartists, brands, and materials and absorbs all of the new information. Hearing you talk about art, knowing how much you care about it, always brings Rantaro happiness.

He wants to cover your home together in your pieces. He’ll frame all of your works on paperand hang up all of your canvases. All he wants to do is showcase them - the walls and ceiling of his bedroom are filled with all kinds of different artwork, including those you’ve made for him specifically. He falls asleep while admiring them, memorizing every little detail, brush stroke, and highlight.

Rantaro will also definitely take you on adventures in hopes of finding somesort of inspiration. He’ll drive around the city with you, walk through thestreets hand-in-hand and hunt down the most beautiful places and people inhopes of striking a chord in your creative side.

One of the dreams you share is to travel to Paris, Italy, New York, and more to see the different famous artworks scattered around the world. It’s something you both fantasize about and something that Rantaro can’t seem to wait for.

You two also enjoy going on dates to Art Museums. After you two started dating, his love for the arts only intensified and he shares your interests. “I like that one a lot, it’s very pretty,” he’ll say quietly as he points out all of his favorite pieces. “One day, your hard work will be hanging up, all over these walls. Just watch, my little work of art.”

Rantaro is so unconditionally supportive of you and does everything in his power to show you that.

His favorite thing, though, is when you draw him candid. If he’s reading a bookwhile sipping coffee or gazing out of a window whilst daydreaming - he won’t even notice you scribbling in your sketchbook. Rantaro loves the little surprises and always welcomes them with open arms.

“Oh? Of me?” He confirms with a bright grin on his face. It makes him feel special and loved. He also keeps some of your smaller sketches of the two of you in his wallet and looks back at them from time to time.

Kiibo

More than once, Kiibo has caught you daydreaming about your profession. You can’t help it! Ideas of what to make next flow through your mind, andhe never really knows what to do. He thinks it’s the human equivalent of whenhe blue-screens so he ends up shaking you back into reality.

He’s never really had the opportunity to make art before since he’s, well, aRobot. He’s always been far too clumsy and uncoordinated to hold the paintbrushor pencil, but he still tries his best.

Especially since you two have started dating. Kiibo is determined to create a beautiful work of art for you, since you’re always making something new for him. He has so many sketches, paintings, and all kinds of pieces you’ve made for him and all he wants to do is the same for you.

One of the reasons why Kiibo fell for you was because of your talent – he’s alwaysadmired artists. They do something that he’s unable to and he can’t even begin to wrap his mind around the creative process surrounding art.

He’s never been the creative type. He doesn’t have the same kinds of thoughts or functions that humans do, and thus he cannot daydream or think up the same kinds of expressive, creative ideas that humans can. It makes Kiibo a bit sad that he’ll never be as imaginative as he’d like to be, but he lives vicariously though you.

You make him handmade gifts for special occasions and he will cherish each andevery one of them. Every time you make him something new, he’ll fawn over it and show it to everyone he meets. “Everyone, I have an important announcement! Look at this! Isn’t it beautiful?”

You will also come to him for ideas and you enjoy bringing his wildest dreams into reality, although Kiibo never really knows what to say. A lot of his suggestions have to do with Robots and Mech.

He much prefers giving you free-reign and watching you work. He loves watching the whole process from start to finish and he is absolutely amazed by the way you bring color and lines to life.

Kiibo is never very far from your side when you’re making art. He likes justsitting and watching, regardless of how long it takes to finish.

Although, he gets paint and other mediums allover him. He’s not the most graceful person ever, and he often ends up accidentally resting his elbow in the paint or fiddling with the markers and pens, resulting in several stray marks all over his metal body.

Kiibo can’t feel it and only realizes what’s happened after you point it out. He’s used to it, though. You normally have stray color and marks all over your hands and arms, anyway, so he’ll just giggle and say, “Now we look the same!”

Before you started dating, he didn’t realize all of the qualms and pains that come with being an artist. He doesn’t understand the concept of artist’s block or frustration involving the process, so Kiibo never really knows how to handle it when you get frustrated.

“What do you mean it’s ugly? It looks perfect to me!” He uses the most reassuring words he can think of, insisting that you must be wrong and that your art is perfectly fine. Of course, that doesn’t really ease your mind. Kiibo also didn’t realize that, sometimes, artists need space. Although he adores art, especially yours, he doesn’t really understand alone-time. He doesn’t want to leave you alone because he wants to watch you work!

But, if it’s for the best, then he can handle it. He just gets so worried because he loves your art and doesn’t want you to think poorly of it.

No matter what, though, he will always love you and show you his support for your work, especially when you’re going through a rough time.

Kaito Momota

Kaito’s favorite kinds of art are your watercolor pieces and he loveswatching you create them. He finds it so fascinating, watching the colors mix togetherand move around as if the paint had a mind of its own. He says it reminds himof a galaxy, so you’re not really surprised that they’re his favorite.

And whenever your hands are stained with whatever medium you happened to be working with,he will take your hands into his own and admire them.

Kaito will run his fingersalong the colors and kiss your working palms, grazing the knuckles and admiring the hands that create such beautiful works of art. All the colors make him think of space.

One of the more frequent dates you two go on are dates to Art Galleries and Museums– he’ll definitely enable you and your passion, although the first time you wanted to go to an Art Gallery together, you practically had to drag him there because he wasn’t very interested.

Now, however, Kaito loves going on trips to local shows and hearing you go on and on about the different kinds of art.

Kaito loves hearing you talk aboutit and can sense the passion in your voice, which is exactly what he wants in a partner. He admires your drive and how serious you are about your profession.

He can get annoyed, though, and sometimes he doesn’t understand the art, especially when it’s abstract. He doesn’t always appreciate it but you can’t blame him - not everyone has an imaginative mind like you do. Still, you get a bit upset when he calls something “Stupid” or “Weird.”

Regardless, Kaito does support your creativity. He wouldn’t do anything that might falter that or hold you back from making art. Even if he doesn’t always understand it, he’s going to do his best to support you anyway.

He’s always so speechless whenever he watches you create, especially because you get so in the zone. Half of the time, he’s watching you work with an open-mouth, wide eyed expression. He wondered how you were able to do that so easily.

The other half of the time, he’s peeking over your shoulder and asking, “What’cha drawing, (Y/N)?” Kaito is also quite inpatient and isn’t great with surprises, so you sometimes don’t want him watching you work. As much as you love him, he wants to rush through the process and see the final result as quickly as possible, meanwhile that’s not how you roll and you want to take your time.

Once, you made him an Astronomy and Space-themed painting for his birthday and he was completely floored. Holding it to his chest protectively, a wide grin appeared on Kaito’s face as he gleefully exclaims, “This is the best gift I’ve ever received!”

Also, expect him to make comments like, “Your art is out of this world!”

He genuinely wants to get some of your original art tattooed on him someday. He thinks it would be romantic and there’s no one else he’d rather have design his future tattoos.

Kaito caught you sketching him one evening and sneakily peeks over your shoulder without you noticing. “What’s th-” he stops, and stares at it momentarily, blinking to make sure that this was real.

“Is that… me?” His voice was uncertain, and your face was turning red. You shyly closed the sketchbook and turn away from him, but he’s immediately infatuated with your work. “Wait, no, don’t hide it!”

Kaito just couldn’t believe it - someone had really made something for him in his likeness, and it was so accurate! His stomach was filled with butterflies and he was beaming like a little kid.

Bringing you into a long kiss, he thanks you and reassures you that he adored it. To this day, he still has it framed and hanging on his wall. He promises that he’ll keep it forever.

Korekiyo Shinguuji

It’s obvious that he has a very intense appreciation for thearts, but he appreciates the artists themselves even more. Korekiyo knows how meticulous andtedious the arts can be and he, personally, doesn’t have the patience to makeit himself, nor does he have the talent.

That’s one reason why he always makes such a big deal out of your artworks. In his eyes, you are the most wonderful artist in the world, comparable to Picasso or Da Vinci. Honestly, you don’t really see it but you appreciate his adoration.

Korekiyo loves your art and will always fawn over and showcase it. After all, you deserve only the best. He believes that everyone should see your work and wants to show it off, as long as he has permission.

He loves going on Museum and Gallery dates with you – hearing you talk aboutthe different pieces, methods, and artists always makes his heart feel full.

That’s one way you two have bonded. Korekiyo can spout off about humanity, culture, and people; meanwhile, you can tell him everything there is to know about artwork, mediums, and well-known artists from past and present.

The two of you have a similar sense of passion and can teach and fuel one another’s interests. Korekiyo also likes going to places with you and then pointing out works that he likes. “That one is quite beautiful,” he’ll comment, just to get you fired up.

He loves hearing you talk about it, the way your face lights up and how happy you sound when talking about the arts.

You often ask him for ideas on what to create next since he has a very overactive mind filled with creativity and unique thoughts. It’s no surprise that he is most fond of your art revolving around people and Korekiyo is always asking to see your proportion studies, sketches, and faces.

He doesn’t just enjoy talking about art with you or watching you when you’re in your element, but Korekiyo also loves making it with you. He was never the creative, artsy type before you two started dating but you’ve inspired him to try his hand at it.

Although he doesn’t compare to your skills, he isn’t so bad. You’ve taught him proper proportions and tricks on how to draw different faces and body parts, and making messy, mindless doodles has become a way for Korekiyo to relax his mind or pass time.

You inspire him without even realizing it, and perhaps that’s one of the reasons why he’s fallen for you so hard.

He’s helped you create a full-blown studio in your home and he’s surprisingly good at organizing and interior design. Helping you build a place where you can work in peace was the least he can do - after all, he’ll go above and beyond for his loved ones.

Korekiyo thinks you’re so beautiful when you’re making art. He quietly admires you, distancing himself so that he doesn’t get in the way. But the way you look, and how happy you seem, when bringing it all to life makes his heart melt.

If you ever make him something, no matter what it is, he’ll cherish it and keep it as one of his prized possessions. None of his other belongings are as important to him as your art because nothing else holds the same value, and material items don’t have the same love and effort put into them.

Korekiyo can clearly see how much love you put into every piece, and as long as he’s around he will do nothing less than give you his full support and faith. He wants you to be happy and can sense that this is one of those things in life that brings you utter joy, and he wants to preserve that for as long as possible.

Gonta Gokuhara

Gonta isn’t too familiar with art, but he understands it asa basic concept. He’s never really made art before and is worried that he’ll break thecanvases or the tools you use, so he leaves it all to you and admires you from adistance.

Still, he loves watching you make art, almost like he’s in a trance. He’s so infatuated and impressed with your abilities that he can’t help but to stare and he can zone off after awhile.

Gonta can be alittle bit hard to deal with considering that he will continuously ask you questions ormake comments, resulting in breaking your focus. You try to not get irritated withhim since you know that’s just who he is, and you can’t hold it against him.

He hasn’t been exposed to art very much and the least you can do is introduce him to the subject, little by little. You love teaching Gonta everything you know which has expanded his appreciation for the arts as a whole.

He also loves hearing you talk about it, and how passionate you are. You always look so bubbly and happy when you talk about your work so he knows it’s a good thing. And as long as (Y/N) likes it, Gonta will like it, too! Anything to make you happy, of course!

Gonta gets inspired by you and wants to be like you as well, so he tries his hand at art but it often ends up looking like messyscribbles and splatters of color everywhere. You always hang it up on the fridge, though, and make a big deal out of it so that he feels satisfied.

Together, you two daydream about ideas and brainstorm what you should make next. Gonta is always suggesting the same thing, “Bugs!” which isn’t that surprising.

You simply giggle at his innocence, knowing that he’s as passionate about Entomology as you are about your profession. Honestly, since you two have started dating you have caught yourselfdoodling the little creatures more often than not. A lot of them are actually quite beautiful andGonta’s favorites are your butterfly pictures, especially when you usewatercolor on their wings. He thinks it looks so gorgeous.

You never thought you could find so much enjoyment out of drawing bugs, but it makes your boyfriend happy and you love the sweet smile it brings to his expression.

He will always help you build your installations since he’s so strong and canhelp with just about anything in that department. Gonta is careful to not damage the art in the process since he knows how important it is to you and how much work was put into them. Before, he never thought of installations as art but he’s developed a much greater knowledge of all of the basic since you two have grown so close.

You’ve tried taking him to Art Galleries before, just to expose him to different artist’s styles and works so that he has a broader sense of the subject, beyond what you’re able to create.

However, that didn’t go according to plan. Gonta would crawl under the velvet ropes restricting the viewer’s access and pick up the art pieces or run his hand along the surface of textured sculptures, despite the “Do Not Touch!” sign. This garnered several gasps of astonishment and dirty looks from the other patrons viewing.

