#I think I will put sparkly stuff on his boots too

[cosmerelists]

What Cosmere Characters' Rooms Look Like (But Mostly In Terms of Vibes)

As requested by @rainbyanyothername :)

Here is my take on what the vibe of Cosmere characters' rooms would be--vibes mostly because I don't want to be stuck to, like, what bedrooms are canonically like in the various worlds. We're going by vibes, baby!

1. Adolin

I think that, as soon as he stopped having to abide by his father's strict "all rooms must follow the codes somehow" standards, Adolin went his own way...and that way was tasteful and fashionable. Adolin is the sort of guy whose bedroom pieces all match--but not in a "all bought from a matching set" kind of way, but rather, like, a deep orange bedspread and a forest green rug that somehow complement each other beautifully. It's neat--he is NOT going to wrinkle his clothes by tossing them over a chair--but also clearly lived in and homey.

2. Zellion

He doesn't have a room. :( He's always on the run. :( How rude of you to even ask. :(

3. Shallan

I just remember how happy Shallan was to be in that big fluffy comforter when she first moved in with Sebarial. I think she'd love to have that deeply soft bed and that big fluffy comforter and a beanbag chair and also a big egress window in case she has to escape in the night to do spy stuff. It is also definitely not neat.

4. Jasnah

Well...we know nothing is soft if Jasnah can help it. Her mattress is firm, her rug (if she has one) is low-pile, and she has bookshelves everywhere.

5. Wax

I think he has deerskin-rug-on-the-floor-guns-on-the-walls-but-also-everything-in-there-costs-one-million-dollars vibes. Except for the boots, which Wayne left behind as a trade and are worth $1.50.

6. Ranette

Her room is gross and cluttered and every single surface is either guns or gun parts.

7. Dalinar

I mean, surely this one is obvious: his room is Spartan. Dalinar has the minimum amount of furniture necessary to make a room a room, and he didn't even have any photographs before Navani came along. He thinks slippers are extravagant.

8. Lightsong

I mean, this one is clear from canon. Lightsong has, like, nineteen pillows and sixteen blankets and carpets on top of his carpets and a lot of objects that could only be called "baubles."

9. Sigzil

I don't think Sigzil is quite as Spartan as Dalinar--or at least, it isn't a moral thing for him. I think Sigzil would live fairly simply because he's not a big stuff person, and it would be neat on the surface but perhaps a bit dusty if you looked too closely because he's out a lot.

10. Zane

All I know is that his room has a My Chemical Romance poster on its wall...in, like, vibes.

11. Breeze

He has a wine fridge. It's by the bed. His room his mostly tasteful and masculine and, like, full of oak...but also there are sparkly pink pillows and doilies everywhere. We all know why.

12. Kelsier

Kelsier's room would be a sanctuary to Mare; like not-touched-at-all-since-she-was-last-there-even-though-he-feels-like-weeping-whenever-he-sees-it-but-he-can't-throw-away-that-crumpled-up-kleenex-because-Mare-touched-it sort of vibes. Sorry :(

13. Vasher

His room his gross. He thinks he can wear his socks three times before they need washing and in the meantime he will be leaving them on that chair.

14. Vivenna

Her room is very neat--she definitely makes her bed every morning and actually moves books to dust underneath them--and there is, just, no color anywhere.

15. Kaladin

If you asked Kaladin what he wanted in a bedroom he would be like "A mattress?? To sleep on?? What else do you need in a bedroom???" And yes, he's definitely a mattress-put-directly-on-the-floor boy. But then Syl keeps collecting cool leaves and flowers and putting them around, and there are some rocks from Tien, and a flute that somehow ended up back with him, and Adolin gave him something called a "decorative pillow" and in the end it's still a mattress on the floor but surrounded by things brought in by people who love him.

[the-light-of-stars]

still a wip but working some more on wizard guy

[dellalyra]

happy (late) birthday to gojo! i wonder how the family spent his birthday but also i wonder how the crew used to celebrate each other’s birthdays when they were younger!

𝟏𝟕/𝟑𝟔

𝑃𝑖𝑥𝑖𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑦𝑠：𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒，𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑓𝑓 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑙𝑜��𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ.

𝐶𝑊：𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓，𝑠𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑓𝑓 𝑏𝑐 𝑜𝑏𝑣𝑠 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑛’𝑠 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑑𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠， 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔，𝑓𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑙𝑚𝑘 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔♡︎

“Shoko wait - that’s salt! Don’t put salt in the damn cake.”

“Why not? It would be funny.” She shrugs.

“Imagine how insufferable he would be, Sho.” Suguru intervenes.

“Did you get the balloons?” You ask Suguru.

“Yeah, they’re up in your dorm room. He comes barging into mine too much so yours was the best option.”

“I still can’t believe he’s never had a real birthday, like with sweets and soda and balloons.” You shake your head.

“Yeah, pretty fucking depressing to only have ‘formal birthday celebrations’ with stuffy old farts for your whole life.” Shoko says, sucking on a lollipop.

“Part and parcel of being the heir to a big three family, I suppose.” Suguru shrugs, watching you beat eggs into the cake mixture.

“What did you guys get him?” You ask.

“I got him this enormous basket of candy - like imported stuff too.” Shoko says - making you wonder if she’s opened it to take the lollipop she’s currently eating.

“Mine is a surprise. His parents got him an Armani coat and Tom Ford ankle boots, and then the trip to Bali for the four of us.” Suguru interjects.

“Rich people shit.” The three of you say in unison.

At 9pm that night, after a trip to the arcade with Suguru serving as a distraction to Satoru - they approached the building, where Satoru say the common room lights quickly switch off in the distance. He didn’t really understand why the silhouettes of you and Shoko were crouching behind a door, but he figured it was probably some weird girl shit.

Opening the door - shouts of ‘surprise!’ blasted through the room from you and Shoko and Suguru behind him. Big blue balloons were decorating the room with a banner saying ‘happy 17th birthday Satoru!’ hung crookedly on the wall. Gojo’s jaw dropped open at the sight before him, wrapped boxes on the table with a huge assortment of snacks and pizza boxes stacked behind them. Suguru moved from behind him and stood beside you and Shoko as you all blew party poppers toward him, showering him in colourful paper confetti. You run up, hands behind your bag and tug his shoulder for him to lean down to your height as you place a sparkly blue paper party hat on his head, securing it around his chin with a pat to the cheek - the shiny colour of your eyes and lightly glossed lips made him feel more faint than any injury could.

Not that he has a crush on you, or anything. You’re just best friends.

“Happy birthday Satoru!” You chime, giggling and clapping your hands.

“What is all this?” He asks.

“Your birthday party, dolt.” Shoko pokes at him.

“After you said you had only had formal ‘birthday events’ with your clan we thought we’d give you a proper birthday.” Suguru smirks, ruffling his best friends hair.

“We know it’s not as fancy -” You begin.

“This is so fucking cool.” He breathes - poking at the balloons with awe.

It makes sense to you all. His awe, his delighted face and joy laced in his voice. This - fun, homely, relaxed, happy - vibe, this is far more Satoru than any sit down, six course formal meal could ever be.

You can’t help but admire him as he scans through all the sweets laid out on the table, throwing caramel popcorn to Suguru to catch in his mouth. The smile on his face and the warmth in his bright blue eyes emphasise the loose drape of his long limbs, body relaxed and oh-so-happy. You think that happy Satoru is the prettiest Satoru there is. If Satoru asked for the moon wrapped in a pretty box for his birthday, then that’s probably what you’d do.

Not that you’ve a crush on him, or anything. You’re just best friends.

Shoko pushes him to sit down, and dips under the table - pulling out a huge wicker basket and heaving it toward him.

“Here. A gift.” She nods.

He wastes no time in ripping the cellophane obstructing the view of inside off and squeals like a piglet when he sees the sheer mass of sugar in there. He launches himself at Shoko, who just lazily pats him on the shoulder, warning him of cavities and how she won’t pay for any dental care as a result.

Suguru leaves the room, coming back with a cardboard carrier box.

“Oi, Satoru - here’s your gifts from me. Before you open the box, open this first.” He says, languid smirk on his face.

Suguru hands him a tiny box, about the size of a matchbox. Satoru slides it open and pulls out the contents. The puzzled look on his face doesn’t explain the mystery further. You scoot closer, peaking at the contents. Inside, lay three tiny pairs of sunglasses.

“Suguru, I love the sentiment but - I’m not sure these’ll fit me bro.” Satoru says, holding a pair to his nose.

“Open the box.” Suguru says, sitting on the armchair that Shoko has perched herself on the arm off and stretching his arms behind his head.

Satoru does as he’s told, and folds open the lid of the carrier box. The tilt of his head when he looks inside gives nothing away, apart from his complete confusion.

The box seems to rustle, and the nature of your cursed energy calls you toward small life forces inside.

Satoru turns to you, the resident animal lover, and shows you the box.

Inside, are three tiny, fluffy, snow white gerbils.

You begin to coo over them, noticing how healthy and socialised they are (growing up with your technique lead to an innate ability to bond and observe animals, which may have caused your parents pet count to rise from 1 to 17).

Satoru just looks at Suguru.

“You’ve got to be fucking with me.” He says.

“Just thought you needed some familiar faces.” Suguru snorts.

“The sunglasses? Three white rodents? Really, Suguru?! You see Shrek once and decided I’m leader of the three blind mice?!” Satoru retorts.

Shoko is in hysterical laughter as you completely zone out, petting and holding the little menaces in your arms.

“Suguru - you’re an evil genius.” You shake your head.

“Highest of compliments.” He responds.

“Wait - Geto - how the fuck do you expect Satoru to look after three gerbils? He’s - like - he’s Satoru.” Shoko nods in the gerbils direction.

“A responsibility lesson.” Suguru shrugs.

“How do I look after gerbils?! I’m not ready to be a dad! What do they eat? Is steak okay? Or maybe pizza? Do they need to swim like a turtle?! Y/N - what do I do?! You’ll help me, won’t you?!” Satoru begins listing off what he feels he needs to know to care for them.

Like you could ever deny him anything - of course you would, especially when he asks with that pretty pout.

“Course I will, Satoru. You gotta name them.” You nod.

He thinks for a moment, before smirking that smirk that spells trouble every time.

“Isamu, Hiroto and Daiki.” He declares.

“Random, but okay. Not like… fluffy, or whiskers or something that’s more eh - pet name style?” Shoko questions.

“Nah, white haired rodents? I’m calling them after the Gojo elders.” He snorts, devilish smile on his face as you all decent into laughter.

After settling the gerbils into their cage (a gift, courtesy of Yaga), you sheepishly slide a box toward Satoru, it’s small and wrapped in polar bear print paper.

“Happy Birthday, Satoru.” You smile, blushing.

He rips open the box and immediately falters. His casual smirk replaced with an awestruck gape.

“Is this…?”

“Yeah.” You nod.

Inside the box, was a delicate silver bracelet - with a circular medal in the center engraved with all four of your initials and the day you all started at Jujutsu Tech.

“Fucking hell, you really had to show us up like that Y/N?” Shoko groans, knowing your gift was by far the most sentimental.

“I hope you like it. If you don’t I kept the receipt so we can return it for -” You turn to the birthday boy.

“I love it.” He says, lifting his head to look at you.

“You’re per- It’s perfect. I - Help me put it on?” Satoru quickly fixes his slip of the tongue which you luckily didn’t notice but had Shoko and Suguru snickering.

You smile, helping him clasp it around his wrist and clapping when it’s a perfect fit.

“Yay! I’m so happy you like it!” You giggle.

“I like it a lot.” He says, not looking at the bracelet.

36

“Happy birthday, papa!” Came a loud voice, accompanied by excessive bouncing on the bed as the birthday boy himself woke up.

“Papa!” Came a more slurred voice with a giggle, and a small smack to his cheek with a chubby fist.

Satoru opens his eyes, seeing his 5 year old son and 2 year old daughter sitting on him on the bed, and beside them the woman who brought them into the world - shining in the morning sun, looking at him with eyes full of forever.

“We made you waffles!” Akio shouts.

“Waffle!” Mirai nods.

“You did! I am so spoiled! Did you two do them all by yourselves?!” Satoru asks, plopping Mirai on his lap which Akio has just vacated.

“No, papa. We had help!” The boy runs around to you, asking you to tie up his shoulder length white hair.

“Well, c’mon then! I’ve been promised waffles!” He ushers the two of them out of the room as they run toward the kitchen.

He turns around in the bed, seeing you smiling at him.

“Happy birthday, ‘toru.” You say, cupping his cheek and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Every day feels like my birthday with you around, princess.” He smirks, rolling on top of you and kissing you back.

“Charmer.” You giggle.

“Is it working?” He asks.

“We’ve been married for 10 years and have two children together and have raised 2 others. It worked a long time ago. Truth be told, it worked even before I gave you this.” You say, fiddling with the silver bracelet on his wrist.

The jokingly fist bumps the air, even though he’s been fully aware your heart beats solely for him - and has done his you were 16.

“C’mon, handsome. Breakfast awaits along with a little surprise.” You say, lifting yourself off the bed as he does the same, standing and stretching and revealing a back of toned, strong muscles and biceps as he shakes out his fluffy hair.

“On second thought…” you smirk, biting your lip.

“Yeah? What’s that thought?” He smiles, wrapping an arm around you waist and kneading the peachy rise of your ass in his big hands, before sliding his hands up to your waist hidden under the fluffy robe you wore.

“That there might be another surprise for you tonight, and I have planned for the kids to have a sleepover.” You smile, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand before swirling your tongue around his index finger, batting your eyelashes up at his far taller frame.

“You expect me to go through a whole day waiting for a surprise after this little display?” He groans, pouting like he did when at 18 you told him he couldn’t have his birthday cake until his actual birthday.

You just smile, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before sauntering down the hall with an extra sway of your hips.

After a minute, he comes bouncing down the stairs and is greeted with the most incredible view.

Inside the kitchen, a now 21 year old Yuuji Itadori is wearing a floral apron and surrounded by plates of waffles and smiling.

“Happy birthday, Gojo-Sensei!” He says, before throwing his full strength muscular body at his old teacher.

“I didn’t know you were here! Thank, kid!” He smiles, ruffling Itadori’s hair.

“You made the waffles?” He asks.

From around the corner comes a chuckle and a giggle, as his daughter launches herself from her Uncle Soso’s arms and sprints toward her dad, ever the most loyal daddy’s girl.

“Papa’s day!” She squeals as she’s scooped up into her dad’s strong hold.

“Hello, cupcake. Were you playing with Uncle Soso?” He says, kissing her chubby cheeks as she nods, stroking his hair like her momma does.

“Happy birthday, Satoru.” Choso smiles, hugging him tight. Choso had really seen this family and said ‘yes, this one please.’ Actually, it was a two way street. You saw a sad, grieving man who loved as fiercely as you did and said ‘yes, this is my brother now.’

Itadori says when you or Gojo see a ‘stray’ it’s the epitome of the ‘you’re my friend now, we’re having soft tacos tonight’ TikTok sound.

“Thanks, Cho.” Satoru responds with a smile and a squeeze to the shoulder, almost forgetting he isn’t actually his brother-in-law.

The back door opens, and in comes a slightly snowy Shoko Ieiri, who catches his eye.

“Happy birthday, fuckwad.” She says, flicking him in the arm.

“Wow, so kind and gentle. Such a great godmother to set an incredible example.” He smiles, knowing that her greeting was actually the sign that Shoko truly loved him like a brother.

He knew why she’s been outside, she had followed the little pathway to the big tree where a black memorial plaque in a grove on the cottage’s surrounding land. You and him would go down there later.

She stick out her tongue at him and he laughs, rounding the corner to where the table lay.

Sat at the table was you, with your son on your lap - a diligent mama’s boy as you laughed with him, each holding a controller for your baby pink Switch as you raced in Mario Kart.

Beside you, standing up and holding an extortionately large jug of peach juice was his eldest. Megumi was shaking his head at whatever his little brother was saying and the hint of a smile could be seen in the upturned corner of his lips. He flicks his eyes up.

“Happy birthday, dad.” He says, and is immediately pulled into a bone crushing hug with kisses dotted across his face.

“My eldest! My firstborn! We sweet little man!” He cooed as the 21 year old man (only 3 inches shorter than his father, now fully grown) shoves and growls his way out of the intense affection.

“Nawh, let him have his cuddles ‘Gumi. He gets one day a year where he can annoy you without repercussions.” You laugh.

In the midst of the chaos, you and Akio slip away into the kitchen.

Itadori and Choso come in, and sit down followed by Shoko.

Gojo takes his normal seat beside your seat and pours a coffee with extra extra sugar.

Then a small chorus starts up, two small voices and one pretty one - soon turned into the whole room (even Megumi).

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday dear Papa/Dad/Gojo/‘Toru,

Happy birthday to you!”

followed by -

“Hip hip, hooray!”

Akio is carefully holding a stack of waffles, with a flickering candle reading ‘36’ on top and Mirai has paper plates in her hands, as you walk behind them - hands out just in case.

He takes the heavy plate from his son, grateful for his 5 year olds inheritance of his father’s physical strength and height, and blows out the candle, pressing a kiss to the crown of his son’s head.

“Thank you, my lil’ mochi.”

“Make a wish, papa!” Akio shouts.

“Papa wish!”

He looks at the table, wife perched on his lap and surrounded by family.

“No need.” He says, squeezing your thigh.

“Such a sap.” You say, burying your head in his neck.

Everyone tucks into their breakfast, and the sound of happy chatter is soon interrupted by an angry voice of a toddler who inherited her mother’s temper.

“Fuckwad!” Mirai shouted.

You all spin to look at her, and see she dropped a piece of her waffle only for it to be swept away by a fluffy grey cat.

“Shoko?” You ask.

“Yeah, that one was me.” She nods.

You all burst out laughing, before Megumi turns around and asks.

“Are we making it a tradition that the kids learn a new curse every family occasion, cos this is round two.”

“Hey! It's your birthday in two weeks, babe! How about dipshit for that one?“ Yuuji exclaims.

[heartshapedbubble]

I would love some Naib headcanons please!

I LOVE WRITING GENERAL HCS here you go anon!! sorry for the long wait, i initially wanted to post this like a week ago but i lost my draft so i got a bit demotivated :C

naib subedar general/random headcanons🗡

naib is a 168cm tall, buff menace

he might be short but his strength and impressive speed compensate for that - he packs quite the punch and it's near impossible to catch him on most days

he's a pretty introverted person and keeps to himself usually, and a lot of survivors avoid him anyway due to his short temper and cold, stoic personality - but deep inside he's truly a sweetheart

bad case of resting bitchface too

gets mocked for his height often AND gets used as an arm rest by some survivors (aka josé and norton who find his angry fits funny and are immune to his yelling) and even some bold hunters (joseph and jack mostly because they're cocky little shits)

also has various scars on his body from battles, he's not ashamed of them but he's not proud of them either

one of the veterans of the manor, he saw a bunch of shit both on the battlefield and in the games so he's prepared for any inconvenience

a really good team leader, he rarely panicks and will even sacrifice himself for the team's benefit if needed and knows how to praise and motivate people

one of the rare survivors that's actually feared by hunters - he'll actually get into physical fights with them in order to escape, no hesitating either😭

he gained quite the reputation for himself on the hunter side of the manor - some grit their teeth in anger whenever they hear his name being mentioned, and others are impressed by how daring, devoted and fierce he is

also, he's the one survivor (except newbies) who takes the game VERY seriously and is genuinely afraid in matches. all the alarms, calibrations, and increased heartbeat trigger his PTSD and it's hard to find the matches fun that way

still doesn't trust the hunters even if they approach him in a friendly way, yeah he's gonna keep a safe distance far away from them thank you very much

ok now let's stray away from depressing stuff it's time for random hcs😈😈

he pierced his own ears a while ago!! he usually wears basic black studs but they're not visible due to his hood

VERY BAD at dressing up. like his closet is full of the same cloaks, shirts, pants and boots, mostly because it's more practical and you won't feel bad if you get yourself dirty in the games - and when he DOES get dressed up by miss nightingale he always grunts about how uncomfortable and tight the fitted shirts are and how she put on too much hair gel

has severe trust issues but one of the rare people he would trust with his life is emily - they bonded together during the long, long hours of him getting patched up and having his refractory wounds cleaned from the mud in the infirmary

he keeps his hair long enough to tie it into a ponytail but sometimes he goes with an undercut/deathhawk(?) if the heat gets unbearable during the summer, he shaves it by himself ofc >:]

ok as much as i think naib doesn't like getting dolled up i DO think he likes to do masc makeup. like nothing sparkly or glamorous just some basic stuff like kohl around the eyes and eyebrow pencil to accentuate his features

he's very messy while doing it too, applying everything with his fingers and not minding if it's smudged in some places

yk that meme of how men apply chapstick?? yea thats literally him LMFAOAOA

during matches he's going to literally climb up his teammates to get a better sight at his surroundings, it comes off as a huge shock to newcomers but others got used to it

also tried to sneak in blades into the games but always got caught😔

his arms are his biggest weakness due to the injuries in the war and the straining he puts them through - his elbow pads only provide him enough support to not break his bones on impact so he mostly relies on his legs

has a very strict sleeping schedule so he has time to do exercise in the morning, but if he doesn't have any training planned out for the day he could sleep until noon

has really bad alcohol tolerance and doesn't like drinking anyway

practices breakdancing when he has free time, once the music starts he's going to tear that dancefloor to SHREDS

martha and kurt look up to him since they have also served in the military, he finds them endearing but he would never say that out loud smh

martha is like a little sister to him, they work out together and share food during lunchtime

and now it's time for (drum roll) FOOD HEADCANONS WOO

naib's metabolism is very fast and he loves to eat, too - he's not a picky eater and he bonds with his homeland via its food

after having to survive off of cold canned food in the army he's having the time of his life enjoying freshly-made warm meals

however he can munch on plain cheese and bread too, no problem

even though he loves sweet and savory, comforting food he likes his coffee bitter

his favourite general foods are anpan, gimbap and strawberry shortcake, and out of the national foods of his homeland he loves thukpa the most because it's hearty and reminds him of his mother and how she used to cook it for him

if you're going to sneak into the kitchen for a midnight snack there's a 60/40 chance that you'll find him searching the fridge before you could even think of getting food

not the best cook himself though but he loves helping out in the kitchen as much as he can

naib has a very small circle of friends and people he feels comfortable enough with to casually talk or vent to, mostly other veterans like william, emily and martha

once naib warms up to people and opens up (on rare occassions), he shows his sweeter side, he's quite timid in reality and has trouble verbalizing how much he cares for the other residents in fear that they'll think he's weak and that others might manipulate him if he shows any sign of vulnerability

his daring yet serious persona was actually kind of created back when he first started serving to protect himself from the world and harm that might come his way

prone to overthinking his life especially during the dark, sleepless nights, he always feels guilty of choosing this job for himself and regularly writes letters for his mother and the rest of his family, hoping that they'll reach her one day

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 3. Glittery Mishap

Pairing: Gruber x Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: A rented little house somewhere in the world.

A/N: This is a cute little thing that I hope will put a smile on your lips and warm your beautiful heart, darling 💚 I am working as hard as I can to catch up as I was sick for so long during the prep-time we had...

Tags/TW’s: Reunion, Fluff, Kissing.

Word Count: 900+

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3 // LINK TREE

You were in the greatest mood. Christmas carols flowed from the radio. Snow was falling outside the window. Everywhere there was a surface to place things upon you had covered with Christmas ornaments — from little clocks to Santas, gingerbread men and holly. The windows you’d outlined with garlands and framed with Christmas curtains. “Perfect,” you said to yourself and clapped your hands together while turning on the spot, taking it all in.

The door opened, and the sound of wind and the stomping of heavy boots reached you. Your heart erupted in joy, he was home. Your husband. Your lover. Your protector. Your short-tempered criminal. Finally!

You bolt from the little living room, towards the hallway and the door that just closed. And there he stood, all tall and handsome with his grey hair speckled of snowflakes and the thick scarf you’d gifted him last year wrapped once around his neck only to drape down over the front of his thick black coat.

“Darling,” you said with a smile as tears lined your eyes. It had been months. Four agonising months of you hiding away — going from rental to rental — and him being on the run. “Liebling,” he said with a harsh exhale. A shiver slid down your spine at the German term he always used for you. The same as yours for him, just in his language. “You’re here,” you whispered while he looked you over with a gleaming approval in his eyes.

He nodded, a short and sharp motion that made you think of flicking tongues and decisive fingers. Your core heated at such a fickle little thing, as it always had done with him.

You couldn’t wait any longer and threw yourself forward, his eyes widened and he took half a step back in alarm but it was too late for him to avoid the collision. Your mind faltered for a second at the possible rejection after such a long time only for your chests to collide and you got a full spraying of glitter launched right into your face, up your nose and into your open mouth.

His arms came around you as you both coughed. You could fucking see the glitter in your eyes. It itched and chafed, you struggled to get air into your lungs without inhaling more of the sparkly stuff.

Hans parted from you, dragging his large hand over his face while his other hand tried to wipe away the ungodly-sticky glitter from your mouth. “Liebling, are you alright?” he asked with an even thicker voice than usual. You coughed and tried to dig the stuff out of your mouth while exhaling through your nose — creating a damn waterfall of glitter spewing out and covering the carpet you had vacuumed to perfection yesterday.

“Y-yes,” you wheezed and looked up at him. You laughed out in a burst. He looked hilarious, utterly ridiculous with glitter everywhere — covering his beard, lining his lips, making his nose look like a sparkly beacon with his distinct shape while his thicker eyebrows capped it all.

He chuckled back and your heart melted at the sound so packed with amusement. With love. With all the things nobody else ever got the privilege of hearing, only you. His beloved liebling.

“I am sorry,” he said as he rubbed at his beard and looked all around at all the glitter stuck to every surface, all the shoes and clothes. “You must have cleaned a long time.” “I did, but, I can vacuum again. But tell me why we are covered in glitter?” you said as you helped brush out more glitter from his beard and brows. We’ll need a bath, not a bad thing…

“Ah, little one, you ruined my surprise,” he said as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in while you kept dragging your fingers through his shorter, well-groomed beard that was too thick for you to stay away from. “A surprise? You arriving is all the surprise I need, darling,” you confessed as your cheeks took on a rosy tinge beneath the glitter. Your heart was still hammering from the joy of him coming back to you despite the glittery mishap.

His soft, tight smile was worth more than the sun for you and you basked in the way he viewed your glittery self with adoration. “I had hoped to send glitter into the sky with you on Christmas Eve, liebling.” “Oh?” “Yes, it is quite the sight if it snows and the moon shines, much like fairy dusting,” he said with a pointed look.

You positively melted as he jutted his chin towards the floor where little fireworks rested in a little paper bag. You had always been obsessed with magical beings, not in a ‘theses are real’ kind of way but the ‘magic is a wonderful fantasy’. Fairies were one of those obsessions, ever since Tinker Bell when you were a child and the way she spread glitter when she flew through the sky. That he thought of that, remembered how you had talked about wanting to see glitter in the sky such a long time ago, had your heart in an absolute twist.

“Hans,” you whispered, “I love you.” “I love you as well, mein liebling. Merry Christmas,” he said in a low murmur that twisted your insides and turned them as sparkly as your glitter-dusted skin when he leaned in and kissed you deeply with the glitter falling from your moving bodies just like fairy dust. Depicting the wonder of Christmas, the wonder of reuniting with the one you love.

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3 // LINK TREE

A/N: Oh isn’t this just the cutest little thing? I really adore the Christmas feel this time of year, it makes me want to cuddle up and read all kinds of stories - be it fluffy ones, angsty ones or smutty goodness. But, as you all probably know by now I tend to lean towards the last two way more since fluff isn’t exactly my thing to write. But I’m always trying to learn so, I hope this fluffy piece managed to warm you 🥰♥

Taglist: @snowblossomreads @leah1243 @reinekefoxart @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2022]

[mochidreambubble]

Winter Wishes

[I originally wrote this for Xmas 2022. It also uses the pen pal premise from my other OL fics. Ao3 link here.]

