#I feel like there's a very small if not nonexistent overlap between 'person who enjoys olympic wrestling' and 'fandom member'

[suzufield]

I'm glad the sport I do is not popular enough to have rpf (it probably does but I will never look)

[astraeal]

Commission for @aciddial! I had a lot of fun writing this; hope you enjoy! Read on AO3 here. 

Stardew Valley, and all characters therein, belongs to concernedape.

Leah’s washing her freshly picked blackberries when the birdsong falls silent. Her days are measured by the ebbing and flowing of flora, fauna, and the babbles of the river, and though it’s growing darker, the birds should still be singing. She flicks the water off her hands, drying them against her shirt as she goes to the window.

The sky is darker than it should be for an autumn evening, but rain is common as the seasons begin to change in the valley; less than the thunderstorms of summer, but still something worth celebrating. Perhaps the rain will push out a couple more mushrooms and berries before winter’s chill sets in; that, Leah can get behind.

Rough sketches, surplus canvases and paints, inventory sheets of supplies, and scattered, dulled tools, resting between miniature scale replicas of future projects cover her only table. She’d rather sit and eat than have to wade back into her workspace. Then again, her cabin is so small, the whole structure could be considered her workspace. She likes to think that she keeps her bed free from her work, but even then she makes exceptions to sketch her dreams from time to time, so.

Perhaps not.

She finishes cleaning the berries, setting some aside in the jars the Farmer had kindly given to her, the rest sprinkling on her evening salad. She perches on her stool, the plate held aloft in her hand as she begins her dinner. As she chews over the fall fresh berries, her mind wanders through the pathway of small cabins and creatives who live inside them, and naturally, she begins to think about Elliott.

He insists that he’s fine down in his little beachside shack, but that doesn’t stop her from offering for him to stay with her every autumn and winter. There are some comforts the forest offers that the beach does not, just as there are comforts her cabin offers that Elliott does not. He treats his piano with better care than he treats himself, despite Leah’s best efforts to improve her friend’s state of living.

Sure, Willy doesn’t mind allowing Elliott’s use the bait & tackle shop’s outhouse, and his electricity bill is nonexistent because there’s simply no lights in the shack. But when Leah points out that maybe those things aren’t exactly good, Elliott refuses to see reason. It’s a point of independence and pride, she knows; they both were running away from naysayers when they each came to Pelican Town.

She still feels that relief whenever she sees him walk into the saloon, that balm of finding another artistic spirit in a place of salt-of-the-earth folk. Of course, there are dreamers elsewhere, but aside from Sebastian and Abigail’s infrequent character art commissions, Elliott is the only person with whom she can talk about her craft.

And right now, she’s in her cozy woodland cabin, eating a foraged salad by the fire, and he’s probably freezing his ass off in his drafty shack. She’s talked with Harvey; she knows Elliott goes to the clinic more often than not in the colder months, and beer doesn’t keep a cold away like mead, according to Willy.

She presses a blackberry to the roof of her mouth with her tongue, feeling it slowly crack apart and turn to sweet, seedy mush. Tomorrow, she resolves; tomorrow she’ll talk to him and make him seriously consider moving in for this winter. Even the community center is well under way; perhaps he could temporarily move in there, and take advantage of a proper fireplace instead of a firepit.

Leah clears her plate to the sink, already planning where she could unroll her extra cot if need be. If she did the work ahead of time, maybe Elliott would take advantage of what she was offering. Maybe, just maybe, she could make him dinner, bring him up to the cottage and have him coincidentally stay while the storm rages on.

Yeah; that’ll be what she does.

♢♢♢

She wakes up to a loud cracking sound outside her cabin, and the sound of something large crashing to the ground. Then, the white noise rushing in her ears registers as rain, the ominous rumble of thunder coming from somewhere to the north. Her cabin is dark, save for the firelight, but even that has dwindled down.

Leah swings herself out of bed, first tending to the fire to coax it back up to full brightness, feeding more logs into the heat. As the cabin glows warmer and brighter, she turns to look around. Nothing seems out of place inside, so she goes to the window, pressing her nose to the glass and looking into the darkness.

Two pine trees closer to the river bank have been struck by lightning, split down the middle, still slightly steaming in the rain. She knows she’s lucky they hadn’t caught fire; the forest could have gone up in flames and she could have been stuck in her very flammable, very toxic-if-lit-ablaze cabin full of art supplies and paint. Still, those weren’t small trees, and while she mourns the loss of two of the older companions she’d had since moving to Pelican Town, she also recognizes the severity of the storm. To be able to strike down such trees, old and strong as they were, required no shortage of lightning and chance.

Again, her thoughts drift to Elliott, in his own drafty, cold cabin, surrounded by much flimsier palm trees. If one of them was struck, the tree could easily fall onto his cabin – or worse, fall onto Elliott himself.

She grabs her galoshes and stuffs her braid into a knit hat, dressing quickly. She doesn’t know what time it is, but if the storm woke her up, then it must’ve woken Elliott. He’s a light sleeper, always has been, and she mentally kicks herself for not heading to the Saloon the night prior, not being able to check in with him.

Before she leaves, she pulls out two thick knit sweaters and sweatpants, as warm and neutral as she can. Much of her and Elliott’s personal taste in fashion overlaps, a fact she’s grateful for, but he can be particular regarding loungewear. Better to be safe than sorry.

Armed with a flashlight and a long waterproof jacket, Leah heads out into the storm. Marnie’s cows are all boarded up in the barn, and the path to town is clear of any debris, though Leah’s footsteps squelch deep into the mud. She moves quickly, running parallel to Willow Lane, skirting between the fence line of the sewer entrance and the trees. The river swells with rain water, and she slips a couple times but never completely falls.

The street lamps at the entrance to the beach have halos around them, the light smeared across the buckets of rain pouring down. She jogs into the soaked sand, and from there on every step becomes twice as difficult. She’s has to be particular with how she moves, taking it one step at a time, fighting towards the door of Elliott’s cabin.

His windows are dark, and she feels horrible for letting him continually choose this version of his independence. The stone pathway does little to give her reprieve from the muddy sand, but it gives her just enough to get to the doorway and knock. A loud crack of thunder sounds from over the ocean, the sky briefly bathing her in white light.

She knocks loudly, even as she opens the door, announcing herself. “Elliott! It’s Leah!”

She shines the flashlight around the cabin. Her cubist artwork still hangs on the wall above the piano. But the table that usually resides in the corner has been pulled into the center of the cabin, with a bucket in the corner catching a rather impressive stream of water. The bed itself has been pulled away from the wall, towards the front of the cabin, and huddled in that bed is where Elliott sits, a book held to his chest.

“Leah darling! What are you doing here?”

Leah closes the door, leaning against it. The movement drags the spotlight of the flashlight across the floor, and it’s then that she sees water bubbling up between the panels. “Elliott, your house is filling with water.” Her voice is somehow calm, despite the freezing rain she had to run through to get here, and the predicament her friend keeps putting himself in. “Your house is filling with water and you’re not even at the Saloon?”

“It’s 2am, I left there hours ago.” He at least manages to look a little ashamed. “I didn’t think the storm was going to be as bad as it was.”

“The Farmer told us the weather was going to be getting worse.”

“The Farmer lives between the forest and the mountains, it’s a completely different biome than here on the coast.” Elliott presents his words with a flick of his hand, yet the ambivalence is undermined by the congestion in his nose and the slight tremble in his fingers.

“Oh, did Demetrius tell you that?” Leah rhetorically asks as she walks over, bringing Elliott’s boots from where they had been discarded by the front door. “Come on; you’re spending the night at my place.”

Elliott blinks in surprise. “Leah, that’s…you really don’t have to do that. I’m quite fine here on my own. And I can’t leave without my manuscript.”

“El,” Leah murmurs, holding the boots out to him. She aims the flashlight at the ceiling, the light cascading down around the both of them, giving them enough to see in the pale white light. “You have the story in your mind. You can bring it with you, if you really need to, but I’m not leaving you here, alone, with–”

Her words are covered by the loud crack of thunder. Pointedly, she gestures around the leaky cabin.

She sees a bit of that classic Elliott pride in his eyes, the squaring of his shoulders. He’s older than her, yet she consistently takes on the leading role, the more grounded approach, because she can’t fully lose herself in make believe worlds. Her work is in reality, and the reality of this situation is that she can’t walk away and leave him here alone.

But the next rumble of thunder in the distance lets them both know that this storm isn’t going to pass overnight; it will likely be here until tomorrow, leaving them in much the same predicament. Leah gives him another withering look, and two minutes later the duo make their way back to the forest.