Maybe you should’ve explained that that was a big no-no to him before trying to take him here…

He’ll also run around the Gallery like a child, chanting, “Look at this one, (Y/N)!” or, “This looks like something (Y/N) would make!”

You may have successfully broadened his horizons, but not without getting kicked out of the Gallery first.

Ryoma Hoshi

Although he isn’t one to completely fall all over someonewith an extraordinary talent, he can respect and recognize it where it’s due and will unconditionallysupport your artistic abilities. Ryoma does enjoy your work and is gladthat you have something you’re so passionate about.

He may not completely fawn all over you like other people might and is much more serious and reserved when it comes to your talent. In his eyes, it’s just something to make you stand out from others, but nothing more. Ryoma is impressed with your abilities but tries to not make a big deal out of it, since that’s just not who he is.

Although, his coolness disappears when you make him something special and that shield of seriousness wavers, because no one has ever gone through that kind of effort for him before. It makes him feel loved and cherished, so he will always do the same towards your works.

He’s a bit skeptical about it, though. You’ve insisted that art is one of theways you unwind and relax, and that art therapy has helped you in the past. You’verecommended it before but it doesn’t seem to really get through to him.

Ryoma didn’t believe it would work at first, but once he finally gave arttherapy a shot due to your continuous persistence, he surprisingly found himself much less tense and more calm than before. He was floored, and ever since then art therapy is your personal favorite past-time as a couple.

He will always give you his opinion whenever you’re working on a piece, and hemakes sure to do it in a respectful yet honest manner. You can count on Ryoma to give you unbiased feedback and let you know when something doesn’t look quite right or where he believes a color might look better. Overall, he’s helped improve the quality of your work since you started dating.

He knows that artists need time to themselves when working on their pieces and that good art doesn’t happen overnight. Ryoma willgive you plenty of space when needed and never rushes you through the process. He’s fine with taking some time apart to fuel your creative abilities, knowing that it will only help you in the end.

But he does thoroughly enjoy watching you make art when you want him around. He’s begun to love and appreciate it evenmore as your relationship progressed.

Ryoma has taken it upon himself to become educated on famous artists and works, and the different art forms that exist. He’s explored the subject on his own and also isn’t afraid to ask you questions; he is simply curious and wants to use the correct terms when talking about it.

Watching you work brings him a sense of peace. He feels at home, content, when watching you create these beautiful pieces of art. You don’t even necessarily have to talk to one another, and can sit in complete silence and he will still feel true joy.

Ryoma doesn’t mind the messy room, canvases and sketchbooks strewn everywhere, or that your skin and clothes are never free from stains. That’s just part of it and exactly what he expected when he started dating an artist.

The way he sees it, is that your talent is a part of you, and the artworks you bring to life are an extension of who you are. In essence, you are beautiful so of course he finds everything you do beautiful as well.

As long as you’re together, you will have his unconditional love. Ryoma will always support your talent, even if he doesn’t always show it.

- Mod Rantaro

#danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 #ndrv3 imagines #killing harmony #ouma kokichi #oma kokichi #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #saihara shuichi #amami rantarou #rantaro amami #kiibo #kaito momota #korekiyo shinguuji #gonta gokuhara #ryoma hoshi

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midwinter-fox · 5 years

Text

Learning

This is gonna be mostly backstory with some fluff. c: Sorry I haven’t posted in a while, but now I have three entire chapters to edit and post at once.

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

The rain outside started out as a faint drizzle, but before even half of an hour passed, the heavens opened and drenched the world with a heavy downpour. Howling wind blew through the herb garden and thunder rolled in the distance, but the world may as well have been empty to Dettlaff. Leonore was pressed tightly to him, her rosy scent filling his senses as he closed his eyes and simply took her in. Her hands and arms were doing all they could to soothe him and the pain in his heart even now, hours after he spilled his tragic tale and revealed to her everything in the deepest depths of his heart. The fear and apprehension had melted away, bringing calm and quiet in their wake. This was perfect, he mused briefly, but only because the storm's song served to further lull him into a sense of security in the small woman's arms.

He had no idea when he began to drift off, nor when they laid together on the bed, tea forgotten on the nightstand. It could've been days from then for all he knew, but for the first time in centuries, he knew a true peace. A low, rumbling purr from within him intermingled with the thunder outside, but he didn't wake until the flash of lightning shone through his heavy eyelids from his window. It was then that he woke and began to move, but a dainty hand gripped his shirt, pulling him out of his drowsy reverie. His eyes, though still filled with sleep, peered down at the human woman through heavy lids, and he could feel himself begin to smile.

She was not a graceful sleeper. There was a fairly damp spot on his shirt where her mouth pressed against his chest, no doubt from drool. Her snores were only barely audible beneath the thunder and rain, but he could hear them clearly. When he brushed his clawed fingers through her brunette locks, they tangled a bit, but he tenderly worked them apart while she slept, blissfully unaware of his silent appraisal.

Though he was awake now, he couldn't bring himself to rouse her from her slumber. It didn't feel right. Instead, he looked over to his nightstand and determined he was just barely close enough to open the drawer and slip his hand inside. He withdrew a sketchbook and a piece of charcoal, determined to capture this moment since he at the very least had both of his hands free. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he shifted so he could better use his hands to draw. How long they stayed like this, he had no clue, but he was able to finish several small pieces on a single page before she began to stir from sleep. His hands stilled as she hummed and stretched against him, her cushy body still pressed tightly to his lean one, but she eventually settled back against him with what could best be described as a happy sigh. Her eyelids were fluttering open, but now that she had stopped moving, his hands resumed. After her eyes finished opening and adjusting, she remained still and quiet, perfectly content to watch him as he drew.

The first few images were small studies of her face while she slept, the Nazairi rose still somehow tucked behind her ear though it looked a little worse for wear. At one point she traced her fingertip along the outlines of her expression on the page, and he paused to allow her to do so despite the charcoal smudging slightly when she accidentally touched it. When he resumed, it was to begin a small doodle, this time of the slightly misshapen rose in closer detail. Though his hand worked, his eyes weren't entirely focused on the sketches. He watched her watching him, taking note of all of the small features that warmed his heart. The kind eyes, round cheeks, circular face and the faintest freckles that dusted across her small nose. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine a chubby, freckle-faced little girl with mousey brown hair and cute cheeks. She was cute now, but seeing such innocent, almost childlike features in her made him inwardly chuckle to himself. It came out as a lazy smile and push of air from his nostrils, but she recognized it as the faintest of laughs. Her head turned so she could rest her chin on his chest, those hazel eyes digging into his blue ones with an unmistakable fondness as she spoke, voice a bit rough from sleep.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing of importance, liefje. I simply imagine you were an adorable child."

He wouldn't know. It was just a fleeting thought through a sleep-adled mind, but the term of endearment was a slip of the tongue that she ignored, though her eyes turned up in a joyful smile.

"Oh yes, I was teased about having fat cheeks in my youth. My own family would often compare me to a chipmunk."

"Oh?" Now there was an amusing thought. The mirth in his gaze was clear, as was hers.

"Mhm. And I perfected quite the pitiful pout thanks to them. I use it to this day to get what I want."

"So you were a petulant youth."

"You've no idea. What about you? I can't really imagine you as a child, but I can only hope that your hair was just as curly."

"Hmhmm, moreso. It was a constant mess, impossible to tame."

The bright grin she shared with him made his heart flutter, even as he recounted memories from centuries passed. Mirrors never revealed to him their secrets, but he remembered days when he would have difficulty pushing his mop of black locks from his face with once tiny hands.

"You must've been tall even as a child."

"No. I was, though briefly, a runt."

"Impossible."

"It is true. My siblings dwarfed me."

"You've siblings? Are they as roguishly handsome as you?"

"Ehm.. Not in the same sense as you are thinking. I was raised amongst katakan."

The memory wasn't entirely fond, but it was what led to him having such innate influence over lesser vampires; in a sense, he was raised as one, his true parents lost to him in infancy. Despite this, he loved the family in which he was raised, dearly so. Where his brothers and sisters were to this day, he wasn't entirely sure, but he hoped beyond hope that they were well.

"I'm not familiar with what katakan are."

"They look to be large bats covered in soft, thick fur."

"Ah, was it akin to being raised by wolves?"

"No. They have the appearance of beasts, but they are capable of human thoughts and interactions. Some can even take on more human forms, though most prefer not to."

"I'd like to see some. They sound adorable."

For a moment, he paused to contemplate showing her the katakan of his pack, but he pushed the thought from his mind. It was too dangerous, he decided. No harm would befall her so long as he was with her, but it wasn't a risk he took lightly. Not a hair on her head would come to harm so long as he was alive and able to protect her.

"They can be frightening," he decided to tell her, hoping to deter her from being too curious. It was the truth, but in his mind, they were far from being mindless monsters that attacked without discrimination. "They are large and imposing. I would advise against encountering one alone."

"What if I'm with you..?"

He hummed in thought, allowing himself to entertain it fleetingly.

"It.. is possible. There are many in my pack, but I will not risk the potential for you coming into harm's way."

"Then tell me about them. I want to know everything."

That she would press him for details in an attempt to educate herself on his kind was heartwarming and meant more to him than she knew. As such, he would tell her everything she wanted to know. He recounted physical aspects of different varieties as well as details about individuals. There were many, but he cared deeply for all of them. Before long, he was giving her the names by which they called themselves, most in an ancient tongue known only to his ilk, and though there was much that he divulged, she nodded and listened intently. It was a topic on which he could speak for days, but he stopped after realizing he'd been talking nonstop for the better part of ten minutes.

"I apologize," he sighed after recalling a particularly fond memory - one that described the juveniles in his pack and how he took to playing and cavorting with them every chance he got. "I.. I did not mean to ramble for so long."

"Please, don't stop. I love hearing all about them. You speak of this pack like they're your own family."

That's because they were. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them, just as they would do the same for him. It was why he hated himself after the results of the attack on Beauclair. So many were killed because of him, and it was something for which he internally punished himself every chance he got. It would never happen again, and he took the greatest of care to ensure their happiness and that they thrived outside the influence of mortals. Right now, they kept to the Brokilon Forest. The dryads permitted them to keep to the woods so long as he himself stayed clear of their territory, but in return, he also took to deterring foolish travelers from venturing into the dense forest both to protect his kin and to gain the guardians' favor. It was a silent arrangement, but he assumed it was a favored one for the fact that he had yet to receive a well-aimed arrow through his head.

"I would like to hear more about you," Dettlaff responded, hoping to encourage her to talk more so he could allow his racing heart to settle. He always got worked up when on the topic of his kin, both in excitement and pride. For now though, he truly wanted to learn more about her. It was rare that he ever took a genuine interest in another, especially a human, though he was always content to politely listen regardless of the conversation. This woman, however, made him want to listen and absorb as much as he could about her. Her genuine interest in him and his kind was returned with equal enthusiasm, though it was tempered to look like a mild but kind intrigue.

"What would you like to know?"

"Hmm.." He had to think for a bit, but settled on starting from the beginning just as he had for her. "What of your family? Any siblings?"

"Ugh, yes. Two sisters from a different father, and who knows how many from a different mother. I had a broken home."

"Oh. I am sorry." Mentally, he berated himself for having brought up a sore subject for her, but how could he have known? A hand on his cheek brought him out of his own head, the gentle caress of her fingers reassuring him.

"Don't apologize. It wasn't horrible. I saw plenty of my sisters, but I have a Nilfgaardian brother somewhere out in the world that I've never met. I'll be the first to admit that my family was pretty awful, but I have some good memories of them at the very least. I don't really know what happened to most of them. Some of my sisters I simply stopped speaking with. My grandmother raised me mostly while my mother took to drugs and my father to drink, so I try to stay in touch with my grandmother, but my parents I couldn't care less about."

Though her memories weren't as fond, he still listened closely to each word, hanging on them so to speak.

"Have you spoken with her of late..?"

"Yes, but as she grows older, she's been getting a bit senile. She thinks the children of her village are out to get her, so she's become a cranky old crone, but she holds a sweet spot for her favorite granddaughter."

The cheeky grin she gave him made him chuckle. There was something subtly yet inherently mischievous in her that came forth at times. He was certain that though she was a young woman, she still held on to many childish qualities.

"Something tells me you were rambunctious as a youth," he commented and watched as she shrugged.

"Actually, I was pretty quiet. I didn't come out of my shell until I reached my sixteenth summer, and even then I was reserved. I'm only outgoing now because I.. Well, frankly, I got tired of being lonely."

"Lonely..?"