{Winter party plans don't go as... Well. Planned. But that doesn't mean there won't be merriment and fun.}

You wait as you bounce back between toe and heel. Your Ma hasn’t said a word since you showed her the sparkly invitation. It had been personally delivered by the one and only Baxter - though not because he wanted to personally deliver it to you specifically . You saw him from your room window as he arrived in the late morn in some super fancy car (the driver came out to open the door for him and everything! Like in the movies!) and he had beelined for Qiu’s first, likely handing Tamarack’s and yours personally too just cause it was convenient that he was already there. Not that it was surprising he picked to go to Qiu first, or that he came all this way to hand the letter in person. The Boys Club was a tight unit, and while Qiu had extended the invitation to you…

You were initially excited to see him, as outside of Boys Club days where the invitation was extended to you, there were never really a lot of chances to just hang out with Baxter. So, maybe you were a little sad that him handing the invitation to you was just because he was in the area anyway. But you try and shrug it off, Qiu had more memories and friendship bonding stuff with him that you did not.

“Well, Baxter did come all this way to give you this invitation,” Your mom speaks up at last and you perk up from your rocky gaze on the floor.

“So I can go?!”

“Seeing as how Qiu and Tamarack were invited as well, so long as you’ll be going together-”

 You tackle her in a hug before she finishes, then rush to the door. You made sure to grab your scarf and earmuffs and yell back to Ma, “I’ll go ask them right now!”

She calls back, though it sounded muffled by the time the door had shut. Maybe it was to not run, seeing as how snow and frost covered every inch of Golden Grove. Like in autumn, everything looked like it leapt straight out of the painted pages of your favourite storybooks. You still picked the comfy oranges and reds of the previous season to be your favourite, but winter in Golden Grove certainly beat out the dreary grays and stone of the same season back in the city. 

You make your way as quickly as you can, your winter boots crunching as you first etch closer to Qiu's. It was always more of a gamble to see if Tamarack was home, cause even in the cold it be a coin toss if she was bundled up in quilts or back out in the forest out back. You play a little song of knocks on Qiu’s door and you hear some scrambling within the home.

“Mr Qiu Lin, what did we say about running in the halls?”

An airy laugh in response, and, “So long as I’m not tracking mud or running in socks, it’s ok?”

Qiu greets you at the door. There’s always this weird buzz of butterflies and warmth you get when you see Qiu. You haven’t told Ma about it, not really. “Hey there neighbour,” he still smiles with confidence and mischief, it always feels like days never quite go so simply when he does this. He tries to balance on one foot, hopping in place as he puts on the other red sneaker.

“Morning Qiu!”

“Morning? I’m sure it’s almost noon, silly.”

“That means it’s still morning. Do I need to get you a watch or something?”

Both shoes on, at last, he asks if you’re giving away what you’re getting him for Christmas, and you try your best to sound as mysterious as possible. The line of conversation continues, and to any outsider it may even sound like the two of you were bickering, but there wasn’t even a hint of animosity between the two of you.

“Speaking of Christmas, what do you think about Baxter’s winter party invitation?” You ask as you both make your way over to Tamarack’s. 

“Of course I’m going. And hey, and told ya you’d get your chance to go over to his big house eventually,” He still has his smug smile in place, and between the strange butterflies and the laugh you’re fighting down, you still manage to roll your eyes.

“You haven’t always been right since we met I have you know, “ and you tap the notebook in his grip. “I think I have a track record for the number of times I had to save your pages Mr I don’t lose anything .”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” he winks. “Thanks to you, I really haven’t lost anything!”

“ Qiu.”

He laughs as he slides over to the Baumann household door, knocking rhythmically as he always does. Granny answered the door. “Oh, hello dears.”

The two of you greet her simultaneously, as well as - as best two differently posed questions could make it out to be - ask her if Tamarack was in. She stops to ponder for just a second, eyes glittering. You always think everyone in Tamarack’s family, even the kind of scary Mr Baumann, seemed to have sparkles on them. “She’s still warming up from her morning escapades,” a word you note to either ask mom or look up in your dictionary later. “But I’m sure she'll be happy to see the two of you.”

Qiu and you both take a complimentary candy from the glass bowl once you’re in the Baumann’s cozy hallway and make your way to Tamarack, and as one of your guesses, was comfortably wrapped in a nice thick quilt and sipping hot chocolate. She almost spills the mug entirely when she sees the two of you, getting up in haste. You huddle in with her, and Qiu joins in, smushing you in the middle. You didn’t know what was so funny, but Granny had to rush off to get a camera. It gave the three of you a moment all to yourselves, and you ask her about the invitation.

“Ohhh. Oma told me about it, but I can’t say I feel like going,” she shrugs. It may have been months since she met the other members of Qiu’s Boys Club, and while it wasn’t that she didn’t like Baxter or Darren, she didn’t feel like she wanted to hang out with them as much. The most is if you said you were going to, which maybe convinced Tamarack to do the same once in a while.

“Qiu and I will be going,” and you see Tamarack’s eyes light as she reconsiders. “And it’s a fancy rich people party right? There’s going to be things we maybe don’t see at regular parties, it may be fun!”

The three of you discuss possible what ifs and could be, after Tamarack decides that she’d like to go as well - and nothing could make you happier as you didn’t like leaving Tamarack out of anything. Qiu explains that, sure , he has been over to Baxter’s quite a number of times, but never for the fancy parties. You personally think it be fun to go so you get the chance to dress up. You didn’t really have the chance to, maybe once in a while if you had to tag along to one of Ma’s work parties for things like the company’s Christmas or New Years gathering, but those were so boring . Qiu insists it was a grand affair , especially stressed in his noble fancy voice that never failed to make you and Tamarack laugh. He then insists that all of you would need the whole day to prepare, like in the TV shows, so it was only natural that…!

“We all sleep over at your place!” Qiu presents you like a grand finale and you give him a quizzical look. “Look, we can all stay over and spend the next day preparing at your place and all go together, it’s the perfect plan .”

He then admits it’s mainly because by this point, you’ve all stayed over at his and Tamarck’s place at least once, so by default, it was sort of your turn to host. But it should be perfect, since the idea was for the three of you to go together anyways. When you explain this all to Ma later, she could only laugh that, despite living next to each other, it apparently wasn’t close enough for the three of you.

All the grownups didn’t seem to mind, especially since this was the third time you were all having a sleepover.Qiu even tried to extend the invitation to Darren. Your little adventuring group of three dropped by to see if he wanted to join but before he could even say it was over at your place and that he was saying Tamarack was going to be there, you saw the face he made. Even if you and Tamarack were watching from the sidewalk, you could guess what the answer was. Tamarack didn’t really seem all that bothered, saying that just you three was the right amount anyways. 

So when the night before the big party day approached, your room had two guests carrying fluffy sleeping bags and their belongings. You all broke the sleep early rule, of course. The moment you hear Ma’s door click shut for the night, flashlights came on and the cards and hand puppets came out. You all even managed to silently build a grand pillow and blanket fort, big enough for all three if you to sleep in side by side.

Once the games had stopped and the three of you lay there, not quite in the dark as your glow in the dark stickers illuminate the room, Tamarack giggles and asks if you think you’d meet your prince or princess at the party. “You know, the one ? Like people do when they go to these rich people's parties? Like a mysterious stranger who asks you to dance with them?” 

You hear Qiu muffle a squawk beside you, and unsure what that was about but you shrug and turn to her. Truth be told, this wasn’t the first time Tamarack has asked you about dancing with mysterious strangers. Not since you told her you took dance classes. Not ballet like Qiu, but like Baxter. You weren’t in the same classes exactly of course, as Baxter was ahead of you, but it was one of the few things Baxter and you could bond over. Thinking about Baxter, it was always a little funny. He was always friendly, but there was something in your gut that told you he was kind of disappointed that you were there too, and he always tried to hide the sulk that would quickly disappear. You told your mom about it, and after a hug and a comfy place cuddled by her side, she explained that sometimes you couldn’t make everyone like you, no matter how hard you tried. Which you thought kind of sucked, since you saw Baxter as Mr Cool and Mysterious. Maybe this party would be another chance to be closer with him.

“Well?” Tamarack giggles softly as she gives your cheek a poke.

“I much rather dance with my best friends.”

You hear Qiu let out a breath and laughs as well. You nudge him to be softer. “Course you would, since we’re going to be the coolest people there.”

“Mmmm. But I guess I’ll ask Baxter for one too, since he invited me.”

“R-Really?”

“Ooooh, yeah. I guess you would want to,” Tamarack thinks aloud. “Cause you think he’s Mr Cool or something right?

“Y-You do?!”

“Awww Qiu,” Tamarack giggles. “I guess there’s some things I know that you don’t huh?”

“Hey! No fair!”

Half-way through sharing more “secrets”, your Ma comes in to ask you all to go to bed. Whoops, guess you all became too loud after all. Hilariously, despite all that speculation for the night for how the part would go…

»»————-　✼　————-««

Dear Mermaid Friend

I hope this gets to you in time just so I can say Merry Christmas!! 

❄️🎄❄️

There’s a bunch of sticker packs I picked out for you, I hope you like them. Ma packed some homemade jam for everyone in your family too. Ma’s jam is the best, and you should tell me if you want Ma to send more over, not just as a Christmas present.

This year I’m probably going to spend Christmas cooped up at home if you can believe it! It’s been snowing pretty bad the past few days. I was actually invited to a fancy rich people party a few days ago. But…

Dun Dun Dun!! Suspense Music!! 

On the day I was supposed to go, everything and everywhere got snowed in. 

<there's a drawing of a huge sad face in a Santa hat>

Guess it wasn’t all that bad though, as I had Qiu and Tamarack with me! We just spent the day making cookies with Ma and playing board games and watching silly Christmas movies. I hope your winter days have been going better than mine. Wish I could hop on a plane to visit you in Sunset Bird but Ma says I’m still too small to do that. When do you think she’ll say I’m big enough? It’s not fair.

Wait. I remember you said you hated Winter most right? Cause your moms don’t let you play at the beach as much. Sheesh. I’ll never understand why you and Cove like the sea so much. Maybe one say when I visit, it’ll be like magic, you’ll turn me into a mermaid so I can explore the sea with you or something. Would that be fun!! 

🌊🐚 🐬 🐚 🐬 🌊

↑ I made sure to get ocean themed stickers like those 

Anyways, Ma said I could invite everyone over inst

-

“Sweetie, your friends are here!” Ma calls, and you stop writing halfway. Since the whole party at Baxter’s didn’t happen, you decided to invite him and Darren to spend the day over at your place instead. Darren took a lot of convincing, and what you thought was a rather stern look from Mrs Murray (Tamarack whispered to you conspiratorially how odd it was to see your teacher on winter break). As expected though, he stuck to Qiu like glue the whole time, oh well.

Baxter was genuinely delighted to have been invited, and Ma and the other adults said it was precious he dressed up all formal for the small party. He told the lot of you that he actually liked this more, as the fancy party was really his parent’s party and he usually found them boring so he was glad the snow came in and saved him.

Huh . Guess all grownup parties were just boring. 

Tamarack’s grandparents brought over some really old, really big disks and your Ma brought out a really big CD player (they’re vinyls and a phonograph, she explains later). Turns out you got to dance with Baxter after all. You’re not sure how or why; Tamarack would tell you one fine day when it was just the two of you a few days after the party that  she saw Qiu whispering to Baxter right before he asked you. Though soon after everyone danced with everybody, except Darren who shuffled exclusively with Qiu and Baxter but oh well.

And funnily enough, you got to visit Baxter’s big house that very winter after all. He invited everyone over again, everyone’s parents and grandparents too, for a Christmas dinner that was just him and his parents this time - no fancy dancing or partying involved.

Baxter got you new dancing shoes, and Darren - or more specifically Mrs Murray you were betting - got you those cool pencil cases that opened up to have more than one compartments. Tamarack a cute box for treasure and a secret compartment for notes, there were already some she had written just for you it seemed. Qiu gave you a notebook, matching his own. You felt like it belonged with the paper airplane in your keepsakes box, too precious to use.

All in all, it was a wonderful first Winter in Golden Grove.

[thebookreader12345]

Stop the Violence

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Best Friend! reader

Summary: Y/N has been hiding her abusive past for all her life, and somehow, she’s managed to keep it a secret from Intelligence, and her best friend, Jay Halstead, this long. However, when someone sees something they shouldn’t have, Y/N’s world changes, and the only way she can get through it is with Jay at her side

Requested: Yes, by @virtualreader​

Warnings: abusive relationship, talk and depiction of a beating, alcohol abuse

Word Count: 1,764 Words

I tugged my sleeves down for the umpteenth time this morning, hoping that they would stay in their current position, but I knew they wouldn’t. I should’ve just worn a hoodie, but alas, all of mine were dirty, and since I didn’t feel like doing laundry last night, I was stuck with this long sleeved shirt whose sleeves never stayed all the way down my arms, and always found a way to ride up.

“You okay over there?” Jay questioned from where he was seated at his desk across the room.

“I’m fine,” I reply. “It’s just that these stupid sleeves won’t stay down.”

“Just role them up,” Jay proposed. “It’s warm in here.”

“It’s cool,” I insist. “I’ll just deal with it.” Jay hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, but ended up not talking and went back to doing his paperwork. That’s when Kevin and Adam entered the bullpen side by side, both with a cup of coffee in their hands. “Hey, guys. Either of you know when Voight’s gonna be in?”

“Uh, no,” Adam responded. “Why?”

“I need to run a quick errand. Cover for me?” I ask Jay.

Jay nodded. “Sure. Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to run an errand for my dad. I’ll be back soon,” I say quickly and stuff my phone into my pocket before heading for the stairs. 

My dad and I have never really been close. I was always closer to my mom, but when I was 16, she passed away from heart failure, leaving my dad to raise me all by himself. That’s when the problems began. My dad started drinking more often, coming home drunk after work. During these times, he would become somewhat aggressive. It was just little things though, like grabbing my arm a bit too rough. I waved it off at first because he was grieving over the love of his life, and I was sure he’d get over it in a few months. Except it never stopped. The drinking continued, not just after work at bars, but at the house too. And the violence didn’t stop either. In fact, it just got worse. Grabbing turned into smacking, and then punching. I thought that when I moved out, things would be different. I wanted to stop going by his house to say hello, but he was the only close family I had left, so I continued stopping by and running errands for him. The abuse didn’t happen as often as before, but when it did, I had to figure out how to hide the bruises, hence me wearing long sleeves and a lot of makeup. It was hard keeping this from the rest of the unit, especially Jay, who was my best friend, but I didn’t want them to think differently of me when they heard about my family life.

The reason for my errand was that my dad wanted a few things from the grocery store, and since he was apparently busy, he asked if I could pick those things up. I didn’t want to because I had work, but because Voight wasn’t in yet, I figured I’d just do it now to stop my dad from bothering me for the rest of the day. So, I left the district and drove to the grocery store, hoping that I could get this done as quick as possible. It didn’t take me long to grab everything my dad needed, including beer. I could’ve just not bought it, but that would make him angry, and I didn’t want to face that at the moment. After loading everything into my car, I made the short drive to my dad’s house.

“Dad! I’m here!” I call out into the house as I stepped inside. To the right was the living room, and behind that was the kitchen. My dad was sitting in the living room on his recliner with the TV on, not doing a single thing, which made me mad because I left work for him, but I pushed those thoughts aside and made my way into the kitchen to set the groceries down.

“What kind of beer did you get?” my dad asked as I headed back into the living room.

“Uh, Budweiser,” I answer.

“I asked for Corona,” my dad spoke.

“Yeah, I know, but I had to be quick cause I have to get back to work, so I just grabbed the first thing I saw,” I explain and fish my keys out of my pocket.

My dad growled and stood up. “So your work is more important than your own father?”

“At the moment, yeah,” I reply. Right after I said that, I immediately regretted it. I could see my father’s face change, and before I could even move, my dad stepped forward and punched me in the face, catching me square in the eye. I cried out in pain and fell to the floor, clutching the side of my face, which was now throbbing. “Dad, please stop,” I beg. But he didn’t stop there and took another step towards me, this time sending a kick straight to my ribs. Pain exploded in my side where the tip of his boot had come in contact with me, but I couldn’t do anything about it. Just before my dad could kick me again, the door to the house was kicked open, and seconds later, Jay and Hailey appeared.

“Hey! Step away from her,” Jay ordered with his gun raised. My father glanced between me and the cops, and decided it was better not to go against their orders, so he took a step back. Hailey didn’t waste any time and handcuffed my father’s hands behind his back, telling him his rights as she led him out to the car.

“J-Jay? What are you doing here?” I croak out and sit up, which sent more pain throughout my body.

“Hailey and I came down to see what was taking you so long, and to tell you that we’ve got no new cases, so Voight gave us the day off. I uh, I saw everything through the window,” Jay mumbled and gestured towards the big glass pane in the wall behind us. “I’m gonna take you to the hospital, okay?”

I shook my head. “N-no. I just want to go home.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen. I’ll bring you back to my place, and then I’ll call Will over to check you over,” Jay said and held out a hand to help me up. I took his hand, allowing him to pull me up, but pain racked my body. “All right. Lets go.” While Hailey used Jay’s truck to get my father back to the district, Jay drove my car back to his apartment. A few minutes after we got there, Will arrived to see if any of my injuries were severe enough to where I would need professional care.

“Your orbital bone isn’t broken, just bruised,” Will informed me as he examined my eye. “Jay also said something about your side.” I nodded and lifted up my shirt so that Will could get a look at my side. A reddish purple bruise had already began to form, and based on it’s size and deep color, I knew it would be there for awhile. Will pressed on the bruise, and I winced in pain, immediately tensing away from his hand. “Sorry. Uh, your ribs don’t look broken either. But you should be careful the next few days so you don’t hurt yourself any more. You should also ice your side and your eye. That’ll help the swelling go down.”

“Thanks, Will,” Jay told his brother, who left seconds later, leaving Jay and I alone in the apartment. I took a seat on the couch, my back resting against the arm rest, and Jay sat down on the opposite side, moving his body so it mirrored mine. For a few moments, we sat in silence, but finally, Jay spoke up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I sighed. “What was I going to say, Jay? ‘Oh, hey, just to let you know, I’ve got an abusive father who beats me over the stupidest things?’”

“You could’ve at least talked to Hailey,” Jay put in.

“I know,” I state. “But what kind of friend would I be if I made her relive her own terrible memories?” Again, we were silent for a few seconds, and again, Jay broke that silence.

“How long has this been going on?” Jay questioned.

“Since I was 16,” I reply softly, tears beginning to gather in my eyes. “He wasn’t always like this, but after my mom died, he changed. The beatings, they didn’t start until I was in college, but I think that made them worse.” I took a deep breath and wiped at my eyes, cleaning the tears off of my face. “I-I should’ve said something, should’ve done something. I mean, I’m a cop. I should’ve been able to defend myself, but I just let the beatings happen. I let him hit me.”

“Hey,” Jay murmured and got up from his seat. From there he moved to the seat next to me and placed a comforting hand on my knee. “Don’t blame what he did on you. This isn’t your fault. It was never your fault.”

I sniffled and wiped more tears from my face. “I know, but it’s hard not to think that it is. If anything, I should’ve gone to the unit, or at least talked to you.”

“You’re talking to me now, and that’s all that matters,” Jay confessed and gave me a small smile.

“So, what’s gonna happen to my dad?” I ask.

“He’s uh, he’s going to get jail time. He got charged with assault down at the 21st. It looks like it’ll only be a year or two for him in prison, but I am going to make sure he’s never able to hurt you again. That’s a promise I intend on keeping,” Jay admitted. I smiled and sat up, pushing my legs to the side so that I could lean forward and hug Jay. He squeezed me back tightly, and being in the arms of my best friend gave me the comfort I really needed right now.

“Thank you,” I whisper into his chest. “For everything.”

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. I’d do anything for you. Now, I say we order some takeout and have a movie night. What do you think?” Jay quizzed.

“I think that sounds like a great idea. Lets do it,” I say.

____________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @dreamingmanip @campingmonkey @winterberryfox @nevertoofarfromivar @anotherfan07 @giagma @mrspeacem1nusone @i-like-sparkly-things

[maxz-spiderz]

FUTURE ARCHON HEADCANONS

ive been. a bit busy but here we gooo! !! p.s please dont shit on me or say that x character wont look like that etc, this is a headcanon, i think itd be really cool

SUMERU

sumeru has been made out to be this super knowledgable place and theres universitys there and etc. so im kinda going off that. im also imaginging them as a guy so ill use he/him/they pronouns throughout this ^^

itd be really cool if the god of knowledge or whatever he is to be super nerdy, kinda like sucrose? really clumsy and socially awkward yk. constantly trips, stutters over his words, isnt good with interactions, etc

id image sumeru as a place to be lush and overgrown with lots of ruins and buildings if ykwim. maybe a big trading area or marketplace in the middle of everything

i think the archon for this region should be tan? or like darker skinned. theres barely any poc in genshin currently let alone an archon thats dark skinned

id like to see him go from being really nerdy and nervous to really serious quickly, thatd be cool. like one moment hes like "sorry! i didnt mean to bump into you" to talking about an indepth plan

going off the idea that every archon currently has glowing hair i think hed have long dark green hair put into a low pony tail with braids going into it

i feel like hed have similae pants to chongyun, very flowy very loose but also be good for being in the hot/humid weather

woo sumeru archon done!

FOUNTAINE

so fountaine is based off of france and stuff so very elegant. plus this is the hydro archon so :D im also gonna be using she/they pronouns throughout

white. very pale, idk how to explain it just very very white

short verrry short, not like. sayu short but maybe a bit taller than venti

easy going but stern, id imagine her to be very intense while also seeming layed back.

would break the rules to do good but she would break the rules and bend them anyways.

short xingqiu kinda hair, maybe in a little ponytail in the back idk. defidently a dark blue or something.

shed be a healer...idk mihoyo loves making hydro healers for some reason

she'd be able to walk on water for long amounts of time like kokomi but i think it would drain your stamina really quick. youre like. walking on water but its like running.

shed be very good with planning and elgant with it too.

woo fountaine

NATLAN!!

im using she/her pronouns for this archon but i feel like they wouldnt really care tbh

DARK SKINNED. 100%

very brutish and buff. buffy lesbian archon :))

shes really big and intense but also layed back

she'd have hair down to her midback but she keeps it in a ponytail constantly, it also has a lot of red and orange streaks in it and they glow when she uses her ult

i think she'd have a claymore, big sword lady

shed be tall and would wear boots and stuff. shed have an outfit with alot of chains and ornamental patterns on her outfit

shed be a god of war but not too good at the war planning aspect. shed go straight into things with brute force

she has an accent maybe like southern or scottish?

her skill should shake the ground a bit and make the enimies shake

woo

SHNEZNYA

pretty woman...

russian accent, veerrryyy heavy russian accent

shed be really pale, snow white pale because...ice.

she has an iron grip on her country and is very stern and cold.

she has a facade that can be broken down to reveal herself

she has straight platinum blonde hair with blue curls on the end that glow

she wears a sparkly flowy dress that trails behind her

pretty.....

[allforyoumylovely]

emma, hiii. you're taking requests, like that's the best thing ever hihi. idk why but I've had this image in my head of sander resting against robbe's chest as he robbe reads to him, while he runs a hand through sander's hair. maybe sander is coming out of a bad episode or maybe they're just relaxing on a sunday, but yeah.... maybe something like that hihi. much love to you emma <333

Cille, this was an absolute dream prompt for me, my gosh 💘 📖  I went off on a few tangents but hopefully that’s okay sfhjg. Walk, shower, read. It’s their little routine 🧡  Thank you for sending me this. Love you! Btw let me know if I should upload these on ao3 or if they should just be little tumblr exclusives?

Sander always knows when he’s fading away, when he’s turning into a shell of himself. But he never knows when he’s going to fall asleep at the wheel. Until it’s too late, until he crashes. And that’s when he loses all sense of who he is, of what he enjoys or how he likes to dress or what his voice normally sounds like. Sometimes the only indication of time passing is his alarms that tell him to take his meds and eat at set times.

Although he doesn’t reach the point anymore where he wants to be physically erased – he knows that this seemingly perpetual state of sadness isn’t definitive no matter how much his brain tries to convince him otherwise – some days all he can drag himself out of bed for is a cup of coffee and a cigarette or a few slices of tangerine, the scent reminding him of his boy, his college boy. He’ll crack open a window in the living room and curl up against the cushions in the window-seat, the hood of his black hoodie over his head, and there he’ll try weaving his way through the weeds and the tangled neurons in his thunder-stained mind to anything resembling an actual thought with a pinch of substance.

For the days where he’s more clear-headed his mama puts up little post-its around the house with simple tasks for him to do to help him feel useful and necessary. And in the mornings whenever Robbe has spent the night, Sander finds little notes from him too; there’ll be an I love you on his pillow, an I’m so glad you exist placed on his desk and I’m bringing you flowers later <3 hanging on his door. The first time Sander doesn’t think Robbe actually means the one with the flowers, but when he buzzes him in later that afternoon, the first thing he sees is a bouquet of light pink lilies cradled in his arm against the autumn brown of his jacket, the hues so lovely and gentle, just like Robbe. It’s more than Sander’s frail mind can take, and Robbe wipes away the thin streams of warm tears with his sweater paws, and they laugh softly when it only makes it worse.

Since before Robbe, Sander has been figuring out what soothes him, what makes him feel more at ease, what helps him settle back into his body and bones when coming out of a bad episode, and he has slowly built up a list of things that assist in bringing the puzzle pieces of his mind back into place.

Walks

Sander’s aunt has a golden retriever, Bella, who goes on a little holiday at Sander’s when he’s down and spends most of his days at home. In the mornings she’ll pad over the hard-wood floor to his bed and nuzzle her nose against Sander’s face until he wakes up, waiting patiently for her walk. It’s easier for Sander to get out of bed knowing there’s someone relying on him for their needs and wellbeing. He’ll take her and himself on a walk in the fog-blue mornings when the morning traffic is yet to come, and then again in the early evening when it’s still light out but the streets are quieter, enough for him to give his brain some stimulation when it feels like it has slowed to a halt. The sound of his boots against the sidewalk reminds him that he’s still part of the world, that he hasn’t completely vanished after all.

Sometimes he goes by himself, just listening to and observing the city around him with pale eyes. Other times Robbe goes with him, sleepy-eyed and rosy-cheeked in the mornings, relaxed and loose-limbed at night. He doesn’t curl his hand around Sander’s but lets it hang by his side with their pinkies brushing, open and inviting, for Sander to take if and when he feels like it. Sander will thread their fingers together always, but he loves Robbe for giving him a choice and never forcing anything on him.

Often, they find a bench somewhere, in a park or at the river, a place that isn’t too crowded but still has plenty of things for Sander to rest his eyes on. It’s only the middle of September but some leaves are already falling, lying yellow and limp on the ground, and Robbe notices Sander’s wondering expression.

“It’s probably because the weather has been so dry; they’re shedding their leaves to conserve water and energy,” he says.

And Sander instinctively inches closer, a small smile on his lips. “Clever you.”

Bella sits by Sander’s legs with her head propped on his knee, her deep brown eyes alternatively scanning the place and glancing up at him, sensing his sadness. She’s calm and curious and cuddly, reminding him of a certain someone. When Sander tells him, Robbe breathes out a little giggle, making Sander gaze at him more deeply than he has in days, at the silky curls around his ears and the blinking hoop and the crescent dimples curved into his cheeks, and he’ll quietly rest his head on the slope of Robbe’s shoulder, a few tiny clearings of blue sky starting to appear in his overcast mind.