As they pass over the bridge, Leah can hear the water sucking at the lower side of the stone structure. She watches as it spills over, and can hear the soft wheeze with each of Elliott’s breaths as they walk back to the forest. It’s slight for now, but she can only imagine it’ll get worse with time. Harvey will have something to say about it, that’s for sure.

Together, the two arrive, rain soaked and nearly blinded by the darkness, to Leah’s cabin. She pushes the door open, ushering Elliott inside first, then following herself. “Take whatever you want from the bed,” she says, tiredly gesturing to the bed, flinging some water off her hand in the process.

The two kick their boots off and lay their jackets on the coat rack. Leah watches as Elliott carefully spreads the manuscript pages – only slightly crumpled – onto the darkened WIP table. She peels off her wet jeans and socks, casting them in front of the fire to dry out little by little, picking her way to the bed. She takes her hair out of its soaked braid, her hat also needing to dry.

“If you’re hungry, I can whip us up some tea with elderberry syrup,” she offers, brushing her hair out.

Elliott comes over, clumsily putting his hair up into a bun and taking the softer, baggier pair of joggers from the bed. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse.

Leah politely looks away when Elliott takes his shirt off, but she is relieved to see a bare back, meaning his binder isn’t on. He tends to keep it on far past the guidelines for expected use, but that’s an argument she’s too tired to have right now. When they’re both dressed in warmer, dry clothes, she pulls back the sheets on her bed and gestures for Elliott to get in.

“What? I can’t possibly put you out of your own bed.”

She points more emphatically at the sheets. “I have a cot I can use, but you need a warm bed. In.”

He throws a pout at her, but which she returns by sticking her tongue out. She feels better – better that he’s good enough to be teasing her, and better that he’s getting in the bed and following her directions with minimal complaining. She goes to the small array of kitchen appliances she has tucked against the wall, and begins to prepare some elderberry syrup tea. Something to warm them both, and she notes the soft sniffles Elliott keeps giving off.

“Do you want something to eat?” she softly asks, the sound of the rain cocooning them in relative safety. Thunder booms every so often, but it’s not as close now, perhaps moving more towards the mountains, or simply a break in the storm.

There’s no response.

She turns to look, and sees him curled up on his side, the blankets pulled so only his eyes are visible, watching her. She furrows her brows a little, though she smiles in response, and softly prompts, “El?”

He hums a little, and she can tell he’s smiling from below the blankets. “Uh huh?”

“I asked if you wanted something to eat. I have some tom kha soup, if you want. With crab.” She watches as his brows furrow a little – now he’s confused.

“I thought you didn’t eat meat.” Leah’s vegetarian, but that doesn’t mean she can’t stock her friend’s favorites.

She simply shrugs. “Yeah, but you do.” At his resulting silence, she blushes a little more, turning back to stir the heating syrup. “What?”

Elliott remains silent, but she hears the soft rustle of sheets. “That’s really very kind of you, Leah. Thank you.”

She feels her cheeks flame a little, then reaches down into the basket of jars. She pulls out the jar of soup and a pot, clicking the flame on the stove and pouring the soup inside to heat up. “Y-yeah, anytime.”

It’s now that she remembers exactly why it would be so difficult for her to have Elliott permanently in her space. If not for their quite different versions of productivity and rhythms of living, there’s also the unmitigated crush that had blossomed over the course of their friendship. She knows he’s aware of her rocky foundations with romance, especially as it intersects with her art career – she’s told Elliott the story of Kel more than once, sometimes after one too many beers at the Saloon. But Elliott was never anything but supportive, and he always made sure to respect her boundaries when it came to romance.

She knows that he’s currently working on some romance novel, though, and that part of that had to do with the Farmer’s influence. Then again, she’s currently working on pieces for the town art show, also at the Farmer’s influence. Maybe they’re all a little starstruck with the newcomer, or maybe the Farmer just makes for good inspiration. Muses come in all shapes and sizes, and the Farmer’s never been anything but helpful.

They’re the reason Leah has leftover tom kha soup in the first place.

She has a spoon in each hand, stirring the pots in circles, before the syrup reveals itself as ready. Her electric kettle has the water primed and ready, and she drizzles the syrup at the bottom of the cups before tossing in some mint tea and pouring the water over it. The rest, she’ll cool to keep on hand as actual syrup, but the freshly made syrup – or sauce, as it really is in this form – is good to go now.

Taking the cups over to the bed, she hands one to the newly resurfaced Elliott. He looks much softer and safer here, tucked in her bed, the sweater a little tight on his arms but still comfortable nonetheless. He takes the cup with gentle, ink stained fingers, green eyes watching her with something she can’t quite name.

“Drink that and tell me how you feel in the morning,” she says, feeling her words slip quietly out of her mouth.

He nods, and she sees his soft freckles across the bridge of his nose, usually long dormant as the shorter days come about in the colder months of the year. “I have some inkling.” The words seem to puzzle him, and Leah tilts her head a little as he hurriedly takes a sip.

What could that mean?

“Let me get the soup. I’ll be the one eating it, it’s the least I can do.” There’s a darkened splotch on his upper lip, leftover from some elderberry syrup. She wants to reach up and wipe the syrup away, but she instead takes a sip of her own tea, nodding in gratefulness. Her legs ache from the struggle through mud and sand, and she hasn’t sat down since they arrived back home.

Isn’t that a thought? To call this a home in regards to them both.

She sits on the bed next to him, watching the fire dance in the brick enclosure. “You could move in here full time,” she offers, her mouth working without full permission from her brain. “Thoreau ran off to the woods for two years, two months, and two days. Think of the beach cabin as a summer home.”

“Thoreau wasn’t writing what I want to write. But I appreciate the comparison.” He laughs a little into his cup, fidgeting with his earring with one hand.

“Just, please think about it. I mean, what is the cabin going to look like when this storm ends? And winter’s coming, all of that’s going to freeze over, and you’re far enough from Harvey’s that going to an appointment is a whole ordeal, and…Look, Elliott, I just don’t feel comfortable letting you stay there.”

Elliott sighs. “…I’ll stay for the next couple days. At least until I can get the water out of my house.”

“And fix it so that the water stops coming into your house. I mean, do you know how unsafe that is?” Leah is aware that she’s perhaps ranting a little, but she feels it’s deserved.

“Yes, darling, I know. It’s all I can afford though, since no one in this town is moving out anytime soon.” He hops out of the bed, going over to address the soup. Wordlessly, she follows, handing him the only bowl she has in her possession. Enough living materials for one, not two, but she would be willing to make the choices to purchase more for him. She’d be willing to make that space in her life and fill it with Elliott, if only he would let her.

Once his soup is poured, she joins him back on the bed, sitting cross legged and clutching her tea. “You pay nothing to live there; I’m sure there’s gotta be room somewhere. Maybe there’s some apartments above Pierre’s? You know he’d love another way to make a quick buck.”

Elliott laughs, sipping the soup directly from the bowl. “Maybe, darling.” He sounds a little cleared up, and Leah hopes that trend continues. Nothing against Elliott, but she knows he can be a bit of a baby when he’s sick. Not that she finds it endearing or anything, or appointed herself Pelican Town’s resident Sick-Elliott-Caretaker despite knowing this. Nothing like that.

“I just, you know. If you don’t want to come here. I know that my sculpting can be kind of loud, and I know you need quiet to work, and there’s not a whole lot of places in town.” She tugs a little at the sweater by her wrist, suddenly shy.

“I…wouldn’t mind living with you, Leah. I’m sure we could come up with an arrangement to suit both of our styles of work.”  He’s also blushing, but Leah attributes that to the heat in the cabin. Surely, that just means the warm soup is working its magic.

She nods, and the conversation quietly dies. Rain continues to pummel the roof and siding of the house, but thankfully no more trees fall. They finish their tea, and Elliott finishes his soup, and they’re faced with the exhausting prospect of pulling out a cot and making it with pillows.

“Or you could just sleep in here,” Elliott offers, patting the sheets next to him. “I would sleep better knowing I’ve not displaced you for longer than this storm required.”

Leah rubs her eye, looking at the warm inviting sheets – and man within them – and the empty space where she knows her cot could go. “Would…you be comfortable with that?”

Elliott nods. “I trust you.”