"Yeah.. I didn't have friends growing up. I was always a bit too odd for the other kids. Not even my own sisters wanted much to do with me, and most of the time the children my age avoided me."

"I have a hard time believing that." Of course, he didn't think she was lying to him, simply that she was such a joy to be around now that it was difficult to comprehend how she could have been otherwise.

"Believe it. I haven't always been this amazing." Leonore's brazen boast made him roll his eyes, but the grin on her face and bubbly giggle made it clear she was jesting.

"I will not disagree with your claims, though modesty is considered the color of virtue, liefje."

"Oh please, your fancy proverbs won't sway me. I know I'm fantastic." Again she laughed, and he found himself chuckling with her until she spoke again. "By the way, what is a 'liefje'? This is the second or third time you've said it."

A look of passing confusion crossed his expression before he realized that he really had been calling her that. It wasn't necessarily serious, but it wasn't originally intentional. Rather, it suited her in his mind, for she had become very dear to him.

"It.. hm, it has a number of equivalents in the common tongue."

"Is it Nazairi?"

"It is."

"Well, what does it mean?"

"Literally?"

"Sure."

He paused for a moment, then suddenly found himself a bit tongue-tied. If he was to be literal, he was calling her a lover, though it was simply a term of affection similar to how one called someone 'honey' or 'dear.' It was fairly intimate, he realized, and he had to tame the sudden burst of butterflies in his stomach. The effect she had on him continued to astound. He cleared his throat lightly before he elaborated.

"It is.. It means 'lover.'"

The soft confession made her smile.

"And here I thought you said you couldn't return my feelings."

"It is used in a similar sense to calling someone 'darling.' I.. I am very fond of you, Leonore. Your love for me is gratifying, but I do not wish to toy with your heart."

"What do you mean..?" Her smile faltered slightly, making his own heart wrench at the fraction of a change.

"It is a term of endearment. Nothing more."

Silence fell between them, and though she looked like she may be hurt, she schooled her expression and brought back a genuine smile.

"That's alright. I already told you that I won't hold it against you if you don't return my feelings," she admitted, though he had already seen the pain in her eyes no matter how minute it was. Dettlaff had become increasingly more receptive to every emotion in her stare. "Besides, I was teasing you anyway. I daresay I'll have to find a suitable pet name for you in return though."

Her attempt at being lighthearted brought him some relief.

"What would you call me?"

"A number of things, admittedly some of which are less than appropriate." When she gave him a wink, he furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Why is that?" Why would she call him something inappropriate when his own term of affection was fitting?

"Because I find myself irrevocably attracted to you, of course. But I can't go around calling you a stud in polite company, can I?"

Oh.

Heat rose in the vampire's face, and he had to avert his gaze. She had effectively managed to leave him flustered, though a small, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at her flattery. It was very rare that he ever felt like that, and while it was foreign to him, it wasn't entirely unpleasant. This was, however, the first time Leonore made her sexual attraction to him known, and he wasn't sure what to do with this knowledge. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to her too, though he wouldn't admit as much outright.

Sensing his unease, Leonore snorted and laughed before placing a light, platonic kiss to his cheek.

"You're adorable when you blush, you know that?"

Now she was teasing him, which only served to make him go even redder.

"I could say the same for you," he ground out through his embarrassment, though he was suddenly very aware of how they lounged together on his bed now. He laid on his back with his head and shoulders elevated by pillows, but she was still flush against him, her every curve pressed to his side. Her face was close to his, though for the majority of their conversation, she had rested her chin on his chest, looking at him when he spoke so as to give him her undivided attention. No doubt she could hear how his heart skipped a beat when she teased him so. Looking for an escape, he picked up the sketchbook that had gone forgotten, laid beside him in favor of paying attention to her when she talked. Now though, he wished to change the subject. It was a success, though barely.

"You know, that lady at the pawnshop was right when she said you're incredibly talented," noted Leonore when he opened the book to flip through the pages. He stopped at the one he'd most recently used, her charcoal face sleeping beside the margin.

"Thank you. I've spent years perfecting my art."

"It shows. Your drawings look like the works of a master."

Was she trying to tease him again? It almost seemed like it, but her words were genuine.

"It is the result of much practice and study." He was humble, though he did feel a swell of pride at her praise. When she sat up to better look at his sketches, he allowed her to take the book from his hands and flip through it herself. He sat up too and watched as she marveled at what he considered to be nothing more than messy doodles.

"These are amazing, Dettlaff. Have you ever painted anything like this?"

"I have."

"May I see??" She seemed suddenly very excited, but he shook his head, much to her dismay.

"I have none of my works. All of what I've painted were left in Beauclair or sold." He was reminded of a time when he allowed Rhena to convince him to accept commissions, though he only did so both because she suggested it and because the money it brought meant she had less need to put her life on the line as a mercenary and bandit. After she went missing, he hadn't picked up a palette since. Though the memory brought with it a fresh wave of pain, he dismissed it in favor of watching Leonore peruse his charcoal artwork.

"Do you have any paints with you at least?"

"No. After losing Rhena, I have abandoned the practice." The deep frown in response to his admission was concerning.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I did, yes. It was a pleasant distraction."

"Well then you shouldn't let her memory ruin it for you. I for one would be absolutely ecstatic to see one of your paintings. I know you try to avoid anything associated with her at all costs, but it pains me to see such a wonderful hobby ruined for you like that."

"Ah, you misunderstand." It wasn't that he disliked painting now, he simply hadn't the inspiration any more. When Syanna died, so did his muse in a sense. "I simply lack inspiration and materials. The shops in town lack the appropriate supplies for me to continue the practice as well."

"Oh, okay. Well, I'll keep an eye out when I make my deliveries. If I see anything you could use, would you mind if I brought it to your attention?"

"Not at all." In reality, he probably wouldn't bother trying to purchase more materials. He had been particular when choosing his paints, sometimes even going so far as to make his own when there were none that were satisfactory for purchase. Still, her sentiment was nice, so he would humor her if it made her happy.

"Then I'll be sure to do so," she said with a smile up at him.

---

As Dettlaff and the mortal woman continued to converse, the storm proceeded to rage outside. It grew dark quickly, but he lit a lamp when it became too dark for her to see. Still, they continued to talk in the candlelight, but neither of them paid any mind to time nor the world around them. Eventually, Leonore yawned then looked outside his bedroom window at the rain that pelted the glass.

"You know, I should probably be heading home by now. I have more work to do tomorrow, and I fear I've only been keeping you up as well."

"Nonsense." His response was immediate, making her look at him with a cocked brow. "You will stay here until the storm passes. I cannot bear the thought of you braving the weather only to fall ill or find yourself hurt."

While his consideration for her was sweet, she didn't want to impose.

"I'll be alright, Dettlaff. My home isn't too far from here anyway, so I should be able to make it back quickly. I'll be wet, but otherwise I'll be fine."

"No." It was something by which he was going to stand firmly. There was no way he could let her leave when the weather was so foul. "Please, liefje. You may sleep here."

"Here?" she asked. "As in with you?"

"Is this an issue?" It wasn't unusual for him to share a sleeping space amongst his pack, and they often would huddle together for warmth on nights like these. It didn't occur to him that it could be misconstrued, even after she frowned at him.

"Are.. Are you certain..? I feel like that's a bit sudden, don't you?"

"Sleeping..?" The utter confusion in his eyes told her that she was horribly mistaken and he was far more naïve than she thought he would be, so after a moment she shook her head and fixed him with a smile.

"Never mind. I thought perhaps you had something else in mind."

"What else could I have meant?" He thought he'd made it very clear.

"Nothing. It's nothing, truly. If you'd like for me to sleep here with you, I suppose I won't decline. You don't seem like you'd be too keen on letting me leave anyway."

"No, I am not."

"So be it," she said with an air of finality. He was pleased she would see things his way. "Though, I don't suppose you and Regis would have a nightgown laying about..? I'd rather not sleep in the clothes I'll need to wear tomorrow, but I suppose I will if I have to."

"I apologize, but I do not think so." Still, he thought about it for a moment, and after looking her over briefly, he stood and went to a dresser that sat in the corner of his room.

The clothes inside were mostly dark colors or black, mainly because they simply suited him, and the lack of garish colors made it easier for him to remain unnoticed. He removed a shirt, one he wore fairly often, but it would do. It was long, as was his preference for he was a tall man, but on her it would probably fit like a dress. As such, he handed it to her and watched as she then stood and held it up to her short frame by the shoulders.

Comically enough, the bottom hem would reach her knees.

"Well, it'll work. Are you sure you won't mind?" she asked, giving him one last chance to change his mind.

"Not at all."

"Very well. I'm going to get dressed then."

They stood and stared at each other, neither one of them moving before Dettlaff realized she wanted for him to leave so she could have some privacy.

"Ah, right. I apologize." When he made for the door though, she stopped him.

"You don't have to actually leave, but uhm.. Could you at least turn around..?"

"Of course." With that, he did as she wished.

"You can change too if you like. I won't look."

She too turned her back to him then started to disrobe. In all honesty, he didn't care if she saw him undressing or not. He never really felt the need to hide his body save for around people he did not know. However, he didn't wish to make Leonore uncomfortable.

When he discarded his own clothing, he dug through his drawers to find the sole pair of undergarments he owned. They were a bit ill-fitting, loosely hanging from his hips despite being drawn by a tie in the front, but they would suffice. The only reason why he owned them was, in fact, for when he was forced to wash the rest of his clothes outside yet had nothing left to wear. As comfortable as he was with his body, he didn't care to show off everything to strangers whilst doing his laundry.

Inwardly, he was suddenly starting to become almost self-conscious. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't be feeling this way, but he was almost completely nude in the presence of a woman whom he desired. Realistically, there was nothing for him to feel insecure about. He was toned, well-built from spending so much of his time hunting and being generally active. Wrestling with the larger of his kin made him strong, even for a vampire. His biceps were decently thick, though not ill-proportioned compared to the rest of his body. He almost prided himself on his fitness, though that came with being a leader of a horde of creatures - the majority of which made him look quite small. Even the garkains had trouble besting him in competitions of brute strength, though one wouldn't know it by looking at him. If he wanted to, he could lift a fully grown bear single-handedly with relative ease.

Despite all of this, when he looked down at himself and the dark hair that covered his chest and trailed down his abdomen, his mind wondered if she would still find him as attractive now as when he still wore clothing. The only reasonable explanation for his pointless and outright ridiculous concern was solely for the fact that he wanted, more than anything, for her to desire him too, though he would never admit it to himself let alone aloud. Once finished inwardly kicking himself for such stupid insecurities, he waited patiently for Leonore to let him know when he was free to turn back around.

"Alright," she said after a few more moments of rustling fabric. "I do have to say though, you're thinner than you appear under that frock of yours."

He turned to see what she meant and almost had to immediately look away. It was very clear she was buxom, but he didn't realize just how much so when she wore loose and billowy skirts and blouses. While his shirt was indeed long on her, it hugged the curves of her plush hips, waist, and breasts. The top few buttons were undone to allow for more comfort, leaving little to the imagination. Regardless of this, she looked, without a doubt, wonderful. Something in him growled possessively, but he swallowed thickly to push down the growing need to lay waste to the offending garment.

Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all.

No, he reminded himself that the storm outside was too harsh to allow for her go home on her own, and now that she wore his clothing, he would be damned if she would wear anything else for the remainder of the night.

"Dettlaff..?" Her inquisitive voice shook him from his thoughts, and he found he'd been staring at her intensely. "Is it too much..?"

"No." It's perfect. "You look fine."

Why she cared about how she looked was beyond him. After all, they were going to bed - her appearance didn't matter. Satisfied with his answer, she turned to douse the candle on the nightstand. Her blue rose was laid delicately beside the now cold mugs of tea that they'd completely forgotten. He made a mental note to apologize to Regis later for wasting it. For now, he watched as she put out the light and crawled underneath his covers then followed suit. His heart was rejoicing at having her so close, especially with his shirt adorning her body. His linens would probably smell like her after the night too, which wouldn't be altogether unpleasant.

While he laid on his back, she laid on her side and curled up, her cold feet pressed to his warm leg and her back against him. It wouldn't do, not for him. The room was chilly, and he didn't want for her to be uncomfortable. When he turned to curl his body around hers, he waited to see if she would protest. On the contrary, she welcomed the gesture and pressed back against him in response. As such, he wrapped his arms around her and cuddled her close to his chest. It wasn't long before she fell asleep, leaving him to lay and revel in her soft body until sleep finally claimed him too.