Showers

Back at home, he and Robbe linger in the hallway for a bit, their hair messy, the scent of fresh air in their clothes. When Robbe says that his green, sparkly eyes are coming back, Sander curls a few fingers in the front of Robbe’s shirt, feeling the firm plane of his stomach against his knuckles as he mumbles, “Shower.”

Some nights Sander can’t stand the mere idea of catching glimpses of himself in the mirror; hates the way he looks with his violet circles and dull, greasy hair. So Robbe will light a couple of candles, and they’ll undress in the dim orange glow and quietly get under the shower spray. And there, with Sander’s forehead resting against his own, Robbe will wash Sander’s hair and tell him that he looks beautiful in this light, while his fingers work in small, bone-melting circles. The near orgasmic pressure on his scalp helps reconnecting Sander’s mind and body, making him press up tightly against Robbe, finally diving back into the swirling, velvety heat that licks into every cell of his being.

“Thank you for… For staying with me,” he says between hushed breaths and light kisses. It falls clumsy from his lips, sounding graver than he intends it to, but Robbe, the angel soul that he is, moulds his answer into five words of pure reassurance that protectively wrap themselves around Sander’s heart.

“I’m going to marry you.”

Sander doesn’t cry. But he’s very damn close.

Reading

This one begins one night maybe a year into their relationship. While Robbe brushes his teeth, Sander wanders Robbe’s room, taking in the familiarity of it, running a hand over the forest green sweatshirt draped over his chair, trailing the edge of his desk with a few fingertips. When he reaches his set of shelves, he sees it wedged in between a plant and some school supplies: a book of bedtime stories filled with beautiful watercolour illustrations, the cover a painting of a dark blue night sky with a full moon reading for her stars over a little sleeping village. The spine is threadbare, seemingly from the countless times of being opened and closed. As he flicks through the crinkled pages, soft lips press against the nape of his neck and the back of his shoulder.

“Are you snooping around my room?” Robbe mumbles.

“Mhm,” Sander hums. “What’s this book?”

Twining his arms around Sander’s stomach from behind Robbe says, “When I was little my mama used to read these stories aloud for me at night. She was looking through some stuff the other day and found it again.” He hooks his chin over Sander’s shoulder. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Very.” Sander glances back at Robbe with a squeezing feeling in his chest. “Did it make you fall asleep?”

Robbe smiles. “Every time.”

Sander drops his gaze back to the book, asking quietly, “Will you read for me?”

And Robbe brushes a “Sure” and a kiss behind his ear, tugging him along to the bed.

It’s something they do now: Robbe reading aloud for Sander whenever he feels low and doesn’t have many words to offer. Sander then tucks his head under Robbe’s chin, and Robbe tangles his fingers in his freshly washed and citrussy-smelling hair, scraping over his scalp in endless, soothing motions. Safe and sound, Sander listens to stories about naughty star-children, wizards flying about in rolled up rugs, and a Goodnight-ship with live stuffed animals as passengers. They flow over him like dripping streams of honey, Robbe’s voice lovely and wonderful and a little sleepy, and Sander tries so desperately to make his foggy brain hold onto the words.

Sometimes when the night air is cooling Sander’s room and Robbe feels a little cold, he’ll wear a thick hoodie to bed. Sander loves the scent and the comfy feel of the well-worn fabric under his palm, but sometimes he gets a little frowny and frustrated at having to fumble for his small waist; so Robbe pulls it off despite the goosebumps rising on his skin, and Sander presses his ear to his heart and tightens his hold around him, sharing his body heat his only job while he listens to stories from when Robbe was little. And Sander feels little too; but it’s something he allows himself. A few years ago, he didn’t dare dream that he’d ever have this with someone; didn’t think he even had this level of softness in himself.

But here he is. Here they are.

He has never wanted to be someone’s more than he does Robbe’s; it’s so clear that he belongs to him. And it’s crazy, Sander thinks. Because no matter how feeble and numb around the edges his body and mind feel, his love for Robbe is always right there in a molten pond at the core of him, and Sander could cry at the fact that his brain always lets him have that.

In the days following, when he finds that he has enough energy to send Robbe little dorky, flirty texts throughout the day, such as Bella woke me up with wet, sloppy kisses. Wish it was you or when you’re in the mood for a snack but you’re not there💔  with an attached photo of himself pouting at the open fridge, he knows that the darkness in his chest and brain is releasing its hold and taking flight.

[babybluebanshee]

Went to see a production of Cats with my gf, and here’s some cool shit that I noticed

- The woman they got to play Bombalurina was a goddess. My ace girlfriend actually leaned over to me when she came onstage and whispered “oh my god, she’s hot”.

- Skimbleshanks had a sweater vest and it made me insanely happy.

- Jennyanydots had the most sparkly tap shoes I’ve ever seen and I loved them.

- Rum Tum Tugger was an absolute delight. He wore cowboy boots. Instead of saying “meow” as he came onstage, he cackled like a hyena. He was (rightfully) very proud of his butt, and never missed an opportunity to show it off.

- The actor who played Tugger looked very young, and because of this, the actor who played Munkustrap seemed far more amused with his antics than most other versions I’ve seen. Like he’s watching his himbo younger brother preen like a peacock while the grown-ups try to get him to rein him in, and Munk is just like “nah, let him have his fun before the family anxiety sets in”

- I forget who was egging Pouncival on to scratch Grizabella (maybe Mungojerrie?), but you could tell Pounce didn’t want to. His poor little knees were knocking together.

- Bombalurina got such a death glare when she called Bustopher fat.

- Tugger spent the majority of Bustopher Jones hanging out on top of some junk, pouting because he wasn’t the center of attention. At one point, when Bustopher walks around greeting everyone, he sees Tugger and cheerfully waves at him. Tugger puts on a big grin and waves back...then as soon as Bustopher’s back is turned, it’s back to glaring daggers at him. Tugger is uncomfortable when we are not about him.

- Shae was originally sad Bustopher didn’t say “toodle pip” at the end of his song...until the Macavity crashing sound effect went off and everyone onstage freaked out, and Bustopher said it quickly as he ran off in a panic. I thought Shae was gonna die from laughter.

- Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer didn’t have cockney accents, and I know that’s because it’s an American cast and it wouldn’t make sense, but I just can’t think of that song without those ridiculous accents, I’m sorry.

- Old Deuteronomy’s make-up kind of made him look like a little old lady.

- During Victoria’s coming of age dance, Grizabella was up on the tire, mimicking the moves, like she was reliving when she got to perform that dance herself. It was a very sad, but incredibly clever little detail.

- Grizabella’s actress actually made sounds of pain as she tried to dance at the end of the Jellicle Ball sequence, to emphasize the fact she’s very old and probably sick. Another very sad, but cool detail.

- INTERMISSION ANECDOTES

- Shae and I did not have cheap seats. We were about three rows from the stage (they actually moved the orchestra to have the seating we were in), and for the two of us, the tickets were $300. The woman to my left was not having a good time. I saw her clap maybe three times the whole show.

- The couple to Shae’s right (two adorable lesbians) had never seen anything to do with Cats before, so they leaned over to Shae and said, “you guys seem to know what’s happening here. Why are they so mean to that old lady cat?” This prompted the two of us to give them a crash course on the bare-bones plot, the many fan interpretations of the characters, and the fact they should avoid the 2019 movie like a fungus.

- There was a family of six in the row in front of us, with a daughter who looked about thirteen. She heard us talking to the lesbian couple (specifically me talking about John Mills playing Gus in the 1998 filmed version, and how utterly heartbreaking it is), and mentioned how she knew a lot of that stuff too, but rarely found anyone to talk to about it. I wanted to give her a hug, because that’s exactly how I felt at fourteen when I first discovered this musical.

- Old Deuteronomy wandered back onstage before the intermission ended, and Shae and I made Grandpa Simpson jokes pretty much the entire time (my favorite was “I’m cold, and there are wolves after me!”)

- I did not like the lady they got to play Sillabub (Jemima’s American name for people who’ve not seen a stage version). She just...didn’t sound like she knew what she was doing.

- The guy who played Gus, however, was phenomenal. His voice was very deep and soothing.

- The cast actually gathered around Gus to hear his stories of being onstage, and it was really, really cute.

- The Pekes and the Pollicles actually was in this show, and went where Growltiger’s Last Stand usually goes. Gus plays the Rumpus Cat and it’s less of a hot mess and more of an adorable little impromptu number to make Gus feel better about his bygone youth and career and don’t touch me I’m sad.

- Tugger tattled on Sillabub and Victoria during Skimbleshanks, when they’re causing a ruckus during the “when Skimble was about and on the move” line.

- Macavity’s costume was okay. It was pretty neat because the way it was designed made it look like he was missing patches of fur.

- As per usual, Munkustrap and Demeter nuzzling in the glow of the flashlight after Macavity is chased away is cute as hell.

- Tugger and Mistoffelees have a secret handshake. That is all.

- Memory was immaculate. No notes.

- When everyone is welcoming Grizabella back, she gets to Old Deuteronomy and starts to bow, but he stops her and bows to her instead. It was incredibly sweet.

- Of course, Tugger was the last to leave the stage. He had to give us a pelvic thrust goodbye.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

No Matter What

Read here on AO3!!

Summary: 

Bruce figures out that his son isn't straight from an early age.

That doesn't make him love him any less.

- Eight Years Old -

Bruce is finally starting to get a hang of this parenting thing.

The first few months were rough, there’s no disputing that. Bruce lost track of how many times he panicked and called Leslie Thompkins whenever Dick burst into tears over something and Alfred wasn’t home. Not to mention all the times when Alfred would leave Bruce on his own for dinner, insisting that one must learn how to raise a child without a butler to help. Bruce fed the kid burnt chicken nuggets and garlic bread for two nights straight. Now, though? Bruce is immensely proud of how far he and Dick have come. He’s even taken to attending PTA meetings, if only for the free coffee and doughnuts. He hears the front door open right on time, then wet boots hitting the floor. Dick had a half day today to make room for meet-the-teacher night later. Bruce isn’t looking forward to spending two hours sitting in a chair made for eight-year-olds, listening to a teacher in plastic pearls talk about an elementary schooler’s oh-so challenging curriculum. At least he’s only got the one; he has no intention of having more kids after Dick. Bruce busies himself with his mostly unburnt slice of toast, one ear trained on the footsteps through the foyer accompanied by unceasing chatter that Bruce has grown quite fond of over the months. “—and then they let us outside for recess even though it was raining, and I went on the swings and my hair got all wet and it was so cool.” “That explains the muddy clothes,” Alfred says. “Sorry, Alf. I’m not immune to mud puddles.” “It would appear so, Master Dick.”

The two of them enter the kitchen, Dick working his elbows out of his yellow rain slicker to reveal the school uniform beneath. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes bright. “Hiya, Bruce!”

“Hey, champ. How was school?” “It was awesome. It was raining all day and at recess there were a ton of puddles all over the playground and a million worms. I didn’t touch them though, ‘cause the teacher said not to.” “What snack would you like, Master Dick?” Alfred asks, taking Dick’s discarded raincoat and folding it over his arm. “Can you do ants on a log?” “Coming right up, sir.” Dick heaves himself up on the bar stool beside Bruce, his sock feet kicking against the lower cupboard. Bruce spreads marmalade over his toast. “Tell me more about school. Any fights today?” “Nope,” Dick says proudly, flashing his gapped teeth. Dick and another boy got into a scuffle on the first day over a comment about whether Dick’s parents being from the circus meant they were part monkey. It’s a miracle Dick only gave the kid a nosebleed and didn’t break anything. The principal let Dick off with a warning since it was his first time at a normal school, but Bruce has a feeling the only reason he wasn’t expelled was because his guardian is the most powerful man in Gotham City. Bruce had a stern talk with Dick when they got home about the importance of controlling one’s actions. Traveling the world in a circus train car doesn’t do much to help one’s impulse control. He also banned Dick from watching television for the rest of the night, but Dick’s crocodile tears swayed him to balance it out by letting him have ice cream before dinner. That’s good parenting, right? “I even made a friend,” Dick says. “Oh? What are they like?” “His name is Caleb and his desk is right next to mine, so we talked during reading time. Then he gave me some of his chocolate during lunch and we played on the swings together at recess.” “Ah, the wonders of childhood friendship,” Alfred says from where he’s slicing up a celery stalk at the other end of the counter. He sounds relieved, and Bruce finds himself matching it. Dick has been at Gotham Elementary for almost a week and hasn’t made a single friend until now. Bruce can’t tell if that is more because of Dick’s circus background or because he is a tan-skinned boy with the barest of Romani accents attending a predominantly white private school. Sometimes (all the time) Bruce loathes being associated with Gotham’s high society. If you’re not white, straight, and rich, you are automatically shunned in their minds. “He sounds great, Dick.” “Yeah! And he’s got really pretty eyes too. I can’t tell if they’re brown or green, but they’re sparkly like glitter.” Bruce arches an eyebrow. “You must like him a lot.” He takes a bite of his toast, making eye contact with Alfred over the boy’s head. Alfred doesn’t react but for a twitch of his mustache. Dick nods, focus switched over to the plate Alfred slides in front of him. Dick takes a celery stick and picks off the first raisin coated in peanut butter, licking it off his thumb. “I hope he talks to me again tomorrow. Alfred, can I bring an extra snack to lunch tomorrow so I can share it with him?” Alfred smiles. “Of course. I will pack a second cupcake in your lunchbox tomorrow morning just for him.” “Thanks, Alf.” Dick goes right back to eating his ants on a log, cheerful as ever, completely unaware of the swarm of question marks buzzing around in Bruce’s head. Huh. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Eleven Years Old - Bruce gets home from a three-hour business meeting, his sandpapery eyes aching to close and stay shut for...let’s go with ten years? That should be enough. He loosens his tie and prepares to go upstairs to his bedroom where he’ll spend the next decade of his life hibernating, until he sees his ward on the living room sofa. Dick is lying on his stomach with his face buried in a throw pillow, as if he’s waiting for the sofa to swallow him whole. Must have been a bad day if he’s not sliding down banisters and flipping over chairs like usual. Sighing, Bruce goes over. “Dick? You alive over there?” “Mmph.” At least he’s conscious. Bruce sits on the arm of the couch, shaking Dick’s thin shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Use your words.” “Mmph.” “Bad day, then?” Dick nods. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dick shakes his head. Bruce sits back with a frown. “Alfred?” he calls. Alfred pokes his head in. “Yes, Master Bruce?” Bruce gestures to their anguished preteen. “It would seem that our lad had a rough day at school. He wouldn’t tell me what, but I’m making his favorite casserole for dinner. Hopefully that will perk him up.” Bruce turns back to Dick, who hasn’t moved. “C’mon, Dickie. Sit up so I can see your face.” Reluctantly, Dick forces himself upright with one last groan into his pillow. His hair is mussed, standing up on one side. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek. He sits back against the sofa, miserable. “Better.” Bruce prods Dick’s ribs which earns him a giggle, goading the kid into sliding over a few inches so Bruce can sit beside him. Dick leans into his side immediately and Bruce puts his arm around him. “Now, tell me what’s got you down.” “I want to transfer schools.” “How come?” As far as he’s known until now, Dick has loved middle school. His childhood took a bad turn when his parents’ ropes snapped, but preteen life is at a good start. Until now. Dick’s gaze is trained on his sneakers, kicking them where they hang over the edge of the couch. “Some kids in my science class were talking crap about me.” “Don’t say crap.” “Can I go to a new school? Please?” “What did those kids say about you?” Dick picks at a dime-size hole in his jeans. “They called me gay,” he says quietly. Bruce tightens his arm around the boy, his heart panging. Of course someone had to bully Bruce’s kid. As if his life hasn’t already been hard enough without stupid teenagers making it worse. “I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was just talking to my lab partner, and the guys at the next table over started whispering about us. Then they started throwing papers.” “Did you tell the teacher?” “No. But I know she noticed. Everyone did. She just didn’t do anything about it.” That sets Bruce’s blood to a boil. Teachers have a responsibility to protect their students, no matter what. What gives her the right to turn a blind eye to bullying, just because a couple of students might not fit the agreed-upon standards of “perfect” upper class society? “I’ll set up an appointment with the principal,” Bruce decides. Dick’s eyes get wide. “Bruce, no. Please. It’s fine, really. I don’t want this to turn into a big deal.” “What did you do when it happened?” Dick shrugs. “Nothing. My lab partner stopped talking to me, so I just asked to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until the bell rang.” Bruce sighs. Middle schoolers are the worst, every last one of them. (Except for Dick, of course; he is perfect.) “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Kids can be cruel—especially at your age, when they start learning new words that they don’t understand the way they should. They think some words are insults or something to be ashamed of when they’re not. Most kids grow out of this. Too many don’t.” “People suck,” Dick mutters. “I don’t even know why they were saying all that stuff. I’m not...I’m not like that” Bruce bites his cheek. He’s going to have to be careful about this. “Dick, do you know what being gay means?” “Duh. It’s when two guys date each other. I’m not stupid.” “I know you’re not stupid. But gay can mean a lot of things. Men can like other men, just as women can love other women. Like Kate, for instance. Then there are bisexual and pansexual people who love all genders, and asexuals who don’t like either.” Thank god Bruce thought ahead and read some LGBTQ+ research books all those years ago when he first began to suspect that Dick wasn’t heterosexual. “And transgender is when someone doesn’t identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Sometimes people feel more like a man, a woman, neither, or both.” “...Okay?” “I just want to make sure you understand these things, because part of being a respectful person means respecting others for who they are. And if you don’t completely understand the label they identify as, then it’s your job to try and understand it the best you can.” “Why?” “Because too many people in this world judge others for things they can’t control, and that’s not right. No one should have to feel like they were born wrong. And I want to make sure you know this, that way you can be better than those who choose to hurt others for things they can’t control.” “Does that mean the guys who made fun of me are bad people?” “I’m sure they aren’t. They might just be confused because they don’t understand that being gay isn’t anything bad or dirty. The people in this part of Gotham...they don’t accept a lot of things. They think that being queer or a person of color means you don’t deserve respect, and that’s wrong. It was wrong of those kids to tease you and your lab partner the way they did.” Dick nods slowly. “I’m not gay.” “I know. I just want you to be aware of these things. And if you ever have questions or need to talk, you can always come to me.” He ruffles Dick’s hair. “Even when other people are nasty, remember that I love you no matter what, got it?” Dick shoves Bruce’s hand away and smoothes his hair back out, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Thirteen Years Old -

What’s the difference between a growth spurt and a shark? 

Dick doesn’t have any sharks. “We’re home!” Dick announces. He and Alfred stumble into the house, their arms filled with all kinds of shopping bags. With Dick shooting up half an inch nightly these days, he’s growing out of his clothes at a rate even Bane would gawk at. Bruce and Alfred can barely keep up with the kid. “Want to see what I got?” “Show me, pal.” Bruce sets aside his tablet and pushes his reading glasses up on his head. (He does not have poor vision, thank you very much. Leslie just made him get a prescription as a precaution, that’s all. He’s still young by anyone’s standards, just ask Selina.) Dick starts pulling clothing out of the boutique bags, showing off every one of his new sweaters and pairs of Alfred-approved jeans. After ten minutes that Bruce desperately tries to look interested during, Dick pulls out what looks like a t-shirt that’s been sliced in half horizontally. The fabric is bright pink with a chibi whale on the front. “This one is my favorite,” Dicks says. His grin is blinding. Bruce stares for a long moment, his brain a lagging computer drive. “What is it?” “It’s a crop top. You know, like a belly shirt?” Memories from Dick’s Kim Possible phase flash in front of Bruce’s eyes. “Alfred let you buy that?” “Yeah?” Dick’s smile flags. He lowers the crop top, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you not...like it?” “You were supposed to get winter clothes, Dick. For cold weather.” “So?” “That’s clearly something you’re supposed to wear during the summer.” Dick pouts. “But I like it.” He holds it up against himself, twisting this way and that like an amateur model. “Sorry, kiddo. You’re not leaving the house in that until springtime.” “Oh, so Robin can wear tiny shorts in the winter, but Dick Grayson can’t wear a harmless crop top? I smell hypocrisy.” “Yes, because Robin has thermal leggings and a built-in heater in his uniform.” He looks back at the pink monstrosity, at Dick’s pleading eyes. “I would be open to negotiations if you’re willing to wear a sweater under it.” “That’s not how fashion works, B.” “I don’t care. You can wait until it gets warmer out to wear it.” “You’re such a drag,” Dick whines. He lifts his dozens of shopping bags and goes to leave, then turns right back around. “What if I wear a jacket over it and promise to keep it closed whenever I’m outside?” Bruce considers that. “Fine. But not below fifteen degrees, got it? And if I see you outside for even five seconds without the jacket, I’m confiscating the Xbox. Deal?” “Deal.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Fourteen Years Old -

Something is different about Dick today. You’d think his boots were made of helium with the way he floats through patrol, and then smiles into his late-night milkshake like it did his homework for him. Bruce sits beside his Robin on the roof of Wayne Tower, silent for as long as he can bear before he can’t hold it back any longer. “Did anything interesting happen today?” “Huh?” Dick looks up as if Bruce pried him and his thoughts apart with a crowbar. “You’ve been...different. Happy.” “Am I not usually happy?” “No, you are. Just seems like you’re...extra happy, for whatever reason.” A blush dusts the kid’s cheeks. He sips his chocolate shake and shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a good day. Nothing special.” Yeah, and Bruce is a goddamn unicorn. Still, he knows better than to pry where Dick doesn’t want him. It’s a delicate thing. “If you say so.” “I got a hundred on my English essay,” Dick offers. It’s a start. “Was that the one on Grapes of Wrath?” “That was last month. We’re on Animal Farm now. It’s not my favorite.” “Yeah, I wasn’t a fan of Orwell either. Shakespeare was okay, but I preferred his tragedies over his comedies.” “Of course you did.” That makes Bruce laugh. He’s not worried; the two of them are high enough that no one can hear it. Bruce even has his cowl down, his face exposed to the cool air. “They had quinoa burgers at the cafeteria today.” “Mm-hm.” Dick is dodging something, beating around whatever bush he wants to talk about. Bruce can be patient while he figures it out. “And I spent some time with Barbara after school.” “Oh?” “Yeah. We walked home together and we took this old path through the park. Then we kissed.” Bruce chokes on his milkshake. He coughs, his sinuses burning and eyes watering. When he recovers, he says, “That’s...that’s great, chum.” “Yeah.” Dick can’t stop smiling, a true schoolboy in love. “And she asked if I wanted to patrol with her tomorrow night, but I said I needed to check in with you first.” “I don’t see why not.” It’s not like Bruce hasn’t patrolled without Dick before. Sure, he misses the company on the few days a week he’s alone, but he’s not about to deny Dick the thing he clearly wants. “You sure? You look...freaked out.” “No, no. That’s...great, that you kissed. Congratulations.” Awkward. He’s so fucking awkward. Stop being awkward right now. He doesn’t know why this is messing with his head so drastically. Bruce has listened to Dick moon over girls for the entirety of his pubescence, talking about them like they’re goddesses he’s forbidden to look upon, Barbara included. And Bruce has seen the way Dick and Barbara interact with each other in between muggings, always talking with their heads bent close like they’re the only two people in the world. Who would have thought Batman could be a third wheel? “I’ve liked her for a while now, but I didn’t know if she liked me back and I was too nervous to ask.” Dick’s face goes even pinker. “Kissing her was cool.” Part of Bruce’s brain jumps at the realization that, holy shit, Dick just had his first kiss, my little boy is growing up, what a milestone. The other part is far less happy about this new development. Yes, Bruce has seen Dick win brawls with men three times his size. He can fly the Bat-jet on his own, knows six languages, and is even leading his own superhero team. And yet, all Bruce can think is, no, not my little boy, he’s just a baby, Batgirl is corrupting his innocence and She Must Be Stopped. With great effort, Bruce holds it all back. He’s read the parenting books, he knows that it’s important to be supportive when they’re at this age. “Good to hear. I’m happy for you.” He pats Dick on the shoulder. “Thanks, B.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Sixteen Years Old - “Hey, Bruce? Can I talk to you?” Bruce doesn’t look up from the metal flakes he’s testing. “What is it?” “I can come back later if you’re busy.” “No, I’m just analyzing some samples. I’m looking for residue from one of Zsasz’s blades.” Dick steps forward, tentative for once. “Need any help?” “I would like for you to come out with whatever it is you clearly need to tell me.” Dick snorts quietly. “Nice phrasing.” “What?” “I think I’m bisexual.” Bruce turns around, forgetting about the samples entirely. Dick’s arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes skipping between everything that isn’t Bruce’s face. At sixteen years old he’s finally tall enough that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at Bruce anymore. “You...think?” “I am. I’m bisexual.” “Okay.” “Is that cool with you?” The question shocks Bruce. “Of course it is.” Did Dick honestly think this would change anything? Has Bruce done something wrong, made Dick think that he wasn’t loved unconditionally? Dick squints, appraises Bruce’s reaction. “You knew, didn’t you.” “No.” “Bruce.” “I knew a little bit.” Dick rolls his eyes. The tension slips from his shoulders. His arms uncross. “Of course you did.” “Well, you weren’t exactly subtle about it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Language,” Bruce chides, more out of habit than anything. “And do you realize how often you would come home after elementary school complaining about stupid pretty boys?” “That was just me being dramatic.” “I’m not disputing that. But they were still crushes, pal.” “I figured you thought it was just a phase.” Bruce shrugs. “Maybe for the first few days. But trust me, I have known you liked boys since you were a kid.” “Then why didn’t you just say so? It took me years to figure this all out, and you’re telling me you’ve been sitting on this info the whole time?” “Because this is your truth, not mine. I knew that you would tell me about it when you were ready. And you have.” Dick is clearly fighting a smile. He bites his lip instead, runs a hand through his mop of black hair that not even Alfred can wheedle him into combing anymore. “Well, I’m heading to the tower for the night, so don’t wait up, ‘kay? Kay. Good talk.” He goes to leave, but Bruce stops him. “Hang on. Why choose now to tell me?” Dick stuffs his hands in his pockets—an obvious tell. “No reason. I just...wanted you to know. Just in case.” “In case of what?” “Oh, you know.” Dick waves his hand in a gesture that clarifies absolutely nothing. “Life happens. People meet each other. You know how it is.” Bruce’s soul implodes. “You have a date?” “I never said that.” “You implied it.” “Real detectives rely on evidence, not theories.” Dick winks. “Tell me who it is. Are they a civilian? A hero? Do they come from a respectable family?” If it’s Roy Harper, Bruce might have to bury a body tonight. Especially after learning about Harper’s drug problem. Dick is too pure for someone like that. Or—heaven forbid—that Wally West kid. Dick is already walking away. “See ya, Bruce!” “You come back here, Richard John Grayson! Do I know him? Does he know your father is Batman?” Dick’s cackle echoes around the cave. “It had better not be a speedster!”

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Love, Uncle Sy

Genre: Fan Fiction (Sand Castle) Pairing: N/A Warnings: It’s so fluffy!  Rating: G Length: Drabble Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: I had fun with Sy and Willow, making Christmas cookies, so I brought them back for some adorable birthday fluff.

Henry Cavill Master List

Saturday morning, sun barely above the horizon and Sy was wide awake. As usual, his morning began in the kitchen, a pot of coffee perfuming the room while accompanied by the humid scent of dishwasher and frying bacon. He'd woke this morning, tossing and turning, a cold sweat cresting his brow. Nothing a shower and a soothing meditation tape wouldn't temporarily fix. Had he not been woke by the nightmares, Sy would have planned to sleep in – or his version of sleeping in, at least.

Waking from a nightmare on your birthday, should be criminal. Never the less, he had work to do once breakfast was over. In a few hours, he had to pack his truck with a few party favours and drive over to the local horse farm where his niece took lessons every Saturday morning. While Sy was turning older than he cared to remember, today was his niece's seventh birthday.

