#The day is saved by RUINING THE REST OF MY GIFT! The crumbs got all stuck inside the lovely wool socks she sent me!!! WTF CUSTOMS.

[hamburgerhowdy]

Another wooden ball. Would it kill the makers of avocados to include a different toy, like a mood ring or novelty eraser?

Wait, it's a TOY?! Bro, we gotta ban avocadoes. It's the fuckin' Kinder Surprises all over again!

[threeletterslife]

Nothing a Lil Green Can’t Fix

→ summary: Imagine having a best friend so crazy you have to have 911 on speed dial. Turns out that you are that friend. And it's up to Park Jimin to keep you from facing disaster.

→ pairing/rating: jimin x reader | PG-15

→ genre: i love bittersweet stories 🥺 so this is basically fluff all the way but angst lurking in the background | coming of age!au

→ warnings: profanity, mentions of death, divorce, heartbreak (like pretty fucking sad shit), implied sex

→ wordcount: 19.2k

→ a/n: i had so much fun writing this! a HUGE thank you to all of my friends & beta readers who helped me not make a big embarrassment out of myself LOL. a round of applause and special thanks to @aaugustlee​​, @fangirlfeelz​, @bangtansgalaxie​, @byuncaa​, @yunjikim021​ for putting up with my unedited writing! (: ALSO a huge HUGE thank you to @justastar​ for this BEAUTIFUL mood board 🤩

♫: Who by Lauv (feat. BTS) | Say Something by Pentatonix | Inner Child by BTS

cr.

When Jimin was younger, he knew superheroes existed. After all, his own mother was one of them. She cooked, washed the clothes, taught Jimin the alphabet, ran the grocery errands, worked from home, read Jimin a bedtime story and tucked him into bed—which was her daily schedule. She was strong, loving and caring. The things every mother should be. She handled problems better than she handled her emotions, that woman.

Which was probably why she cheated on Jimin's father. Jimin was only five when he heard the shouts and screams coming from downstairs. He remembers how frightened he had been, gripping his pillow and trying to drown the sound of yelling with his blankets. Only shortly after that night, his mother had packed her bags and left. Jimin never saw her again.

But life wasn't too bad after that. You had shown up, after all.

Even though Jimin's once perfect family was ruined, he didn't mind too much. When he's with you, he forgets about all of his other problems.

You'd first waddled up to him in his kindergarten class with a green marker in hand. "Can you please color me green?" you'd politely asked.

If Jimin's mother taught him one thing before she walked out of his life, she'd taught him manners. So when you, a complete stranger, had been so polite about a request that didn't look like it'd do much harm, Jimin complied.

He helped you color yourself green. Halfway through the process, he'd said: "Why are we coloring you green?"

You'd laughed out loud, grinning as you announced emphatically, "BECAUSE GREEN IS THE BESTEST COLOR EVER!"

You hate it when Jimin teases you of your first encounter with him. Mainly because you had yelled out 'bestest' at the top of your lungs that day and 'bestest' is most definitely not a word. (You're kind of a grammar freak.) Not to mention, both of you had gotten into huge trouble for coloring you green that day. Jimin had cried when the teacher had scolded the two of you, but you had shrugged, patted Jimin on the back and boldly asked the teacher, "Would you like to be colored green as well?"

You were banished to the time out chair and your star got moved down two slots into the angry orange section instead of the happy green. Jimin had felt sorry for you, but you didn't seem like you cared that much. Your skin was your favorite color. How could you not be happy?

Later that same day, you'd declared Jimin your best friend. And then you had taught him your secret language so no imbecile could eavesdrop on your private conversations. Jimin thought you were the coolest human being alive.

Jimin still thinks you're the coolest human being alive.

He's thirteen and waiting for you outside of your house so both of you can walk to school together. Walking to school side by side has been a tradition ever since you were little, too. It was also a tradition that you were always a few minutes late.

You suddenly bust out of the door with half a bagel in your mouth and your hair a frenzied mess. "Bye Granny!" you yell as the door slams shut. "Let's go!" you exclaim to Jimin in your secret language as he nods in agreement. The two of you begin to walk to school.

"What are you today?" he asks as he looks over at your outfit of the day. You're wearing black cargo pants, a black mesh top with a black tank top underneath, big, black boots and metal chains around your neck. You like to keep your fashion choices interesting by having a different style every day. You've already tried prim and proper, goth, princess and tomboy. But this... Well, this was something definitely new.