That alone makes Leah’s heart race a double time, and she heads over to the bed. She slips between the sheets, nose to nose with her closest friend, feeling safe in the rain. Just in case he catches anything, she knows she shouldn’t be so close to him. But it’s comfortable, and the moment he slings an arm over her waist she’s out like a light, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

♢♢♢

She wakes with Elliott’s arm still around her, her back pressed to his front, and the rain continuing down. It’s less now than it was in the middle of the night, and she hopes that means the damage to the town is going to be less than the forest. Still, she can hear the rushing of the river, still overly full of rain water, and she knows it’s going to be a while before she feels safe taking her sketching supplies to the pier to draw lake life.

Leah yawns, stretching out a little, feeling her muscles yelling at her for having the audacity to go for a midnight sprint through the rain. Elliott tugs her closer, and she remembers that he hasn’t actually left the bed, nor her house, nor her person. She freezes, eyes wide, staring across her cabin at the whorls in the wood.

Elliott is still asleep, breaths deep and even. She knows that there’s a possibility that he wakes up, shy and embarrassed, about them being so pressed together. Even still, there’s only one bed, and it’s a small bed at that, so maybe they can both be forgiven this moment of weakness. She closes her eyes, resting again in this warm embrace.

She’s unsure of how long passes before she wakes up again, this time because Elliott himself is waking up. He rolls away from her, his shoulder hitting the wall if the dull thud is anything to go by, resulting in a sleepy grumble.

Staying still, Leah waits to see how Elliott responds to their morning position. True to the romantic man he is, he reaches over and resumes holding her closer to him. She feels him sigh, his breath moving over her hair, followed by a soft, “Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning,” she replies, wondering how he knew she was awake. His resulting startle tells her that he did not, in fact, know she was awake. Which meant he wasn’t saying that for her benefit at all.

Interesting.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, still holding her close to him.

“Good; how about you?”

“Oh, wonderful, thanks. Haven’t been this warm since before the Moonlight Jellies arrived.” She can feel his smile through the words, and it makes her laugh a little bit to herself.

“Well, stick around here and you’ll be as toasty as you like.”

There’s a moment of quiet, and then a soft response. “I’d like that.”

Leah blushes, biting her lower lip. “I can get us some breakfast, if you’d like. It’s not too late, I don’t think.”

“That would be nice.” Elliott turns with a stretch, back cracking a little. “I suppose I should see what the damage is at home.”

The dip in his tone makes Leah feel guilty. Of course her first priority was to get Elliott to a safe place, but after that, what of what he had to leave behind? He claimed to do well in his self-imposed minimalist lifestyle, but to Leah, that meant what little he had was very important. It was something he couldn’t deal without, if he’s to be believed.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “Why don’t we –”

A sneeze interrupts her, and she starts, hopping out of bed. The movement makes her muscles protest, and she winces a little, rubbing a hand down her thighs. “We’ll go to Harvey’s first. Then breakfast, and then…the beach? It’s still raining, so it might not be…done.”

It referring to the slow damage done to the beachside shack. She doesn’t want to be impolite, but she doesn’t want to sugarcoat how bad it could be. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get the image of water bubbling up between the floorboards out of her head.

“Sure,” Elliott says, his breathing a little raspier than before. He clears his throat, brows furrowed, the magic of the morning seeming to fade away. “Yeah, let’s see what he has to say.”

Harvey, of course, was happy to see them both, then contrite at his happiness as if they’d accuse him of being pleased with their misfortune. Luckily, Elliott didn’t seem to have anything serious, besides a growing cold. He sent them home with some medicine, tucked away in a little waxy paper bag folded over, and prescription for rest and hydration. Nothing to do but wait it out, he’d said, and Leah had bitten the inside of her cheek.

Of course.

“Well that sucks,” Elliott mutters as they leave the clinic. The Saloon isn’t open yet, and Leah doesn’t feel great bringing Elliott to a bar first thing in the morning.

“Yeah. Sorry about the sickness, but it could have been worse if you’d stayed.”

Elliott shakes his head. “Not that, darling. That I could have gotten you sick is the real drawback here. I do my best work when left to my own devices, but I know how you like to travel around Pelican Town, gaining inspiration from whatever you can find. I’d hate to be in the way of that.”

Leah frowns a little, biting her lower lip. “Well…thank you.” It’s still strange to have someone care for her when she’s so used to doing the caring for others. It’s not that Elliott is immature, far from; it’s just that he has grand, romantic notions that often leave him far from reality, and that means he acts a little less like one would expect. Then again, only Harvey and Shane seem to be in Elliott’s same age bracket, and each of them is so different from the other, Leah doesn’t know how they begin to compare.

“Here, why don’t we do this? You head home, and I’ll restock on some groceries and healthy stuff. When you’re feeling better, we’ll handle the, uh, Beach Situation.” She gives him a warm, crooked smile, and she’s not imagining the way his face flushes a little, independent of the low grade fever he’s running.

“That could take days, though. Leah, I don’t want to –”

“Please.” She puts her hand on his forearm, ignoring the little look Jodi gives her as she and Sam walk towards Joja Mart. “For me? You’re not going anywhere else for the time being, I won’t let you.”

Elliott raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you won’t let me?”

“Yeah, I won’t let you.” The challenge comes with a bit of familiar sass, and she raises a brow in turn. “There’s nowhere else to go, El, please.”

He sighs. “Fine, fine. You win.” And then a warm smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

♢♢♢

Elliott remains with Leah for four days. It takes two before he starts personally feeling better, but it takes another day before the beach is dry enough for either of them to consider going through the sand. Elliott’s important belongings are salvageable, though bigger pieces like the bed and tables need severe rebuilding to make them serviceable again. The mold and rot creeping up the piano’s legs, however, nearly drives Elliott to tears.

Leah comforts him, passing along contact information she had from when she still lived with Kel in the city and had debated a career in music. It would take a couple months, but the piano could be good as new in no time.

On the fourth day, Elliott and Leah sit in the cozy woodland cabin, each quietly working. Elliott had crafted a space for himself at the table, back to the open windows, writing whatever additional scenes had come together in his feverish state. Leah stations herself at the easel, broad strokes bringing to life a vivid autumnal woodland scene. These quiet moments shared together have the opportunity to become something more profound.

Leah finishes putting the touch on the sunlight coming through the young buck’s antlers before she finally pulls back. “El? Do you wanna go to the fair?” she asks, stretching back and feeling her body thank her after so long of remaining in one position.

Elliott grunts in response, and she looks over her shoulder, seeing him clearly still in the midst of working. She sets her brush down on the paper towel, getting up and going over to him. “Elliott.”

“Huh?” He looks up, brows furrowed, flyaways swaying with the movement of his head. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“The fair. It’s starting soon. Do you want to go?” She comes up beside him, one hand in her pocket of her paint splattered jeans, the other on the table.

“Oh. I’d like that, sure.” He gives her a warm smile, hastily grouping the pages back together. “Sorry about not hearing you. I had a new idea for a story.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes; it takes place in an enchanted forest, where the weather is broken. Snow comes up from the ground, lakes and rivers collect at the bottom of tree branches – very Dalí meets Escher. But there’s one woman who moves forward through time, while the rest of the world moves backwards, and she meets a man who moves only through space but not through time. So everything happens at the same time for him, though he can go to different places to experience other perspectives. And they have to work together to put the forest back to rights, but they each have to rely on the other because while she can see the future, he can see the immediate changes and ripple effects, and they have to communicate that with the other while being completely unable to see what the other can. It’s an exercise in communication, trust, and romance.”

This is the farthest from her understanding as an artist, though she does understand the artistic references. “Wow. That sounds…interesting.”

He gives her a look as he laces his boots up. “…Yeah.” The look on his face is somewhat confused. Or maybe something else.

“What?”

He blushes. “Nothing. Let’s go?”

“No, hey, wait.” She steps between him and the door, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that it’s a bad premise or anything. I think it’s really cool, it’s just…what are you calling it so far?”

“Sunken Shores,” he murmurs, and she has a small realization, that’s more of an altering of her perspective. Something that was always just slightly to the left, just slightly out of reach, now slotting into the proper place.

“…Really?” That’s not what she means to say, and she watches how his expression shutters. “I mean – Elliott, is that inspired by, uh…”

The pain in his expression shifts a little. “You really didn’t know?”

“I…” There’s no way that she’s going to be able to duck out of this conversation. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Get your hopes up,” he repeats in a whisper, as if completely unsure that she actually means that. “Why…you..oh.”

She blushes. “Yeah, oh.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was going to! But then you were here, and then you were sick, and I didn’t want to make things weird while you were houseless. And you really seemed to like living here, and I didn’t want to say something and make you uncomfortable. You’re my best friend, El. I didn’t want to ruin that.” She starts out defiant, voice raised a little in a panic, but it falls to a whisper by the end of it.