The grizzled Army vet loved all of his nieces and nephews, but Willow was certainly his favourite. She was his mini-me. His tiny partner in crime. His shadow, and the light of his life. From the moment Sy had held his birthday twin, he'd been in love. His heart was melting and there was nothing that he wouldn't do for that child.

Calling the dog back inside, he gave a scratch behind the ears. Plating his bacon and a piece of toast, saving a few pieces to cool as a treat for the faithful canine. Checking his watch, Sy frowned, 6AM was a little too early to call his birthday girl. He'd have to wait until he saw her later this morning, when he would also be presenting her with the most perfect present in the world.

Around 10AM Sy's truck was packed with a few birthday banners, balloons, cupcakes, and a giant pink sparkly bow. Willow's lesson ended at 11:30, if he wanted to get there and allow his sister time to set up then he had to hurry. Sy couldn't wait to see his niece's face, when he presented her with the present that he'd bought her. He could picture it now, her eyes shining and that adorable smile, ear to ear, squealing in pure delight.

Arriving while Willow was busy cleaning her tack, Sy managed to get somewhat set up. A kind parent helping to set up made it easier on Sy. One last thing to get from the truck and they were set. Sy shut the door, the case of cupcakes in his arm. Walking back to the surprise location, the last thing he'd expected when he stepped inside the barn was Willow running towards him, tears streaming down her face, sniffling and trying to contain the sobs of anguish. Stopping in his tracks, Sy removed his sunglasses, intercepting the little girl rushing towards him at the speed of light.

“Uncle Sy,” Willow rushed her uncle, tears in her eyes. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she sniffled.

“Hey Wispy, what's wrong Bub?” Sy stroked the back of her head, the braided pig tails messed from their time under her helmet.

“Oh Uncle Sy.” She wailed, bottom lip trembling. A child crying on their birthday was never a good sign. Squatting down to be the same height as his niece, Sy wiped her eyes. “Checkers.”

“What about him?”

“He's,” hiccup, “he...” she sobbed. “He's sold.”

Biting his bottom lip, Sy felt for the little girl. He wished they could have told her before now, but that would have ruined the entire birthday surprise. Of course her favourite pony had sold, the second Sy had heard that the striking spotted pony had a price tag, he called and negotiated the sale. Checkers had sold nearly two weeks ago, his new owner none the wiser that the pony even belonged to her – at her Uncle's request.

Aimee and Mike had been discussing buying their daughter her own pony, though funds and the right pony were never aligned. When Sy heard that the favourite lesson pony was going to be sold, he discussed it with his sister and knew what he had to do.

Seeing Willow sobbing uncontrollably was going to make the reveal that much sweeter. Even so, knowing something his niece did not, seeing her in such a state broke Sy's heart.

“Oh Wispy,” Sy soothed her, bringing her in for a tight hug. “I know it hurts now, but just think, Checkers is going to have a little girl of his very own. Don't ponies deserve a good home and all the love?”

“Yeah, but I'm going to miss him. I wish I could have him. I would love him forever, Uncle Sy.”

“I know bub, I know.” Gently giving her a squeeze, Sy let her go rubbing the tears away from her cheeks. “How 'bout you go finish putting your things away, then come find me and we can give Checkers some treats and tell him what a good pony he is?”

“Okay.” Willow nodded, hiccupping through a new batch of silent tears.

Close one. Sy stood, blowing out a heavy breath.

He had to hurry, if he wanted to be set up by the time Willow came back. He picked up the case of cupcakes. Delicately arranged in the shape of a pony, of course. Sy had worked hard baking, decorating, and creating the perfect birthday treat. Walking through the aisle of the small riding facility, Sy smiled seeing his sister and nephew waiting at the party site.

They had arranged to meet up after Willow's lesson, catching a few of her horsey friends before they left. Parents happy to wait for an extra hour to help the little girl celebrate her birthday. Sending Willow to the car to put her things away had been the only way Sy could get her far enough away to make their plan work.

“Sy, Happy birthday.” Aimee hugged her brother tightly. Careful not to squish the container of cupcakes that he held.

“Thank ya.” He kissed her cheek, smiling wide. Nodding to Ben, who would rather be anywhere else right now. “Wispy was pretty upset,” he commented glancing over at the pony who was standing in a holding paddock near by. “I nearly broke, Aim.”

“Oh god,” Aimee rolled her eyes, “who knew all it took to break the soldier was a crying child.”

“She's gutted,” He frowned, setting the cupcakes down on a small table decorated with a pink birthday sign, matching plates, and cups.

“Won't be for long,” Ben shrugged.

“Sure you and Mike are okay with this?” Eyeing his sister, Sy smirked adjusting his cap.

“Well, we kind of need to be. It's not like we've a choice.”

“Course you do, if you don't want  the pony, I am sure Checkers and I would get on fine.” laughing, Sy took a good look at the pony who was content to eat the hay he'd been given. The big sparkly pink bow around his neck didn't seem to hinder him any. “He's a good looking boy.”

“I'd like to see you on that pony.” Her laughing intensified, Aimee snorted slapping Sy in the arm.

Her giant of a brother would look insane on the pony, even if Checkers was on the bigger end of being a pony. Hell, the last time she'd seen Sy ride he was maybe twelve, before girls and other interests had taken over his attention. Back then he would have loved to have his own pony. Their parents had allowed Aimee to begin taking lessons, when Sy had tagged along, insisting that he be allowed to ride too. Fearless, the six year old climbed onto the horse assigned to him and didn't bother to look back. For a few years everyone had began to assume that he'd eventually end up in high school rodeo, after that he'd find a woman and settle down on a farm somewhere.

Heh. What a life that would have been. A wife and kids were evidently not in the cards for this Syverson. He loved his nieces and nephews, but the scars his life bore, it would be unfair to condemn a child to a father who was broken and haunted by war. Clouds settling in his mind, Sy cleared his throat bringing himself back to the present matter at hand. Tormenting his sister.

“I happen to be a fine rider.” Winking at Ben; Sy nudged his sister. “I remember being a much better rider than some others that I know.”

“Shut up, I was a good rider.” Defending herself, Aimee stuck her tongue out at him.

“I know you were, but I was better that's all.” grinning from ear to ear, Sy ruffled his sister's hair, checking his watch. Willow was still missing, unlike her. “Should I go find Wispy? Bring her over?”

“Uh, yeah. If you don't mind.” Aimee nodded, checking her watch. The car had been unlocked, there was no obvious reason for her daughter to be held up.

Walking to the parking area, Sy laid his sights on the suv belonging to his sister. The doors were all shut and no sign of Willow. His truck, parked beside it was also vacant. In the back of the suv, Willow's stuff was tossed in. It looked like she had thrown it and ran.

“Wispy?” his heart began to thump when the car was clear. Logically, Sy knew that she couldn't have gone far. The soldier in him told Sy that there was no need to panic. The uncle side tried to take over his wildest imagination. No, sir he was not allowing those thoughts in. Listening for a moment, he took a deep breath steadying his heart and calming the pounding in his veins. “Willow?”

Behind him, he could hear a rustling in the grass. All the dogs were around the back and this was too big to be a barn cat. Following the noise around the corner of the shed, Sy's heartbeat returned to normal finding Willow sitting in the grass. Knees to her chin, her face stained with tears, her jeans dirty, boots covered in dust.

“You coming, birthday girl?”

“Uncle Sy?” Willow sighed, rubbing her hands against her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“My heart hurts. Is this what it's like when you have a broken heart?”

“Wispy, bub.” Sinking down to sit beside her on the grass, Sy felt his chest tighten. Wishing that Aimee had never mentioned the sale.

“I miss him already.”

“I know, but for now he's still here and he wants those carrots that I brought.” Trying his best to encourage his tiny shadow, Sy smiled. “If we go see him now, it means we get to spend more time enjoying Checkers than worrying. We can't predict tomorrow.”

Leaning into her uncle, Willow sighed. “But why did he have to sell? I love him, I don't want him going to a new home and on my birthday.”

“Oh Wispy,” Sy kissed the top of her head. He wanted to tell her, reassure her that Checkers wasn't going anywhere, but he didn't want to ruin the surprise just yet. “Honestly, bub, I don't know what to tell you. What I can tell you is that it won't always hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Now, your ma is waiting for us. Some of your friends have stayed, too. There are cupcakes.”

“Really? But I thought we were going to feed Checkers.”

“We are, after. I wasn't supposed to tell you about the cupcakes, but I even made them myself for you. Come on, let's go enjoy the day. It's our birthday! No tears on our birthday.” Standing, Sy held his hand out to Willow.

Grasping her Uncle's hand, she squeaked when he grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder. Laughing hysterically, Willow flopped around on his back, bracing herself with her elbows as he walked through the yard.

Seeing Sy with Willow over his shoulder, Aimee instructed Ben to grab Checkers and have him ready for his sister. Whatever. Ben crawled through the wooden fence, clipping a pink lead line onto the pony and coaxing him away from he hay. His sister was about to lose her mind. Straightening the bow, Ben smiled fondly at the thought of how happy his little sister would be.

“Happy Birthday, Wispy!” Sy announced setting her down, back to Checkers.

“Is this all mine?” Willow's eyes were wide as she stared up at her uncle.

“Sure is.” Nodding, Sy smiled with pride.

A few of the kids who had stayed were giddy with anticipation. Wishing their friend a happy birthday, waiting for the big moment. Turning to look at her mom, Willow spotted her brother with the pony. More tears in her eyes, she began to loudly sob. Her body shaking, words escaping her. Kneeling down beside his niece, Sy sniffed back his own tears.

“Happy birthday, Willow. He's all yours.”

“M-mine?”

“Yeah sweetheart, Checkers is all yours. If you want him.”

“I do. I really do, I love him so much.” Willow rushed the gate, fumbling to undo the latch. Frustrated she darted under the fence, throwing her arms around the pony's neck, hugging him tightly. “My own pony,” She whispered, causing Ben to smile. Handing his sister the lead line, Ben took a step back allowing his mom to take  photo of the moment.

“Send me a copy, will ya Aims.” Sy wiped his hand across his eyes, putting his sunglasses on to hide the tears.

“You big softie.” Aimee nudged him. “Go on, get in the photo with them.” She urged her brother.

Stepping into the small paddock, unlatching the gate – unlike his niece and nephew there was no way in hell Sy was darting through the fence boards. He stood next to Willow for a moment, stroking the spotted neck of the content pony. Whispering softly to Checkers about what a good sport he'd been.

“I can't believe it.” whispering, Willow looked up at her uncle. “He's all mine.”

“He sure is, bub.” Holding out his arms Sy smiled when Willow rushed into them. Hugging her uncle tightly. Scooping her up, Sy took the lead line from her, holding Checkers beside them while Aimee took some photos. “Happy birthday, Wispy.” Sy smiled kissing her cheek.

“Happy birthday, Uncle Sy. Sorry that I didn't get you a pony.” Willow kissed his cheek, hugging her arms around his neck.

[dreamy625]

This rockstar life - 2.2 My casa is your casa

Words: 3696 (I did not realise until I started counting up all the separate parts that I had written a bloody book!)

Content: Some mention of odd eating behaviours but nothing intense

-----------------------------

Saturday

Steve paces around the room picking things up and putting them down again. Debbie, the cleaner Mensch had engaged after seeing the morass of beer bottles, ashtrays, and discarded t-shirts that Steve floundered around in after Lorelei left, had been on Thursday, so everything was mostly clean and tidy. But Steve, used to continually moving between hotels, buses, and short-term rentals in strange cities, living out of suitcases, hadn’t really got the hang of home decor and his possessions tended to just reside wherever he had first plonked them down. Plus of course there were still gaps where Lorelei’s things had been, dents in the carpet from the legs of a desk still visible, hooks with no pictures. He’d seen a photo of Alice’s parents’ house and it looked pretty swish, so he worried she would think he lived like an overgrown teenager.

He picks up a vodka bottle from the bookcase, and puts it down again. Hand still on the bottle he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to rationalise. After a few moments he snatches up the bottle, takes a quick swig, puts it down and turns his back on it. Moving to the window he peers through the net curtains, looking for someone approaching the house (the curtains remind him of his mum, but when you live right on the street they are a necessity). But all he sees are passersby just, passing by. Maybe she’s not coming? Because really, who would just turn up at the house of a guy you met in a loony bin and had had basically four conversations with? You’d have to be bonkers. Then the doorbell rings.

Alice is standing on the pavement looking up at the plaster cow stuck on the front of the house next door. She looks smaller than he’d remembered, dressed in a coat several sizes too big, scuffed boots, and, despite the dull grey November day, dark sixties-style sunglasses. The tip of her pointed nose is red.  

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He ushers her inside and, remembering his manners, takes her coat (underneath is a big fluffy jumper, black, with sparkly bits on the shoulders, and leggings, also black), and they step into the living room. Alice moves to the bookcase and tilts her head to read the titles on the spines. She still has her sunglasses on, and has still only said two words. Steve is reminded of the time a little stray cat wandered in from the garden; it had explored with the same air of quiet curiosity, and he’d been equally wary of spooking it. 

“Er, can I get you a drink? Tea? Or there’s beer?”

“Tea would be nice.”

When he comes back with the mugs, she is sitting cross-legged in the corner of the sofa with a book on Japanese art open in front of her. She has kicked off her boots and removed the sunglasses, and no longer looks like she might bolt any minute. Handing over the tea, he sits on the only other chair in the room. After a few seconds of smiling dippily at each other, Alice drops her gaze to the floor and then looks around the room. She asks how long Steve has lived in the house?

“Well I bought it about two years ago, but I’m not sure I’ve ever really lived here. We, me and Lorelei, moved in a load of stuff, but then I was on the road for so long, and we were in New York for a bit, so I only came back in the summer, and then there was, er, the clinic, so I’m not sure it feels like home yet.”

“It’s nice though. Big. Three floors?”

“Four, the kitchen’s in the basement, and I’ve got sort of a little studio down there too. It’s too many bloody stairs really, I never go up to the top floor, I don’t even remember what’s up there.” 

“Ghosts.”

“Heh heh, maybe. This used to be a dairy, so cow ghosts!”

“Ah, that explains the cow head on the front of the building. Oh, and the name, that’s a cow thing too?”

“Yes!” he laughs, delighted that someone gets the joke, “It’s after a baseball player, Mookie Wilson, but also yeah, moo for the cow.”

“Funny, I didn’t have you down as a baseball fan?”

“No. From living in America I guess. They’re obsessed, you have to sort of join in or you’ll have nothing to say to anyone. I don’t really follow it now I’ve left though.”

“Where did you live in America?”

“New York, an apartment on Broadway, near Central Park. Lorelei still lives there.”

“Oh, sorry, I...”

“No, it's fine. It’s just a building. It was fun to start with, the whole...Englishman in New York thing, but it didn’t work out.”

He looks a little forlorn, so Alice quickly moves to asking about other places he has lived (Paris, Dublin, Holland, and Sheffield of course) and would like to live (‘somewhere historical’), and laments her own boring history (a Londoner from birth to age nineteen, then Bath for university, and Toulouse (en France) teaching English to disinterested school children). And from there they share school stories (he - hated it, left at the earliest opportunity; she - loved it, massive swot), and family history, finding common ground, despite their very different backgrounds, in families that, although loving, had expectations that their children, seemingly so different from their parents, were incapable of meeting. Having, through the circumstances in which they met, bared their darkest souls before even saying hello, Alice feels that they have now papered them over again with the more mundane minutiae that normal people learn about each other on normal first dates (a date! Is this a date? It feels like being on a cloud. But also like endlessly falling without hitting the bottom. Which is probably normal for a first date, right? Right?).

They’ve talked for so long that it’s got dark. The original plan had been to go to the Tate, but it’s too late now, so instead Steve suggests the pub.

“Will there be people there?”

“Well...it’s a pub.” Alice makes a Bambi face. “But there’s a back bar, where only regulars go. The landlord keeps out the undesirables.”

“Then I will try my best to be desirable.”

Steve smiles at his shoes and says nothing.

A few heads turn when they walk in, and Alice thinks she sees one woman nudge her companion and start some animated whispering. But Steve steers her straight to the promised quieter back room, where a few of the occupants greet him by name but otherwise  their presence goes unremarked. Steve fetches vodka tonics from the bar, coming back with a paper tucked under his arm.

“You any good at crosswords?”

Alice laughs - in all her imaginings about what Steve’s day to day life might be like and, to be honest, what the reality of his drinking might be, crosswords was not one of the scenarios she had envisaged. She turns out to be merely mediocre at crosswords; Steve is much better, but they both struggle with clues that aren’t music, arts, and culture-related.

“You need to go out with someone who knows science!”

“I do, don’t I, do you know anyone?”

After three drinks, and two crosswords, Steve looks at his watch “I guess it’s dinner time. We could go out somewhere?”

Alice makes a face.

“No. Right. Er, takeaway?”

“Chips!”

They find a fish and chip shop a few streets away, and Alice douses hers in a frankly disgusting amount of vinegar. They eat them with their fingers while wandering through the streets. Steve points out landmarks (mostly pubs), and Alice peers into the windows of the fancy clothes shops. Eventually, when the chips are finished and Alice’s feet have started to hurt, their wanderings have led them north, vaguely in the direction of the tube station. A decision hovers in the air.

“So, I guess it's getting late?”

Steve glances at his watch “Yeah, pretty late.”

“And I should probably…”

“Yeah.”

“And the station's..?” She gestures vaguely over her shoulder.

“That way, yeah.”

“So…” She's staring at him; she looks...reluctant? Expectant?

“Oh! Er...do you want to...er...come back and listen to some records?”

Alice smiles, “Does that line ever work?”

“Only on the rare occasion I meet a girl that likes Led Zeppelin,” he says gloomily.

“Well... luckily…”

Alice loops her arm through his and they start to walk.

“No Stairway to flippin’ Heaven though for god’s sake.”

-------------------------

Halfway through ‘Houses of the Holy’ Steve notices that Alice is yawning and when he checks his watch, it is after 1am. “We should probably get you home.”

“Oh, bugger, too late for the tube. I’ll have to get a night bus.” She grimaces.

“I’ll get you a cab.”

“To Hampstead? That’ll cost a fortune.”

“Well, you know, rockstar” he gestures at the gold discs hanging on the wall and she laughs. “Or...you could...stay?”

Suddenly shy again, Alice ducks her head, and then nods.

“Um, there’s only one bed. Well, in fact, minus one bed. Lorelei took it back. There’s a mattress.”

“How bohemian.”

Adopting a casual air, they busy themselves getting ready for bed. Steve finds a t-shirt for Alice to wear, and a toothbrush, and they perform the traditional ‘you go first, no you’ bathroom dance and ‘left side, right side’ bed negotiation. Finally they slip under the covers and, because there are no lamps (also reclaimed by Lorelei?), Steve switches off the main light and they lie side by side in darkness. Steve is suddenly aware that he is nearly naked in the dark with a woman he hardly knows and who might be crazy in ways that he is not yet aware of. He can hear her breathing. She doesn’t sound crazy. There is a rustle and a hand brushes his. He closes his fingers around it.

“Night then.”

“G’night.”

Steve hears crashing sounds and sirens and someone pounding on the door. He starts awake, heart pounding and breathing fast. Something is wrapped around him and he jerks back before realising that it is a person, a woman who is rubbing his back and whispering.

“...just a dream. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

In the faint light from the street outside he can just make out a pale face and dark hair.

“Alice. It’s Alice.”

“I remember,” he mumbles.

She brushes the hair back from his face, “You just had a bad dream. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

She hooks a smooth slender leg over his and nestles her head under his chin. A girl that he hasn’t kissed, has barely touched, is now pressed against him, breathing into his shoulder. It’s oddly comforting. And just, odd.

When Steve wakes again, morning but still early from the watery light filtering in through the curtains, Alice is still there, no longer wrapped around him, but still curled into his side. She lifts her head and, almost as a reflex, he kisses her! They both look surprised, and then she giggles and buries her face back under the covers. There is silence for a moment, and then a sort of muffled ‘eeeeeeee’ squeak.

“Um...you all right under there?”

This is answered by some unintelligible gibbering and then finally some words in actual English, “The cute boy kissed me!”

“Oh. Is that a problem?” Steve, somewhat perplexed at this unorthodox but endearing reaction, asks the duvet.

“Nooooo. Just a little...overwhelming. I’m fine. Totally.”

“If you come out, he might do it again...”

Alice’s head appears slowly from under the covers and she wriggles up until they are face to face. Finally she raises her eyes to meet his.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

Steve strokes her cheek with his thumb and leans in, keeping eye contact until the last second. The kiss is soft but intense, and Alice feels that if she weren’t lying down she would swoon like a Victorian maiden. Eventually she has to pull away to breathe, and buries her head between the pillow and his neck.

“Your heart’s going like crazy!”

“Yours too.”

------------------------

Sunday

I sit on the kitchen chair, legs pulled up to keep my feet off the cold tiled floor, watching Steve search through cupboards and delve into the fridge for something breakfast-able. He doesn't really seem to know where anything is and it takes a while to assemble tea, toast, and Shredded Wheat, which he digs out from the back of a cabinet and regards as if he has never seen it before.

“Sorry, there doesn’t seem to be any coffee. Will you cope?”

“Uh huh. As long as I don’t have to do any...words putting into sentence-ing. Maybe you could remind me to blink occasionally.”

“I’ll get some for next time. There’s a list. Debbie shops.”

My heart does a little skip as I note the ‘next time’ but, trying to be cool, I just nod.

“So what would you like to do today?”

“You don’t...have other plans?”

“No. Oh. Do you?” He looks disappointed.

Quickly, I shake my head, “No, just checking,” and get a beaming smile in return. This man has whatever the opposite of poker face is. It’s kind of adorable. “Nothing in my busy social schedule until mandatory therapy on Monday.”

“Ugh. But good, you can stay until Monday then. Oh, err, if you want to?”

Being more used to the sort of blokes that act like you’ve gone all bunny boiler if you’re still there when they get out of the shower, this takes a second to process, then I nod again (I was not kidding about that words sentences thing). That settled, he goes back to his toast.

“Um, I might have to go and buy some stuff...if I’m staying. Your bathroom has basically nothing in it. I need stuff to make this,” I wave in the general direction of my head, “acceptable for human viewing.”

He eyes me appraisingly. “I have shampoo.”

“Yeah, no, it’s going to take more than that.”

“Okay, we’ll shop for girl stuff. Or if you’d rather go home and pick up some things?”

“God no,” pops out before I can stop it, followed by an involuntary groan as I realise, “I’d better call home though. They won’t have noticed last night, but they’ll freak if I don’t show up by lunchtime.”

“How old are you again?”

“Apparently fourteen. I did live on my own at university, well, with people,” I say in my defence, “but I didn't Live Up To The Responsibility. Can I use your phone?”

“Sure, cupboard in the hall.”

“Can you even hear it from in there?”

“Not really. That’s sort of the point.”

“I stayed with a friend.” “A boy who is a friend.” “No. I’ve known him for years. From...university.” “I don’t know, I’m not sure what we’re doing yet.” “I’m fine.” “Yes, I’ve got my pills.” “Really, I’m fine. I’ll see you later.”

Handily Steve is skinny enough that his jeans more or less fit me, though the legs are far too long. He laughs when he sees how much I have to roll them up.

“Five foot four is perfectly average I’ll have you know.”

“For a gnome maybe.”

I try to smack him with my boot but he is quicker than me and dodges out of the way. “Right. Priorities. Moisturiser. Conditioner. Deodorant that doesn’t smell like a thirteen year old boy’s bedroom. Knickers, and socks,” (the only thing that I couldn’t satisfactorily borrow since he is a size eleven and I am a four), “I assume Chelsea can provide something akin to Superdrug and C&A?”

“I’m sure the King’s Road can supply everything your heart desires.”

We complete a successful hunter-gatherer mission for what Steve has designated ‘girly shit’, and I do a quick spruce-up in the fancy restroom of Peter Jones (despite unfriendly stares from ladies with perms and court shoes) while Steve fortifies himself at the Duke of Wellington round the corner. Then, on a whim, we go to the zoo! I love penguins, and also the bats and other odd creatures in the twilight section, while Steve seems to like anything that is behaving badly or doing something disgusting (such a boy!). He insists on buying me a toy penguin from the giftshop. Really it was such a stereotypical ‘quirky rom-com’ date, but even my bitter cynical old soul couldn’t help but have fun. And I was relieved that Steve didn’t really get recognised. There were a few stares and nudges, but no one approached us at all. I’d been afraid that we would have to deal with hordes of eager fans, but I guess with his hair tied back and a bit of stubble and bundled in a nondescript jacket, he doesn’t look obviously rock starry. Either that or he has seriously exaggerated how famous he is!

“So my kitchen has pretty much nothing edible in it, and restaurants aren’t your thing, so takeaway? What do you eat?” Seeing my helpless expression, he continues, “Um, do you eat? I mean, obviously, but I remember...from Group…”

“Absolutely I eat. But, um, yeah, maybe not like normal people. It’s still...tricky. Oh god. The more I have to explain, and make decisions, the worse it is.”

“It’s fine, don’t stress.” He thinks for a second, “If there was a person who was eating this evening, would she prefer Chinese or Indian?”

“Um...she would prefer...Chinese. But not if you’d rather...”

Steve raises his hand in a stop signal. “I will make Chinese food appear, and what you do with it after that is up to you.”

Steve goes out to collect the food alone (‘It’s raining. No need for both of us to get wet.’), so I am left unsupervised in the house for a few minutes. To satisfy my extreme nosiness, I take a quick peek in the few rooms I haven’t been in yet: two top floor bedrooms, one completely empty, one with what looks like yet-to-be-assembled furniture; a tiny first floor boxroom, which literally has boxes in it; and another bathroom, spotlessly clean and looking like it’s never used. Back in the living room, and with an overflow of nervous and excited energy, I briefly give in to the urge to spin round in circles and jump up and down! But then I feel self-conscious - what if he opened the door suddenly and caught me acting like an over-excited child at Christmas?! So I make myself sit down on the sofa and try to behave like a normal person. The house, even empty, feels friendly. It’s warm and it smells of him - okay, mostly that’s cigarettes and aftershave, but also an indefinable Steveness that is already familiar.

When Steve returns with the takeaway, he opens the containers on the kitchen table, hands me a plate and, true to his word, pays no attention to what I do with it. After he has filled his plate and ambled casually out of the room, I add random spoonfuls of things to mine (plain rice - good, stuff in sauce - maybe acceptable, crispy anything - avoid avoid) and follow him up to the living room. He’s found an old Monty Python to watch and is laughing (with his mouth full). He must be a fan because he can join in and do the silly voices, and promises to show me his silly walk later. And without noticing, I’ve eaten nearly everything on my plate.

Standing up and holding out his hand Steve says, “Come with me, I’ve got something to show you.”

“I’m sure my mother warned me about men who say that!”

Heading in the direction of the stairs, he stops by the coat rack. “You’ll need this.”

We climb the stairs to the first floor, second floor, and then to some steep wooden steps hidden behind what had seemed to be a cupboard door. Steve goes up first and pushes open a hatch at the top. When I look up, I see stars. We emerge onto a flat roof, empty except for a couple of plant pots (no actual plants), and a small stack of old beer bottles. The rain has stopped and now it’s misty, the lights of London veiled in a drifting grey haze.

“Oh wow, a roof terrace! So cool!”

“You can see for miles. When it’s not foggy. And dark. Yeah, probably should have come up earlier actually.”

“No, this is better. It’s mysterious. Like a Victorian novel.”

“And you can spy on people passing by, and wonder where they’re going. Unless you’re afraid of heights?”

“I’m not, not like this anyway. I would be if I was hanging onto the edge of a cliff or something.”

I move to the railing and look out over the street below. Steve comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.

“You’re so little.”

“Again, I am not short! You’re just used to dating models. You’re going to give me a complex!”

“No, I like it. I can rest my chin on your head.”