#dettlaff #dettlaff van der eretein #my tales #oc #let's slow shit down #this is mostly fluff and cuddles #but we learn more about Leonore and Dettlaff #yaaaay #backstory #multi chapter

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boueibu-valentines · 6 years

Text

The risk-benefit analysis of butterflies

Creator: Creo @queenofthefaces Recipient: @kira-7 Title: The risk-benefit analysis of butterflies Characters/Pairing: IoRyuu Summary: Io Naruko is successful. Unbelievably successful…but success doesn’t necessarily equal happiness. He attends a play in a rinky old theater on a whim, and the talented pink-haired actor playing Hamlet takes his breath away. Who knew he could find everything he ever needed in an old ticket stub and a risk? Comment: This is my gift for kira-7 for the boueibu valentines event!! I hope you like it! It’s been so long since I’ve written for this fandom ;;w;;

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17736794

____________

He was successful. Unbelievably successful. He earned master’s degrees in economics and business finance. He became CEO of his company when he was only 20. He was incredibly wealthy, known for his competent, frugal nature—but also for his frequent philanthropy. His reputation was sparkling. He stayed out of politics and away from scandals. He lived alone in a neat, functional condo and drove a neat, functional car to work.

He had everything he needed.

But Io Naruko wasn’t happy.

It wasn’t something he thought about often, or so he told himself. The sharp longing in his chest came and went more often than he was comfortable admitting—when he saw happy families as he drove to work, when his subordinates took time off for weddings and honeymoons, when he laid in bed at night—alone, staring at his ceiling in the dim light of the moon, filtering through his cheap, paper curtains.

He wasn’t happy, but he told himself he was fine. Content, even. Or at the very least, he wasn’t miserable—neutral, maybe.

At this moment, however, he wasn’t thinking about that at all. Instead, Io was irritably glancing down at his wristwatch, and wondering how his careful planning could’ve fallen apart so spectacularly.

Well. He was being hyperbolic. He was irritable, though.

Io was currently sat in an uncomfortable, cramped theater chair, trying not to glance at the state of the seats around him—the fabric was dingy, stained, torn in places. It sent a shiver of disgust skittering over his skin. But he paid for his ticket.

His ticket to…Io checked his stub…to Hamlet. Io was at a production of Hamlet. The reason? He had a client who adored theater, and Io, knowing nothing about the subject, decided it would be useful to attend a show. The ticket was cheap, the show wasn’t long, and the little theater was on his way home from work. He’d never seen the place before, and marveled at the thought, thinking it a nice surprise before he walked into the building. It was falling apart, that was for sure. And even still, as Io looked around him, the seats were almost bare, a few scattered pockets of people. Io thought, cynically, they were only there to support their struggling actor friends. He might have been the only one there without a connection to any of the cast.

The show was running fifteen minutes late, and counting. Io was punctual, scheduled, and he wasn’t going to spend his once-in-a-blue-moon day off sitting around in a dark, ratty theater with a spring digging into his lower back through his seat.

Except he was. Because he paid for his ticket.

Io crossed his arms. He was just about to take out his tablet again when a spotlight suddenly shined onto the stage. It blinked to life, and a young actor emerged from the curtains and welcomed the audience.

There was light, polite applause as the curtains opened.

Io sunk into his seat, prepared to continue to regret his decision.

He didn’t. In fact, he didn’t know his opinion could’ve changed so quickly.

Io wasn’t expecting to be interested in the show, but then—their Hamlet took the stage, and Io was enthralled by his performance. Io found it difficult to relate to people in his daily life, but this actor, in a run-down old theater, actually made Io feel for him, for his character. The actor’s passion seeped into his every movement as he dominated the stage with his presence. His expressions, his voice—it all felt genuine in a way Io didn’t think he could appreciate.

They ran the show without intermission, and Io sat at the edge of his seat, completely invested. The other actors were good, but Io kept searching for, waiting for Hamlet when he wasn’t on stage.

By the end of the play, Io just barely restrained himself from leaping to his feet as he applauded. The cast members were all grinning ear-to-ear, despite the low turnout, despite the condition of their theater. Hamlet stood at the center, bowing deeply alongside his castmates. His character melted from his shoulders, and all Io could see was exuberance in the eyes of a talented young man.

The actors filtered off backstage, and Io wondered if he could stay behind and…and talk. Tell Hamlet how moving his performance was, how something warm and bright had stirred in Io’s chest for the first time in a long time.

Then, however, Io’s phone rang.

He swore under his breath—completely unprofessional—when he realized he had to leave. There wasn’t a playbill, so Io couldn’t even get Hamlet’s name. He left the theater with a glance over his shoulder, hoping to see movement from behind the curtain, if, by chance, he could catch the actor as he left.

Io’s phone buzzed against his palm.

No luck. Io left to his car, disappointment curdling in his stomach.

—

The next day, he found himself distracted at work for the first time in his career.

His mind kept drifting as his pen skittered across his mountain of paperwork. He kept thinking about that actor—the vibrance in his expressions, the way his voice carried so confidently. The theater didn’t make a lot of money—Io checked—so the actor was…wasting his talents, wasn’t he? The risk-benefits were lopsided…but he looked so happy up on that stage. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Someone knocked on Io’s door, and he realized with a start he’d been daydreaming, doodling stars and swirls at the edge of his papers. Io sat up straight, taking his elbows from off his desk (unprofessional!) and called out.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Io pushed aside the doodles in his margins.

—

He took a lunch break for the first time, too.

Io usually ate in his office, with his cost-efficient packed lunch. He often worked while he ate, or simply forgot to eat. It saved time, it boosted his productivity.

It wasn’t for today.

Io felt the eyes on him as he strode out of his office.

“Sir, is there something wrong?” A manager was waiting for en elevator when she saw Io’s approach. Her voice was concerned. Io realized what he must’ve looked like: the elusive, work-minded boss leaving his office in a hurry.

“No, nothing is wrong. I am just…going out for lunch, today.” Io stepped into the elevator, fighting to keep the flush from his face. He was acting out of character, he knew, but that wasn’t stopping him. “Thank you for your concern, Kurokawa.”

The manager looked surprised—whether her shock was towards Io’s strange behavior, or the fact that he remembered her name (he remembered all of their names, of course), Io couldn’t tell.

His pulse skipped in his chest as he walked to his car, his gait uneven as he rushed across the parking lot in his almost-too-tight dress shoes.

Io drove back down to the theater. He didn’t even know if it would still be open. He….he forgot to check. But there he was, standing in front of its humble double-doors.

When he entered this second time, Io saw the little theater in a new light. No longer was he focused on peeling paint, or off-color support beams. This time, Io took note of how clean the lobby was—no dust, no trash.

There was no one at the front desk. Io thought he should leave, but even as he was thinking about going, his feet were walking him in the opposite direction, through the doors to the main auditorium.

Io saw movement—but it didn’t belong to who he was looking for. Instead, there was an older man, the actor who played Claudius, holding a broom as he maneuvered through the seats.

“Hello, son.” Claudius looked up when he heard the door open. “What do you need?” His voice was kind. And at his question, a million and one answers swam through his head.

He needed to find Hamlet. He needed to show his appreciation for the play. He needed to unwind the tense tangles of his muscles from sitting at his desk all day. He needed to call his mother. He needed to splurge on shoes that fit him, and on a coffee machine that worked more than half the time. He needed a friend.

“I…I don’t know.” Was his spoken response.

“That’s alright, son; I don’t think any of us know what we need.”

“I—I mean…” Io tried to compose himself, all of a sudden feeling very, very young. “I came to a play, yesterday. I…it was very good.” Io cleared his throat, his face burning. He could talk the Queen of England into selling him Buckingham Palace, but at this moment, all his carefully selected words evaporated into smoke. “Very moving.” Io finished lamely.

Claudius just smiled. He was so different from the character he played, genuinely open and trusting.

“We’re doing Hamlet again, next week,” Claudius said, the invitation clear in his voice.

“I…” The memory of a broad smile, and earnest brown eyes flitted in Io’s mind. “Okay.” Io nodded quickly, almost breathless.

He scurried out of the theater.

As he sat in the driver’s side of his parked car, Io gripped the wheel, hands shaking.

He…he was excited. He had something to look forward to.

Next week. Okay.

He was going to see Hamlet next week.

Io walked into the office smiling.

—

Io saw Hamlet, and then waited an agonizing month before he was able to attend their next show. It was another Shakespeare production, likely so they could reuse the props and costumes. This time it was A Midsummer’s Night Dream. This time, Hamlet played Puck, and though Io didn’t know the actor at all—he somehow felt the mischievous spark in the actor’s eye fit much more than Hamlet’s tragedy.

Io saw all three performances of A Midsummer’s Night Dream, one after the other, each week. With each performance, Io caught something he hadn’t before, saw how the actors changed up their reactions. They breathed life into the play, and each incarnation was a different being. It took Io’s breath away to see.

Between the last performance of A Midsummer’s Night Dream and the preparation for the next play, Io scoured the internet for any scrap of information he could find about the theater. He found a few mediocre Yelp reviews, a blog post talking about a production from three years prior, and the theater’s official website.

Io began following the theater’s website almost religiously. The site, unlike the building itself, was sleek, and modern. Io wondered if one of the young actors designed it.

The site was scant for information. It gave a brief overview of the theater’s history, the premiere date of the next show, and a gallery of pictures. The quality of the photos varied—some were professional, while others were obviously taken with a cellphone from an audience seat. Io saw the actor—Hamlet, Puck—in some of the photos, dressed in costume, still shining with that passion, with that shine in his eye Io had come to admire.

The next show was Little Women. Io had searched up the brief synopsis out of curiosity when he saw it announced on the website. It was a play with a small cast. Io wondered who would be on stage when he went to see it.

Occasionally, Io would look at the funds set aside for play tickets and hear a scolding voice in his head admonish him for wasting his money. After all, the theater-loving client Io had gone to the original play for wasn’t interested in chat when they’d had the opportunity to meet. Io wasn’t going to the theater for…for any good reason, anymore.

But then, he’d remember the thump of his chest, the anticipation thrumming in his veins, and he’d push his guilty conscience down.

—

Io sat in his seat, with the spring digging into his back, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

He gasped when he saw the actor—Hamlet, Puck—taking on this new role. He played the outspoken, willful Jo. He worked the stage as beautifully as he always had, pulling Io in and making Io understand what his character was going through. As Jo, he glided across the stage in his layers of heavy skirts, with grace and power and a barely restrained sense of urgency, of desperation, indicative of Jo’s bold character. Io was completely immersed in the story, in the way Jo had sold the character.

As the cast took their bows, Io realized, once again, how talented this actor was. After all, he’d had Io convinced he was a teenage girl, despite so obviously being a man. Looking at him now, even as he stood in costume, Io could see the strong line of his jaw, the long curl of his fingers, the bony wrists peeking out from his long sleeves. His hair fell in shiny, fuchsia-pink layers down against the nape of his neck. His bangs softened his face, but he was still unmistakably masculine, even as his lips curled into a playful grin as his costar spun him around on stage, his skirts flaring up in a wave of fabric. The image of him up there, his hair a mess from his abandoned bonnet, skirts flying around him, an exhilarated look in his eyes.

In eyes that had, suddenly, met Io’s.

Io’s heart skipped a beat.

The actor held his gaze, inquisitive, playful, for a heartstopping moment—before he was pulled away by a cast member. Io watched him go, and only barely noticed how he looked back at Io as he was hidden away by the curtain.

Io checked his phone, and his tablet…halfheartedly, because his eyes kept glancing up towards the stage. Cast members were slowly filtering out, but not the one Io was…well, the actor Io was looking for.

Io stood, ready to make his way to the door. He straightened out his jacket, made sure he didn’t leave anything behind, and all-in-all wasted just a few more seconds before he turned to the door.

“Wait!”

Io stopped in his tracks. His chest filled with something warm, tentative.

He turned around, and…well, he couldn’t describe what it was like. There was the actor—Hamlet, Puck, Jo, except also, none of them, just himself—bounding towards Io.

“Hey,” he said, grinning. He held out a hand. “I’m Ryuu.”

Io took the hand on instinct, his voice struggling from where it was stuck in his throat.

“Naruko—Io Naruko.”

Io looked at him, and repeated the name, Ryuu, Ryuu, Ryuu, over and over, seeing how it fit to the face he’d come to know over the past few months.

It fit well.

“I noticed you coming to our shows, so, like, thanks for that! Really! It’s nice seeing someone who likes us—even when we totally flub lines and whatever.” Ryuu laughed, open and just a little self conscious.

“Y-yes!” Io replied, too quickly, “I’m not…I’m not a theater person, but…these shows are…” Io glanced at Ryuu, hesitating, distracted. He cleared his throat. “…They’re great.”