“Oh.” He rolls his lips, green eyes looking askance, before searching her face. “I mean, I’ve liked you for quite a while. I knew how things ended with Kel, though, and I didn’t want to press where you were, you know…still healing.”

She winces a little at the mention of her ex. “Yeah…she did a number on me, huh?” A beat, and then, “I’m better. Than I was. And I appreciate that, and…I…do you, um, want to…?”

Elliott blinks for a moment. “Do I want to what?”

Leah’s face flushes, her entire body heating. “Do you want to go out? Maybe?”

He tilts his head, giving her a warm smile. “What do you think going to the fair is?”

“Oh!” The noise is involuntary, a mere vocalization of a series of exclamation points. She’s flustered, and it only gets worse when Elliott takes another step, further into her personal space. He puts his fingertips beneath her chin, delicately tipping her chin upwards so they can lock eyes.

“A gentleman has no reason to withhold his love from the public,” he murmurs, “yet he should also never kiss and tell. So I find myself at odds, with how to proceed.’

This can’t be happening to her. The most romantic man in Pelican Town can’t be asking her in his roundabout way if she wants to kiss. She nods, barely adding pressure to the fingertips at her jaw, not breaking away from his gaze. “I wouldn’t mind,” she whispers.

Despite his obvious charm, Leah knows he’s never really been with anyone for a long period of time. Part of that was due to his discomfort with his perception before coming out, even to himself; once that veil had been lifted, and Elliott established a new relationship with himself, his confidence grew, and with it, his attractiveness. But he’s still new to all of this, and Leah wants to gently push him along, but all of those thoughts of remaining careful melt away the moment his lips touch hers.

She feels herself wrap her arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, going up on her tiptoes and humming into the kiss. It feels electric, like the storm that had forced the two of them together, yet by some miracle they’re able to keep it semi-chaste. When they part, their gazes remain on the other’s mouth, as if waiting for permission for a second kiss. It comes easily, Leah softly pressed against the wood of the doorway, Elliott now cradling her face between his large, writer’s hands, softly tasting the morning coffee from each other’s mouths.

When Elliott pulls back for the second time, Leah realizes they’re both panting. “Maybe…that was overdue,” she says softly, and Elliott laughs.

“One could say that.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and gives her a fond look that is familiar – one he gave her from between her sheets on the night of the storm. “Come. Let’s go get some of Gus’ specialty barbecue. And, perhaps, some of Farmer’s wine for the lady.”

Leah hugs him, pressing her face to his chest. They have so much more to talk about – the logistics of Elliott’s winter move, affording the piano repair, how Elliott will work in the cabin when Leah does her winter sculpting, when they should make the relationship public, among other things – but for right now she’s content to be here, in her cabin, much less lonely than either of them had been before.

“Sure. Let’s hit up the fair.” And so they do.

[jinruihokankeikaku]

I have been listening to Inherit Nothing, so Heir of Void?

Another Heir, and this time the Mythological Role of a canonical character, Equius Zahaak, who, alas, did not live to fully realize his destiny as the Heir of Void. Or so it would seem. However, Void is a cryptic Aspect, and leaves open all kinds of angles of interpretation when it comes to the notion of realization of one’s Role. Here’s my take on the…

Title: Heir of Void

Title Breakdown: One who passively manipulates [inherits, becomes one with, invites change in, invites others to change] Void [nothingness, vacuums, darkness, oblivion, depth, silence, irrelevence]

Role in the Session: The Heir of Void is a fascinating Role, due to the fact that in a sense, they write themselves out of the story. By becoming one with nothing, however, they gain tremendous power, as Void’s depths could well be infinite. Void encompasses not only darkness, secrecy, and obscurity itself, but also that which lurks in the darkness, the whispered words which comprise the secret, and all those forgotten and abandoned things obscured until the time is right to find them – it is all the potential of an unopened door in a building hitherto unvisited. It would be redundant for me to say that Void is a mysterious Aspect, but, well, it is – the magnitude and character of its power is almost by definition indiscernable. Therefore, when we examine the Heir of Void, it’s probably best to interpret their inheritance not only as “nothing” (though that is applicable) but also “everything within the nothingness”.

Void and the Heir share an interesting quality in terms of their Hero’s Quest and personal narrative/story arc – they both involve absence, leaving home, learning, and making an eventual return. However, because of Void’s proximity to Space and the metaphysical depth of Introspective Aspects in general, I’m not entirely certain that the odyssey undertaken by an Heir of Void would end with the Heir’s return. The Void stretches on forever, and it changes all who touch it. This isn’t an ending without hope, it’s simply an acknowledgement that Void is an Aspect of irresolution. It doesn’t give easy answers or swift resolution, and it makes no promises. It simply renders apparent that which is absent, that which is untouched and unseen and ripe for exploration. Light players cut apart the Void to render it known; Void players bask in the ineffable sanctity of all that which remains unknown. The Heir of Void ultimately becomes one with the Void – that is to say, they learn to take on the ineffibility, become unseen, and in so doing triumph.

An Heir of Void’s ideal co-players are rather hard to pin down, as I think Void players are rather adaptable, but to continue with my pattern of naming players with players whose Aspects share a Trine with the Aspect of the subject of the analysis, I’ll name the Seer of Breath and the Prince of Heart. The Seer is someone who makes a leader of everyone in their party by teaching of freedom and independence, awakening that in even those like the Heir who might ordinarily be loathe to stand out or distinguish themselves; the Prince “destroys the Self” as the Heir of Void “becomes one with nothing” -  two concepts that are discrete but clearly overlaps strongly, two lines running in not-quite-opposite directions along the same track.

Opposite Role: The Mage of Light. The Mage of Light, as noted in our analysis of that Role about a month ago, is a performer – the Active Understanding Class, and bound to the Aspect most strongly associated with information, attention, and awareness. Light is arguably the more “active” Aspect here, as well, given that light can illuminate darkness, while darkness itself cannot quench light, because darkness doesn’t exist any more than cold or silence do, on a physical level. Void permeates the totality of these concepts, lining the metaphysical walls of the spaces, the absences, the Voids where some thing or another is absent. The Mage, who actively involves themselves with, and teaches others of by example, Light, is opposed to the Heir of Void almost by accident – not due to any normative discrepency between the narrative arcs of the two Roles, as is so often the case with opposite/Inverse Role, but simply because the Mage’s very presence destroys the Heir – literally preventing them from becoming Void by depriving them of their nonexistence, forcing them, intentionally or otherwise, to be real or to be seen. The Heir’s only recourse here is, well, that which is so often a Void player’s only resource – to leave. If the Heir makes themselves absent, they are free to do their work; they need only stay one step ahead of the Mage, or come to an agreement to stay away from one another. There’s a whole lot of potential for drama here.

God Tier Powers

Void is the Actual-Introspective Aspect, which probably warrants some as it makes the unnecessary (A/N: 8ut true!!!) metaphysical assumption that reality can understand itself, and it also seems to directly contradict what Void is all a8bout – Void players tend to be associated with unreality and somewhat avoidant of self-examination. I see Void as Introspective because it looks inward in the same way that Light looks outward. It’s Actual in that the abyss it is gazing into isn’t one’s own psyche/soul – that’s Heart’s area of concern. Rather, Void looks at what we can’t see, at the negative left behind by Light’s (meta)physical photography. Engaging with Void is like searching for lost time, or for a forgotten phrase, or for the path through a darkened city that you once knew well to a familiar place from which you have long been absent. Once you get close enough to it, you begin to realize that the search is the object.

The Heir is the Passive Manipulation Class, and the counterpart to the Witch. The Heir inherits, invites gradual change in, surrounds themselves with, and ultimately unifies with their Aspect.

One With Nothing: The Heir of Void ceases to exist, in part or in whole. They don’t actually die, of course – they just set their consciousness or their body out of phase with reality, leaving a Void where it once was. They can return whenever they will, and this ability can be employed as both a long-term tactic for secrecy and espionage, or as a simple means of phasing through matter and across distances unimpeded.

Hole in World: Matter, energy, and information tend to spiral towards the Ascended Heir of Void as though they themselves were a singularity, amassing a literal or metaphorical accretion ring which could be used for any number of purposes – a weapon, a shield, or an implement of area-control in strife, preventing encroaching Underlings or Dersite soldiers from engaging directly.

Circle’s Summoning: The Heir carries their inheritance with them – as our Heir of Void becomes increasingly suffused with the Void, they are drawn closer and closer to the maddening knowledge and enfeebling power of the Furthest Ring and its occupants. “Becoming the Void” sounds a lot like going Grimdark to me, but I imagine the Heir would have somewhat more… discretion? over their access to the power of the Noble Circle of Horrorterrors, perhaps being able to access Grimdark capabilities without entirely losing control of their identity.