It’s so, so perfect, and I’m gradually freezing to death, but I don’t want to say anything because I don’t want him to ever stop holding me. But eventually I can’t not shiver and he notices and, with one last squeeze, lets go and says, ‘Bedtime?’, and we go back down into the warmth of the house.

Steve comes out of the bathroom saying, “I’ve cleared a shelf for your girly shit. A low one, so you can reach it.”

I can’t help laughing, not at the aspersions cast once again on my height, but on the provision of a shelf on what is essentially still our first date. Steve is confused, so I have to explain that, in my experience, shelf privileges tend to be bestowed much later in a relationship, most men being less eager to cede their personal space.

He shrugs. “It seemed practical. You are going to come back, right?”

I say, ‘Yes, please’, and once again am rewarded with that beautiful half-moon grin.

(November 1989)

[chaoticpuff17]

Suga, We’re Going Down

part 2

masterlist

Yoongi had grown up on the streets of Daegu. His father had abandoned his mother before he was even born. It was a struggle to survive, but he’d always been drawn to music. He’d bartered for piano lessons from a local music store in exchange for free labor knowing his mother, who was struggling to raise him on her own, wouldn’t be able to afford them. They had a restaurant to keep afloat, just like Y/N’s family.

In time, he’d moved on from piano turning to rap. He loved to create, to pour his soul into his music. He established himself in the world of underground rap, and from there he’d clawed his way up to the top. Driven by a need to create, a need to be the best, the need to provide for his family. His mother had never been particularly supportive of his career path. She wanted a stable life for him, and music wasn’t what she considered stable. But here he was, the king of rap. He was on top of the world.  

When the fire that had driven him his whole career began to fizzle, he was understandably frustrated. But then there was her. She relit that flame. He had been enthralled almost giddy when he was brought all the information his bodyguard had dug up on her. He looked through pictures of her playing the cello, watched recordings of her previous performances. With every piece of information he learned, he felt closer to her. She was from a broken home balancing work and school to help support herself and her grandmother not to mention the father that hung around the family’s neck like a dead weight. He’d sunk the family into debt. There was no mother to speak of. She hadn’t had an easy life, but neither had he. They were the same that way, kindred spirits.

Knowing that Y/N had come from a troubled family made him feel closer to her, protective of her. She was an angel, and he wanted to take her away from it all, away from the miserable life she’d been forced to live. To say he was furious when he had been delivered the news of her new occupation would be an understatement. His bodyguard had paled looking at his phone after it chimed, and then explaining that he’d just gotten new piece of information on her. She was planning to become a sugar baby. She had just made a profile on some app called sugarbebe. He knew the showcase was her last concert, but he thought it was because she was working, not this kind of work. She was giving up music, and she’s was placing herself into the hands of some disgusting old man in the name of supporting her family. It was a sentiment he could admire, but he couldn’t allow his muse to be in the hands of some disgusting pervert. He couldn’t allow her to give up music. He needed to protect her.

So he’d concocted a spur of the moment plan. He would be her sugar daddy. It would keep her by his side, keep the passion to create flowing, and it would keep her out of harms way. It was perfect.  He got her, and she got to help her family.

As soon as he had her profile on sugarbebe, he’d sent a message requesting to meet her, and then it was a waiting game. Would she be willing to meet him? Would she accept his proposal? If she didn’t he’d just have to make it an offer she couldn’t refuse. If she was willing to do this in addition to working two jobs and school, how could she refuse? He had every intention of being everything she needed. He would make it so that she didn’t need to work two jobs, so that she could keep playing the cello.

He’d been ecstatic when he’d gotten the message saying she would meet with him. He could barely contain his excitement. Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

Friday came all too soon. Classes flew by, and she had picked up Eun Jae from Halmeoni’s for the weekend. It would have been a normal day if not for the meeting looming over her head.  Every hour brought her closer to her meeting with MYG. He’d assured her that she would be allowed into the club and that she would be perfectly okay, but that didn’t do anything to calm her nerves. She didn’t even know what the man looked like, but at the very least she knew he wasn’t twice her age. Twenty-seven wasn’t too bad of an age gap, but it also brought about the question, why did someone so young need a sugar baby especially when they could afford to go to D-2?

Nina prodded and poked at her until she could barely recognize herself. The dress was tight against her body leaving very little to the imagination even though it didn’t expose her breasts and it covered her ass. But she had to admit, even begrudgingly, that it made her look good. It might not be as fancy as what the other girls in the club would be wearing, but at least she wouldn’t stick out. The dress was perfect. The earrings Nina had leant went well with it as well. They dangled down from her ears, and the sparkly black material would make them shimmer under the lights in the club. To make herself a little more comfortable in the outfit, she’d added a pair of semi-opaque black tights. The real problem was the heels. She wasn’t used to wearing heels that tall, and she was worried that she was going to break an ankle if she wasn’t careful. How Nina walked in them she would never know.

With one final look in the mirror she left the bathroom to find Eun Jae and Nina sitting in the one only other room in the apartment.

“What do you think?” She asked striking a silly pose to the delight of the little boy. “Eomma!” He shrieked running to attach himself to her legs. “You look bootful.”

“Thank you, baby.” She smiled crouching down so that she was on eye level with him. “Are you going to be good for Auntie Nina?” He nodded his head rapidly though his little face had a much more serious expression now. “You promise?”

“Pwomise.”

She held out her pinky linking it with his much smaller one before pulling him into a hug and showering him with kisses as he struggled to get out of her arms despite the peals of laughter that left him.

“I love you, buddy.” She cooed pressing her forehead against his before scooping him up in her arms and standing to face Nina. “It’s already past bedtime so…”

“Eomma.” The little boy whined pouting at the reminder that he should already be asleep.

“Bed time.” She told him sternly bouncing him slightly in her arms. If he didn’t get to bed soon, she’d have a very cranky toddler on her hands tomorrow. “He should go right down. His blankie and bambam the dinosaur are on the couch. He won’t go to sleep without the dinosaur.”

“I know.” Nina rolled her eyes fondly. “This isn’t my first rodeo.

“You know you’re welcome to anything in the fridge. You can use my laptop. I’ll text you when I get there.”

“You better.” Nina grumbled shooting her friend a playful glare. “Text me when you’re leaving too.”

“Of course.” She promised handing over her son with one last hug. “Thank you for doing this.”

Nina nodded accepting the little boy into her arms settling him on her hip even though his face was all scrunched up grumpily now that he was no longer in his mother’s arms. “Of course. I’m always happy to help. Be safe okay?”

“I will be.”

“Eomma!” Eun Jae whimpered reaching out for his mother upper lip wobbling and eyes round as saucers. It was all fun and games until it was time for mom to go, especially when it was near bedtime.

“I gotta go, baby.” She told him though it broke her heart to see him upset. She knew he was just tired, but it still broke her heart. “I’ll see you in the morning. Okay, buddy?”  She gave Nina a pained smile before picking up her clutch that only fit her keys, her card and her phone. “I’ll see you later!”

“Stay sexy. Don’t get murdered!” Nina called after her as she left the apartment rolling her eyes at her friend’s antics.

It pained her to splurge on the taxi to go to the club, and she knew it was silly, but she didn’t want MYG to see her coming from a bus stop on the off chance he was watching her when she arrived. She would take the late bus home, but she wanted to make a good impression arriving, just in case.

She was practically vibrating in anticipation the entire ride to D-2. She didn’t know what to expect from this. Would he be nice? Would he be sleazy? God, she hoped he wasn’t sleazy. She could put up with it, if he was, and she knew it was a long shot that he would be kind, but she still hoped that he was. It would make this so much easier if he was kind.

She couldn’t help the nerves. She had never done anything like this before. She’d never even considered doing anything like this before. Clubs, boyfriends, partying. She’d never gotten to do any of that stuff. She had had a family to take care of. By the time she’d reached the age where she could go out drinking, she’d had a kid to consider. She didn’t think she’d ever actually been to a club before. Tonight would be full of new experiences.

She was shocked when she arrived at D-2 that the bouncers were expecting her. One of the burly, intimidating men escorted her straight into the club and directly up to the VIP lounge stating that a Mr. Min would be with her shortly.

All she could do was nod her head mutely. She was dumb struck by the turn of events. She had thought that whoever she was meeting was rich, but she hadn’t expected to them to be VIP rich or so concerned with her making it in. Who had the kind of pull it took to get the bouncers to care for a patron like that. The man had even stated that if she needed anything, she just needed to ask which led her to believe that the rest of the staff knew who she was as well. It was highly disconcerting. Every moment she was inside the club made her more and more nervous. She had to keep reminding herself who she was doing this for, what was at stake. At least she knew his name now. Mr. Min.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. Waiting for her potential sugar daddy to arrive. The title made her cringe, a stark reminder of the position she was now in.

While Y/N was nearly sick with nerves, Yoongi was ecstatic. He watched as his bouncers led her into his club. She looked lovely. She always looked lovely, but she looked different than the photos of her he had seen, different than the demure lady he had seen at the showcase. While her outfit said, sexy, her face said nerves. Even there sitting under the lights of the club, she looked like an angel. The wide eyed way she watched everything made it clear she didn’t belong there. She was like a deer in the headlights. But Yoongi could fix that. He could help her adjust. She was meant to be in his world.

He took a moment to straighten out his shirt and smooth down his hair before approaching her. He wanted everything to be perfect.

“Kang Y/N.” He called stepping up to her watching in amusement as she practically jumped out of her seat out of shock as her eyes flew to his.

“Mr. Min.” She squeaked actually jumping up and stumbling it a bit in her heels, but Yoongi was there to catch her, gently lowering her back down to the couch again.

“You can call me Yoongi.” He flashed her a crooked grin, not quite a full smile, but enough of one to soften his intimidating features. He’d been told on more than one occasion that he had a resting face that looked like he wanted to kill everyone, and he didn’t want her to be scared of him. The wide eyed way she was staring at him told him it wasn’t working though.

She stared at the man next to her taking in all of his features. He certainly wasn’t old, and he certainly wasn’t ugly. He was pale, like he had never seen the sun before. The black shirt he wore highlighted that, but it worked for him. His dark eyes had an almost feline quality to them. They were intimidating as they took her in just as she was doing to him. She wanted to fade away and hide from those eyes. They were black as coal and far too intense for comfort, and it was with horror that she realized, she knew those eyes.

“You’re Agust D.” She breathed out her voice trembling in both shock and awe.

He grinned, a full gummy smile that looked so out of place on his intimidating face but at the same time so right. “I am, but you, Y/N, can call me Yoongi.”

“I…I think there’s been a mistake.” Her eyes darted around trying to find her clutch snatching it up when she found it and standing on shaking legs. Bobbing a hasty bow she tried to make a retreat only for her wrist to be caught in his hand, his long fingers completely encircling her wrist. Her eyes flew to his, wide, startled. “Mr. Min?”

“There’s no mistake.” His raspy voice sent shivers down her spine. It wasn’t every day that a girl met the king of rap. It wasn’t every day that the king of rap brought you to his club wanting to be your sugar daddy. It couldn’t be real.

She shook her head trying to wake herself up, to bring herself back to reality, but he was still sitting there staring at her with those dark eyes.

“Why don’t we go to my office to talk? Would that be better?” He offered, and she nodded dumbly in response letting him lead her away from the noise to an office nestled in the back of the club.

The door closed sealing them in, blocking out the noise. She couldn’t believe it. Yoongi thought it was adorable. The confused look on her face, the little line between her brows, it was all adorable.

“You’re MYG?” She slowly asked trying to confirm the impossible thing that was being proposed. There was no way that Agust D was looking for a sugar baby let alone looking for her to be his sugar baby. It was too absurd.

“Min Yoongi.” He confirmed taking a seat behind his desk as she took a seat across from him. “I’m sorry for the confusion. I needed a certain amount of anonymity on the app. You understand right?”

“Of course.” She quickly agreed frightened of making the wrong move. She had no idea what to do in this situation. There wasn’t exactly a handbook, ‘What to do when your potential sugar daddy turns out to be famous?’. She felt completely out of her depth. “That’s understandable.” She smiled nervously avoiding eye contact. “Can I… can I ask a question?” It was tentatively spoken, nervous like she was afraid he was going to bite her.

Yoongi had to hold back a coo. She was just so fucking adorable, so innocent sitting there trembling under his gaze like a kitten someone had brought in from the cold. “Ask away, princess.”

She had to hold back a cringe at the endearment. She was by no means a princess. “Why me?”

“Why not you?” He countered leaning across the desk. “Are you going to say no?”

Did she really have a choice? She needed the money. Her family needed the money. “I didn’t say that.”

He smirked knowing full well she couldn’t refuse him. She needed this. She needed him, and he wasn’t going to leave her out in the cold. “Four million won.” He offered watching as her eyes widened almost comically. They practically took up the whole of her face.

“What?” She whispered.

“Four million won for every meeting we have.” He offered watching her closely. She looked ready to bolt at any moment. He couldn’t have that, not when he was so close to having her in his arms.

“That’s… that’s very generous, but I…”

“But what? Is it not enough?” His head tilted to the side curiously.

“No! It’s more than enough, more than generous.” She stuttered rushing over her words in an attempt not to fuck this up.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Mr. Min.”

“Yoongi.”

“Yoongi.” She corrected smiling nervously. “I’m not sure I’m what you’re looking for. I have work and school…”

He cut her off waving a hand dismissively. “We can work around that. I have a very busy schedule. I would want you to be free in the evenings at least twice a week.” She nodded slowly waiting for him to continue. “I’d have the right to call for you whenever I want, but you have the right to say no. I understand you have other obligations. School. Work.” He would give her the option, but under the circumstances she was in, he didn’t think she’d say no. She couldn’t afford to say no.

“What if I had to cancel a prearranged meeting?”

“We’d reschedule” He shrugged hiding his glee at seeing her warm up to the idea.

She hesitated taking a deep breath to steady herself. “What would… what would you expect from me?”

There it was, the crux of it all. He was slowly backing her into a corner, herding her towards agreement. “Your company. Your affection.” She shuddered as his eyes dragged down the length of her body. “We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. You have full control. We can have it written into the contract.” A lie. Yoongi wasn’t the type to give control to anyone else. But he could give her the illusion of control. “Four million won a meeting. More for overnight or late night meetings and public outings like parties or company events. I’ll provide the wardrobe for those.” He offered sweetening the deal. He knew it was a lot of money, but she was worth it. She was worth every penny.

He could see the conflict in her eyes, but he knew he had her. She knew it to. With how much he was offering she could get their heads back above water. They could fix the heating at the house. They could get a new winter coat for Eun Jae. He was outgrowing his. She could get him some new shoes too. She could pay for school. They could pay off the debt her father had landed them in. Halmeoni wouldn’t have to work so hard. “Okay.”

He grinned in triumph. “Okay.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll have the company draw up a contract. I can have it ready by Monday. That work for you?”

She nodded eyes fixed on her hands. “Yeah. That’s fine.” She whispered huffing in disbelief.

Yoongi stood up slinking over to her tilting her chin up to make her eyes meet his. He loved her eyes. They were so deep, so soulful. “Hey,” He murmured gently running a thumb over her bottom lip. “Don’t look so frightened. I’ll take good care of you.”

part 3

[taelme]

Enemies-to-lovers!Jisung

request:  - anon: Could you maybe write an enemies to lovers like the Chan one but with jisung?? It was so good 😔😔😭🥺💞💞💖💘💘💞💗💞💗💕💞 can it be fluffy and Angsty hehe 😖 maybe where they're both college students -  anon: Can you do a Enemies to Lovers AU with chan!!! Where they're going to college and their families happen to be friends so they get an apartment together to save money, but the first time they meet it doesn't go well. Then yk, slowly w time they fall in love ahhaha... I love your writings btw!! 💓💞💓💝💓💞💓💝 (I recently sent the ask about the enemies to lovers au w chan that involved going to college.. since you literally just wrote an enemies to lovers au for chan if you want you can do my request (if u do it ahahha) with jisung!!)  - anon: I really love how you write au’s/fanfictions. I just want to know if u can write something about han jisung?? maybe a cafe love story or another tattoo artist just like chan? or maybe a studio date night?

genre: enemies-to-lovers!au, college!au, roommate!au, tattoo apprentice!jisung lol (fluff, a bit of angst) 

pairing/s: Han Jisung / Reader ( ft skz Bang Chan and nct/wayv/superm (lmao)  Lucas )

word count: 18k 

tw: I talk about like kind of sad stuff when jisung has like an artist’s block in this I guess 

a/n: thank u anons for being so patient with this request!! I rly hope that I managed to do it well and that you guys are satisfied with the outcome n have fun reading it hehe, it was kind of inspired by the song sunshine!! by stray kids so I hope that it gives u the same good vibes I got from the song while writing this :( ok bye 

If it were any other person standing in front of you, maybe you wouldn’t have regretted having an outburst in the café for the morning crowd to see.

The fight, or outburst (if you wanted to relieve him of any role in the exchange), had started rather simply. You were just having one of those days where it was raining outside, you were awake even before roosters were (in your opinion) and you had wanted nothing more than to just curl up in bed and sleep into the evening.

You had gone to grab your morning coffee, combating against the rain with your multi-coloured umbrella, as one does. Shoving the doors of the café open, you were met with shouts of names and storms of people squeezing to collect their orders. The whole ordeal would’ve made you pretty at ease if it weren’t for the coldness of your feet and the way your umbrella would cause someone to slip soon if you didn’t move.

Your shoes squelched against the shiny wood floors of the café, each step making you cringe as you waited anxiously to reach the front of the line, desperate to put an end to this experience. Thankfully enough, your order was pretty straightforward, so you’d collected it quickly, the small smiley face drawn on the cup by the staff serving to put you in a slightly less dreadful mood.

Stationing yourself at one of the empty tables you’d spotted by the exit, you set your still-dripping umbrella on the floor before you tried to get your tissues out to salvage whatever you could of your shoes. Shrugging off your coat, you’d draped it over the back of the seat.

Glancing at the time on your phone before you shoved your notes aside within your bag, you’d pushed your arm forward and opened your bag harshly, taking your box file out of your bag, almost nicking yourself against the broken corner of the file in your rush.

The next sequence of events happened quickly, and too ‘all-at-once’ for you to process. Upon taking out your box file, you’d heard a yelp behind you, followed by harsh footsteps and the splash of coffee on your box file.

Letting out a loud yelp of surprise as the person in question had stopped their fall with a loud thud of their hands against the pillar in front of you, they’d turned to you with wide-eyes, their eyebrows quickly furrowing into an expression that looked utterly ticked-off, their mouth already opening to speak.

You’d seemed to beat them to it, hurriedly grabbing your tissues to wipe down your file, checking for any brown-stains on your precious papers.

“What the hell,” you scoffed, casting a glance up at the boy. He had stood slightly taller than you, with rounded eyes and a defined nose, his lips pressed into a firm line.

He looked fairly young, from the way he dressed in brand-name basics to the way he was practically decked out in accessories. Call you biased, but if this was a senior or a child, you’d probably have let them off with it. But the way he was looking at you now was somehow successfully unnerving you, and you supposed admiring his annoyed features was about the last thing you should be doing at the moment.

“‘What the hell’?” He echoed your words, “who’s the one that chose to stand in the middle of nowhere to go through their damned bag?”

Your eyebrows raised in offence, your annoyance from before making itself known as you frowned, your grip on your bag tightening, “oh, and it’s my fault you have poor coordination?”

The boy had narrowed his eyes, mirroring your expression, his bracelets shifting on his wrist as he gestured at your umbrella on the floor.

“Your stupid umbrella was the reason I tripped in the first place,” he told you pointedly, strangely making you even more annoyed that he chose to attack not only you but your innocent umbrella too.

Your volume raised involuntarily with your frustration, “it’s so bright! It was basically screaming at you that it was there,” you defended, attracting a few customers attention with your outburst. You didn’t understand why you had to go through this so early in the morning when you were already irritable beyond belief.  

The boy seemed to have noticed this as well, discomfort washing over him at the feeling of the crowd’s stares. Ultimately deciding he would rather give up the fight with the crazy stranger from the café and leave before he was late for his job at the tattoo studio.

“Whatever,” he huffed, leaving the café, the bells at the doors jingling loudly as it swung back.

Something about the apology just wasn’t enough for you, (maybe you just expected more because he irked you) but you were already late enough for class. Rolling your eyes, you’d slung your bag around your shoulder with a thump, gripping your cup in your hands tightly and picking your umbrella (that now had an evident crease in one of its panels) up before running to class.

Your mom had called you halfway through the day while you were on your way to classes, the gesture enough to make you huff good-naturedly at her insistence.

“Hello?”

“Hey, honey, is this a good time?” her tone was practically dripping with motherly concern, making you let out a breathy laugh, nodding even though she couldn’t see you.

“Yeah, It’s fine,” you told her, “but anyway, I think my umbrella’s broken. Some idiot at the café this morning practically destroyed it with their stupid combat boots.”

Your mom didn’t seem to pay much attention to your rant, cutting straight to the point that she’d called you for.

“Have you met Jisung yet?”

You sighed as you entered the auditorium for your next lecture, lowering your head slightly as you found a seat around the middle of the hall.

“No, not yet. I’m only going over to the house after my classes end, remember? But I heard my stuff already got moved there,” you explained to her, holding your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you took your laptop from your bag, setting it on the table gently.

“Oh, do you want his phone number? To make things easier for the both of you,” she offered, earning a disinterested hum from you.


Your mom was more than excited about the fact that you would be 1. Not living in a residence within the school and 2. Living with the son of one of her friends from college. You figured your duty as her child now would be to appease her and at least try to live out her desires for you. Which in this case was sharing an apartment alone with some boy you didn’t even know. Maybe your mom was just a little more trusting than most.

You shrugged, “yeah, sure, just send it to me.”

Your mom let out a squeal, “I’m so excited for you to meet him, honey, he’s such a nice boy. You two are sure to get along. I’m so happy you agreed to this.”

Letting out a small sigh, you leant back in your seat as you held your phone with one hand, your other hand going to unlock your computer.

“I still feel like I’m imposing on them,” you hummed.

“Honey, it’s fine, Jisung’s parents insisted that you didn’t have to pay any rent.”

You hummed patronisingly, it wasn’t as if it was the first time she was telling you this, “yeah, uh-huh,” your attention was momentarily diverted by the tall boy that was standing next to you, gesturing to the empty seat with raised eyebrows.

“Sorry, is there anyone sitting here?”

Your lips parted, “okay, mom I gotta go I’ll call you once I’ve settled into the apartment.”

You did a once-over of the boy, who shook his head to get his bangs away from his eyes, giving you a wide smile. Gesturing for him to go ahead and sit down, he’d flopped down onto the seat with a sigh.

Letting go of his bag strap as he turned around, he gave you an appreciative nod as he opened his bag, pulling out a notebook and pen.

“First day, huh,” his voice was deeper than you’d remembered it to be from just seconds ago, his hand coming up to cover his growing smile as a little giggle escaped him, “I’m Lucas.”

“How’d you know?” You hummed, “and my name’s Y/N.” You swore you’d never seen a boy with such sparkly eyes before in your life.

Lucas shrugged, leaning his folded arms on the desk and turning his head slightly to observe you in your confusion, one hand shifting to play with his earring, “haven’t seen you around before.”

“You talk like you know everyone in the school,” you scoffed.  

Lucas didn’t seem to sense your sarcasm, simply giving you a shrug, “possibly. And also because it’s my second time taking this stupid class so I should know an unfamiliar face when I see one,” he told you, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Your eyebrows raised, hearing the doors at the bottom of the auditorium open, a short stocky man walking through and making his way to the speaker’s desk.

“Second time? Why?” You hummed, keeping your gaze on the man in anticipation for what he was about to say.

Lucas cast a glare towards the professor, “I thought he was boring so I didn’t really go much for his lectures the last time, you know, because I thought they weren’t graded. But he decided to include them as passing criteria way too late.”

Lucas pointed at the professor, his sleeve riding up slightly to expose a tattoo at his wrist. You were starting to wonder if everyone at this place had tattoos, the sight seeming fairly common from just your few hours in the school.

You winced, nodding, already getting the sensing that this man was someone you needed to be on good terms with.

“Alright, class, enough talking. From now on, I’m the only one that should be talking so I expect nothing but your full attention from here onwards.”

This was going to be a long lecture.

===

Your mom had texted you the Jisung kid’s number, and you’d dropped him a text saying you were on your way to the apartment, getting a reply from him that he was on his way there as well. You figured he seemed pretty polite, from the way he texted you, so you guessed that helped in making you dread the whole arrangement less.

When you’d reached, you’d ended up at an apartment building that looked fairly plain, walking in to the lobby and scanning the sparsely decorated notice board for residents, the last thing put up being a picnic for families that was 3 months ago.

Stepping into the lift, you’d noticed that though it was relatively well-maintained, it seemed rather dull, from the prison-grey lights to how the mirrors were covered for maintenance. Thankfully, your apartment itself was relatively well-maintained (you remembered your mom telling you the apartment was previously being rented out by Jisung’s parents), aside from the space being a little not-so conducive. But well, they were letting you live here for free, so you couldn’t complain.

Setting your things down onto the sofa in the living room, you moved to examine the respective rooms, frowning when you realised that whoever Jisung was, he’d taken the room with the bigger bed, his clothes either already hung up on the clothing rack or stacked up on his bed.

Walking into what you assumed was your room now, you tried to envision how you could make this space more conducive. From moving the bed aside to switching the desk out to the living room for more light, you tried out different permutations in your head, your time as an amateur interior designer cut short when you heard the rustling of keys at the front door.

Smoothing your hair down to make sure it was neat, you’d dodged the boxes of stuff as you leant over the sofa, curious to see what this Jisung kid would look like.

Jisung had done the same outside the door, making sure his hair and clothes were somewhat presentable before pushing the door open. And immediately wanting to close it back.

“You’re Jisung?”

“You’re Y/N?”

The two of you spoke simultaneously, disbelief and shock written over your features as you pointed an accusatory finger at him.

Like you mentioned before, maybe if the boy at the café this morning wasn’t Jisung, you would’ve regretted your actions a lot less.

Jisung gave you a look of disbelief, stepping into the apartment and folding his arms across his chest, his bag still hanging from his shoulder. He couldn’t wrap his head around how unlucky he must have been to have had such a bad encounter with someone he was about to spend probably his entire college life living with.

He sighed deeply, “now I don’t feel like paying the rent on your behalf anymore.”

You rolled your eyes, “your parents are paying the rent, not you. You have no say in it.”

Jisung made a sound of protest, shaking his head vigorously, his eyes widening in his aggravation.

“No, they aren’t. I told them to let me take care of it because I felt bad for them. But I don’t feel bad for you, so you’re gonna have to split the rent with me.”

Your lips parted, fumbling for a response.

Jisung’s expression was expectant, provoking you almost, “what? Would you rather get an apartment on your own? ‘Cause I’d be more than happy to let my parents know.”

You wanted to cry. It was already the start of the school term so staying in the dorms was out of the question for you already, the deadline having closed long ago. And you knew that finding another apartment in the school district that was within your budget was going to be a pain in the ass. So as much as you hated to admit it, splitting the rent with Jisung was your best option. You needed to get a job asap.

You rolled your eyes, “well…well then why do you get the bigger room?” You huffed, mirroring his stance as you folded your arms across your chest.

Jisung gave you a mocking pout, “simple, ‘cause I got here first,” he brought his hand up, inspecting his nails.

“You should be glad I’m not charging you extra for inconveniencing me,” he added.

Not being able to help but let a small gasp leave you, you were quick to respond, “inconveniencing you? You were the one that got coffee all over my file.”

Jisung shrugged, “potato, potato. Doesn’t change the fact that you made me late for work.”

You clenched your jaw, watching with a glare as he strolled past you, gesturing to the space in the living room which you’d been planning on using as a work area, “I have dibs on this space.”

You frowned, mumbling, “I wanted to shift the desk in my room out here, though.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Wanna consider moving out now?”