"I'm a bad girl." You grin, chomping down on the rest of your breakfast and brushing your hands together to get rid of the crumbs.

Jimin frowns. "You're gonna get dress coded," he says but upon your disappointed look, he sighs. "You're gonna get dress coded," he says in the secret language.

"Am not."

"Are too."

You roll your eyes, flipping your messy hair over your shoulder. "They can dress code me. Fine. I'll go to school in my underwear the next day, then."

Jimin laughs, shaking his head. "They'll send you to juvie."

You snort, throwing your head back in a fit of laughter. "Oh, Jimin, I—" You suddenly gasp, hand flying into your pocket to fish out your favorite green permanent marker. Its name is Gilbert.

"Grammar error?" Jimin asks.

"Yeah," you sigh, shaking your head in disdain. "Over there."

There's a sign in front of a local coffee shop that painstakingly reads: free cakes everyday after four!

"They forgot the space between 'everyday,' " you huff, so disappointed that you forget to speak in the secret language. "Wait right here."

Jimin stops walking, watching you quickly stroll over to the sign and circling the word, 'everyday' with Gilbert and marking in all caps right next to it: NEEDS SPACE.

You make your way over to Jimin again, sighing. "When will people learn?"

"Not everyone is good at grammar, Y/N," Jimin reminds you. "I think you're being a bit of a grammar Nazi."

You scoff. "So what if I am a grammar Nazi? Do you think it's acceptable to parade around town using the wrong 'everyday?' " You throw your hands in the air for dramatic emphasis.

"I mean, everybody makes mistakes," Jimin tries.

You huff, crossing your arms. "Yeah, like your outfit," you grumble. "You forgot to hook a strap of your overalls over your shoulder."

"Hey!" Jimin says. "It's fashion!"

"It's ridiculous," you counter. "It's like you're trying to show off your man chest."

"Well, you're trying to show off your girl chest."

You gasp, gazing down at your black mesh top before realizing Jimin's actually right—this stupid top does expose a lot of you to the public's scrutiny. "Don't look there, idiot!" you say. "Perve."

"What am I supposed to do? Not look at it?"

"Yes!" you say very indignantly. "A true gentleman would not look!"

"But it's right in front of my face!"

"You know what, Jimin? You can walk to school alone!" You start dashing away from Jimin, your heavy boots thumping on the concrete.

"Wait! Y/N!"

Though you might've won the fight at that moment, Jimin becomes the real winner when you come out of your house the next day wearing a turtleneck that covers your whole upper half and modest boot cut jeans with white sneakers.

"What are you today?" Jimin teases in the secret language.

"Shut up," you mutter. "Let's go."

Jimin happily obliges, skipping his way to school as you grumble, following right behind him.

Sometimes Jimin wonders what he would do without you. You were the angelic figure that had swept him off his feet when he needed a good distraction from reality. You had stepped in when his mother had stepped out. And he loves you no matter how weird you are.

"Jimin?" you ask, your head propped against his chest as his arm wraps around you. Both of you are staring up at the blue sky with sunglasses on.

"Hmm?"

"I think I can speak to the weather," you confess in the secret language, grinning wildly as you watch the clouds shift in the blue sky. "It was probably my fourteenth birthday gift from the universe, you know?"

Jimin loves how you never grew up. You were the same Y/N he knew in kindergarten with a big imagination and overflowing creativity—only smarter, taller and more beautiful.

"You can speak to the weather?" Jimin asks.

You nod. "I'm making it sunny right now."

"Really?"

You snuggle into his chest, clinging to his warmth as you laugh. "I control it with my emotions. I'm so happy right now that the sun can't help but shine upon us."

Jimin's heartbeat quickens as you clutch onto his t-shirt, but he tries to play it off. "And why are you so happy right now?"

"It's summertime!" you exclaim, suddenly jumping up and out of Jimin's arms. "We'll be in high school this year!! And you know how much I love hanging out with my best friend."

Jimin smiles, though he wonders if you'll ever love him the same way he loves you.

"You know," you sigh as you trudge down the steps of your apartment building in a large green raincoat and white boots with a glazed donut in your hand. "I'm feeling pretty horrible today. I think it's going to rain."

Jimin nods as he looks up at the sky. Sure enough, the rain clouds are settling in, painting the sky a dark gray. "That's not a good way to start off the first day of high school."

"It really isn't," you sigh.

"Is it your granny?" Jimin whispers in the secret language as both of you begin to walk to your new school.

You flinch. "She's just... she's not feeling too well, you know?"