Personality: The Heir of Void would likely be somewhat quiet and self-isolating, and may struggle with the concept of identity in general – attaching themselves to a particular label instead of engaging in deeper introspection. This may lead to tension in personal relationships due to the Heir’s apparent emptiness and attachment to a smokescreen of structure. The Heir isn’t deliberately concealing their identity here – they’re just transferring their sense of identity to an artifact in a conscious or unconscious attempt to avoid the, well, Void within them. Their soft-spokenness and idiosyncracies can cause them to be overlooked or disappear in social settings, which may cause a no small amount of longing and angst. For the Heir to fully develop as a person and a player, they need to look inward – Void being as it is an Introspective Aspect – and forge for themselves an identity independent from extant structures or formulae.

(A/N: For the foreseea8le future, I’m afraid I’m goin to 8e retirin the Songs section, 8ut do feel free to send playlist requests regardin specific Roles.)

I hope you enjoyed this analysis!! It has, 8y a wwide margin, set the record for the longest time I’vve t8ken to complete an analysis, for various reasons (computer difficulties and also some reconsider8ion of Void as an Aspect. Thanks for your request ::::)

~ P L U R ~

[artificialqueens]

Girls Interrupted, Chapter 1: The Institution: 1, Katya: 0 (Vatya) 2/2 - Maeve

A/N: It’s Maeve again! I’m so freaking surprised and overjoyed at the positive reception Girls Interrupted has received. All of you who have such kind things have truly inspired me to keep going on this. I can now say I'm rewatching seasons in the name of research! As always, feedback is welcome. I write because I enjoy it but also so other people can enjoy it, too. So, really, I’d love to hear any feedback or suggestions.

P.S. I’m having so much fun writing the interactions between Katya and the other queens, but I think my favorite part of this chapter is either an especially cheeky Sharon Needles line or the gym teacher/coach that is very loosely based on a straight Santino Rice

This chapter picks up right where the last chapter left off: Violet and Katya’s ice breaker activity…

Fortunately, Violet realized that she would—at the very least—have to cooperate with the menial activity. “Violet,” she supplied cooly.

Katya tried and failed to stifle her laugh. The raven-haired girl looked at her challengingly.

“Tha-that’s a good choice. Very good. I love every color!” Katya stammered as she wrote down Violet’s response. She couldn’t be sure if her partner was filling out her own worksheet, but Katya couldn’t bring herself to care that much. She just wanted this over and done with. Each moment she spent next to the cheerleader made her feel more and more inadequate. Violet was judging her; she felt small enough on her own.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” Katya continued.

This one Violet was quick to answer, “Literally anywhere but here.”

Her passive face told Katya she wasn’t going to get a better answer. I’ll just put down ‘Everywhere. She loves to travel.’, she resolved. “I think it would be really cool to go to Russia,” Katya offered.

Violet’s eyes left her phone screen. They searched the face of the blonde across the table, traveled down to Katya’s communism-inspired name card, and finally met her partner’s ocean blue eyes. “No?” Her face contorted in mock shock. “Let me guess,” she pandered, “If you could have lunch with any famous person dead or alive, you’d choose Putin.”

“Good guess,” Katya shook her head with amusement, “But it’s actually Maria Bamford.” It was obvious that Violet had no idea who Maria Bamford was. However, a quick glance at the clock told her there wasn’t enough time left in the class for her to go off on another tangent. “What about you, Violet?”

“Dita Von Teese. Next,” she urged.

“What are your favorite TV shows?” Katya continued eagerly, excited that Violet was finally being an active participant.

Violet’s response was almost instant, “Forensic Files and Sex and the City.” Everything about the brunette screamed confidence and certainty—something that came through in everything that she did. Katya wished it were that easy for her.

“I really like Game of Thrones, The Heart She Holler, and Storage Wars: Northern Treasures…..It’s the Canadian version,” Katya trailed off. There was an unspoken ‘and?’ in Violet’s expression, but she couldn’t produce a single reason for why that mattered. But it had mattered. “Anyway…What’s next?” Katya pushed through her embarrassment. “Something I’m good at? Sleeping, I’m good at sleeping. I guess I’m very bendy. Flexible. I can do theater, too…”

“Just put down cheer for me,” Violet ordered without looking up from her own worksheet. The blonde hesitated at the instruction, and Violet let out an impatient huff. “What?”

Katya was quick to apologize, “Sorry, it’s just that I thought you might say something about fashion.” She swallowed thickly. “I’m-I’ve seen you in the halls before, and you look good. Great. Your clothes. You clearly put a lot of effort into your appearance, and I thou—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Violet spat. “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend like you do.”

The blonde hurriedly scribbled down the word cheer under question five on her page and grabbed both of their papers. “Right. I’ll just go turn these in,” Katya fled the table without a thought. She had clearly angered Violet. Didn’t the popular kids like it when you stroked their egos? Katya wondered. She hadn’t meant to come off as judgemental. It was obvious that they weren’t on the same level, and hopefully Violet would understand that she hadn’t been trying to judge her. She only wanted to get to know the girl better, but she knew know how stupid she’d been to think that possible. No one like Violet would ever waste time on her. Sighing, she placed the two worksheets in a plastic turn-in bin labeled ‘4th’, and made her way back to her desk.

Katya had been disappointed that she had double A Lunch, but the forty minutes were the perfect break before pre-calculus. While it meant she could eat earlier, it also meant that she had no friends to eat with. Ginger and Bianca both had B Lunch. So Katya found herself on the steps of the stairs in the courtyard by the fine arts wing, eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich. There was beauty in the simple things, though, and Katya could appreciate the warmth of the sun and the slight breeze that late morning.

Mrs. Hugh’s room was stuffy. Katya’s funfetti extravaganza was clinging to her yet again, but she couldn’t adjust the fabric too much without disrupting those around her. She wasn’t willing to risk it. Unlike in all her other classes, the blonde always sat front and center in math class. All of the numbers made a mess in her head, and it was easier if she had fewer distractions. No one else felt the same way, though. So when Alaska tumbled in just before the tardy bell, Katya was forced into yet another less than ideal situation.The sunny cheerleader didn’t share that sentiment. Alaska flashed Katya a hundred watt smile and whispered a hello.

Katya didn’t get Alaska. Alaska wasn’t your stereotypical dumb blonde. She struggled in some areas but always kept up with the pack. So she was smarter than she looked? Big deal. What Katya failed to understand was why such a kind, sincere, and smart person would allow herself to be bullied by her peers. The cheer squad clearly didn’t think she had brain cells; Alaska was practically their punching bag from what she’d observed. So why hang around?

Miss Honard, you are an enigma, Katya assessed.

Katya’s continued curiosity over the duration of  Mrs. Hugh’s introductory speech gained her a very important piece of information: if she couldn’t get the lanky blonde out of her head, she was going to have to let her in. And Katya would not be friends with a cheerleader.

Katya praised Marx for the district employee who put Bianca Del Rio in her history class. She and Bianca were unlikely friends—a high school mascot and a theater kid didn’t really run in the same circles—but made an unstoppable duo. Coach A., their teacher seemed to get a kick out of them too.

Bianca was an unexpected constant in Katya’s life. The self-proclaimed bitch was Spartacus, the high school mascot, and the two would never have overlapped if not for their shared love/hate relationship with theater. She was a year younger than Katya but that didn’t stop her from providing Katya with the tough love she needed to keep her head screwed on. Keeping her head on straight was out of the question; Bianca did what she could.

The two girls schlepped over to the far side of the school where the gym was located. Katya, who had made the dumb decision to postpone getting her PE credit for as long, was not looking forward to an entire year of physical activity. Bianca, on the other hand, basically earned herself a double off campus by taking on the role of mascot. And yes, she definitely took pleasure in rubbing the fact in Katya’s face. Sucks to suck.

The other shit thing about a 7th period gym class was that Katya would be in uncomfortably close proximity to the cheerleaders. It felt wrong—almost like she was breaking a nonexistent restraining order. What sick bastard decided the plebs in “team sports” should be forced to observe the pretty girls in peak physical capacity while they drowned in their own sweat? Katya didn’t know the answer, and you certainly couldn’t hold her accountable if they were suddenly beheaded.

One locker and a stack of unisex uniforms later, Katya found herself entertaining the musings of Sharon Needles, resident goth girl.