You inhaled deeply, brushing past him to grab your luggage that contained your clothes.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you huffed in annoyance as you walked into your room, his laughter echoing behind you.

===

“How can you say that? Jisung is a very nice boy,” your mother cried, making you roll your eyes, glaring at your phone from where you were hanging your clothes up.

“He’s the idiot that I fought with at the café, it’s not like I’m saying this without reason.”

You heard your mom sigh deeply, conversing with your dad about something in the background, “try to put your attitude aside for once, please, I’m begging you.”

You groaned, kicking your luggage aside before you made your way over to your bed, flopping down next to your phone with a loud sigh, wincing at the feeling of the springs in your mattress. You were so sure Jisung’s bed was more comfortable.

“It’s not me that has the attitude, it’s him,” you mumbled, sulkiness evident in your tone.

“Enough, Y/N," she said sternly, "If I hear anymore complaints you’re really gonna be in for it.”

You kicked at your blanket, “fine, goodnight. Love you.”

You hung up, staring at your desk as you contemplated on whether to move it into the living room now or tomorrow, distracted from your thoughts when you could hear the water running, not to mention the awfully loud sound of Jisung singing in the shower.

How thin were the walls? Your glare had shifted to your door now.

“Can you keep it down?” You shouted, hearing a silence on his end momentarily. Heaving a sigh of relief, you turned around in your bed only to hear him resume his singing, except this time, you swore it got louder.

Burying your head under your pillow, you kicked at your blanket, hoping this was the worst it could get. It wasn’t that bad, right? You could deal with simple shower concerts. Maybe living with him wasn’t going to be as hard as you thought.

===

Safely to say, you should’ve thought otherwise.  

The very first time you realised you'd underestimated Han Jisung, was when you'd gone to the fridge to fix yourself something for dinner, only to find post-its on every single one of the items that read : 'property of han jisung! not for y/n'

You'd moved to look for something else to eat that was unlabelled, only realising then that he'd even gone to the (very petty) extent of labelling the snacks in the cupboard.  

Huffing, you'd shrugged your coat on, grabbed your wallet and made a trip to the grocery store.

Cursing him in your head as you shoved your items into your basket, earning yourself looks of scandal from the elders who were for whatever reason still in the grocery store, though you couldn’t be bothered to look more amiable. You’d wanted nothing more than to throw out Jisung’s groceries, but of course, you were a nice person, so you wouldn’t do that. It seemed like you just couldn't get a break when your phone had begun to buzz in your pocket.

"Hey, mom," you hummed, trying not to sound too tired lest she started to drill you about resting. You brought your groceries over to the self-checkout aisle, heaving them onto the small platform with a grunt.

"Have you eaten dinner?"

You huffed, "we didn't have enough food, so I went to buy some groceries." Biting back your tongue, you rolled your eyes, scanning your items and bagging them angrily.

"How's finding a job been?"

You shrugged, Lucas had told you about various job openings nearby your house, (surprising you with how much he knew about the area) one of them you were looking into was a simple job at a café near your apartment. Thankfully, not the one that you'd had your little ‘encounter’ with Jisung at.

"Pretty alright, nothing too difficult,” you hummed, fumbling to pull out your card so you could make your payment, ignoring the stares you were getting from the people queueing up behind you.

"Alright, that's good to hear."

"Everything alright with you and dad at home?" you asked, shoving your card back into your wallet before slinging the bags onto your forearms, beginning to walk out of the supermarket.

"Yes, of course. Don't worry about us, we just miss you."

You sighed, something about the night air putting you in a drowsy mood, "me too. I never realised how much I liked living with you guys till now..."

"Don't tell me you're still having a hard time with Jisung," you heard her tone, your knew that this was her way of implying she didn't want to hear anything other than that you and Jisung's housemate experience was just peachy.

"Don't worry, mom, everything's... fine."

You'd tugged your coat closer to yourself, giving her whatever updates you figured she'd want to know before hanging up, enjoying the peaceful walk before you reached your apartment, figuring this was as much peace you were going to get before you returned to the apartment to be met with his stupid antics again.

And surely enough, the evening breeze accompanied with the sounds of faint conversation from the restaurants nearby had started to put you in a rather drowsy mood, making you start to contemplate if you were even still hungry, the lure of sleep starting to seem more tempting.

Reaching your apartment building, the lift lobby illuminated by a harshly bright lightbulb, you’d bumped into one of the ladies living on the same floor as you exited the lift on your floor, watching as her eyes widened in surprise, giving you a small smile as she enquired.

“Oh, are you the resident from apartment 19B?" you nodded.

If you were drowsy before, you sure weren't drowsy anymore.

You flinched slightly when her expression had changed in an instant, her once amiable expression now replaced with an annoyed glare.

"Can you please refrain from singing so loudly in the middle of the night? Some of us are trying to sleep."

Your eyebrows raised, shaking your head as you slot your keys into the keyhole, opening the door just a crack, "oh, sorry, that's not me that's my housemate—”

The middle-aged lady had narrowed her eyes at you, "you know, It's not ethical for someone as young as you to be living with a man when you're so young—”

"Okay, sorry, won't happen again!" you told her quickly in your attempt to appease her, shoving the door open and slamming it behind you, turning around only to see Jisung standing in the living room, dressed in loungewear with black gloves on his hands as he pointed at you in amusement, his shoulders shaking as he laughed.

"Aw, I'm not the only one that thinks it's not ethical for you to live here," he pouted.

You rolled your eyes, "I can't believe she thought I was the one singing," you huffed, going over to the kitchen to see yet more dishes in the sink.

Pointing at them with a look of disbelief on your face, "are you not gonna clean these either?"

Jisung turned around, looking at the sink with evident contempt, shrugging. He held his hands up to you, showing you that they were currently gloved.

"I'm a little busy, why don't you do me a favour this once? Consider it compensation," he grinned, making his way back to....your room?

"What are you doing in my room?" you asked, shoving the last of your groceries haphazardly into the fridge before you'd followed him into your room, shutting your mouth quickly when you saw that he’d practically set up a work station next to your desk, looking closer to find that he was using what looked like tattoo equipment.

“Practicing,” he shrugged.

You didn’t bother asking what his business using tattoo equipment was, simply huffing in exasperation, “and you had to do it in my room, of all places?”

Jisung nodded, pushing one of his sleeves up on his shoulder, revealing a rather big tattoo on his arm that was partially hidden by his sleeve.

“This is the only room with an accessible plug and a good enough space to work in.”

“Then why didn’t you just take this room as your bedroom?” You were dumbfounded at the way he was so nonchalant about his actions, the buzzing of the tattoo needle resuming as he practised on fake skin.

“I like to sleep in a comfortable bed,” he shrugged, leaning back to look at his tattoo.

“And you think I don’t?” You shot back, your hands going to your hips, his reply coming just as quick.

“Well, for $300 bucks above the rent maybe you can,” he smirked, using a tissue to rub at the fake skin, looking at you as he poked his tongue in his cheek, quirking his eyebrows before turning back to continue tattooing.

That night, you remembered asking Lucas if he knew who Jisung was, since he’d mentioned how he was pretty into tattoos, having a few of his own, his reply only making you wonder if the world was just small or you were just unlucky.

lucas wong

8:53pm - oh yeah I know him! he’s apprentice-ing at the tattoo shop I usually go to, he’s pretty good-

8:53pm - why? do u like him? I cld put in a good word for u-

You sighed deeply

8:53pm - no thanks im good-

Little did you know, the next time Lucas had visited the the tattoo studio, he’d spotted Jisung working on his designs at one corner of the room, going against your request and disturbing Jisung even despite how he looked like that was the last thing he wanted, too focused on the shadings of his chrysanthemum flower sketch on his tablet to have paid attention to Lucas' entrance.

“Hey, do you know anyone named Y/N?”

Jisung’s face scrunched up in distaste, looking up at Lucas and hoping desperately that he was joking, “don’t tell me… freshman Y/N?”

Lucas nodded, his eyes lighting up in excitement, “yeah! So you guys do know each other.”

Jisung made an uncertain sound, “I wouldn’t call it much of a relationship. Y/N’s my housemate.”

Jisung’s words had sparked a realisation in Lucas, the latter only piecing together your disdain towards Jisung with your stories about your ‘asshole housemate’

Lucas’ silence had caught Jisung off guard, making Jisung look up at Lucas expectantly, “sorry, you wanted to go get something to eat, right?”

Lucas nodded, masking his shock with a smile, recovering quickly.

“Wait, lemme go call Chan,” Jisung murmured, beckoning the boy who was currently snacking at the reception area.

“Where do you guys wanna go?” Lucas asked, earning a hum from Chan.

“I kinda wanted to get a smoothie,” Chan admitted sheepishly, though thankfully, Jisung and Lucas didn’t seem to have a problem with that.


“Why didn’t you wanna go to the other café? They’ve got better smoothies,” Lucas wondered out loud, making Jisung snort.

“We’re only going there because Chan has a fat crush on one of the baristas.” 


Which was what ended them up at the café you worked at.

The moment they had entered, you noticed your colleague tense beside you, bending down to pretend to take something from below the counter. 


“Shit, they’re here. Oh my god, help,”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “who?”

“That cute tattoo artist guy I was telling you about!” She whispered harshly, standing up and greeting the boys with a smile, her heart eyes directed particularly at one of them with curly hair.

Only then did you realise Lucas and Jisung were there, receiving an overwhelming feeling of wanting to bang your head into the cash register. You already saw him enough at home, and now you had to see him at work too?

“Hi, how may I help you?” You smiled at the curly haired boy, casting a glare in Jisung’s direction, the boy looking equally as dismayed to see you here.

“Hello, can I get the berry smoothie?” He asked, and you stepped aside, letting your colleague ring up his order while you prepared his drink, giving it to your colleague to serve since she’d spent so long talking to him.

Lucas had mouthed a ‘sorry’ to you when he’d gone to sit at one of the tables with Chan, Jisung lingering at the cashier as your colleague went to the backroom to squeal.

“What do you want?” you wore a bored expression.

Jisung looked almost too focused, his eyes glaring at the laminated menu between the both of you.

“I changed my mind, I want a drink too.”

You suppressed your urge to roll your eyes, your finger scratching at the corner of the cash register, “you couldn’t have ordered it like five seconds ago?”

Jisung shot you a look, “yeah, well I didn’t want it five seconds ago.”

Inhaling deeply, you’d gestured to the menu, and now not only was your expression bored-to-death, but your tone was too, "what do you want?”

“I want an iced americano,” he told you, pausing before he added, “and ask your friend to make it. I don’t trust you not to spit in my drink.”

You gave him a sarcastic smile, “good call.”

Ringing up his order, you’d called your friend, dismissing any thought of ever having a normal encounter with Jisung.

Upon returning to his table, Chan had given him a look, "Lucas told me you know the cashier."

"Not the one you think is cute, don't worry,” Jisung sighed, glancing in his drink just for good measure.  

Chan's eyebrows lifted in amusement, "so the one you think is cute?"

Almost instinctually, Jisung replied, "yeah," paying more attention to his drink than his words. Looking up when he heard Chan and Lucas struggle to stifle their giggles.

"What?"

Lucas clapped his hands together, his smile wide, "you just said Y/N was cute."

"No, I didn't, you did." Jisung shot back quickly. It was obvious that retaliation didn't always have to make sense for him.

Chan had a curious glint in his eyes now, the corner of his lips quirking up into a smirk, "I mean, you guys do live together right, and you've really never thought anything about her?"

“I did, I thought her nagging was annoying as hell,” Jisung shrugged.


Chan narrowed his eyes at Jisung, an amused smirk on his face, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

Jisung gave Chan a pointed look, "I'd appreciate if you wouldn't stir shit, especially not in front of him." Jisung pointed at Lucas.

"You didn't answer the question," Lucas sing-songed.

Jisung scoffed, casting a furtive glance towards your direction where you were smiling as your colleague showed you something on their phone.

Jisung shrugged, it wasn’t as if you looked bad or anything, with his pride, he’d probably have told Chan that you were pretty if he squinted.

“Guess if they smiled more they'd be...decent."


Lucas raised his eyebrows, enjoying the scene playing out in front of him very much, “decent, huh.”

Chan leant back in his seat, shaking his head at Jisung, "now I feel like I have to make you my apprentice for relationships too."

Jisung scoffed, regaining his usual confidence.

"If by that you mean you want me to stand at the counter giggling my ass off like how you did with that cashier then no thanks, I'm good on my own."

===

You'd tried your best to tolerate Jisung, especially after Lucas fed you some story about how he takes a while to warm up to people (which you totally bought).

This tolerance came in the form of things like waking up earlier to use the bathroom so the both of you wouldn't have to fight in the morning, or giving him reminders to do the laundry or clean the dishes but only doing them after he forgot the third reminder.

Jisung usually forgot to turn off the lights whenever he went to sleep (though sometimes he did it on purpose, not liking the eerie darkness of the house when the lights were off), so you would always end up waking from the glare of the lights that seeped into your room, stepping over the mess of clothes or socks (sometimes even shoes) in the walkways and turning them off for him instead of nagging him about the lights. See? Tolerance.

Call you a pushover or whatever, but you kind of prided yourself on how your well of patience seemed to run deep. Very deep. Deeper than the average human, you supposed, even.

However, days like the ones you were having now, just didn't seem to let you draw from that well of patience.

You'd started off your shitty morning when you'd slept through your alarm, needing your usual work clothes but realising that Jisung hadn't done the laundry, leaving you with no choice but to grab the nearest hoodie you could find on your bedroom floor and sprint to work.

If that wasn't enough, you'd landed cashier duty as punishment for being late, your social battery starting to empty not even halfway through the day. Your 'hi, how may I help you's slowly turning to 'what would you like's to eventually 'hi's and ending up with a small smile and gesture towards the menu.

It didn't help that Chan, the tattoo artist your colleague had an obvious thing for, had shown up halfway to try and strike a conversation with you about Jisung, much to no avail.

“Aren’t you wondering why Jisung isn’t here?” You remembered him asking, to which you’d shook your head.

“Not really,” you shrugged, earning a thoughtful hum from Chan.

“Really? You’re not even the slightest bit curious?”

You had shook your head at him then, remembering the way he looked so shocked to have made you even more curious about why he was asking you this in the first place.  

By the time you were done with your work, you'd wanted nothing more than to just go home, take the longest shower of your life and curl up in your horribly uncomfortable bed. Except you couldn't even do that, because you had unfinished readings for your class the next day.

You figured if you sat yourself at your desk with no distractions you could be done sooner and go to sleep sooner, but your one distraction had just come home from the tattoo studio and was somehow getting on your nerves even more today.

Not only had he been acting as if he was the opera community's 'next big thing', he'd proceeded to seat himself on the sofa behind you, watching whatever show he was into loudly, seeming to find whatever the protagonist was saying to be too hilarious to just enjoy the show silently.

You figured you could handle that much, you know, having to live up to your preachings on tolerance, deciding to breathe deeply and suppress your urge to tell him to shut up, and soon enough, he'd disappeared.

But your joy was short lived, once again, when Jisung came back out, singing as he made a snack for himself and proceeded to eat it right in front of you, the smell growing more and more distracting.

Now, he was now lounging on the sofa in the living room, headphones on and connected to his laptop that rest on his stomach, but still typing away with his phone not on silent, the keyboard sounds distracting you from your reading. You figured, maybe your well of patience was just closed today.

“Hey,” you called. No response. If anything, the silence of the apartment had made his typing sounds even louder.

“Hey, oh my god, can you like put your phone on silent or something?" You tried again. Still no response, now, he was humming in between his pauses before he would type another burst of words on his phone.

Deciding you had to take matters into your own hands, you stormed over to where he was, your book still in your hands as you stood in front of him, making him turn to you with wide-eyes.

Pulling his headphones off of his head, he frowned, "what?"

“This,” you gestured pointedly towards his phone, “put your phone on silent, it's distracting me."

Jisung would've complied, though a part of him couldn't help but be annoyed by your nagging, his instinct prompting him to act defensively, “why don’t you just listen to some music or something? Then my typing sounds wouldn’t be a problem,” he told you dismissively, making you groan in frustration.

“I can’t study with music, it’s already hard enough for me to focus as it is.”

Jisung was annoyed, “It’s just a typing sound, what are you getting so worked up for? You’re always getting on my back about everything when I’m just minding my own business."

You let out a groan, "look, it's been more than a month, and i'm up to here with your shit," you held a hand way above your head for emphasis, any of your tolerance long gone out of the window (which he had also left open, making the apartment chilly and noisy).

Jisung's eyebrows knit in a frown, your outburst coming as a shock to him, "fine, whatever. I'll put my phone on silent, chill."

You shook your head, your gaze firm and unwavering, "no, I wanna make rules."

Rules? Jisung wanted to scoff. What was this, a second-grade classroom?

Jisung stared at you in shock, nodding dumbly. "Rules....oka-alright, yeah. Let's make rules."

You nodded firmly, "first of all, if you're gonna make food at ungodly hours in the morning, eat it in your own room."

"And the dishes, clean up after yourself," you added, gripping your book tightly in your hand.

“Stop leaving your shit in the corridors,” you continued, “and pack up your shoes it’s such a mess at the door way I can barely walk into the house,” you huffed, feeling as though with every rule you made you were finally letting your feelings be heard.

Jisung wracked his brains for a rule of his own, finding ways to regain control over the situation, "well, I have a rule too! You gotta stop nagging me to do shit," he sat up, setting his headphones on the sofa cushion.

You let out a tiny gasp, "excuse me? I only ask you to ‘do shit’ that you should be doing."

Before you could get carried away, you continued, "and as for the laundry—”

Jisung perked up, “okay, how about this. I do the dishes and you do the laundry," he suggested with a forced smile, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair, which fell back against his forehead gently.

"You know for a fact that that’s not the same, so we'll switch," you told him, "you do laundry on one week when I do the dishes, and the next week i'll do the laundry and you do the dishes. Fair, right?"

Jisung huffed, rolling his eyes, "whatever."

At the mention of laundry, Jisung glanced over at what you were wearing, frowning at the familiarity of his hoodie.

"Good, now that we have an agree—”

"That's mine," he pointed at your stomach, making you look at him in disbelief.

"Huh?" Your stomach? Your hands found their way to cover your stomach.

"The hoodie. It's mine."

You looked down at the hoodie you were wearing, a frown evident on your face. You didn't know what he was talking about, you had this hoodie since you were in high-school, it couldn't be his.

"No, it's mine. I had this since I was in high-school," you frowned, unsure if this was some sort of joke he was trying to play.

Jisung couldn't hide his amusement, letting a laugh slip from his lips, "yeah, so did I... which is why I know that that's mine."

You scoffed, "it was on my bedroom floor," you mumbled, seeing him nod patronisingly.

"Because I left it there," he told you, enunciating his words slower, shocking you when he'd reached over and grabbed you by the sleeve, raising your hand up for you to see.

"Look, this stain. It's tattoo ink. I would know because you're wearing the wrong hoodie. New rule, don’t wear my clothes.”

You stood silent, huffing as you removed the hoodie, leaving you in your shirt and sweats, tossing the hoodie at him in annoyance, the smirk on his face making you even more annoyed.

"Fine, take your stupid hoodie, I don’t wanna wear your stupid clothes anyway,” you huffed, “and you’re on laundry duty this week."

You didn't finish your readings that night.

===

You would like to think your rule system was working pretty well, seeing as you didn't find yourself butting heads with Jisung as often as before.

Halfway into the semester, you had grown busier with your assignments, which had managed to take your attention away from Jisung.

Though you were certainly more tired than usual, from attending birthday parties of friends to working, to rushing your readings during any free time you got (not to mention squeezing in any bit of sleep whenever you could), to rushing through your assignments just to meet the packed deadlines. But you couldn’t complain, this was typical for any college student you knew.

But of course, that didn’t mean you weren’t itching for a break, eyeing the semester break on your calendar that was fast approaching, letting yourself get carried away during classes with Lucas as you both planned on your pieces of scrap paper all the things you’d wanted to do during the break.

Similarly, Jisung had grown busier at the tattoo studio, and Chan had recommended him to a music producer that was interested in hearing Jisung's compositions.

Jisung was more than thankful that Chan had given him that opportunity, of course, but what was bothering him was the pain-in-the-ass creative block he was beginning to struggle with.

Not only was he struggling to find inspiration for a song he'd wanted to make, but the process seemed almost painfully slow, with how he'd fumble around with ideas that he would start on but eventually scrap, deciding that he 'wasn't feeling it'.

He'd started receiving commissions for tattoo designs, and you'd noticed he wasn't at home as often as he was before because he'd made it a point to coop himself up in the studio to try to churn out these design requests.

Fortunately, his customers were always satisfied (and he thought that was great, you know, with all the good words from Chan he was getting), but he wasn't.

Chan had seemed to sense this too, making sure to check in on Jisung more than usual during this period.

"Hey, I'm heading home a little earlier today, you'll be fine alone?"

Jisung's head lifted when he heard Chan's voice, pulling one of his earbuds from his ear as he nodded.

Chan glanced at Jisung's papers scattered around him, of half-done or halfway-abandoned sketches, giving him a look of sympathy, "don't work too hard, alright?" he huffed, glancing out of the window.

"I heard it might rain tonight, so make sure you get home before the rain hits, alright?"

Jisung waved Chan off, not paying any care to the impending rain as he bid Chan goodbye, continuing to tap his pencil on the table in his search for good ideas.

Maybe he needed to consult a lifeline.

"Hello, Lucas?"

The said lifeline was more than happy to hear Jisung's voice, having heard from you that he wasn't home as much recently, a part of him concerned as well.

"Hey, man, what's up?"

Jisung hummed, "wanted to ask if you had any ideas on what tattoos you think would be cool."

Lucas snorted, "you're asking me? You could draw a turd and i'd want to get it tattooed. Dude, you're too good, just go with your gut."

Jisung let out a whine, "my gut's not being very useful right now."

Lucas hummed, letting out an urgent grunt of surprise, "I know! Why don't you take a look at your older designs, maybe they'd give you some vibes or something."

Jisung shrugged, figuring this was probably the best advice he was gonna get, thanking Lucas before hanging up.

Picking up his tablet, Jisung had scrolled through his various sketches until he'd reached the very first few designs, sighing at the sight of the sketches, looking at his first sketch of a peony flower, with leaves dangling along the stem wedged between the budding flowers.

Jisung figured he wouldn't let his dissatisfaction subside until he tried doing a better rendition of the sketch, to refine the shading or the flow of the shape from what he'd learnt from Chan overtime.

Putting back his earbuds in, he turned his music up, beginning to work on the sketch, riding on the motivation he was afraid would disappear at any given moment.

Jisung was surprised at how fast he was done, ( only to look at the clock and realise he wasn't that fast and that it was already a little past midnight ). Removing his earbuds and going back to the sound of the whirring air conditioner and the loud sound of rain thumping against the gravel outside, Jisung knew he was done for.

He hadn't brought an umbrella with him, and the rain frankly didn't look like it was going to stop anytime soon, Jisung contemplated his very limited options.

Was a binder enough to shield him from the rain? Probably not. But was it better than putting down his pride to text you to come and pick him up? He thought the binder was better, honestly.

Deciding to try his luck anyway, he'd sent you a text.

Little did Jisung know, you'd dozed off on your bed while reading, the vibration of your phone next to your face having woken you from your nap, the sound of the rain outside harshly thumping against the window.

han jisung 12:37am -hello, housemate. it is your housemate, han jisung. its raining rly badly. wld u be so kind as to come to the tattoo studio with an umbrella for me pls :D-

You frowned in annoyance, your eyes barely open as you replied him. There was no way you were going to send yourself out in the thunderstorm like that.

12:37am - no. just wait until it stops raining-

Thinking that had settled your worries, you'd shoved your phone underneath your pillow, deciding you'd let yourself sleep in since tomorrow was a Saturday after all.

You should've known better, that this was Jisung, the 'i'm tougher than a little bit of rain' Jisung, so you should've seen it coming when you'd woken up to the sound of his incessantly ringing phone.

Rolling out of your bed with a grunt, you'd pushed yourself off of the bed, ready to confront Jisung about not answering his phone.

Walking across the corridor and pushing his bedroom door open, you'd been met with an empty room, frowning as you walked over to the bed, picking the phone up and stopping the alarm.

You noticed that he'd received a few texts from Chan, not being able to help yourself from reading them.

chan 1:20am - dude! why didnt u just wait for the rain to stop?- 1:22am -  ure gna fall sick…-

Frowning, you made your way into the living room, spotting Jisung curled up on the sofa with his blanket at his feet, an instant feeling in your gut that something was wrong.

“Jisung?” You called, seeing his eyebrows furrow slightly.

In spite of yourself, you’d walked over to where he lay, your hand coming out to nudge at his shoulder with his phone.

“Hey, are you…alright?” You watched and waited as he opened his eyes slowly, blinking at you in a daze. There was perspiration beading at his temples despite the coolness of the apartment, giving you more reason to feel like there was something wrong.

As much as you didn’t like him, you couldn’t help but feel as though you were responsible for him, and it was kind of your fault that he’d walked back in the rain. You glanced at your brightly-coloured umbrella leaning against the wall, figuring there was something about this umbrella that always got you into trouble with Jisung.

You suppressed your hesitation, bringing a hand up to his forehead, Jisung not even daring to budge even an inch as you pushed his bangs back. The back of your hand pressing against his forehead gently, your breath hitching at the sheer heat of his body.

This was probably the most contact you’d ever had with him in your months of living together, and Jisung knew this too, not knowing how to feel about the concern you were showing him, feeling as though it was some kind of ridiculous fever dream.

“You walked home in the rain didn’t you?” You murmured, your feeling of guilt growing as you saw him nod at you.

You cursed inwardly, “do you have a thermometer?” 


Jisung shook his head, attempting to get up, “it’s fine, I can take care of myself, just give me my phone.”

You handed him his phone, ignoring his previous statement as you went into the kitchen in your search for any kind of medicine you could give him, cursing once again when you realised there was none. Trust the both of you to only care to buy groceries.

“We don’t have jack shit in this house,” you groaned, walking over to the bathroom, finding a cloth and a small pail to fill with cold water, bringing it over to the coffee table and setting it down next to the sofa.

“I’ve gotta go to work,” Jisung sighed, though he made no move to get up, a part of him just waiting for you to refute him so he could use you as an excuse to get off work.

You shot him a look, “no, you don’t. Shut up and lie down, I’ll go and buy your stupid medicine. If I come back and you’re not here I’ll kill you,” you warned, missing the way Jisung had complied happily, lying back down with his head on one of the sofa cushions.

Squeezing the water from the cloth, you may have slapped it a little harshly on his forehead, earning an annoyed glare from him.

Walking to grab your wallet, you cast one last look at his bored face, seeing him rush to close his eyes when he saw you glaring.

“I mean it, you better stay here.”

Jisung nodded, waving you off.

On your way to the pharmacy, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was a good thing that Jisung was sick.

In terms of your pros, if he was sick, he wouldn’t be able to annoy you, right? And him being sick meant that you’d basically had your desk and your bedroom to yourself, with him unable to practice tattooing in your room and use your desk as his sketching station.

In terms of your cons… well, you were planning on getting some rest today, and having to watch Jisung meant you would technically have to be near him, wouldn’t you? You were starting to wonder if that was even a con that he was basically giving you an excuse to laze around and watch tv.

“Hi, how may I help you?” The pharmacist asked.

You hummed, “uh…do you have those over-the-counter medicine and stuff for like someone with fever?”

The pharmacist nodded, pulling out the various boxes and pointing at each one, confusing you with the sheer amount of names she was listing, resulting in you just choosing the one you recognised your parents telling you to take whenever you were sick.

Making your payment, you swallowed whatever pride you had that was making you hesitate. You figured Jisung falling sick was karma for that text you sent him the night before, so you decided that you were going to see him recover for yourself.