"I'm sorry," Jimin says. "Do you know what it is?"

"She won't fucking tell me," you groan, handing your donut to Jimin. "I don't want it. Do you?"

It's Jimin's favorite food: a glazed donut, so he takes it and munches on it. Something tells him that you saved it just for him. "Thanks," he says. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No..." You shake your head, your lips that had been set in a stern lip suddenly curving up to reveal a bright smile. "Sorry, I'm totally killing the mood. We should be excited! High school, right?? Oh my god, do you think we're all going to dance in the gym like we're all in it together??"

"That stuff only happens in the movies," Jimin chuckles as he finishes the last of your donut. But upon seeing your disappointed face, he offers: "No, we'll definitely dance around in the gym singing songs from High School Musical."

"That's more like it!" you exclaim.

Crazily enough, by the time the two of you reach the new school, the rain clouds have disappeared from the sky. Jimin looks over at you, who had taken off your raincoat to reveal a rather summery green t-shirt dress. Maybe you really can control the weather with your emotions.

Jimin admires how you don't give two flying fucks about social standards. You're brave enough to be yourself, to stray from society and not conform to stupid high school stereotypes. You're everything that he isn't. And in sophomore year in high school, you're wilder than ever before. Frankly, he thinks you're what everyone wants to be but is too afraid to be.

"Did you study for the AP chem test?" Jimin asks as he fidgets with pages and pages of notes in his hands.

You snort, tugging your favorite green jacket around yourself. "No. Why would I? It's just a test."

"But it's an important test," Jimin insists, eyes glazing over as he half listens to you and half crams last-minutely. "Last test to raise your grade before the final."

"My time's important too," you laugh. "I don't regret those six hours I spent reading yesterday. You know, I woke up so late today that I had to wear my pajamas to school."

Jimin glances down at your sweatpants and looks up at your tousled hair.

"Yeah," you say, "only had time to put on the nearest jacket. But it's kind of hot, isn't it?"

You're right. Ever since you helped nurse your granny back into top-notch health, the weather was perfect—always sunny and just slightly breezy. It matches your mood.

You shrug off your green jacket, folding it away. When Jimin notices your shirt underneath, he gasps out loud.

"Y/N!"

"What?"

"You're wearing those pajamas!" he exclaims in the secret language, frantically. "Do you wanna borrow my t-shirt or something?"

"What? No!" you cock your head. "What's so bad about my t-shirt right now?"

"Y/N, you're literally wearing a shirt with the periodic table on it. We're taking a chem test!"

"Oh, you're so funny, Jimin," you say, shaking your head. "It's just a t-shirt. No one will care."

Fast forward ten minutes later when your AP chem teacher calls you up before you sit down with your test and tells you that you need to put a jacket over your shirt.

"But Mr. Levitt!" you protest. "I don't want to be in a stuffy jacket when I'm taking a test!"

Mr. Levitt sighs, but after an intense one-minute staring contest in which you claim victory, he agrees to turn on the air conditioning. Silently, everyone thanks you (it's a hot day, after all) as you return to your seat with your jacket covering your shirt and your eyes sparkling with their usual mischief. Jimin thinks you might've elaborately planned this whole scheme out. Mr. Levitt is infamous for being a total tightwad on the AC, so maybe you thought you had to do something about it instead of studying for the test.

Naturally, you proceeded to completely bomb the chemistry exam.

"Ugh," Jimin groans the next day as you step out of your home with an apple in your mouth. "The scores are out. I got a 92%," he huffs. "That's barely gonna raise my grade."

You laugh out loud, tossing Jimin another apple that he gratefully catches. "I got a 43%. Deal with it."

"You're serious."

"I'm always serious," you giggle, twirling around in your rather nice-looking outfit. Jimin notices you took extra time to curl your hair and apply a sheer lipgloss on your lips. "Besides, you know, that test had so many grammatical errors that I couldn't possibly focus on the problems!" You scoff, shaking your head disdainfully as your eyes gloss over to remember the horror you saw the day before. "I had to whip out Gilbert and fix all the errors, you know? I didn't even get to look at half the questions on the test. But I'm pretty sure I got everything else right, though," you confidently announce. "Totally worth it. Mr. Levitt needs to learn a thing or two about dangling modifiers."

"But Y/N, you can't fail a class!" Jimin protests. He doesn't have the guts to tell you that you earned your 43% after a 13% curve—that in reality, you'd really gotten a 30%.

"I'm not failing," you giggle, "yet."