“‘I look spooky, but I’m really nice,’” Sharon had said when they were assigned lockers next to each other. The witchy teen had a thing for reading people—not that an anxious Katya was hard to see through—and took one look at her and saw a kindred spirit. The funfetti dress and clown shoes didn’t scream normal, either. Katya had been uncharacteristically optimistic about befriending Sharon for all of ten minutes before everything went to shit. Phi Phi O’Hara, Sharon’s mortal enemy, also happened to be in the class.

“I’m surprised you took gym, Party City. Wouldn’t want you to melt in your own sweat.” Phi Phi snarked. The playground bully reclined herself against the row of lockers across from them and examined her nails.

Katya groaned inwardly. Sharon groaned outwardly.

“Fuck off, Phi Phi,” Sharon begged. “Don’t you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice? My ears are bleeding and not in a pleasant way.”

“Eat shit and die, Shar Bear,” Phi Phi called over her shoulder as she skipped off to bother some other poor shmucks.

Phi Phi the schoolyard bully reminded Katya of the villain poodle in one of those Open Season movies. Ironically, that poodle was also named Fifi, which was funny because the poodle was also a boy. Fifi the poodle was groomed like a pretty purse dog and had a little blue bow in his hair. Katya was inclined to take Phi Phi O’Hara—who was not incredibly dissimilar to a trophy pet—just as seriously.

“What crawled up her ass and died?” Katya scrunched up her face.

“If you find out, let me know,” Sharon deadpanned. “I need a smoke.” Katya watched in amusement as the locker room’s resident goth chick removed a pack of Marlboro’s and a lighter from her leather jacket. Sharon caught the blonde’s expression and raised her fist in response. “Fight the system,” she stoically decreed. Katya shrugged as if to say “what can you do?” and gestured for Sharon to walk back to the gym with her.

Their gym class had been banished to the wooden bleachers so the cheerleaders could practice for that Friday’s Back-To-School Pep Rally. The two girls tucked themselves into a far corner on the top row, and Sharon finally lit up.

Coach Rice, who had taken attendance at the beginning of class, had stepped in to assist Coach Calhoun with cheer practice.

Katya and Sharon were fortunate enough to have an unobstructed view of the girls shamelessly throwing themselves at the older man. The majority of the bimbettes were faces she expected: Detox, Roxy, Willam, Courtney, Adore, and Laganja. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was for one Violet Chachki to be the leader of the pack. Stratford’s mean queen never sought out attention, let alone fought for it. Miss Chachki was a one of a kind collectible, and the entire student body knew it. You either wanted her or wanted to be her.

Today, it seemed her flavor of choice was Santino Rice.

Katya udged Sharon with her elbow. “What do you make of that?” She consulted the other girl.

Sharon took a moment to complete her assessment. “I bet a girl that tightly wound is a real screamer in bed,” she answered smoothly. Katya had not been expecting any response of the sort and physically toppled over as she was seized by laughter. Katya’s wheezing drew the attention of those nearby, and Sharon had to hold her cigarette in her mouth so she could flip them off with both hands. They could mind their own fucking business.

Katya was still clinging onto Sharon’s thigh when her fit died down. “You bitch!” She shrieked.

“I’m not wrong,” Sharon defended, taking another long drag from her cigarette. “Ten bucks says she’s hitting on him right now.” In her best Valley Girl impression she crooned, “Oh, Coach Rice, can you help me with my form?”

Katya wasted no time in contributing to the impression. “Can we go to Red Lobster?” The blonde begged in her best Violet-esque bedroom voice.

The absurdity of the request and the thought of Violet, herself, saying those words caused Sharon to half cackle and half choke on her own smoke. Her throaty laugh bounced off of the walls, and this time, it wasn’t just a few pairs of eyes that turned to them.

Uh oh, Katya cringed, busted.

“Sharon Needles, put that shit out and march your ass on over to Assistant Principal Visage’s office!” Coach Rice demanded.

Katya facepalmed hard. What is wrong with you, you stupid whore? She groaned. It’s your fault she’s in deep shit, and she’s never going to speak to you again. The blonde was about to lose herself in an abyss of despair when Sharon’s voice filled the room again.

“Oh no!” Sharon drawled, “Whatever shall I do?” Katya had brought her head up to witness the spectacle and was met with Sharon’s shit-eating grin.

Katya raised her fist in solidarity, referencing Sharon’s anti-establishment words in the locker room. Her spooky new friend shot her a cheeky wink before saluting her corporate whistleblower and unhurriedly leaving the building.

Katya’s eyes left Sharon’s retreating form just in time to catch Violet glaring at her.

The blonde did her best not to worry. It wasn’t like Violet could have known they were talking about her, right?

The bell rang at 3:00, and Katya still hadn’t managed to put the captain of the cheer squad out of her mind. She spent her entire 8th period dodging Bianca’s questions and pleading for some all-knowing entity to tell her just where in life she had gone wrong. Definitely new year, same bullshit. Katya had attempted to begin her junior year with a more optimistic attitude, but after a first day for the history books, she was ready to call it quits.

You win, Stratford, you win. I am but a shell of a man. Woe is the poor soul who dare enter thee, Katya scowled.

The rest of Katya’s will to live vanished when she finally reached her trusty blue Beetle in the junior lot.

“Mother, I am want to commit death,” she muttered.

The cherry red convertible parked next to Katya’s car belonged to none other than Violet Chachki. The bright red exterior was blinding under the afternoon sun, and Katya had to squint to make out faces. A swarm of girls in uniform short skirts and halter tops formed a green and white sea around her only means of escape. Not wanting to engage with Violet for a third time that day, the blonde chose to turn on her heels and pop a squat on the curb.

It was going to be a long year.

[yougotthatbilly]

Dangerously, You’re Beautiful | 01

→ member: lee taeyong → genre: fluff | angst → au: best friends to lovers!au | love triangle!au ↳ summary: ❝If you love two people at the same time, choose the second. Because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.❞ -Johnny Depp

chapters: 00 , 01

“Stop that.”

You lazily look to your right, shooting Taeyong a questioning look. “Stop what?”

“You’re gonna have permanent wrinkles in your forehead if you don’t relax. Your shoulders are up to your ears and even your ass is clenched.”

You almost make a comment on the fact he looked at your ass long enough to notice, but then you realize that yes, your body is extremely tensed up. Your shoulders drop and the muscles throughout your body gradually loosen as you lean into the podium in front of you.

The store is dead when it was expected to be a lot busier, but that’s what happens when festivals are in town during sales. You barely got any sleep last night (honestly this time) and you’re seconds away from slumping forward or hiding in the break-room and letting Taeyong handle things for the next few hours. Taeil wouldn’t mind. He loves you.

“Want a massage?”

“Huh?” you ask, once again glancing at him because you barely heard him over your thoughts of sweet talking him into being the only manager on the floor for some hours. Taeyong lifts his hands up and wiggles them suggestively. The words no, it’s fine are on the tip of your tongue but who are you to say no to a free massage?

“You know I’m not gonna press you on why you’ve been weird,” he starts after finding his way behind you, his fingertips softly digging into your shoulders, “but you also know I’m here if you need to talk, right?”

Of course you do. He’s always there for you, even when you don't realize you need someone to be. Only a couple of months into your friendship, he was there for you when you thought you were completely fine on your own. Being the observant and kind hearted person he is, when he saw how your feet were dragging and your smile was too fake when interacting with customers he tried to talk about topics that would normally spark your interest and pick up your mood. Months later you don’t even remember why you were feeling so glum that day, but even with him barely knowing you, he knew exactly how to make you feel better. The two of you coincidentally had overlapping breaks and Taeyong stepped behind your slouched form as you were leaned over the counter in the break room, wrapping his arms around your middle in an unexpected hug. And when you straightened up a bit in shock, he only slouched more, rearranging his hold on you so he could hook his chin over your shoulder and hold you tighter. He didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t force you to speak. The way he felt against you, the feeling of his heartbeat against your back, you remember it all so vividly. Sometimes your mind goes back to that very moment when you’re left alone with your thoughts at night.

His cheeks had a coral hue to them when he apologized after your shifts ended, explaining his actions as a good hug usually brings his mood up because the comfort lets him know people actually care and they aren’t just asking what’s wrong because they feel obligated to. Taeyong asked if he crossed any boundaries or if it possibly made you feel uncomfortable. You felt the complete opposite. You didn’t want him to let go. You wanted to turn around and return the embrace, but in the moment you were too stunned, too overwhelmed yet too comfortable in his hold, enjoying how secure you felt wrapped in his arms. You assured him it was fine, that you realized you really needed it. Then when he, still embarrassed by such an impulsive move, asked if there was a significant other in the picture, seeing that the conversation had never been brought up between the two of you, the sirens sounded in your head.