“You’re not a theater person?” Ryuu asked, his eyebrow quirking up. “I wouldn’t have guessed! I’m glad you like the shows, dude!”

Io felt the need to say something—anything—rise in his chest, but he couldn’t find the words. He fumbled for something, fiddling with his wristwatch.

Ryuu filled the gap for him. After a moment’s hesitation, he said:

“Do you want to, like, hang out or something?”

“What?” Io knew his bewilderment was clear on his face.

“I just thought you seem like an interesting guy, Io.” Ryuu shrugged.

“I have work tomorrow—” Io almost rejected him, out of habit. “But I’m free this weekend, if you want to, do…something.”

“Sweet!” Ryuu took out his phone. The case was hot pink, and the little charms hanging off of it rang like bells. “Do you want to exchange numbers, then?”

Io fumbled with his briefcase, pulling out his phone. His contact list was full of clients, work associates—but then Ryuu put his name in, with a “( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/ “ emoticon next to it.

“Cool!” Ryuu exchanged phones with Io. “I’ll text you, dude! I have to get home, now, but it was really nice meeting you, Io!”

And then, in a flurry, Ryuu was gone. Io held his phone to his chest, Ryuu’s voice echoing Io’s name, again and again.

—

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

hey dude!! check out this cool butterfly thing!!

Io blinked. For a second, he was confused—before he realized. He’d given his number to Ryuu, and now Ryuu was texting him screenshots from the website of a butterfly pavilion. Io glanced around his office, even though he was clearly alone, before texting back.

I know of it.

He more than knew of it; his contributions practically built it. His name was front and center amongst the plaques of donators. He didn’t say any of that, though.

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

omg ur one of those people who texts all proper and stuff

LOL!!

ANYWAYS I was wonderinf if youd like to go

Despite his donations, Io never personally visited the pavilion. He quickly pulled up ticket prices on his computer, scanning the costs, weighing the risks—

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

its cool if u dont!!

I just always wanted to go and I thought

well!!

perfect time to try!!

Io looked down at his phone.

When would you like to go?

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

Really?? dude!! I’m SO glad you want to go!!

I don’t really care when tho, just anytime after 10 is good :D

I bought us tickets for 2PM

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

WOAH!! You didn’t have to do that for me!

but thanks :)

—

Io’s workday was suddenly…much more vibrant. Since giving his number to Ryuu, he found the other enjoyed sending inane, chatty texts about whatever crossed his mind. Io didn’t mind, of course—on the contrary, he couldn’t stop smiling at his phone, even if he was concerned Ryuu spent too much time glued to his. He didn’t hesitate telling Ryuu this, either, and he didn’t even mind when the response was a cheeky “:P”.

And somehow, texting Ryuu brightened not only Io’s mood, but the mood of his company, too. Io found himself venturing out of his office more often, smiling at his coworkers, stopping to chat a little more. He found himself seeking contact in a way he hadn’t realized he missed.

His work was still spectacular, of course. Io just…took some breaks from it every once in a while, stretched his legs, used the new coffeemaker in the break room.

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

do u want to meet me there or should I pick u up or are u picking me up or…?

I can pick you up, if that’s no bother.

I’ll be getting off work soon, anyways.

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

chill

I’ll be getting out of rehearsal, so u can jus pick me up at the theater :p

Io walked out to his car. He caught his own reflection in the rear view mirror: his work suit, his tie, his uncomfortable shoes. He sighed.

Do you mind if I stopped by my house to change? It won’t take me long.

Ryuu ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/

Tht’s totally fine!!

Io drove home, quickly, and threw open his closet. Good lord…he hadn’t dressed casually for an embarrassingly long time. Io always liked dressing nice, even in high school—where other students tried to break dress code, Io found comfort in the uniform.

He found an old pair of darkwash jeans in the back of his closet, thankfully, and paired them with a white button-up shirt and a light, casual brown cardigan, and some brown loafers. They were on sale, and much, much more comfortable than his work shoes.

Io went back to his car, somehow feeling both overdressed and underdressed.

He drove up to the theater, seeing Ryuu chatting with a pair of girls. Ryuu was dressed well, from what Io could tell, though Io didn’t need to know fashion to at least have an opinion (he liked it). Ryuu had a fitted, black v-neck shirt, dark maroon skinny jeans with rips in the knees, short black boots, and a black and white checkered shirt tied around his waist.

Ryuu saw his car driving up and waved, quickly saying goodbye to the girls he was talking to before jogging up to the passenger side of Io’s car.

Io didn’t remember the last time someone sat in that seat. Usually, it was occupied by Io’s briefcase, or his lunch.

“Hey, what’s up?” Ryuu slid into the car easily.

Io didn’t know how to respond.

“My stocks are up today,” Io blurted. He was expecting laughter, or boredom. What normal twenty-something talked about stocks?

“Stocks?” Ryuu asked, curious, “You know, I just realized I have no idea what your job is—though I figured it was something, like, official, with all your nice suits and stuff.”

“I, yes, you could say that.” Usually, Io would be ready to preen, show off his success. But for some reason, he felt…nervous, around Ryuu. Ryuu, who texted him about cute pens from dollar stores and gleefully performed plays at a run-down theater like it was his life calling.

“Me, though? I’m just a manager at Pizza Hut. It’s not the best job in the world, but it helps pay for classes and stuff.”

“You’re in school? What are you studying?”

“Not sure yet, honestly. I, uh, had to take a gap to save up, and I hadn’t even decided in that time, so, here I am, undeclared major.” Ryuu chuckled nervously. “I need to make a choice, though. Nana wouldn’t be happy if I spent all that time just to not graduate with something.” Ryuu laughed. He talked about his Nana, before, in their texts. “Just a few days ago she sat me down and told me she’d be happy if I had a degree in horse cosmetology—just as long as I had a degree!”

Io couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him, and from the corner of his eye, Ryuu beamed at him as if he’d done something amazing.

—

When they arrived at the pavilion, Io realized, with stark clarity—he hardly knew anything about Ryuu, aside from little snippets, and yet, they still somehow eased together as if they’d been best friends for years. Io wondered if that was just Ryuu’s personality, if he meshed with everyone, like the social butterfly he was.

Io laughed quietly at his own pun. Ryuu, of course, noticed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Ah,” Io blushed, “It’s nothing. It’s silly…”

“Of course it’s silly! It made you laugh!” Ryuu stopped them next to a big bush of pink flowers. Butterflies fluttered around him, landing in his hair, only making Io giggle more. “Oh now you have to tell me—c’mon, Io!”

“Fine, fine…” Io braced himself. “I just thought, you’re like a social butterfly, and, you know, here we are, and here you are.” Io gestured to where the butterflies had settled in Ryuu’s hair.

Ryuu looked up, but of course, he couldn’t see on top of his own head. He smiled.

“You’re right; that is pretty silly.” Ryuu held a butterfly on his finger. He reached forward to place it on Io’s shoulder. “But I like silly! Say cheese!“

Before he knew it, Ryuu had taken out his phone and snapped a picture of him, unsuspecting.

“Now take one of me!” Ryuu pushed his phone into Io’s hands. The butterfly on Io’s shoulder flew away, but Io didn’t really notice.

It turned out, Ryuu loved taking pictures, lots and lots of pictures. It shouldn’t have been surprising, in hindsight. The pictures of Io Naruko tripled in that one day, not that he minded, not when Ryuu was so excited to show him the filter apps he had. Io wasn’t impressed by having dog ears, suddenly, but Ryuu found it hilarious, so Io let it slide.

Eventually they exited the pavilion, only after some workers coaxed the butterflies away from Ryuu with sugar water.

“I think they like my shampoo,” Ryuu said as they walked out. The pavilion was at the edge of a park, and Ryuu just…started walking. And Io walked with him. “That was really fun!”

“Yeah…it was.” Io couldn’t keep the smile from his voice.

He and Ryuu kept chatting, or, well, Ryuu mostly. Io added to the conversation much less, but still.

After a while, Ryuu saw something.

“Oh, dude! Ice-cream!” Ryuu started walking towards the ice-cream truck. “Let’s go get some!”

Io followed, a little more cautious. His eyes narrowed at the prices.

“These are…overpriced,” Io muttered.

“Yeah, well, you’re just getting one, right? It’s not that big of a deal.” Ryuu stood in line, Io hanging behind, suddenly uncomfortable.

“I mean—there’s…it’s useless, isn’t it? It’s expensive for no reason.”

“Dude, it isn’t useless.” Ryuu stopped looking at the menu, and instead looked Io in the eye, innocent, honest. “It’s not useless if it makes you happy, right?”

Happy. The statement was so…so simple. And all of a sudden, Io realized he hadn’t been taking his own happiness into account in his calculations. That’s why his condo had lamps he had to hit to make turn on, and sheets with holes in the corners, and that’s why his shoes didn’t fit quite right, and why he always declined invitations to his coworkers’ parties. Io hadn’t taken his own feelings into account in a long time. Not since he went back to the theater, since he kept going back to the theater even when seeing plays had no benefit to his work. Since he texted Ryuu in between lulls at work, and left his office to chat with Kurokawa and Takamatsu and whoever else he found loitering in the breakroom.

Io just stared at Ryuu. Oblivious Ryuu, who had no idea he just shattered Io’s entire world.

Io ordered a cookies and cream ice-cream bar.

—

“You want to go hang out at my place?” Ryuu asked. They both just finished their ice-cream.

“I—you can’t just invite me over, Ryuu! I don’t have a gift to bring!”

“Dude, you’re so old fashioned! It’s fine! Let’s just go hang out—I got a new game I’ve been itching to play.”

“….fine.”

Ryuu cheered.

—

Ryuu opened the door to his house and yelled:

“NANA! I’m home and I brought a friend!”

Io panicked.

“I didn’t bring a gift! Ryuu—please,” Io hissed. He wasn’t expecting to meet Ryuu’s beloved grandmother empty handed.

“A friend? A new one, again?” An older woman shuffled down the hallway, and Io’s heart thudded in his chest, even as he stiffened and tried to smooth the distress from his face.

“G-good afternoon, Ms. Zaou.” Io said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. Io had met with people as influential as gods, but they weren’t the grandmothers of his…his friends. “I apologize for showing up out of the blue like this. If I had time to prepare I would’ve brought a gift.”

“Oh! A polite one, he is! Ryuu—you could learn a thing or two from him!” Ryuu’s Nana laughed. “Just call me Nana, sweetheart, no need for formalities around here. Now what should I call you?”

“Nana, please…” Ryuu whined, “This is Io.”

“Oh! Is this the Io you’ve been talking about, Ryuu?” Nana Zaou smiled, just a little smugly, if Io wasn’t seeing things. “He’s much more handsome than you’ve made him out to be, Ryuu!”

“Nana!”

“I’m just teasing, dear. Now you two go along and have some fun, alright?”

“Okay, Nana!” Ryuu started pulling Io down the hall, his ears pink. Io had just barely toed off his shoes before he was being tugged along.

“Keep the door open, Ryuu! You know the rules!”

“NANA.” Ryuu sounded absolutely scandalized. And if that didn’t pull a laugh from Io…

Ryuu’s room was…well, exactly what Io was expecting, but that didn’t mean it…wasn’t more real, to be in there. Ryuu’s room was a little messy. His closet door was open, clothes strewn on the floor next to it—just like how Io’s looked at home, as if Ryuu had as much trouble with his outfit as Io had.

Ryuu turned on his TV and handed Io a game controller, which Io held in his hands with vague discomfort.

“What’s wrong? Has Mr. Stuffy never played a video game before?” Ryuu’s voice was teasing, joking, so he wasn’t expecting Io’s reply to be a shy shake of his head.

“You really haven’t?” Ryuu’s eyes widened. “Well, I think…the game I wanted to play might be a little advanced for you, grandpa. So I’ll start you off with something easy. Have you at least heard of Super Mario?”

Io’s head popped up. For some reason, he was expecting Ryuu to…he didn’t know…be weirded out or something, to kick him out. When he was young, Io never really had an interest in what his classmates were playing, and that lack of a….connection…always put a distance between Io and the other children.

Of course, he should’ve known Ryuu wouldn’t have been like that.

It was a grueling process, all things considered, to try and teach Io what video games were. But Ryuu smiled and nudged him forward and congratulated him when he finished a level, and Io felt warm and happy all over.

Soon, there was a knock at the (open) door, and Nana Zaou was standing in the doorway.

“I was thinking of ordering you boys some pizza,” she said, “Any requests?”

“Pizza?” Io blinked. “Um…just cheese is fine for me.”

“Meat lovers!” Ryuu cheered.

Nana Zaou told them she’d call them when the food arrived.