"What am I gonna do with you?"

You shrug, biting at your healthy breakfast and chewing slowly. "Anyways, do you like my outfit?" you ask in your secret language, totally changing the subject.

Jimin warily eyes your pretty skirt and button-down top. His face heats up just a little bit, but he forces himself to look away. "Why'd you dress up so much? You're going to fall down wearing those heels."

You roll your eyes so hard Jimin can see the whites of your eyes. "Google Earth always takes pictures, my friend," you sing. "If people see me walking down this street on that app, I want to look fabulous."

Jimin's learned a long time ago from experience to not believe everything you say. (One time when the two of you were six years old, you told Jimin if he waited in his garage at night without falling asleep, he'd see his father's old, battered Hyundai turn into a chivalrous robot—this was after you had watched Transformers with him at home—and Jimin had stupidly believed you. What followed was him staying up for three nights in a row, waiting for the car to morph in Optimus Prime. He was almost going to stay up for a fourth night until you had to put an end to his madness by telling him you were joking.) And there were many, many more times your large imagination had convinced Jimin something that wasn't real, was. But now, he knows when to take your words with a grain of salt.

Even so, the next day, he dresses up extra nicely. Just in case Google Earth is taking photos.

You pass sophomore year with mediocre grades, but by now, Jimin knows you don't really care much about your transcript.

Junior year is rumored to be the hardest of all in high school, a rumor that turns out to be quite true. Well, except for you.

Jimin's reading for his huge physics exam on his bed while you're propped up against the headboard, legs tangled absentmindedly with his. The two of you had been in that position for hours. Normally, you can't sit in one spot for more than forty-five minutes, but you must be concentrating on something because you'd been way too still and quiet for way too long.

"Hey, Y/N?" Jimin calls in the secret language. "You good?"

"Hmm," you hum. "Mhm."

When Jimin looks up, he sees you sewing. You must've gotten that sewing kit splayed before you from your granny. It's really endearing how much you love her and how much you're willing to do for her. She's the only family you've got left around here, and she's the one that has taken care of you since you were very young. Your granny is a lot like you, too. Jimin's heard from you that she likes watching extreme sports and hopes to become a three-time gold Olympic medalist snowboarder by the time she's dead (though she hasn't won a single snowboarding contest in her life). She loves fashion and enjoys taking you out to shop. She likes to preach that grades do not define intelligence. (It seems as though you've had that soaked in your brain for a very long time.) Her husband, Gilbert, was a grammar freak like her, but he passed away before you were born. You named your permanent green marker after him.

You don't like to talk about it, but your granny hasn't been in great health in the past few years. Jimin knows how much it's putting a strain on you, yet you insist that everything's completely fine before suggesting to embark on another wild journey.

"Are you sewing something on your favorite shorts?" Jimin asks, setting down his physics book.

You nod, tongue poking out of your lips as you concentrate. "It's a QR code."

"Oh, really?" Jimin becomes interested as he scoots closer to you so that your arms are touching.

"Yeah, so when I wear these scandalously short shorts and guys are checking out my ass, they'll see this QR code instead and dare to scan it, you know?" you smile proudly at yourself, setting down your sewing project as you lean again Jimin's shoulder. "Wanna know what comes up when you scan it?" you ask in the secret language.

"Yeah."

"Information about colorectal cancer."

"What?"

"Colorectal cancer. Colon cancer, Jimin." He notices the way your lips tremble slightly as the words spill out of your mouth. You're struggling to keep a straight face.

"Oh, Y/N... Your granny—"

"Yes," you cry out, tears starting to well up in your eyes. "Stage four, Jimin. Fucking stage four. She has about a year left."

"Y/N..."

You move in to hug Jimin, crying into his shirt as he wraps his arms around your waist, letting you cry in silence.

You don't like to cry. Jimin's only seen you cry one other time in his twelve years of friendship with you—when your granny had her first cancer scare a couple years back. To see you breaking down in front of him like this hurts him more than words can describe. You're usually so resilient; you wear a fierce smile on your face even when times are tough. But you'd have to take off your happy mask at some point.

He lets you sob into his chest, warm hands tracing circles on your back in hopes of soothing you. He never knows the right thing to say, unlike you, so he stays quiet.

It takes a few minutes but your sobs dwindle to soft sniffles, then to complete silence. Jimin holds you in his arms without complaint, savoring your warmth, hoping that just embracing you can help.