Upon returning to the house, you’d shrugged your jacket off, making your way over to where he was, sitting on your heels next to where he was so you could gently peel the cloth from his head, replacing it with one that was soaked in colder water.

You’d drawn back slightly when you felt Jisung flinch as you laid the towel on his forehead, opening one eye to look at you, “that was fast.”

You rolled your eyes, shushing him as you took the medicine out, along with a glass of water you’d gotten from the kitchen, bringing it over to him with an expectant look.

Jisung took them from you wordlessly, swallowing them down as he averted his gaze from you, unsure why you were looking at him like some kicked puppy.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, reaching over to grab the television remote in an attempt to calm your nerves, “this is kind of my fault. Since I didn’t go over to the tattoo studio yesterday.”

Jisung took a moment to process what you said, wincing as he let out a (fake) cough, only serving to make you feel even more guilty than you already were.

“Are you actually…apologising to me?” Jisung’s smile was poorly hidden behind his hand, making you roll your eyes, your guilt ever-present when you looked at him.

Jisung sighed, deciding to let you off this once, “seriously, it’s no big deal. I didn’t expect you to come, anyway. I was just trying my luck,” he told you, making you frown, your mouth forming a slight pout.

“I was just being petty, I’m…” you trailed off, shaking your head, “yeah, whatever, I’m just really sorry.”

Jisung looked at you with a hint of a smile on his face, taking his lower lip between his teeth as he nodded. He wasn’t sure if it was his fever, or the way your gestures were exuding warmth, but Jisung swore just for a moment. A second, almost, he kind of thought you looked cute.

Jisung nodded, “I’ll let you know by the end of the day.”

You frowned, turning away from the television to face him, your back resting on the sofa slightly, “let me know about what?”

Jisung kept his gaze fixed on the television, bringing his hand up to scratch at his collarbone, hints of his tattoos peeking out from his neckline.


Shrugging, Jisung’s gaze shifted to meet yours, “if your apology is accepted.”

You were sure that your mom would’ve just laughed in your face if you told her about your experience today, as you began to realise just how much you didn’t hate Jisung’s company when the both of you weren’t trying to fight each other.

In the few hours that had passed alone, you’d learnt much more about him than you had bothered to in your months living with him. You’d learnt that he was a music major, that wanted to pursue a career in music production, and that he’d gotten interested in tattoos when he’d met this kid named Changbin in his class, who introduced him to Chan for an apprenticeship.

As for Jisung? He was just learning that you weren’t as intolerable as he thought you were.

You’d ordered food for the both of you, Jisung having refused to eat porridge, and you were currently having an actual, comfortable conversation with him, the hallmark movie playing on the television long forgotten.

Jisung’s phone had started to ring, interrupting him mid-sentence as he told you about how the tattoo studio works, making you lean over to check who it was.

“It’s Chan.”

Jisung grimaced, “speak of the devil,” he scoffed. Shaking his head vigorously as you made to grab his phone, Jisung set his chopsticks down hurriedly to reach for his phone, only to grab air when you’d answered the call.

“Hello?” You heard Chan speak, an urgency to his tone.

“Hey, this is Y/N. Jisung is…not feeling so well right now.”

Jisung shot you a look, bringing his hands around his throat with his chopsticks held between his fingers, acting as if he was so sick he was about to pass out, making loud coughing noises in the background.

You couldn’t help but smile, scrunching your nose and waving him off in your attempt to get him to stop before he choked on his food.

Chan sighed, “Is he, now? Tell him I’m shifting today’s appointment to next Wednesday. Anyway, thanks, Y/N, bye,” he hung up promptly after.

You gave Jisung a grim look, setting the phone down slowly onto the coffee table, “Chan said he’s shifting your appointment to Wednesday.”

Jisung’s lips parted, almost forgetting his cheeks were full of food, tilting his head back to groan.

“Chan’s gonna kill me.”

“Why?”

Jisung shoved more food into his mouth, chewing slowly, “I totally forgot, I was supposed to do this girl’s tattoo today, but cause I’m, you know, sick,” he gave you a pointed look, “I can’t do it.”

“You do tattoos already? I thought you were still just…”

Jisung rolled his eyes, “what? Still just tattooing on fake skin?”

You nodded sheepishly, earning a sigh from him, though you didn’t miss the small smile on his face.

“I’ll have you know, I can tattoo people now. You know Lucas’ tattoo of the angel looking mermaid hybrid type thing?”

You hummed in thought, his description oddly specific yet successfully helping you visualise the tattoo, gesturing to your forearm, “the one he got here?”

Jisung nodded, “I did that for him.”

Your eyes widened, impressed at the scale of Jisung’s detail in his design, remembering how enamoured you were with it when Lucas had first showed it to you.

“Lucas’ been asking me to get a tattoo with him once the break starts,” you mentioned casually, earning a surprised hum from Jisung.

“Oh,” his eyes widened, as if he was still trying to process what you said, “really?”

You nodded, “still thinking about it, though. Haven’t really decided on what I wanted.”

Jisung scooped the last of his food into his mouth, giving you as nonchalant a shrug as he could muster.

“Well, uh, you know, if you want or something you could come one of the days during the break, I could show you some stuff I think you’d like.”

You nodded, the simple suggestion somehow exciting you.

That night, you’d gotten ready for bed, having made sure Jisung ate his medicine before he went to sleep.

Before you could move to switch the lights off, he’d stopped you/

“Wait, like…can you um… leave the lamp on?” You raised an eyebrow at him, but complied nonetheless, figuring this was your chance to repent while he was sick.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, stretching your arms above your head with a yawn.

“Yeah, night…” he murmured, inhaling deeply, “oh, and Y/N?”

You frowned, “uh-huh?” Looking at him expectantly, your breath hitched at the sight of the small smile that made its way on his face, the moonlight casting a calm glow in the room that mirrored his expression.

“Apology accepted.”

You smiled, nodding before you left. Hopefully this meant things were looking up for your relationship.

===

After that day, it was as if something in your dynamic had shifted, you found that Jisung was giving you lesser and lesser reasons to be annoyed at him.

Lucas had gotten a kick out of it when you’d told him about it.

“You guys finally realised it wouldn’t kill you to be nice to each other?” You remembered him telling you.

You would beg to differ, though, because with this shift in dynamic came a whole lot of awkwardness, especially when one of you had done something mildly nice for the other person.

Take this instance, for example.

You’d been sitting at your desk, trying to finish up on your essay that was due that week, not wanting to let your motivation subside without making full use of it (also because you knew if you didn’t do it now, you’d procrastinate and stress out when you realised you were behind time).

You’d been able to faintly smell Jisung’s noodles that he was cooking in the kitchen, making you sigh. You didn’t like eating things after you had your dinner, but you couldn’t lie and say that they didn’t smell great.

Expecting to hear his bedroom door shut and feel the smell of the noodles get fainter, he’d surprised you when he made his way over to you, setting a mug containing a hot drink on your desk.

Turning to him abruptly, he’d flinched back, looking at you with wide eyes as his hands flew up over his chest, making you laugh.

“I’m not gonna hit you, calm down.”

Jisung relaxed (albeit hesitantly), one of his hands coming up to grip the back of his neck, gesturing towards the mug with his other hand.

“Go ahead, I uh…didn’t poison it or anything,” a huff of awkward laughter left him.

You glanced from the mug to him, nodding slowly, “thanks.”

“Don’t, you know…sleep too late, and stuff,” he told you, earning a nod from you.

He nodded back at you, giving you a close-lipped smile before practically jogging back to his room, the door shutting a little louder than usual, a yelp of apology echoing after.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t try to to be nice to him either, but frankly, he wasn’t giving you many opportunities to do so.


Jisung was still keeping his worries to himself, with his creative block seeming to have spiralled him into heavy feelings of anxiousness and a lack of confidence in his abilities.

You figured that things had been weighing heavy on his mind when you realised he’d been intentionally keeping the light on more often when he slept, or how the typing sounds of his keyboard would get more frequent as it got later into the night.

You’d even had Chan pleading for you to check up on Jisung every now and then once you noticed that he’d been sleeping a lot more and eating at irregular intervals. Listening out for his humming every now and then, you noticed the melodies seemed to have taken a more slow-paced, almost melancholic turn.

One night, you’d decided that if Jisung wasn’t going to give you opportunities to be nice to him, you would just create them for yourself. Making a determined trip to the kitchen, you’d boiled his favourite type of instant ramen, having seen how he made it so many times you knew just what to add in.

Padding over to his room, you’d knocked on the door before pushing it open slightly, watching him straighten up where he sat on his bed, setting his iPad down beside him, his thigh blocking it from your view.

“Hey, I uh…here,” you cut to the chase, Jisung was quick to find something to put under the pot on his bed, opening it and looking at you wordlessly.

“Figured the both of us could use a break,” you shrugged, oblivious to the way your words had stirred something within Jisung.

“What were you working on?” You asked, scooping some noodles into a bowl for Jisung and handing it to him.

He’d taken the bowl from you absently, his eyes widening at the mention of the sketch, unconsciously pushing it further behind him.

“Nothing, I was just doodling.”

Jisung had no idea how to explain that he had been trying to design something for you, something that reminded him of you. Because frankly, that was the only thing that seemed to be pushing his creative block aside at the moment.

“Can I see?”

Usually, Jisung would’ve fought you ( to the death ) before he’d let you see his unfinished designs, but there was something about your demeanour that made him feel like it was okay to show you. That it was okay to tell you that it wasn’t perfect because something inside of him just told him that you would understand.

In spite of any rational fibre in his being, he’d picked up the tablet, giving it to you as he continued to eat the ramen, his gaze never leaving your expression, oblivious to your scrolling as he was too busy gauging your reaction.

“These are all really pretty,” you told him, scrolling until you’d reached the bottom, clicking on one of the drawings and flipping the screen around to show Jisung.

“I love this,” you told him, earning a surprised hum from him.

He saw that you’d clicked on the sketch of the peony that he’d tried to refine that day he got rained on, wondering what made you choose that out of all his designs, since he was probably the least satisfied with that one.

“Are you sure? What about this one?” He took the tablet from you, scrolling back to the design he was working on, making you hum thoughtfully, eventually shaking your head no.

“I like the other one better,” you told him, earning a confused hum from him.

“Why?”

You scoffed, frowning at him, “why are you so against it? You’re the one that drew it,” you took the tablet back from him, holding it against your shoulder before shaking your head, setting it back down onto your lap.

“Besides,” you murmured, zooming in to admire the shading on the flower, “I think it’s beautiful.”

Jisung’s expression was unreadable, unsure how you had such strong appreciation for something he thought was his worst work, something about the way you praised it making a strange feeling that he couldn’t place build within his chest.

It was like before, the feeling of comfort, that he didn’t have to worry about any kind of creative block that could be thrown his way because you gave him a different perspective on his abilities.

You know, the cliché, hard-hitting feeling that ‘everything is gonna be okay’.

“Do you have anything happening during the break?” You asked, earning a shrug from him.

“I’ve gotta submit my song to Chan’s music producer friend.”

You perked up at the mention of Jisung’s song, “have you thought of what you wanted to do for it yet?”

Jisung shook his head, letting out a deep sigh, “it’s been kind of stressing me out, to be honest,” he admitted.

“I like…I don’t wanna give him something that doesn’t show what I’m capable of, you know?”

You nodded, “I understand…I wish I could help you but I don’t really, you know, know how,” you fidgeted with your fingers, hearing him grunt in dismissal.

“It’s fine,” he mustered a confident smile, “nothing I can’t handle.”

And for a moment, you really would’ve believed that he’d gotten it handled. Leaving him to continue with his work as you got ready for bed.

You had almost anticipated to hear typing sounds as you did every night these days. But unlike the other nights, Jisung didn’t very well feel like being alone with his thoughts that night, not even wanting to type them down. He craved the feeling of being okay, of feeling like he still had time and didn’t have to be anxious or feel shitty about his mediocre work.

So it had come as a surprise to you when you’d heard the gentle knock at your door that night just as you were about to drift into a half-asleep state, hearing the door open and watching as Jisung made his way hesitantly over to where you were.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You heard him let out a shaky breath, and you didn’t need to ask him further, giving him a small hum of approval as he’d pulled the small heated mat from under your bed and made himself comfortable next to your bed.

Jisung let his head hit the ground gently, a deep sigh leaving him as he closed his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave the lamp on?” You mumbled, hearing him hum.

“No, it’s fine,” he told you, strangely not feeling much of a need for it now that he had you near him.

The both of you knew better than to speak more, the silence seeming to have made you understand how he was feeling. And as he lay there, with your presence in the room, Jisung felt alright, and so did you.

That night, there were no typing sounds.  

===

Contrary to yesterday, you'd started today on a good note. Having bumped into Jisung the next morning after he'd gotten ready, meeting in the hallway when you were still dressed in your sleepwear, you couldn't help but smile.

"Morning," he murmured, a small smile on his face as he gave you a little wave, leaving promptly to meet Chan at the tattoo studio.

You didn't have work today, and you'd arranged a meeting with Lucas to hang out, the boy not seeming to want to waste anymore time when he'd finally arrived at the mall, practically bounding over to where you were waiting at the fountain in the atrium.

"So, have you thought about it yet?" he asked you, extending a hand to help you up.

Frowning, your lips parted in confusion, "thought about what?"

Lucas gave you an unamused look, as if you should've known what he was talking about. Pushing his sleeves up to his elbows, he'd raised his hands as he gestured, "you know, about what tattoo you wanted to get."

You made your way to a bubble tea outlet that Lucas wanted to check out, pestering you to go with him as part of the things he’d wanted to do during the semester break.

You couldn't help but laugh at the realisation, feeling awfully giddy at the thought of yesterday.

It was just a simple interaction, yeah, whatever, but no one said there were rules on what could make your heart flutter and what couldn't. All you knew was that whatever happened yesterday, did.

"Yeah, I did," you confessed, huffing with a smile on your face.

Lucas didn't know whether to feel afraid or happy that you were so quick to decide this time, looking at you in concern, "okay...so, what did you decide on?"

You pursed your lips, your smile disappearing, "I don't have a picture with me, it's on Jisung's ipad. But it's really pretty, it's like this drawing of a flower," you explained.

Lucas' eyes widened, his hand coming up to cover his mouth in a poor attempt to conceal his growing excitement.

"Oh, it's one of Jisung's stuff?"

You nodded, not seeming to understand why he was so happy about that, "what?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, "you and Jisung seem to be on pretty good terms recently, huh.”

You scoffed, shrugging because it wasn't as if what he said was a lie.

Lucas leaned closer to you, "have you been smiling at him more these days?"

You frowned at his question, shrugging at him nonetheless, turning your attention back to the menu board, "yeah, I guess."

Lucas' giggles escaped him like bubbles, nodding at you knowingly, “perfect. You should definitely keep doing that.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “questionable advice, but I’ll take it. Anyway, when are you planning on getting it done?"

Lucas straightened up, lifting his phone slightly to check the date.

"I made an appointment for Chan to do mine next Tuesday," he told you, “have you asked your parents yet?”

You nodded, “they weren’t as supportive until they found out Jisung designed it, they just told me not to get anything I’ll regret.”

Lucas couldn’t miss his opportunity to tease you, “well, I’m sure if Jisung’s doing it, the last thing you’d do is regret it.”

Shoving him aside and ignoring the way he’d burst into a fit of giggles, you ordered your drink, and Lucas’ as well once he calmed down enough to point at what he wanted on the menu.

“Maybe you should text him and ask about when you can book him?” Lucas gestured to you with his drink, his leg bouncing absently as he looked around the small outlet, the group of high-school girls in their uniforms sitting next to your table giggling as he’d skimmed over their table.

“Do you think that’d be too much? Should I just ask Chan instead?” You glanced at him for a sign of approval, “but then if I ask Chan would it make Jisung think I don’t want him to do my tattoo?” You wondered out loud, your stream of thought proving to be fairly amusing to Lucas.

“Just text him, it’s not that deep,” Lucas sipped on his drink.

“Nah, you know what? I should just ask him later at home, I shouldn’t bother him when he’s at work,” you shrugged, earning a sound of dismissal from him.

“Texting him would be a lot faster, you know.”

You shot him a look, “why are you so insistent on me texting him?”

Lucas scoffed, “why are you so against it?” He shot back.

Giving him a look of feigned annoyance, you’d set your phone down onto the table, staring blankly as Lucas had turned it to face him, unlocking your phone and going to Jisung’s chat.

“How should I start? ‘hey baby’—”

Your eyes widened, about to snatch the phone back from him when he’d pulled it towards himself in time, shooting you a look of feigned confusion.

“What? Too mild?” He laughed.

Sighing as he calmed down from his laughter, he shook his head slowly as he typed out a message, “man, you’re so bad at this,” he murmured.

“What makes you say that?”

Lucas pressed something on your phone with finality, scrolling up as he showed you your previous texts with Jisung. Texts like:

1:09pm - dont eat my chips get ur own - or texts like


10:11pm - keep it down! Im trying to study -

Jisung 10:11pm -well so am I!-

“All you guys ever text each other for is to ask each other to do things, how can you expect him to like you if you’re always telling him to separate his lights and darks?”

You took the phone back from Lucas with a huff, “leave me alone. And who said anything about wanting him to like me?”

Lucas looked as though you’d just asked him an obvious question, looking almost scandalised at your denial, “really? You went from ‘oh, I don’t wanna bother Jisung at work’ and ‘oh, heehee me and Jisung ate ramen together yesterday night’ to ‘who said anything about my big fat crush on Jisung’?”

You huffed, “that’s inaccurate.”

Lucas chewed on his tapioca pearls harshly, making sure you heard the smacking sounds of his chewing to unnerve you, shaking his head at you matter-of-factly, “it’s pretty much-what’s the word, ah! Verbatim. That.”


You rolled your eyes at him, wondering how the high-school girls sitting next to you still managed to find Lucas an absolute dreamboat despite how intentionally ridiculously he was behaving.

The truth is, Jisung wouldn’t have cared if you’d ‘bothered him during work or not’. He probably would’ve jumped at the notification of your text.

After the night before, Jisung couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of comfort that flooded him at the thought of you. Finally getting enough inspiration to work on his song when he’d gotten home, even despite the pounding in his head and the sheer fatigue from the day that had passed.

Call him whatever you wanted, but Jisung couldn’t shake the feeling of reassurance he got with you, and it was a feeling he never thought he’d be experiencing as deeply as he did now.

From how familiar it was to hear your voice (even if it was asking him to fold the laundry), to how the smell of your perfume would awaken him on certain days, just in time for him to start his routine for the day. In small things, like how whenever he was looking for a break from work, somehow he’d find it with you.

He’d been working on his song for hours now, though he’d kept letting his gaze wander to the door in anticipation, wondering what was taking you so long to get home. He couldn’t help but wonder if you were still with Lucas, his imagination running wild with all sorts of scenarios that could have taken place to warrant you coming home so late.

Jisung brushed the thought away quickly after he found himself going to your contact on his phone, setting it down quickly as if it burned him. It was fine, you were an adult (he figured), you didn’t need him to hound you about a curfew.

Deciding to work on his lyrics for the song, he’d typed away on his laptop his ideas, his mind seeming to always gravitate to thinking of you as he read what he’d typed down.

Satisfied with the amount of work he’d gotten done for that day, Jisung had let his head lean back against the armrest of the sofa, his legs bent as he lay on his side, letting his eyes rest from all that staring at his glaringly bright computer screen.

You’d gone for a late-night movie with Lucas to end off your day, having gone home later than usual, though you didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if you had a curfew anymore.

You managed to reach your apartment as stealthily as you could, since the walls were really that thin and you didn’t want the old lady from next door to get on your back for being noisy when she was trying to sleep or whatever again.

Shoving your keys into the keyhole, you frowned when you saw that the lights in the living room were still switched on, spotting Jisung lying on the sofa with his eyes closed, his head lolling to the side as he dozed off.

Going into your room (in stealth mode, again), you’d set your things down quietly, deciding to take a shower and get ready for bed before anything else. Suddenly everything seemed to be a thousand times louder than you were used to. You were sure Jisung hadn’t been getting much quality sleep recently, so seeing him dozing off on the sofa had only made you want to ensure that his sleep continued uninterrupted.

Once you were changed into your sleepwear, you’d gone into Jisung’s room, taking a soft blanket from his cupboard and bringing it over to where he was, draping it over him till it reached his shoulders. You couldn’t help but find how peaceful he looked to be rather endearing, wishing you could do more but knowing there wasn’t much else you could do.

Jisung considered himself a good actor, because on the inside he was far from peaceful. He’d awoken at the feeling of being covered by the blanket, the back of your fingers grazing against his arm slightly.

His heart had fluttered, extremely, at the gesture, though something in him was yelling at him not to open his eyes, wanting to savour the moment for himself. It felt warm, a comfortable kind of warmth, the kind you would want to bask in for hours after being in the cold for so long. Something like a ray of sunshine.

Jisung was convinced he was going mad.

Switching on the lamp at your desk so that the living room wouldn’t be in complete darkness, you’d switched off the lights in the living room, bidding a silent goodnight to Jisung in your head before you’d gone back to your room, leaving Jisung dumbfounded.

===

“What did you say the song was called, again?” Chan had asked Jisung on Tuesday morning, looking at him with an endeared smile.

Jisung felt shy for some reason, pressing his lips together firmly as he averted his gaze from Chan, preparing his equipment as he waited for you and Lucas to arrive.

“Sunshine,” Jisung told him.

Chan huffed, his smile growing bigger, “I like that,” he hummed.

“What’s it about?” Chan asked, pulling his phone out to check for a text, “also, Lucas says they’re nearby.”

Jisung shrugged, “what’s it about?” He echoed Chan’s question, as if not knowing for himself either, something about him seeming fairly preoccupied, “it’s kind of hard to explain.”

Chan nodded in understanding, glancing at the way Jisung fiddled with the practice sketch he’d done of Y/N’s tattoo, twirling it around in his hands and anxiously glancing towards the door.

“Nervous?”

Jisung’s head shot up to look at Chan with wide eyes, “huh?…” he nodded slowly, “yeah, kind of.”

A small smile played at Chan’s lips as the boy had finished up the stencil for Lucas’ tattoo. “Is it because it’s Y/N?”

Jisung let out a nervous laugh, “yeah, duh,” he mumbled, “I mean, yeah, I’m nervous because she’s the one getting the tattoo but more like…”

Jisung shrugged, “I still don’t understand why she chose this out of all the designs I had.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, the jingling of the bells at the door followed by a loud guffaw of laughter signalling to him that the both of you had arrived.

“You should take more pride in your work,” Chan pat Jisung on the back, almost sending the boy stumbling with the sheer force behind the hit. Though Jisung couldn’t very well pay attention to the pain in his shoulder once he saw you with Lucas.

Lucas was quick to shove you towards Jisung, going over to one of the beds with Chan as they discussed the placement of the tattoo.

Jisung was almost uncharacteristically tense, leading you over to the station across from Lucas and Chan, holding the stencil up for you to see, “you’re absolutely sure you want this?”

You rolled your eyes, nodding, “yes, I’m sure.”

Jisung nodded slowly, albeit hesitantly, at you, “have you figured out where you want it?”

Lucas had perked up at that, butting into the conversation despite being across the room, “we were thinking between two places.”

Jisung hummed as he’d gone over to take the tablet containing a form for you to fill out before he got started.

You shushed Lucas quickly, accepting the tablet from Jisung with a nod of thanks, “yeah, I was thinking between here,” you gestured under your collarbone, “or here,” you gestured to your shoulder, just above your shoulder-blade.

Jisung nodded, “which do you feel more comfortable with? I think both are alright.”

“I was thinking maybe here?” You held a hand over the space under your collarbone, earning a nod from him.

“Alright,” he murmured, taking the tablet from you once you were done and quietly gesturing for you to lie down.

In your haste to get it over with, you’d almost completely forgotten about the placement of your tattoo, Jisung quirking an eyebrow at you and letting a huff of nervousness escape him.

“Sorry uh, I hope you don’t mind,” he murmured, pulling the collar of your shirt down to expose the area you’d wanted tattooed, making Lucas (who was watching intently) snicker from where he sat.

You’d felt heat creeping up to your neck, making you stretch your neck to look elsewhere, deciding to focus on the black pipes lining the ceiling, your shyness reducing your voice to a mere mumble, “yeah, sorry.”

Your nerves had built up even more with how tense Jisung was, even as he had disinfected the area and transferred what looked like a blue-ish outline of his sketch to your skin, making you almost want to writhe in your place with how nervous you were growing.

However, once you’d heard the buzzing of the tattoo gun, it was as if you were transported into your room, the familiarity of the sound making you less nervous, simply anticipating the pain that you’d associated with the tattoo to occur.

It was a wonder you hadn’t even been able to think much about the pain of the tattoo, though, because you were too busy trying to ignore Jisung’s proximity to you.

He was a stark contrast from Chan, who was making conversation with Lucas throughout the process, whereas Jisung had simply loomed over you, a tense knit to his brow and his lips pressed tightly together. Just by your expressions alone, people would have thought he was the one getting the tattoo.

This was only so because Jisung was struggling, with the smell of your perfume making him feel more awake than ever, and not to mention the pressure to make sure the tattoo turned out well that weighed heavy on him. Everything about you was so familiar, yet everything about the experience was not, and it was driving Jisung crazy with the amount of tension it was making him feel.

“Are you okay?” He asked, gauging your face for any sign that you were in too much pain.

You wanted to laugh, “This is like the fifth time you’re asking me that,” you told him.

“Can’t help it,” he told you, and you swore you saw his cheeks start to tint pink, “just wanted to make sure you were okay, you know…since it’s your first tattoo, and all.”

You nodded reassuringly, “it’s fine, just keep going.”

Jisung nodded, “I’ll be done quicker than you know it, I swear.”

You continued to distract yourself with the sight of Lucas across the room, Chan having to bring the needle back whenever Lucas couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“I’m sorry, It tickles,” you heard him tell Chan, making you have to stifle your laughter.

“Can I ask you something?” You decided that maybe talking to Jisung would help time pass faster (and less awkwardly).

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, shifting his chair slightly to get into a more comfortable position.

“How many tattoos do you have?” You asked, earning a long, reflective hum from him.

“I got a few in the time after college started, I would say about 5 or 6 now?” He shrugged, “and if you’re gonna ask me what’s their meanings…I don’t really know how to explain it, I just like the feeling they give me when I look at them.”

“I get it, it’s expression after all.”

Jisung nodded, his focus returning and making him let the conversation still. You didn’t like that, the feeling of awkwardness that returned with his silence, making you wrack your brains to find any sort of other conversation topic you could think of.

“Are you seeing anyone?” You wanted to instantly hide your face once you heard the words leave your mouth, Lucas turning to you with a wide-eyed expression.

Jisung sputtered, pulling the tattoo gun away from your skin, shaking his head at you.

“Uh, no, I’m not.” He narrowed his eyes at you, trying to regain his confidence in the situation, “why’d you wanna know?”

Now it was your turn to flush, averting your gaze, “oh, you know, just…curious, is all.”

Jisung smirked, “well, don’t go getting any ideas. I already like someone,” he told you, feeling as though he was dangling a carrot right in front of you.

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, “really? Who?”

Jisung shrugged, “it’s a secret.”

You frowned, wanting to get back at him but not quite knowing how, deciding to go with the first thing you could think of, “well, I like someone too, you’re not special.”

Jisung hadn’t expected you to retort with that, narrowing his eyes at you, “wait, really? Is it Lucas?”

“Oh my god, no way, never.”

“Then who is it?” He met your gaze, making you stick your tongue out at him, mustering your best impersonation of him.

“It’s a secret.”

You had almost thought you were imagining things, but you noticed Jisung’s mood take a turn from there, seeming awfully pensive as he did the rest of your tattoo, the both of you having maintained a silence after your failed attempt at a proper conversation with him. He’d already begun to do the shading for your tattoo, so you figured he was really going to be done quicker than you thought.