It was only after she walked out that Io noticed just how dark it had gotten outside. Ryuu whistled, apparently noticing this, too.

“Do you want to just crash here?” Ryuu asked, so, so casually, as if he wasn’t offering Io the first sleepover in his entire life.

“I…are you sure that’s okay?”

“Of course, dude!” Ryuu said, knocking Io’s shoulder with his own. “You’re like, the same size as me, so you can just borrow some pajamas. And we have extra toothbrushes. You know the big packs of plastic wrapped ones you get?”

“Where would I sleep?”

“Uh, I mean…my bed is pretty big,” Ryuu’s voice turned a little sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I was thinking we’d play games until we passed out, but if you’re not comfortable with that, you can take the guest room.”

Io kind of stared, trying to process the information. He wondered how this could feel normal, if this was what he was missing out on, growing up. Eating junk food? Staying up playing games until he couldn’t keep his eyes open? It was…it sounded fun.

“Well, if the first option is more authentic to the sleepover experience…I might as well.”

It was surreal, in all honesty. Io was a grown man, and yet, here he was, planning a sleepover like a child…with a friend he’d only properly known for a week. He remembered hearing Kurokawa talk about her children, how they could run up to other kids at the park and decide they were best friends within the minute. Maybe that’s what Io was doing, now, making friends, and making up for lost time. He didn’t mind it.

They ate their pizza when it came, and Io checked his stocks every once in a while, offhandedly telling Ryuu about his company and how the stock market worked. He could tell Ryuu didn’t get all of it, but he was still interested. Io…liked teaching Ryuu. It felt like he was sharing a part of himself, the thing he was good at, and Ryuu approved.

Eventually, the medium half-and-half pizza was devoured, and washed down with bubbly soda that left Ryuu burping between his sentences. And Io saved the Princess. Ryuu vowed to introduce him to more games, and asked him to pick between Kirby and Zelda. Both of the characters on the covers reminded Io of Ryuu, so he had a hard time picking. He eventually went with Kirby, though.

They played and talked until Nana Zaou told them she was going to bed and turned off their lights, and for hours after that. They played until Ryuu started to slouch onto Io’s shoulder. Io hadn’t…well, he hadn’t noticed how touchy Ryuu was—it just seemed so natural for Ryuu. Throughout the day, he grabbed at Io’s arm, his sleeve, touched his wrist, slung his arm over Io’s shoulder. Io wasn’t…he didn’t like people touching him.

He was quickly learning that Ryuu was an exception for a lot of things.

Io was the one to turn the game off and suggest they watch a movie.

Ryuu stood and stretched. His spine popped, and Io grimaced at the sound, much to Ryuu’s amusement. Ryuu tossed the TV remote to Io and told him to pick something from Netflix while Ryuu got them some pajamas.

Io browsed lazily. He wasn’t a movie person, so he wasn’t sure what would be…good. He ended up picking a title he’d seen recommended several times on Ryuu’s account.

Ryuu tossed some fabric at him.

“The bathroom is down the hall, but, uh, don’t take too long.” Ryuu looked away, “I kind of have to use it.”

Io laughed.

The pajamas Ryuu gave him didn’t match. Some sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt for a band Io had never heard of. The fabric was soft and well-worn. The pants were just a little too baggy around his hips, and he had to tug the string tighter. He looked in the mirror, and looking back, Io didn’t see a CEO, a busy executive, someone with more money than he knew what to do with.

Io just saw…someone young.

Io left the bathroom and found Ryuu tugging on a tanktop. Io blinked, his brain short circuiting with the sight of Ryuu’s bare shoulders, even for the split second he saw them.

“You picked a good one!” Ryuu said. “You can chill here; I’ll be right back.”

Io sat on the bed gingerly. Ryuu wasn’t long, thankfully, and they watched the movie.

Io couldn’t stop making comments, usually pointing out fallacies in the plot, and thankfully, Ryuu seemed to be the same way—pointing out costumes he liked, acting things he saw, trivia he knew.

Another movie was recommended to them, and Ryuu just clicked onto it without thinking.

“How can you just watch a movie without knowing anything about it?” Io asked.

“It’s just a movie. I might not have picked it if I was thinking about it.” Ryuu shrugged. “If it’s good, then it’s good. If it’s not, then we can make fun of it.”

They eventually were recommended a K-drama Ryuu had binged two summers before. Ryuu tried to sleepily explain the plot while they watched, dipping in and out of consciousness.

Again, Io was the one to turn off the TV. He told Ryuu it would save electricity.

“That’s fine.” Ryuu yawned. “We can just talk until we fall asleep, then.”

Ryuu moved to get under the blankets, tucking them up under his shoulders. He looked up at Io expectantly. Io, hesitated, before throwing caution to the wind and getting under the blankets, too. He and Ryuu faced each other.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Ryuu said, his voice suddenly quiet, as if hushed by the blankets.

“Um, sure…” Io replied.

“I wanted to talk to you since I saw you in the audience the first night,” Ryuu whispered, “I was too nervous, though, the first few times, ‘cause you looked so cool and professional.”

“Oh…” Io swallowed. “I…uh…I only came back because of you. Your acting was…well.” Io closed his eyes. “I was always devoted to my job. I only bought that first ticket because it was cheap; I didn’t even think I would like the show—but then I saw you on stage and I…” Io looked at Ryuu, trying to get across what he felt, that first night. “I felt something. I hadn’t felt something like that in a long time.”

“A long time? You’re so young, though…”

“I am, but it was a long time nonetheless. Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“I didn’t realize…I didn’t realize how much I was missing before I met you.” Io smiled, a little self-deprecating, a little sad. “I never did anything just because. I was always running risk-benefit calculations in my head, for everything I did. And then I met you, and I got ice-cream and played video games and saw plays and talked to my coworkers just because.”

“I…wow…Io,” Ryuu’s voice was breathless. “I don’t think my side is as impressive as yours, but…you make me want to be better. Like, I know that doesn’t make any sense, but you’re so put together and I want to be like that, instead of an aimless college kid. But you’re also really, like, sheltered, in a way, and I want to be better for that, too. I want to show you all those things you didn’t let yourself do, like video games and, you know…It seems crazy because we, like, just met, but…I don’t know…you just…feel right for me, I guess…”

“I know what you mean.”

Ryuu just smiled at him. And there was a sort of tension in the air, not bad, just there. Like there was something they hadn’t said, out of all the things they said.

But it felt like enough, for them, for now. And they didn’t know who fell asleep first…

…but they both woke up to Nana Zaou slamming two pans together to announce breakfast.

—

After the impromptu sleepover, Ryuu convinced Io to drive them back to his condo in his borrowed pajamas.

“You can just change at your place! That way you don’t have to wear the clothes you wore yesterday— and I can see your house!”

“Ah, there it is, your real motivation.”

Ryuu just stuck his tongue out at Io.

“Woah, dude, this place is nice, but it looks a little…lonely.” Ryuu looked around with a small frown. “You should get a plant. Oooh, and some new curtains. And couches to go with the curtains—”

“Maybe I should just get dressed first.”

Ryuu ended up talking Io into buying new curtains, and gleefully dragged him through the home goods store in the mall.

And then dragging him through the rest of the mall.

Ryuu, for all his flashy tastes, also understood Io’s frugality, and didn’t push him into buying the most expensive things. Though he did want Io to find something he liked, not just something that was the cheapest.

They also ended up getting Io new shoes, because even Ryuu noticed how uncomfortable Io’s work shoes were on him. Which was strange, because…

“I never saw you after the plays were over. How did you see me walking in my work shoes?”

“Uh…I may have…watched you a few times, from behind the curtains…”

“You’re saying you were shy?” Io tried to hold back his smile.

“I told you last night I was!”

“You always looked so confident on stage,” Io replied, “I didn’t think it was all that true.”

“Well, on stage is different,” Ryuu explained, “I’m playing a character, with all the parts planned out already. I know what’s gonna happen to that character, so I don’t have to stress. It’s different with people; much more improv.”

They ate chilli-fries from the food court, and Io refused to let Ryuu buy anything, even when Ryuu tried to be sneaky about paying.

Io dropped Ryuu off at home, and when he got back to his condo, he found a little toy cactus hidden in one of his bags. Io smiled.

—

Ryuu kept buying him things after that, too. Little knickknacks, wall art, throw pillows. They were always cheap enough that Io didn’t feel bad about accepting them, and just colorful enough to give Io’s neat, functional little condo a bit more life to it.

Their texting tripled, as did the pictures Ryuu sent, and the plans they made.

Io was going out more, and more often. And he saw Ryuu’s shows just as often.

He saw Ryuu in Xanadu and Les Miserables before his coworkers said anything about it.

“We’re glad you’re getting out more, sir,” Takamatsu said kindly. He was always worried about Io’s health, always suggesting for him to try the newest health food or vitamin pill. “Whoever she is, she makes you very happy.”

“She?” Io said, puzzled.

“Oh!” Takamatsu colored. “Apologies, sir—it’s just, ah, the rumor mill had been saying you had a new girlfriend is all. Now there’s nothing wrong if it’s really a new boyfriend —”

“It’s not like that! He’s just a friend,” Io cut off Takamatsu before someone else could overhear, but knowing the man, the word would be out before lunch.

“Well, whoever he is, we’d all love to meet him!”

—

The theater was given a generous, anonymous donation.

With the way Claudius—or, Mr. Nakai—smiled at him knowingly the next time Io came in for a show, sitting in his new, refurbished seat, Io was sure his donation wasn’t as anonymous as he expected.

Especially with the way Ryuu had come barreling into him after the second performance of Grease, his hair still slicked back in that incredibly charming style, at least in Io’s opinion.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a bigshot CEO!” Ryuu said, after sweeping Io up into a hug.

“I didn’t try to keep it a secret…”

“Yeah, but you let me, Pizza Hut manager, totally think you just had a normal desk job!” Ryuu’s voice was playfully frustrated, like he wasn’t really angry at all. “Your net worth is through the roof! And you were the third most eligible bachelor four years ago—how do I not remember that! I still have that same magazine!”

“To be fair, I forgot about the bachelor thing, too.”

—

Eventually, finally, Io brought Ryuu to a work party.

They were celebrating a successful merger of one of their sister companies, and the party was a casual, daytime, family friendly affair. They’d gotten into the habit after Io joined the company, fresh-faced, and quickly worked his way up. He’d been too young to drink, but he was well-liked for his good manners and work ethic, so they tried to keep him engaged. The habit stuck around because Io encouraged the “no hangover” part, and his coworkers appreciated being able to bring their children. Even if those children were, in some cases, old enough to be Io’s mother, and they were really looking out for the grandchildren.

Ryuu was a big hit, of course, the social butterfly he was, and hit it off with everyone.

“You two are good for each other,” Kurokawa mused, “I wish you two the best, we all do, really!”

“Yeah, I…I’m lucky to have met him.”

—

After that, Io was properly introduced to Ryuu’s acting buddies. Unlike the PG work party he brought Ryuu to, Io had tagged along to a casual after party to celebrate the end of a successful play.

With the renovations to the theater, they’d started pulling in more crowds. It also helped that Io had finally become comfortable enough to recommend the theater to his coworkers.

“You know, Ryuu used to be the biggest flirt,” Yukie said offhandedly. Ryuu was off getting them drinks, and Io felt Yukie had waited until Ryuu was gone to say this. “If he wasn’t at a cast party, he was out on a date. A different person every time—” Person? Something in Io thought the phrasing was important. “—but then you come along and, well…he seems more confident in himself. You’ve really helped him.” Yukie smiles at him.

“Not to mention, he never stops talking about you.” Yukie pitched her voice down to mimic Ryuu, “Io just took me out here. I told Io to get that new jacket; doesn’t it look nice on him ? Io really liked the show. Io Io Io.” Yukie dropped the voice. “You know, that night he finally got the guts to talk to you? He told us to stop you if you tried to leave before he was ready—he wanted to talk to you that badly.”

Io looked over at Ryuu, who held their drinks in his hands, even as he was distracted talking to his costar and her sister.

“But, yeah, he hasn’t been on any dates like he used to. Unless, you know…outings to butterfly pavilions, fro-yo, and amusement parks don’t count as dates…” Yukie’s voice went playfully sing-song, and it took only a second before her implications sunk in.

Io blushed, but quickly forgot his embarrassment the second Ryuu came back.

—

It had been the best year of Io’s life, truly. He wouldn’t change a single thing—but…

“Ryuu…” Io asked. Ryuu’s head was tucked against Io’s shoulder. They were lounging on the couch they picked out together a month prior. Ryuu hummed.