You shouldn’t have felt the way you did when there should only be one person to have that effect on you.

Taeyong apologized profusely when you answered in affirmative and it took a couple of days for you to convince him everything was fine. He didn’t have any other intention than cheering you up, so he did nothing wrong. He just wanted to be there for you. You were in the wrong with how all rational thoughts about being in a relationship and how Johnny would’ve felt if he saw the scene unfold before him didn’t cross your mind.

Taeyong’s consideration is just another characteristic on the list you deny you’ve made.

You nod. You know.

If you’re in a shitty mood around Doyoung he doesn’t want to be around you because you kill his vibe (maybe you should reconsider the friendship, but then again you’re not even that close). Yuta isn’t the best person to run to when you’re sad unless it’s simply for comfort and not actual advice. Taeyong is the only male aside from Johnny that gives you his full attention and doesn’t come to you with his problems without even checking to see how you’re feeling. When you asked about it, asking why he always asks about you when he’s the one in need of a shoulder to lean on or advice, his response was that friends are not therapists so you should always ask how they’re feeling, too. His maturity and way with words are on that nonexistent list as well.

Maybe it’s just in his nature to care about others (plausible seeing he’s a Cancer), but you can’t help but love the fact that he’s always there and think that maybe you just have a little special spot in his heart like the one that’s found its way inside of your own recently. But then again, there’s a good possibility it’s been there for months but you hadn’t realized it’s existence until recently.

“There’s just been a lot on my mind lately and I’m just trying to figure things out by myself for now.”

“Take your time. Don’t stress too much over whatever it is, okay?” His thumbs work in between your shoulder blades and your eyes drift shut, head falling forward.  “Everything will fall into place eventually. You just gotta be patient.”

Another lazy nod.

It’s the typical thing to say to someone in this situation, the only thing he really can say with how vague you’re being, but his words still make you feel a little better.

“In times like this, I drink Jasmine or green tea and it helps a lot,” Taeyong softly suggests. His focus moves to the small of your back, almost making you completely melt into the podium beneath you.

The feeling of a presence in front of you stops your response, Taeyong’s scripted greeting opening your eyes. The holy shit he lets out and his body warmth leaving you lift them. Taeyong is excitedly walking over to a surprised looking Donghyuck, pulling him into a hug.

“Feels like I haven’t seen you in years, kid.” Taeyong sounds excited, like he’s been reunited with his long-lost brother and it’s pulls at your heartstrings. “Why are you here and not in class or something?”

“Winter break,” Donghyuck supplies, Taeyong making a sound in remembrance, “and I’m actually here to see somebody but—”

“But I don’t exist anymore?” you finally cut in, playfully scoffing. Donghyuck’s eyes go wide in your direction, words trying to leave his mouth but all that comes out is stuttering and the boyish smile you’ve grown fond of over the last several years. Taeyong steps back when you make your way around the podium to bring Donghyuck into an even tighter hug than the one Taeyong gave him.

“I didn’t recognize you with your head down and then,” he gestures Taeyong, who’s watching the two of you similarly to how you watched them only moments ago.

You release him to hold him at arms distance by his shoulders, examining him from head to toe. “You’ve gotten taller.” His cheek is warm when you lift a hand to cup it, swiping your thumb against the smooth skin a few times. “And you’ve gotten skinnier. Are you not eating?”

“Yes, I’m eating. I’m just dropping my baby fat,” Donghyuck shrugs sheepishly.

A flash of a memory of his chubby cheeks make you pout exaggeratedly. And then the pout turns into a down curve of disgust when your eyes travel further up.

“What the hell happened to your hair?”

Donghyuck’s left offended and is the one pouting now as you move your finger back and forth between the too big gap between his bangs and his eyebrows. Who the hell got scissor happy with the poor kid?

“I tried to trim my bangs but I got distracted,” he grumbles, glaring at Taeyong when the latter snorts. Taeyong puts his hands up and slowly back-steps into another part of the store. 

At least the vibrant red his hair has been dyed is pretty.

“Anyway,” You make your way back behind the podium and return to your previous position leaning against it, “what’s up? And how’d you even know I was here?”

“Well, the semester ended and I figured seeing my precious face would make your week a thousand times better. So here I am.” He gestures himself with a grin.

You squint at him. “Why are you really here, kid?”

“I’m on break and I wanted to see my favorite sister.” Donghyuck shrugs.

“Donghyuck.”

“Okay, fine!” He lifts his hands up. “Mark asked me to visit you since he won’t be back until the end of break, so here I am.”

Donghyuck’s a great actor with a great poker face but you’ve known him since he was seven. “And?” you press once more.

“And I’m here to ask if I can crash at yours for a couple weeks,” he gives you an awkwardly endearing smile.

“I mean, I guess.” You shrug. “But seriously, how’d you know I was here?”

Donghyuck lifts up his phone and wiggles it a little. “We still share locations, dummy.”

Oh, how you missed that mouth of his.

“And your parents don’t care?”

Donghyuck scoffs. “I’m eighte—no they don’t. They trust you with my life.”

Your retort is cut off when an older guy comes into the room with a few shirts and a pair of jeans, you do your job and walk him to a fitting room.

“Where did Taeyong go?” Donghyuck asks when you’re back.

“Probably went to help out in the front.” You shrug. But on the topic of the brunet, the question that was repeating in your mind earlier resurfaces. “How do you two know each other, anyway?”

“Remember Jeno?” You’ve heard name a few times in the last years but you can hardly put a face to it, and it must show because Donghyuck continues. “The kid with the smile,” he deadpans.

“Oh.” The kid from that soccer game your mom forced you to take Mark and Donghyuck to that kept smiling and blushing whenever you said anything to him. “Aw, how is he?”

“Great.” The red-head waves off. “Anyway, Taeyong’s his older brother. If it wasn’t me and Mark, it was me and Jeno. Tae’s like my big bro.”

Huh. With this new information you wonder if you and Taeyong went to the same middle or high school and never crossed paths since the two of you only lived a neighborhood away from each other back then. What would’ve happened if the two of you officially met sooner? Would you have gotten along back then? Would you have clicked so fast and effortlessly all those years ago like you did last year?

Would you be w—

“Talking about me while I’m gone?”

Taeyong’s voice isn’t loud nor is it harsh, but it still startles you out of your thoughts, and your body jerks in alert. Both males laugh at your reaction, only laughing harder when you pretend to buck up at them.

He takes his place back next to you and hands you a warm, large cup before reaching forward to ruffle the red hair on the younger male’s head. Dumbly, you look down at the cup in your hand, bringing it up to your nose to sniff the content inside through the small horizontal hole in the lid. Jasmine and honey. “How did you even…?” A quick glance with a wink leaves you puzzled, and the warm feeling in your insides has nothing to do with the sip you take.

--

“Kid.”

“Hm?” Donghyuck asks half-heartedly, eyes still glued to the screen of his phone. He doesn’t look up even after you’ve made your way in front of him, hovering. He just raises an eyebrow in acknowledgment, thumbs flying across his screen.

You kick his shin.

Donghyuck lets out a dramatic sigh before locking his phone and looking up and you with an attitude. “Yes?”

“You wanna eat or keep being gross with Mark?”

The ‘tude is wiped off instantly and he’s now blushing. “W-what are you talking about? He’s just updating me on how Cana— how’d you know I was talking to him?”

You open your mouth to let him know he’s only that attentive and smiles that much when he’s speaking to your younger brother, how it’s been like this for years, but three knocks on your front door cut you off, and the quirk of Donghyuck’s lips confuses you.

“I got us some food since you like to starve people,” he winks as he stands up and lightly pushes you out the way to get the door.

The door opens to reveal Taeyong with bags of fast food in one hand and deadpan expression on his face. You can tell even from the distance you’re at that Taeyong’s trying to keep a straight, almost annoyed face at the younger, but you also see the exact moment his eyes change emotions, a defeated smile pulling his lips up with an eye roll.

The power of Lee Donghyuck, basically.

“You’re lucky you caught me when I was about to pass by,” he grunts when Donghyuck hugs him. You’ve never really seen Donghyuck openly initiate any kind of affection with anyone other than yourself and Mark, then Taeyong’s smile gets wider and wow your heart. Just like any other day, Taeyong’s eyes drift to where you’re standing, and he nods in acknowledgment before beckoning you over. “Here,” he passes the bags to Donghyuck when he lets go. “Go eat. I gotta talk to her real quick.”