You tried to distract yourself by glancing towards Lucas and Chan’s direction. Jisung could see you staring in their direction from the corner of his eye, wondering why your gaze kept travelling there when he was right in front of you.

“Is it Chan?” He blurted out, making your eyes go wide in shock.

Your smile grew, shaking your head, “no, definitely not.”

Jisung frowned, “who could it even be, you don’t even know that many people,” he huffed.

You sighed, trust you to fall for someone as oblivious as him.

“Do you want a clue?” You asked, earning a grunt from him.

“They’re very oblivious.”

Jisung frowned, looking as though he were contemplating, his tissue going over your tattoo slower as he thought. His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape in realisation, a gasp leaving him.

“No way, it’s not that Felix kid from your department, is it?” He looked as though he was hoping you would say no.

You fought to suppress the urge to roll your eyes, yet not realising you were smiling at him, “no, it’s not him.”

Jisung sighed, “oh, good. I know I always say I’m the best looking but he’s a lot better looking than I am, don’t tell him I said that.”

“Good?” You questioned, wondering why he seemed so relieved that all his options had turned out to be false. Jisung had realised he may have made things a little too obvious, shaking his head vigorously.

“Nothing, you’re all done, forget I said anything.”

He pushed himself away from you, his chair swivelling far back as he tried to calm the racing of his heart as you sat up and stretched, your body tired from being in the same position for so long.

“What time is it?” You asked, earning a grunt from Jisung, not knowing either.

Chan had chimed in from the other side, having been done with Lucas’ tattoo way before yours.

“It’s 4:24,” he told you. Jisung had been busy putting an adhesive bandage over your tattoo to pay attention to your reaction.

You spent 4 hours lying there and you only got like what, two conversations with Jisung? This was a new low, even for you.


You were snapped out of your disappointment when Jisung had spoken.

“Uh… yeah keep this on for like three to four days?” He gestured to the bandage, your breath hitching as he hiked the collar of your shirt up so it wasn’t still dropping off your shoulder.

“You can still shower and everything so yeah…” he told you, reciting from memory after having been told this a thousand times by Chan.

You tried your best to pay attention, though you knew you’d probably forget by the time you were home, making him stand up mid-speech and walk over to the counter, pulling out a little brochure to hand you.

“Honestly, just read this, it has everything you need to know inside,” he told you, walking away briskly to compose himself at his station.

You’d made your payment to Chan at the counter, Jisung having pretended to be busy with cleaning up, making Chan flash you an amused smile.

“What?”

He shook his head, dimples appearing as he gave you your receipt, “You two are just too cute,” he huffed, earning a loud hum of approval from Lucas.

“Aren’t they?” The tall boy chimed in, making you scoff.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, bye,” you waved, seeing Jisung turn around to give you a wide smile before turning back around, practically collapsing onto the bed once you and Lucas were gone.

“Those were the most excruciating 4 hours of my life.”

Chan’s laughter could be heard as he made his way over to Jisung, giving him a pat on the back, “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Jisung let out a loud groan, “we were like this close!” Jisung brought his hand in front of his face for emphasis as he whined to Chan, “and I couldn’t focus at all I was so scared I was gonna screw up her tattoo because I kept zoning out,” he rambled, feeling as though his knees were about to buckle.

Chan shook his head with a feigned look of sympathy, looking at Jisung as though Jisung were his son, “I’m glad you’re feeling stressed.”

Jisung scoffed, shrugging Chan’s hand off of his shoulder and  glaring at his mentor with a look of disbelief, “you’re glad? Aren’t you supposed to be feeling some sympathy for me? That’s sick, I can’t believe you.”

Chan wasn’t surprised at Jisung’s dramatic reaction, simply laughing as he shrugged.

“I’m glad because if you’re stressed, you’re gonna be pushed to do something about it soon. And then I can stop hearing you stress about it and just see the both of you together, instead.”

Jisung shot Chan a dirty look, “you’re mean, old man.”

Chan scoffed, “at least I’m not stupid in love.”

===

Jisung had been keeping himself fairly busy since then, the both of you having been busy with your own plans since the semester break had started. However, the both of you had somehow managed to enjoy suppers together, bonding over a (rather unhealthy) meal of snacks or instant food whenever it was late in the night and the both of you didn’t want to go to sleep just yet.

And speaking of sleep, you’d also noticed how Jisung had started to look brighter these days, seeming to have been overcoming that period of lethargy he was previously in.

Now, the brightness was heard in the songs he hummed, in how he smiled and laughed more whenever you were together. Even in how he'd started growing more comfortable with sleeping in the dark. You weren’t sure what exactly sparked this change in him, but whatever it was, you were glad it happened, yourself seeming to be all the more enamoured with this version of Jisung that had grown on you.

You’d planned with Jisung to have a day of celebration (or a pity party) once he’d submitted his song to Chan’s music producer friend.

Since you had work that day, you’d wanted to get up early to prepare breakfast for him, but you didn’t realise how late you were until you woke up and found that he had already left.

Making your way over to the kitchen to find some food for yourself after you’d gotten ready for work, you yanked open the door for the fridge, expecting to be met with all of Jisung’s snacks and cans of drinks that still had their post-its on them.

However, as you were scanning the fridge to see if you had anything you could eat, you spotted a different coloured post-it on a bundle of juice packets, peeling the post-it off of the packaging to inspect it.

‘y/n, I heard these are great to start the morning with, try them for me?’

You couldn’t help but smile, a hand coming up to your face to attempt to slap away the heat you felt in your cheeks, pulling out a packet of juice anyway.

You were starting to think the juice did have some sort of magical properties in them, because when you got to work, you’d been on drink duty, which was your favourite to do. Well, technically, anything other than cashier duty was your favourite but who’s keeping track here?

You knew Jisung's meeting with the producer was around the afternoon, so when Chan had shown up at the café alone, you didn't question it.

Now you were really glad you weren't on cashier duty today, giving your colleague more time to talk to Chan while he ordered.

"One strawberry smoothie for Chan?" you called to get his attention, seeing him stroll over to the pick-up point with a smile on his face.

"Sorry, Jisung's not here," he teased, sighing wistfully.

You scoffed, "yeah, yeah. I know where he is.”

“How’s the tattoo healing?” He asked, making your hand go up to your shoulder unconsciously, “It’s alright, looks really pretty now that it’s all healed.”

Chan gave you a thumbs up, opening the lid of his drink as he took a sip, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“Is he meeting your friend now?"

Chan’s eyebrows raised in confusion, “who?..oh,” he nodded in realisation, “yeah, just went to meet him. Honestly, if you asked me, he didn’t seem as excited about the meeting as he was to meet you for dinner.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “don’t put ideas into my head, old man.”

Chan simply gave you a shrug, “I’m not that old, you know,” he brought his drink up to his lips to take a sip, “and they’re only ideas if you’re in denial.”

You groaned, “go, begone, leave me alone.”

Chan giggled, nodding as his hand went up in surrender, “fine, I’m going. Have a good dinner later, Y/N,” he sing-songed.

Curse Chan for putting the thought into your head, now you couldn’t stop thinking about dinner.

Your shift only ended at 5:30, so that gave you just about enough time to go get groceries while Jisung prepared the things for your hotpot at home.

Deciding you would do what you were called to do, which in this case, meant to send Jisung a text wishing him the best of luck, you did as such.

2:31pm - hey, all the best for your meeting with the producer man!!-

Jisung’s reply had come quickly,

han jisung 2:32pm - thanks :( im waiting to see him now, I didn’t know there was gonna be a whole queue -

Setting your phone aside, you’d tried not to let yourself get too anxious while you waited for him to update you, busying yourself with washing dishes and even serving tables out of your sheer boredom due to the crowd starting to disperse at this time.

You waited, and you waited, you waited until the word ‘waiting’ itself felt weird to say in your head. You should’ve known better to have expected Jisung to update you over text, only receiving a text in the evening that read

han jisung 5:23pm - hey…i just finished meeting him…see u at the apartment?-

You’d texted him back, not knowing what to make of his text.

5:23pm - is that a good hey or a bad hey? -

Jisung hadn’t answered your question, his next text coming as more of a source of confusion for you.

han jisung 5:24pm - ill tell u in person -

“What happened? Is it Jisung?” Your colleague seemed to have sensed your inner turmoil, looking at you with concern etched in her features.

“Yeah, he told me he was done meeting the producer person…but he didn’t wanna tell me how it went,” you frowned, seeing your colleague hum in confusion.

“D’you think it didn’t go well?” She asked, mirroring your expression of uncertainty.

You typed out your reply to Jisung as you shrugged, “I don’t know, I’m hoping he’s just messing with me.”

5:26pm - my shift ends in like 4 minutes… I’ll go and get the groceries before I get back -

han jisung 5:26pm - okay, ill be waiting -

“All the best, then?” Your co-worker offered, giving you a look of sympathy.

“You too, enjoy the rest of your shift,” you returned her expression, sighing as you removed your apron, grabbing your bag from the back room before you left.

You’d tried your best to be quick in getting your groceries, making sure you’d gotten everything Jisung had told you to, your footsteps quick as you briskly walked to your apartment building.

Not knowing if it was because you hadn’t eaten in hours or if it was because you were just excited, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement in you, not so much because you were excited to hear how Jisung’s meeting went but more of because you were excited that you were going to see Jisung soon.

Finally reaching your apartment, you’d pushed the door open to spot Jisung coming out from his room, a towel on his head as he rubbed at his freshly-washed hair.

“Hey,” you breathed, a hint of a smile on your face, scanning his face for an expression as he glanced at you, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose cutely.

Jisung had a whole plan for how he was going to surprise you with the news, he wanted to wait until the food was ready and when the both of you were seated across each other in the living room, wait for you to ask him about how the meeting went so that he could pretend to be upset about it.

And just like he’d seen in the romantic movie Chan was playing in the studio the other day, he would wait till you showed concern to give you a smile and tell you the good news, already being able to imagine the smile you would give him in celebration.

But seeing how you looked, a little bit breathless from rushing, carrying groceries in your hands as you looked at him with a smile that spelled nothing but relief, Jisung couldn’t help himself.

“He offered me a job,” Jisung confessed, his grip tight on his towel as he let his hand fall limp to his side, any perfect, fool-proof plan of copying the romance movie now long gone.

Your eyes widened, setting the groceries on the counter as you cheered, “oh my god, that’s great! I’m really happy for you!” You cheered, practically running towards him before stopping yourself halfway, realising you were almost about to hug him.

Jisung noticed you stop too, tilting his head at you as his hands had already begun to raise to welcome you into a hug, hesitating once he’d seen you stop.

“Sorry,” you huffed, shoving your hands into your pockets, taking a step back to create some distance between the both of you.

Jisung smiled, shaking his head, “don’t be.” Shocking you with his confidence, he’d taken a step closer to you, his arms going around your shoulders as he pulled you towards him, his head leaning against yours gently as one of his hands went up to pet your head gently.

“You really helped me through it, believe it or not.”

Your eyes widened, trying not to get too carried away with the way his hold felt too comforting for you to pull away, thankful that he’d let go first, his hands coming up to grasp your shoulders.

“You hungry? The soup’s almost done.”

You nodded, “can I uh…take a shower first? I’ll be quick I promise.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply before you’d escaped to the bathroom, too focused on showering quickly that you’d almost forgotten about the hug. Keyword, almost.

Once you’d changed into a comfortable shirt and shorts, you’d practically jogged over to the kitchen, seeing that Jisung had already taken out the ingredients to thaw the meat and prepare the veggies.

“Wow, who are you and what have you done with Jisung?”

Jisung turned around at your voice, rolling his eyes at your statement, flicking the water from the veggies at you as you dodged, “figured I’d do something while waiting, you know, make myself useful.”

You huffed, a smile on your face as you gestured for him to continue, “well, don’t let me stop you.”

“So how did the interview go?” You asked, watching intently as he brought the platefuls of ingredients to the coffee table, stopping you when you’d moved to help him get the pot of soup.

“It’s okay, you go sit down, I’ll do it.”

You couldn’t help the impressed pout from your lips, not wanting to let on that the gesture had made your heart flutter.

Once all the food was on the table, Jisung had taken a seat next to you, the both of you starting to throw your ingredients into the soup, Jisung turning to you looking as though he’d wanted to say something.

“What was I saying before? Oh, right,” he nodded, “I didn’t expect him to be so intimidating, I nearly pissed myself when I walked into the room.”

You’d burst into laughter, Jisung laughing along with you, “I’m not even joking. Chan gave me a completely different description of what he would be like.”

You’d tried your best to calm down from your laughter quickly, seeing him take a piece of food from the pot and place it into your bowl wordlessly, choosing to ignore the gesture for the sake of your heart.

“But I’m assuming he’s not that bad? Since he offered you the job?”

Jisung let out a sigh, “yeah, thank god he did, I was a stuttering mess. Even Iwouldn’t have hired myself.”

You let out a chuckle, “you’re lucky he judged you based on the song, then,” you teased, earning a harmless glare from him.

You’d scooped some food into your mouth, looking up at him to see that he’d already had his cheeks full of food, nodding at you expectantly.

“So does this mean you’re gonna work on that producer guy’s team?” You asked, earning a nod from him as he swallowed his mouthful of food with a wince.

“Yeah, he said I could intern at his company in the holidays and if everything goes well he’ll give me a contract once I graduate.”

You let out a low whistle, “wow, imagine all the exposure you’d get there…all the different types of genres and artists you’d be exposed to,” you marvelled, Jisung finding it amusing how you seemed more excited about it than he was.

You perked up in realisation, “speaking of which…I realised you’d never let me listen to the song yet.”

Jisung flushed, shaking his head, “did I? I swear I did,” he lied, making you shove him, a smile showing on his face as you did, nodding in surrender as he grabbed his phone from the coffee table.

“What’s it called?” You asked, seeing him nudge his glasses up with his knuckle, shaking his head to flick his hair from his eyes.

“Sunshine,” he told you quickly, not wasting anymore time and playing the song.

As he started to play the song, you were surprised at the light sounding melody the song had started with, the sounds of the city that he’d put inside, the feeling that you were…at home?

“Don’t look at me when you’re listening to it, I’m shy,” he brought a hand up to cover your face, making you yelp, your hands coming up to grab his wrist, pulling it away slowly as you grew more focused on the song, recognising his voice as he sang.

It wasn’t a love song, thankfully, you realised. You realised that the song revolved around a certain feeling of calm, with themes of getting away from the busy nature of your life and taking time for yourself, something you realised you and him both kind of needed.

You listened until the song had ended, looking at him with a big smile on your face, a smile that made Jisung want to cover your face in fear that it would make his heart burst with how giddy he felt.

“I love this,” you told him, “can you send it to me?”

Jisung scoffed, “no way, how do I know you’re not gonna sell it before I can get it copyrighted?” he huffed, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the table to support his head on his palm.

“I’m really impressed, how’d you get the inspiration to do this?”

Jisung shrugged, “my own life I guess, and the people that helped me get through that weird period of creative block that I was in,” he murmured.

You nodded, “well, whoever they are, you should thank them for me.”

Jisung nodded, facing the television as he contemplated in his heart whether to do what he wanted to do, turning to you with a small smile on his face, he nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Your eyes widened, not knowing what to make of his words. The song had started to repeat.

Jisung had shook his head, “I’m not just saying this because I like you or whatever—” he stopped himself with a small curse, “shit, that was not how I planned on telling you. Whatever, as I was saying…” he trailed off, his gaze landing on your tattoo, the neck of your shirt having started to slip off your shoulder slightly.

“Honestly, I really hated that drawing,” he told you, your gaze following his to look at your tattoo, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

“This? Why? But it’s so pretty,” you insisted.

Jisung shook his head.

“It was my first design, and I wasn’t…you know, I just didn’t think it was that impressive, and all. Chan had told me to keep it in my portfolio but I was really close to just removing it.”

His gaze shifted to anywhere except your face, distracting himself by looking at the various things in the house, his gaze landing on the rainbow-coloured umbrella at the door.

Jisung sighed, shifting in his seat so he was leaning against the sofa now, his body angled towards you, making you unconsciously shift your body to face him as well, your breath hitching in anticipation for what he was about to say next.

“But then, you said you wanted it tattooed, and I honestly didn’t want you to get it but I had no choice, you know, blah blah customer’s preference first and all that bullshit,” he waved his hand for emphasis, “but then after I saw you with the tattoo more, I guess my perspective started to change? I mean, like, you kept insisting that it was so beautiful and all that..you know, seeing you with it kind of started to grow on me.”

Jisung paused, his gaze on a corner of the coffee table as he tried to find the right words to express how he was feeling, shrugging at you and just deciding to say whatever was at the top of his head and work from there.

“I guess it kind of made me love my work more, and like, trust myself, you know… because I realised how beautiful it could be.”

You looked at him wordlessly, your heart picking up speed at the tension in the room, something in you urging you to stand up, making you get up on your feet with no aim in mind.

So as not to look like a complete fool, your hands flew up to hug your arms, “oh, it’s a little um, chilly. Be right back,” you sprinted to your room, reaching in your cupboard for your hoodie and putting it on without a second thought, too preoccupied to notice how it stopped at your thighs and how the sleeves bunched up more.

Returning to the coffee table, you’d almost regretted your decision to put on the hoodie, feeling utterly warm from how flustered you were, especially with the way Jisung was looking at you with a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

“Sorry,” you murmured, averting your gaze as you tilted your head down, not expecting Jisung to tilt his head down as well so he could search for your gaze, making you scrunch your eyes shut, wrinkling your nose as you let out a huff of laughter.

“You can reject me, you know. I remember you said you already liked someone,” he told you, and Jisung meant it, not wanting anything but to make sure you were okay, and happy.

You shook your head, “I don’t want to,” you murmured, finally daring yourself to meet his gaze, your heart skipping a beat when you saw the way Jisung had smiled.

“I can’t say I’m not happy to hear that,” he told you.

Jisung had brought his hand up, lazily removing his glasses and looking at you finally, since now the other things in the house weren’t as clear in his vision, all that was important being that you were right in front of him, and he could see you clearer than anything.

“Why’d you take your glasses off?” You murmured, seeing him shrug, giving you a lazy smile.

“What? You scared I didn’t wanna see your face?” He teased, the flush on your cheeks making him give in almost immediately, “I’m kidding. I just didn’t feel like being distracted anymore.”

Maybe it was the atmosphere of the living room, or the lingering feelings the song had left in you, maybe it was even the way you felt like you were finally getting what you were waiting for.

Whatever it was, there was an overwhelming feeling of giddiness in you, especially with the way Jisung’s gaze had flickered between your lips and your gaze, and yet he’d made no move to lean closer to you, as if he was expecting you to move first.

Leaning closer, you’d let yourself glance down, getting distracted by the stain of black ink on the sleeve of your hoodie, only realising then that it wasn’t your hoodie.

“Shit, sorry I’m wearing yours by mistake again, it must’ve gotten mixed up,” you murmured, knowing it wasn’t your week to do laundry duty.

Jisung stopped you before you could stand up, pulling your hand forward so the only thing stopping you from losing your balance was his grip on your arm.

“I never thought I’d be saying this but, you can wear it.”

You’d sworn if your heart were any weaker, you wouldn’t have been able to last this long, Jisung seeming almost teasing with the way he’d inched closer at a painfully slow pace, so his lips were barely touching yours.

Just before he could pull back, you’d groaned in frustration, bringing your free hand up to cup the side of his jaw, meeting your lips with his.

And there it was again, the feeling of relief that washed over, knowing that this was very much happening, and that you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Jisung pulled away first, his pupils blown and his eyes giving away his surprise, huffing at you and folding his arms, increasing the distance between you.

“I’m only realising this now, what do you mean I’m oblivious?”

You rolled your eyes, “I’ll explain it again later, I swear.”

Jisung huffed, more dramatic this time, making sure you sensed his sulkiness (as feigned as it was), looking at you with a pout on his lips, “give me a kiss and I’ll forgive you.”

He puckered his lips, making you roll your eyes, though you didn’t hesitate to cup his face again, pressing your lips against his as your thumb brushed over his cheek gently, pulling away before he would’ve wanted. You couldn’t help yourself from laughing at the way he’d leaned forward, chasing your lips, frowning at you with a soft sigh when you’d straightened up.

“Can we eat now? The meat’s getting overcooked.”

===

lucas 11:30pm - dude I told u it would work if you smiled at him more cant believe u didnt believe me smh -

[thebookreader12345]

Identity Loss - Chapter Two

Chapter One     Chapter Three

“Sam, is she gonna be okay?” William asked the older doctor who was examining me. I had no idea what was going on, but I went with it. What I did know though was that Sam, or Dr. Abrams, was the head of Neurosurgery. And because he was checking my head, that must have meant I had gotten a head injury, only I couldn’t remember how.

“She seems fine. Nothing looks to be wrong. I’m guessing the amnesia is from the head trauma. Either that, or it’s from the lack of oxygen she received when Mr. Wilson tried to choke her,” Dr. Abrams responded. Who was Mr. Wilson? And why was he trying to choke me? 

“Is it permanent?” William questioned.

Dr. Abrams shrugged. “All cases are different. Sometimes memory loss is only temporary. But there are cases where the amnesia was permanent. What I’m saying is that I don’t know, which, by the way, sounds so weird coming out of my mouth.”

William sighed. “Okay. Thanks, Sam.” And with that, Dr. Abrams left the room leaving me alone with William.

“So, William,” I start, only to be cut off.

“It’s Will,” William interrupted. “You always call me Will. Everyone does.”

“But the coat says William,” I point out.

“Y/N, can you stop arguing with me? Please? I’m having a rough day,” William stated.

“You’re having a rough day? I can’t remember a damn thing about my life except for my name,” I argue.

William ran a hand through his curly ginger hair and took a seat next to my bed. “I know. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that.”

“It’s okay,” I admit. “If I were in your place, and you couldn’t remember me, I’d be a little pissed too. So, Will, mind telling me about my life?”

“It’s a lot,” Will reminded me. “You sure you’re ready?”

I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be. And I’ve got nothing else to do, so why the hell not.” Will laughed softly, and seeing him smile brought a small sense of joy to me. It was weird though because I didn’t know him at all. Well, amnesia me didn’t know him, but the real me, whoever she was, did.

“Okay. I guess we’ll start at where we are. This is Chicago Med. It’s where you work as an ED doctor,” Will told me.

“Doctor, huh? I must’ve been smart,” I exclaim.

“Smarter than me, yeah, which is really hard to admit, but it’s true,” Will claimed. “So there’s that. And then there’s uh, there’s your relationships.” Will then stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts, and I was on the edge of my seat. Was I popular? Did I have lots of friends? Was there a boyfriend in the picture? A husband? Kids? My thoughts were all over the place, yet somehow I managed to calm myself down. “Your best friend’s name is Maggie Lockwood. She’s the charge nurse down in the ED. There’s also Natalie, another ED doctor who you’re really close with.”

“And?” I question, urging him to continue.

“And then there’s me,” Will added.

“So we were friends then?” I ask. Will hesitated, which seemed pretty weird to me, but then again, I couldn’t remember anything, so maybe he acted like this all of the time. Finally though, he spoke up.

“No, we weren’t friends. We were uh, we were engaged,” Will murmured and nodded to my left hand. I looked down at the arm encased in a sling, and that’s when I saw the engagement ring that sat on my finger. It looked beautiful, even in the terrible hospital lighting, and I especially loved how the jewel glittered in the light.

“You don’t really seem like my type,” I joke, which broke the silence. “But then again, I don’t know anything about myself, so maybe you are.”

Will cracked a small smile. “You’ve still got your humor. That’s good. Look, I’ve got to get back to work, and even though I really want to stay, Ms. Goodwin will have my job if I do something wrong again. But, if you need anything, anything at all, you tell one of the nurses to call me and I’ll come right up.”

“Okay,” I say and watch as Will stood up and made his way to the door. “Oh, and thank you, Will, for everything.” Will gave me another smile, and with that, he left my room. Throughout the day, Will stopped by every so often to check in on me, and it was nice seeing a familiar face. Well, I probably knew all of the nurses and other staff milling around in and outside of my room, but I didn’t know their names, so they were basically foreign. And then, that night, Will came back into my room. He didn’t have maroon scrubs on this time, and he had a satchel slung over his shoulder. “What’s that?” I ask and point to the satchel.

“Your things,” Will replied and set the bag down on the edge of my bed. “Now, get dressed. I’m taking you home.” Will waited outside of my room while I replaced my hospital gown with the clothes in the bag. It was just a pair of jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and some boots. Maybe this is what I was wearing the day of my accident. As I put on my new clothes, my mind drifted to the fact that I was going home. I had no idea where “home” was, and the dozens of possibilities flew around my head. Did I live in a house or apartment? Was it more modern or contemporary? Were there any pets? Once I was dressed, I met Will outside of the hospital room.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” I declare.

“All right then. Lets go,” Will spoke and led me out of the hospital. The drive home only took a few minutes, and I enjoyed the ride. I loved looking out the window, admiring all of the buildings that we passed. The old me probably knew this route by heart, but the new me was excited to see everything. Soon, we pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex, and I climbed out of the car. Inside of the building, Will and I ascended the stairs to get to the second floor, and we walked down a hallway, stopping at the door at the very end. Will fished his keys from his jacket pocket, and then he unlocked the door, pushing it in. I stepped inside first, dropping my bag and shoes off by the door before taking it all in. It was so weird seeing the place where I lived, but not remembering anything that happened here. The good news was, the place looked homey, and from where I was standing, I could see that there was a bedroom and a bathroom down past the kitchen on the right, and another bedroom at the end on the left. I started in the living room first since it was right in front of me, and ran my hand along the back of the couch as I looked around. As I was taking everything in, something on the end table caught my eye. I walked over, and upon seeing that it was a picture frame, I picked it up to examine the photo inside. To my surprise, it was an engagement photo. In the picture, Will and I were kissing in front of Lake Michigan with the Chicago skyline in the background. I stared at the picture, desperately trying to remember that afternoon, and when I couldn’t remember a single detail, I sighed and set the frame back down on the table. “You want to order some pizza?”

“Uh, sure,” I respond. “What do we usually get?”

“Your favorite is sausage and green peppers,” Will reminded me as he put his stuff away. “Make yourself at home while I call in the order.” I nodded and took a seat on the couch, but it was hard, knowing that I had a life before this, a great life, and I couldn’t remember a thing about it. After about half an hour, the pizza arrived, and we ate dinner in complete silence. It felt like we should have been talking about something, maybe work, but because I had amnesia, there was nothing to talk about. “You can have the master,” Will told me once it was time for bed. “I’ll take the guest bed.”

“That’s okay,” I protest. “You should have the better bed.”

“I insist,” Will pushed. “Seriously. After everything you’ve been through, you could use the rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that, Will retreated into the smaller bedroom. In the master bedroom, I dug through the dresser to find some pajamas, settling on some flannel pants and a tank top, and once I had changed, I climbed into bed. It was weird though, having this big bed all to myself, and all I could think about was wanting Will to be snoring softly next to me. So, I got out of bed and walked to the other bedroom. Peaking my head inside the doorway, I saw that Will was in bed staring down at his phone, and he glanced up when I entered.

“Hey. What’s up?” Will asked.

“It was uh, it was kind of weird being in there alone, so I wanted to come ask if you’d sleep in there with me. I know it’s probably awkward for you because I can’t remember anything, so if you don’t want to, I understand,” I admit.

“No. It’s cool. I’ll stay in there with you,” Will stated. Will and I then made our way back into the bigger bedroom and got situated. Now that Will was here, I felt more at ease.

“Thanks for doing this,” I murmur and turn to face Will.

“No problem. Goodnight, Y/N,” Will muttered and turned away from me.

“Night,” I mumble softly. I tried to fall asleep, but my mind was wide awake, and all I could do was think about Will. I had my doubts about him at first, but now I could see why the old me fell in love with him, and it was because I was slowly falling for Will all over again.

______________________

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