“Have we…been dating this whole time?” Io felt the way Ryuu stiffened up against his side. Io thought about…what he thought he was making up, all of those hesitations, the looks, the way Ryuu would grin shyly whenever Io would imply how he wanted to be with Ryuu for years—because in such a short time, Ryuu had become that important to him.

“That depends on if you want to be…” Ryuu mumbled, burying his face against Io’s side.

“What would it change if I said yes?”

Ryuu’s lips curled into a smile against Io’s arm.

“Well, we practically live together, at this point. Half of my clothes are over here. You take me on dates. My Nana loves you. Your mom loves me. And you’re thinking of naming the Pomeranian we want to get ‘Yen,’” Ryuu listed, “I think the only thing would change would be the amount of kisses I can get from you…and other things…if you’re okay with that.”

“Hey Ryuu?”

Ryuu untucked his head from against Io. “Yeah?”

“I’m more than okay with that.”

Ryuu’s smile was absolutely blinding.

“You want to start with the kissing thing, now? Because frankly I’ve been wanting to kiss you for so long, and if I have to wait another minute I’m gonna explode.”

Io cleared his throat, suddenly shy. Ryuu’s eyes were so bright, and Io couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away, but as Ryuu slowly began to lean closer, Io found his own eyes slipping shut.

The kiss was chaste, and sweet, and sent Io’s heart into a frenzy of butterflies. He felt Ryuu smile against his mouth, and he didn’t have to do a single calculation to know that every risk he took with Ryuu was absolutely perfect.

#boueibu valentine #boueibu #ioryuu #zaou ryuu #naruko io #queenofthefaces #kira-7 #fanfic #submission

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ticklishhpickle · 7 years

Text

No Hugs

Summary: Dan Howell does not like hugs. Or Phil Lester. And he certainly doesn’t like hugs with Phil Lester.

Word count: 2.7k

Genre: fluff, this is literally just a ball of fluff with pining Dan who won’t admit he likes Phil

Warnings: none

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dan Howell hated physical contact. Hugs, especially. He hated the feeling of pressing his chest against another human’s chest awkwardly in some weird display of affection. Having arms wrapped around him made him feel like he was being trapped, the arms feeling like a hungry python engulfing his body in a deadly choke. The whole concept and practice of physical contact just seemed so uncomfortable to Dan. Why would anyone willingly put themselves through the awkwardness of human touch when they could just, not?

The few hugs Dan had had the displeasure of enduring throughout his life were all painfully unpleasant. The first was with his dad- he was twelve and it had ended in a lot of awkward back patting. The second was with his Aunty who had unwittingly pressed her rapidly sagging chest against his, making him shiver in terror. The last and possibly worst was with his friend Chris who’d practically forced him into it after Dan had come out to him. Was it a huge, momentous occasion not only for Dan, but for their friendship as well? Sure. Did it warrant a hug? Certainly not.

“Hi Dan! I made cupcakes with my little sister over the weekend- this one’s chocolate flavoured, I heard you liked chocolate? Anyway, here you go.”

And there was the other thing Dan hated: Phil Lester. Phil lester was the sweetest, most positive and most adorable person Dan had ever met. It was disgusting.Phil was always going out of his way to make his day better, leaving cute little notes in Dan’s locker, pencil case- anywhere he could access really. If that wasn’t bad enough, he always made conversation with Dan, asking him how his day was with such genuine interest that Dan couldn’t do anything but answer. It was so manipulative of Phil.

Dan turned around in his chair, accidentally looking straight into his classmate’s baby blue eyes. They were so stupidly bright, twinkly and full of life. Seriously, the boy was just asking to be hated! Dan bashfully took the cupcake out of Phil’s outstretched hand. It was only the polite thing to do, and Dan loved chocolate which helped. He took a small bite. It was delicious. The rich chocolatey taste melted in his mouth and he licked his lips.

“Thanks. It’s good.” He said, making sure not to show any emotion in his tone. He couldn’t let Phil get any ideas.

Phil’s mouth turned up in a lopsided grin, his eyes twinkling even more now if that was possible.

“Thank you! I’m really glad you liked it, I have more in my locker if you want to come get them at lunch? And I can tell you about my newest Pokemon game while we’re there!” Phil was looking at Dan with the softest, most hopeful expression that he’d ever seen.

“Okay.”

Fuck. The answer had tumbled out of Dan’s mouth before he’d even had the chance to think about it. He didn’t want to hang out with stupid, lame Phil Lester at lunch! Seriously, the guy was such a nerd, with his Pokemon obsession and his little hipster glasses and his amazing baking skills. Ugh, and Dan couldn’t retract his agreement because then that giddy look on Phil’s face would be gone, replaced with one of disappointment and rejection. As much as he hated Phil, it would just be cruel to say no now,

“Great! See you then.” Phil beamed before going back to doodling dumb Pokemon in his workbook. Seriously, who even liked Goldeens? They were the lamest Pokemon out!

Lunchtime was not going to be fun.

Dan was in the cafeteria, sitting next to his best friend Chris. Both boys were unashamedly licking the remaining bits of cupcake from the empty wrappers.

Chris moaned in delight.

“These are fucking delicious, Lester’s an amazing baker.” Chris said, throwing his soggy wrapper into the bin.

“I know! He’s so stupidly good at everything. He’s such a try hard, it hurts.” Dan grumbled, taking another cupcake out of the container and shoving it in his mouth.

“Yeah. It’s just too bad that you have the biggest crush known to man on him.” Chris had walked back from the bin now, and was standing at the head of the table with his arms folded.

Dan spat the contents of his mouth ungracefully onto the table in front on him. He coughed a few times, the crumbs stuck in his throat.

“I’m sorry, what?” He asked, voice croaky.

Chris rolled his eyes.

“What are you acting surprised for? You’ve had the biggest crush on Lester since he moved here and we both know it.”

“No I don’t! I hate that guy!” Dan was blushing furiously now, how could his own best friend accuse him of something so gross?

“Alright. And that’s why he’s all you’ve been talking about the past few months, why you’re eating his cupcakes and why you invited him to sit with us at lunchtime.” Chris smirked, clearly quite pleased with his arguments.

Dan shot Chris a look that was supposed to make him flinch, but only served to make the boy even more amused at his friend’s obvious denial.

“Shut up! I only invited him to sit with us because I felt bad after he gave me all those cupcakes, and he said he wanted to tell me about his new Pokemon game.” Dan scoffed. “It was a pity invite.”

“Okay. If you say so.” Chris grabbed a napkin and began cleaning the crumbs Dan had spat out onto the table. Dan breathed a sigh of relief. For once Chris had given up and Dan could be left in peace. Was this real life?

“Do you think a purple tux would suit me? I want to stand out at the Dan and Phil wedding.” Chris mused casually.

Dan screwed his face up, his hands balling into fists. What kind of best friend was Chris? He opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted when a certain black-haired boy returned to the table.

“Hey I’m back!” Phil slid casually next to Dan on the seat, his eyes lighting up when he saw that all of the cupcakes were gone.

“So you guys liked my cupcakes, I see?” Phil nudged Dan in the side playfully, making his insides tingle with what was most definitely hatred.

Dan nodded softly in acknowledgement, a smile spreading across his face that he tried to fight back. Seeing Phil happy didn’t make him happy. Not at all.

“Aw thank you!” Phil smiled back at Dan before opening his arms wide. “I think a congratulatory hug is in order, don’t you think? That was a lot of cupcakes but you tackled them all!”

Dan recoiled, shifting back along the bench away from Phil. A hug? And from Phil Lester of all people? No thanks.

Phil’s face fell immediately, and Dan’s heart clenched. Phil retracted his arms back to his sides awkwardly, looking at Dan like he’d just told him Santa wasn’t real.

“He doesn’t like hugs. Weird, I know right?” Chris explained, shaking his head.

“O-oh, sorry- I didn’t realise...” Phil replied, all red in the face now.

“Um, it’s okay. Not a big deal.” Dan slowly scooted back to his original place on the seat, feeling guilty all of a sudden. It’s not like he should feel bad, he had nothing to be sorry for. It didn’t matter that Phil looked like a sad little puppy when his hug had been rejected. Dan didn’t care.

He just didn’t like hugs, and Phil Lester would be no exception.

It had been a few weeks since the ‘no hug’ incident (as Dan liked to call it) and Phil had become even more annoying somehow.

He was hanging out with Dan and Chris more, sitting with them every single lunchtime- didn’t he have any other friends? He also always felt the need to sit as close to Dan as possible, whether it was in five of the six classes they shared together, or at lunchtime when he would snuggle up to Dan on the long seats, when there was clearly enough room for him not to. Dan couldn’t complain though, he couldn’t hurt Phil’s feelings like that. It would just be too mean and awkward to tell him to stop, so he was stuck with the boy.

The worst part of it all, by far were the looks Phil always gave him. Always gazing at Dan softly with his stupid sparkly blue eyes, when Dan wasn’t looking and even when he was. He’d called Phil out on it a few times, and all the silly boy had done in response was blush and stutter out a lame excuse. Who did he think he was, acting like a little ray of sunshine that made Dan’s meaningless existence actually somewhat bearable?

“Oi, loverboy, you going to Homecoming?” Dan felt his side being nudged by Chris. It was lunchtime and Dan and Chris were sitting in their usual spot, Phil actually absent for once, having told Dan he had some homework to catch up on. It was kind of quiet without him.

“I don’t think so. I’ve got no one to go with and I don’t plan on third-wheeling you and Tess the whole night.” Dan sighed. He actually wanted to go.

“Oh, what? I thought you were going with Lester.” Chris had the teasing smirk on his face that appeared every time Phil was brought into conversation.

“No! We’re not like that.” He defended, crossing his arms.

“Then care to explain the lovey-dovey glances you guys always give each other, or the fact that he basically cuddles up to you every lunchtime or maybe, I don’t know, why you never seem to stop talking about him?”

Dan narrowed his eyes.

“Seriously Chris, you need to stop. I’m getting annoyed now.” Dan loved his friend, but right now he was irritating him to no end. Chris had other ideas, however. He looked Dan right in the eyes, grinning wickedly before chanting,

“Danny has a crush, Danny has a crush, Danny has a crush, DANNY HAS A CRUSH!”

Dan was more frustrated than he’d ever been in his life, why couldn’t Chris just drop this? Didn’t he make it clear that he hated Phil, complaining about him as often as possible? Anger was bubbling up inside of him, hot and red and the next words that came out of his mouth would come to be ones he would regret.

“I DO NOT LIKE PHIL LESTER, I HATE HIM! Seriously, you need to shut up about this already!”

He saw Chris open his mouth to reply, before his eyes widened and he pointed behind Dan.

He turned around.

Oh shit.

The one and only Phil Lester was standing there, bouquet of roses in his hand and a crushed look on his face. Dan had felt bad enough seeing Phil’s hurt expression when he’d rejected his hug all those weeks ago, but now- Phil looked devastated.

The boy’s bright blue eyes were wet, the pain he was feeling evident. Before Dan could do anything to rectify the situation, Phil was running off, the roses dropped to the floor.

Double shit.

Dan’s stomach dropped, the weight of what had just happened hitting him.

He knelt down and picked up the bouquet of roses, feeling a stab in his chest when he saw the note attached.

Homecoming? :D

Dan had fucked up. He’d really fucked up now. Oh god, he didn’t hate Phil, not even a little bit. Dan had thought the reason he couldn’t stop thinking about Phil was become he hated him so much, but it really was the opposite. Chris was right, he did like him. A lot. But now he’d hurt Phil, and he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

Phil was going to ask him to homecoming! It would have been amazing. Dan could imagine it now; Phil coming to his house to pick him up, looking beautiful in a suit that would match Dan’s. Dan’s mum would be overly excited, of course, taking dozens of pictures of the two together before sending them off into a limousine she would have insisted on renting. And finally, when the last slow song was being played, Phil would pull Dan onto the dancefloor and they’d sway in sync to the music, their foreheads pressed together as they looked into each other’s eyes.

Dan’s chest felt heavy. He couldn’t give up on that dream. Phil was the kindest and most understanding person he knew, he might forgive Dan if he gave a good enough explanation. But how was he going to do it? He needed to do something big, something that Phil wouldn’t be able to say no to…

Dan looked around his bedroom, eyes scanning over various objects before landing on the red bouquet of roses Phil had dropped earlier. Dan smiled. He knew how to fix this.

Dan paced nervously around Phil’s front yard, straightening up his suit jacket. This better work. After a few more minutes of stressing out, Dan forced himself to walk to the front door.

He rang the doorbell.

He heard the soft padding of feet for a few seconds before the door opened, revealing a tired-looking Phil. He straightened himself up when he saw it was Dan on the other side of the door, looking apprehensive.