The smile on his lips transitions into a thin line when Donghyuck is gone and he flicks the side of your head just hard enough for you to flinch and pout. “How are you gonna say the kid can stay with you but have no food and have him starving all day?” he deadpans, tilting his head when you don’t respond quick enough.

“I forgot I needed to go grocery shopping, dad.” The last couple of days you’ve been snacking on whatever and kind of forgot there was a growing teenage boy (man?) in your apartment now. “I was actually just about to take him out. If I would’ve known he reached out to you, I would’ve told him to ask you to get some real food and not—” Taeyong squints and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, challenging you to finish that sentence. “I mean, thanks for the food?” You smile cutely.

“Right. Enjoy your food.”

“Aw you got me food, too?”

His glare is back but it only makes you childishly stick your tongue out at him.

“Anyway, I might swing by later to get him on my way back from Jae’s. So if you don’t have plans, you should come along.”

His phone makes a noise, gaining his attention before he squeezes your shoulder gently in lieu of goodbye, then he leans forward until he’s right by your ear to yell his goodbye to Donghyuck. You flinch and swat at his gut because you know it was his intention to burst your eardrum and Taeyong just laughs as he turns on his heels and walks away.

Donghyuck’s food is halfway done and you’d feel bad if you didn’t know he’s always been a really fast eater.

“So are you coming?”

You shake your head, unraveling your food. It’s date night. You’re meeting up with Johnny at the movie theatre to watch that new scary movie he’s been dying to see. You haven’t had a proper date in weeks when you used to have one every Saturday night and you’re excited because this is what you need. The last time you saw Johnny you weren’t in your right state of mind, not thinking of what you should’ve been. Tonight is going to be about to two of you and your relationship with no outside factors clouding your thoughts. You miss Johnny’s big hand and the heat it transfers to your thigh when watching movies, his fingers tensing and squeezing when there’s a jump scare.

“It’s date night.”

“Date… night?”

His confused tone lifts your eyes away from your fries and onto his equally confused facial expression.

“Yes?”

“You’re still with Johnny?”

You nod, still not understanding his tone.

“Really?”

“What do you mean ‘really?’”

“I don’t know, I thought you and Taeyong were a thing,” he shrugs and goes back to his fries.

Your jaw works slowly as his words echo in your mind. “... what made you think that?”

He shrugs again. “Your interactions, your body language.”

“As in our body language towards each other is more intimate than what friends usually have?”

He snaps and sends finger guns your way. “Exactly. Figured you were together or fucking at the very least.”

The last assumption chokes you. “Donghyuck.”

He just smiles and stuffs the last of his fries into his mouth.

The rest of your meal is silent, your mind running wild with the thoughts of how often you lean into Taeyong’s touch, how often you crave it, and just how obvious you might be if Donghyuck noticed within the span of a couple of days.

With your teeth digging into your bottom lip, you pace in front of your bed, phone in one hand while the other scrubs at your eye in mild frustration to save the base makeup you have on. You’ve gotten dressed for your movie date and you were in the middle of adding a touch of highlighter to your high-points when you heard Donghyuck’s phone ring, the latter answering it with a greeting followed by Taeyong’s name. You felt childish pressing your ear against your closed bedroom door to hear his side of the conversation better. He hummed a few times, then told Taeyong that you already had plans and wouldn’t be joining them, and all of a sudden you wanted to join them.

Well, you haven’t seen Donghyuck in close to a year. You’ve barely spent time with him since he temporarily moved in, having been at work earlier and only saying your greetings with a ruffle of his hair while on your way to your room when you got back in. You were exhausted and needed to fall face first onto your bed asap. You should definitely spend some time with him, and now would definitely be the perfect time to do so. You don’t have to plan anything because you’re sure Taeyong has gotten everything planned out already, and then the latter being there is just a little bonus.

You unlock your phone with your thumb, go to your call log, and tap the third contact from the top.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe. What are you doing?”

“Trying to decide if I want to wear jeans or joggers tonight,” Johnny chuckles.

“About tonight…” you say after a beat, teeth back in your bottom lip. You hope he hasn’t done his hair already.

“Uh oh. What’s wrong?”

“I was wondering if we could possibly reschedule for next weekend?”

It’s silent on the other line for a few seconds, so you move the phone away from your ear to see if he hung up (which you know he wouldn’t do but there’s a guilty conscious for you) or lost connection.

“Yeah,” Johnny sounds unsure once the phone is back on your ear. “Is there a reason?”

You’re going to break skin if you bite any harder.

“Remember Donghyuck?” He hums. “He just came back in town and I’m letting him crash here for a little. It’s been a while so I wanted to take him out tonight, also as an apology for starving him all day,” you chuckle, voice even and believable to your own ears.

Well, it’s not a complete lie.

The tone of Johnny’s voice changes immediately. “Of course, baby. Don’t sound so guilty. I’m sure Donghyuck really wants to spend time with you after not seeing you for so long.” He laughs softly. You can practically see him waving a dismissive hand in the air. “We can just go Friday or Saturday night.”

A small relieved smile tugs at your mouth as a sigh leaves it. “Thanks for not hating me. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You can hear the smile in his voice, envisioning an eye roll. “Call me when you get back in, ‘kay?”

“Alright. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’ll talk to you later.”

He’s so understanding it breaks your heart but you’re doing your best to delude yourself into believing you’re really going to this outing just for Donghyuck.

As soon as you hang up the same three knocks from earlier pound against the wood of your front door, startling you. A glance as your reflection in the mirror connected to your dresser makes you grimace, the sight of your half done face and hair not so pretty. Speed walking to the door that connects your room to the bathroom, you push it open and do the quickest winged liner you’ve done and quickly yet carefully put some mascara on. You put and misplaced strands of hair where they belong and barely remember to grab your jacket before exiting the bathroom using the other door that leads into your hallway. You’re just in time to see Donghyuck slipping his shoes on and Taeyong leaning against the door, stopping in the middle of his sentence when he spots you coming towards them.

“Well don’t you look like a snack.” Taeyong wiggles his eyebrows at you, eyes raking up and down your body. “Hyuck told me you had plans so I’m guessing you’re going out with J—”

“With the two of you? Yep,” you cut him off, giving him a quick smile and diverting your attention from his face to your shoes as you slip them on. Your heart is beating loudly from a combination of the rising guilt you feel from cancelling on Johnny and the guilt you feel from being happy you get to see Taeyong again and spend time with him outside of work today.

He eyes you suspiciously, making eye contact with Donghyuck with a brow arched in confusion. The latter just shrugs.

“So where are we going?”

“To the dessert shop that just opened by my place,” he says unsurely, opening the door. “My car or yours?”

“Can I drive?”

You and Taeyong immediately shut down Donghyuck’s request. His lip curls up in offense, but he gets over it and links his arm with yours as you all make your way down the wooden stairs.

--

“Try this.”

You bring your fork up to Donghyuck’s mouth, feeding him some of your cake. Taeyong opens his mouth and makes a noise expectedly.

A bit of icing gets on the corner of his mouth at the forkful your feed him, so you swipe at the small glob with your thumb then lick it off.

Donghyuck clears his throat. “What happened to your date?”

“Yeah, what changed?” Taeyong ask, attention back on his plastic fork, licking a clump of icing off of it.

You’re momentarily distracted by the way his pink tongue laps at the icing, but then Donghyuck’s shifting body beside you snap you out of your trance. “Oh,” you wave a dismissive hand. “He’s beat from the long shift he worked. And it worked out perfectly because now I can bond with Hyuck,” you smile, pinching the youngest’s cheek as his face goes from confused to a fake scowl.

“Damn, well I’m glad you could be here with us.” Taeyong smiles, reaching forward to steal more of your cake.

“Me, too,” you nod, biting your lip at the thought of if Taeyong was anticipating your company. When he invited you, was he just doing it to be nice since he was picking Donghyuck up from your place? Or did he genuinely want you to come? You shake your head slightly, knocking the unnecessary thoughts out. You shouldn’t be thinking so hard over an invitation to get dessert with a couple of the closest people to you. It’s not that deep.

You and Taeyong tease Donghyuck and ask questions about how college life is, and when things go quiet and everyone’s doing their own thing for a while on their phones, it’s hard not to stare at the male sitting in front of you as he runs a hand through his hair and slumps in his seat, licking his lips as he focuses on whatever is on his screen. He’s just so effortlessly attractive. 

It’s also hard to not notice Donghyuck’s intense gaze on the side of your face.

Donghyuck’s eyes either translate to he’s trying to read you, or that he knows something, and when you raise an eyebrow to silently question him, he just shakes his head before asking Taeyong a question, starting up another conversation.