“What are you doing here?” The beautiful blue eyes Dan loved so much were not sparkling, now looking dull and hopeless.

“I came here to apologise, if you’ll let me. I have something prepared.”

Dan stepped aside, allowing Phil to see what was in the front yard. A table with a red checkered cloth was in the middle of his garden. On top was a tray with ten chocolate cupcakes, each with one letter from the word ‘Homecoming’ iced on. Surrounding the baked goods was a circle of carefully sprinkled rose petals, hand picked from Dan’s mother’s garden.

“What’s this, Dan?” Phil’s eyes were filled with a soft wonder akin to that of a child’s. He was outside now, standing in front of the table.

“This is an apology. And an invitation, if you’ll accept it.” Dan cleared his throat nervously. “ “I like you, Phil. I’m sorry I ever said anything else. I was an idiot to deny the fact that I’ve liked you ever since I met you.”

Phil looked utterly shocked now, and dare he say, a little giddy? The brightness had returned to his eyes, giving Dan the confidence to continue.

Dan picked up the bouquet of roses- now a little wilted- that Phil had given him the day before. He handed them to Phil, their hands brushing together causing both boys to turn pink.

Within two seconds a huge smile had overtaken Phil’s face, meaning he’d read Dan’s reply on the note attached- ‘yes :D’.

“Will you go to homecoming with me?” Dan asked, more than anything wanting Phil to say yes.

Phil looked up from the note and into Dan’s eyes, causing him to swoon a little. This was it. Dan braced himself for the answer that would either make or break him.

“Yes! Of course I’ll go with you, dummy. I like you too in case that wasn’t painfully obvious. And I forgive you, I’m just glad you didn’t mean it.”

Phil was opening his arms, leaning forward to encircle Dan with them before he quickly stopped himself. He shuffled on his feet awkwardly.

“Sorry! I forgot you didn’t like hugs! Celebratory handshake instead?” Phil smiled apologetically, his expression soft and innocent.

Dan didn’t know why he felt really disappointed when Phil pulled away. He hated hugs, didn’t he? But Phil’s face looked so cute and small, and he just looked so warm…

“Well… maybe we can hug. Just this once.” Dan found himself saying.

Almost instantly, Phil threw his arms around him, surrounding him in warmth and the smell of cinnamon. Dan squeezed back hesitantly, finding that the hug wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It didn’t feel too awkward, or forced and soon Dan found himself melting into the embrace. He felt safe and secure in Phl’s arms, and his heart was flipping over in his chest excitedly.

Maybe hugs weren’t so bad, at least not with Phil.

#fluff #phanfiction #phan #gettingtogether #friendstolovers #highschoolau #au #phanau

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fluid-kheiotics · 7 years

Text

Maybe It Doesn't Have To Be This Way

It's a little late, but tonight's post is another story from Kira, chaseawaythedark on DeviantART.

The city lights are still bright as ever when you open your eyes from the fifth nap you've taken that week. You check the time: 4:37 am.

You sigh and rub your eyes, thinking that maybe this could be a good time to wake up. Almost no one's up besides you, but you like it that way. It's more peaceful that way. It gives you time to think.

The sky is starting to lighten; the first signs of dawn. No birds can be heard yet, though; it's too early.

When you stretch and place your feet on the floor, you recoil and reach for your slippers. Now that your feet are protected against the freezing floor, you walk to your small kitchen and prepare coffee to chase away the remnants of sleep. The coffee maker stirs and hisses to life, complaining that it's too early, even though this isn't the first early morning cup of coffee it has prepared. This has happened all too often.

This happens more often than not. You've woken up to nothing but dark, except for the shining city lights. You remember the last time you woke up at night. It started the same and ended the same. The same lights, the same empty feeling inside, the same cups of coffee that you gulp down just so you don't go to sleep and miss work again. If you miss another day, the manager said, you'll be fired.

You look at the bed. Half of the royal blue blanket is on the floor, exposing the matching sheet beneath. The pictures from last summer still peek out from your bedside drawer, because you can't bear to look at them but can't bring yourself to throw them away. They bring back too many memories, both good and bad.

The sight of them makes you angry, so you open the drawer, shove the pictures inside fully, and close it with enough force to shake the white lamp on your table. The coffee maker ceases to create noise; the coffee is done.

The hot steam of the coffee hits your face pleasantly as you pour some into your favorite mug: a white one you doodled on with black Sharpie. You sip it, forgetting to add cream and sugar, and decide you like it without anything added.

Your fingers start to burn from the heat of the liquid, so you set the mug down and shake your biting hands. As you sit in silence, arms crossed and staring into nothing, your phone chimes. Heart jumping — is it a text from one of your friends? —, you spring towards it and rip the charging cord out of the port. Sighing when it's one of your silly reminders — "Accept it and move on" —, you put on some nice music to fill the silence.

The notifications are supposed to help you feel better but sometimes they just feel like an annoyance. "Learn to love yourself." "It wasn't your fault." "You're wonderful just how you are." Your therapist — ex-therapist — suggested the reminders a few months ago. You don't turn them off, though. They make you feel better sometimes.

Today, the music playing from the apartment sound system is flatsound. His music and spoken word makes you feel happy yet more numb than before.

It looks nice outside. Despite it being January, there is a promise of warmth. You check the forecast and loose a smile. It's 30° Fahrenheit outside, just below freezing, but the wind chill is 24° Fahrenheit. A tad bit warmer than usual.

You decide to go for a walk. Walking calms your nerves. You go to your bedroom and change into dark grey pants and an old white shirt with a sunrise on it. A heavy black coat covers your outfit, a plaid blanket scarf is swirled around your neck, and black boots are filled with your feet. Your phone is deposited into your pocket, but not before you plug your earbuds in. After you transfer your coffee into a travel mug, you turn off all of the lights, grab your wallet, and lock the door behind you.

The coffee warms your hands while you exit the building and wish you wore your gloves. There aren't many people or cars on the streets, but some stores are open. Almost all sounds are muffled by your music. A homeless woman wearing a tattered military uniform shivers as you pass by. A small cup filled with water and a meager amount of change sits beside her. There is a coffee shop across the street. Removing your earbuds, you look both ways before crossing and enter. Ordering a coffee while downing the rest of yours, you pay and exit, but not before you grab a handful of sugar packets and cream cups. The new coffee enters your mug as you cross again. You bend over a little to give the sitting woman the coffee, cups and packets. She looks up at you in awe and says, "Bless you, child. This will not go unnoticed by God," you feel uncomfortable and so only nod without replying, making your way down the street once more.

You can buy a new mug, you assure yourself when you look back. The woman is content, her face flushed from the heat and wrinkled hands wrapped around the container possessively. A pang of guilt ripples through you for thinking of asking for the mug back. It was nothing special, anyways.

Your stomach growls and you ignore it, but when it starts up again and again, it gets harder to ignore. I haven't eaten in two days, save for coffee and water, you think suddenly. There's a bakery that's open down the road. You make your way towards it, taking out your hands that you shoved deep into the pockets of your coat to keep them warm.

The main baker is kind; you two make small talk as you order a plain bagel. He's a big fellow with a full head of curly black hair and hands that look as doughy as uncooked bread. He hands you two donuts: one chocolate and one with raspberry filling. "You look a little skinny, kid, even under the coat." When you look down and blush, the man laughs. "Don't worry about payment, either. It's on the house for being the first customer of the day. Especially when it's almost five in the morning!" The man laughs again and you smile, a genuine smile this time. You nod in thanks and turn to head out the door as the baker adds, "Have a good day!" You raise your free hand to acknowledge that you heard him and closed the door, bells jangling cheerily.

The donuts smell too good to resist, so you open the brown paper bag and nibble on the raspberry one. The taste is so good, you realize just how ravenous you are and gobble down both donuts. With your belly full and a warmth spreading through your veins, you feel more at ease than you have in a year.

You go down the street and as it always does, the feeling of contentment does not last. The wind blows away any hope of warmth. You clench your fists in your coat pockets and you clench your teeth in your mouth.

The wind sweeps along your bones and coils around your soul, settling down with a sigh like a cat who has found a place to rest. It starts to snow. The flakes melt on the pale skin of your face and cling to your coat helplessly. They dance in the air around you and you scowl when they attach to your dark hair and eyelashes.

The city is hushed by the snow, as if with each falling flake, a new sound is quieted. You breathe in the ice, the cold air like a blade in your lungs.

There is a bench at a bus stop nearby. You brush off the snow and sit down. A light turns on in someone's window in an apartment building across the street. The dawn is visible now, a bright streak of color in an otherwise colorless world. You stare at it for the longest time until your eyes burn and you are forced to look away.

You sit and stare at your hands again. You don't notice the stranger until you feel a new weight on the other side of the bench. When you look up, you find it's a girl around your age. She's bundled up in a puffy, bright blue jacket and black leggings. On her feet are comfy-looking brown boots and on her head is a white cable-knit beanie with a soft brown furball on top.

She says something and you take the earbuds out to hear her. "Hi," she repeats.

"Hi," you mumble.

"Mind if I sit here?"

You shake your head dumbly and she adjusts her position on the hard wooden bench. "It's cold outside, but I like it that way. What were your listening to?"

Holding out your earbud, she accepts the invitation and scootches in closer to listen. "You listen to flatsound, too? Huh, what are the odds of me meeting a guy who listens to flatsound at five am?" She laughs, a pretty sound that rivals her in attractiveness.

"I've been listening to him for a couple of years. I like his music," your voice drops down to a quiet mumble as you say, "and it's not 'guy',"

"Me too," she moves closer still. "What did you say?"

You struggle to find the words. "I'm not a guy. I iden- I'm non-binary. 'It' is preferred."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" She looks sincerely remorseful but also interested. "But what were you- um- what is your, um, real... gender?"

"He. But I don't feel like a he or a she. 'They' doesn't work. So... it."

"Oh, that's cool! I'm a she, if you couldn't tell," she laughs and motions to her figure. You blush and stare at her face. "What are you doing up at five?"

You flounder for an answer and can only come up with a feeble "Can't sleep."

"You have insomnia? Man, that must suck. I'm sorry. But you get to stay up and just be alone."

This girl makes you feel both nervous and at ease. She talks easily and is nice. She likes flatsound. She didn't laugh at you when you admitted you were non-binary. She was also pretty, with curling red hair, pale skin, and wide blue eyes. Her nose glinted with a gold ring through one nostril.

You scratch your neck, suddenly feeling awkward. All shyness and fears of being judged swamps you and cuts off your voice. "Are you okay? Am I coming on too strong? I'm sorry. I have the tendency to talk a lot but not many people actually listen, but you do." Her face floods with worry.

The clamp around your throat that prevents you from speaking releases its hold on you. "I'm sorry, too. I'm really shy and I have social anxiety and that makes talking to people really difficult. You seem nice already and I like talking to you."

Horror creeps up on you. What are you doing, telling this random girl all of your personal things? You don't even know her name.

"Oh, wow. I have a friend with social anxiety and depression. He doesn't talk much, like you, but sometimes I can get him to open up. Like you," she nudges your knee with hers and surprisingly, you don't flinch away from the contact. You actually nudge her knee too.

"Sounds like me," you blurt and laugh.

"Do you wanna hear something? Something I tell Taylor?" She looks up at you and you marvel at how you don't even know this girl's name, yet you like her.

You nod. "Well, I tell him that there's always going to be pain in your life, there's gonna be numbness and negativity. But it's only you who can decide 'maybe I can be better. Maybe I don't have to feel this way so often. Maybe it doesn't have to be this way'."

At the last sentence, something inside wakes up. "Maybe it doesn't have to be this way," you repeat to yourself. That something had been slumbering ever since last summer, when he decided that he didn't want to have his friends think he was gay by going out with a guy.

You look at the girl, really look at her, and she looks back at you. "I'm Avery," you whisper.

"I'm Jocelyn." She smiles.

That's a beautiful name, you want to say, but the words don't come out. Instead, you ask, "What's your phone number?"

Jocelyn pulls out her phone and hands it to me. The messaging app is open. "Text yourself."

Even though it's just a text, something that will tell you what Jocelyn's phone number is, you contemplate what to say. It will start a new conversation between you two. It will change everything.

So, when you type in something, hit "Send", and you give her the phone back, you feel a buzz in your pocket as Jocelyn gets up and says, "The bus is here. Get some sleep. I'll be waiting for you to respond when you wake up."

When the bus and the girl are gone, you pull out your phone.

"New message:

'Maybe it does't have to be this way. '"

#lgbt #lgbt+#SAGA #non binary #nonbinary

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