You pull away, wiping off the residue of your tears on your face with the back of your sleeve. "I'm so sorry, Jimin," you whisper, your hands tracing the wet patches of your tears on Jimin's shirt. "I think... I need to go home."

He doesn't stop you when you pack up your sewing kit and leave without another word. And he hates himself for being so cowardly.

But the next day, you come out of your house with a bright smile on your face. You're wearing the shorts with the QR code sewn on the back, proudly flaunting them to Jimin. He does everything so his eyes don't linger around your ass; in the end, he just looks away entirely.

You laugh when you see him blush, linking your arms together as you march to school. The sun's shining brightly today, but the streets are wet with the hard rain that had poured last night.

All too soon, senior year rolls by with summer just around the corner. You and Jimin make use of your lax time, no longer needing to worry about grades or academic productivity.

"You know, everyone has one deep fear," you confess, snuggling up against Jimin on the sofa in your room. "You know what mine is, right?"

Jimin nods. "Losing your granny."

"Good. Well, I think I know what yours is."

"Really?" Jimin asks, letting you rest your head on his chest as he plays with your hair.

"You're afraid of being left alone," you whisper. "You're especially afraid someone you love will leave you."

"Hmm..." Jimin hums. "Like my mother?"

"Yeah. But me too."

"You?" Jimin asks, bewildered, suddenly sitting up and moving away from you to stare into your eyes. "You're leaving?"

"Hey, relax," you giggle, shaking your head. "I'm not leaving forever. I'm just... I didn't tell you but... Granny passed away a few days ago. You know when it was raining really hard that night? Yeah, well that was because I was crying nonstop. She'd always wanted to be buried in Hawaii because that's where she met Gilbert. I'll be in Hawaii for a week—"

"Why don't you tell me anything until the last minute?" Jimin sighs. "You could've told me your granny passed away the day it happened. Why are you telling me now?" He struggles to keep his voice from trembling too hard. I didn't even get to say goodbye to her...

You shake your head, biting your lip to keep a straight face. "Because I knew I'd break down if I told you the day it happened."

"Y/N, it's okay to cry..."

"No, Jimin. It's not. I'm supposed to comfort you. I'm supposed to be the strong one that doesn't bat an eyelash when trauma comes her way. I'm supposed to be resilient, Jimin," you sigh. "I refuse to cry."

Jimin doesn't know what to say.

"I know," you say, leaning forward to grasp Jimin's warm hands. "I'm so sorry. I told you we'd go to the senior prom together. I'm so, so sorry, Jimin." You're smiling to reassure him, but your façade isn't fooling anyone—thunder clouds boom outside of your house, then the rain begins to fall. "I'm sorry, Jimin," you say again. "I want to make it up to you somehow."

Jimin had completely forgotten about going to prom until you had brought it up. You'd made those plans during freshman year, and both of you had been excited about it for all of high school. Now, it looks like those plans will be ruined. But Jimin knows how much you love your granny. She means way more than a silly prom night to you. He'll have to figure something out for himself. "You don't have to make anything up to me, Y/N," Jimin says. "I'm not going to prom, then, I guess."

"But you've been waiting for it since we were in ninth grade," you protest, shaking your head. "You were going to wear a green suit to match my green dress, remember?" you say in your secret language, a small smile playing on your lips. "I can get someone to go with you."

"It's fine, Y/N," Jimin says, shaking his head. "My dad wants me to start thinking about my future, anyway. I don't think he'll appreciate me going out without knowing what I want to study in college."

You nod. "Oh, okay, then."

"You're not going to college, are you?" Jimin whispers.

"I can't, Jimin," you shrug, a fake smile plastered on your lips. "I got a job at a restaurant as a waitress. I think I'll manage financially. You know, I think you should go into engineering or some pristine shit. You're too good at math and science."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jimin says as you cuddle into his chest again. He's known you for thirteen years now and he's never seen you this let down in his life. You're struggling to hide the gargantuan amount of pain you're feeling, but the weather is reflecting your emotions too well. Jimin never knows how to comfort you—partly because you're rarely upset, but also because he's scared you might leave him if he says the wrong words.

You're right.

Jimin's terrified of losing someone he loves. He's scared that you'll leave him one day.

Your senior year in high school is the last time Jimin sees you sad. It takes you a few months to adjust to a life without your granny, but after that, you jumped right back up and out of your misery. The years rolled on through delightful days and unforgettable nights. Both of you are 24 now and it seems like nothing has changed.

Jimin waits for you to come out of your house in your work uniform, and you do just a few minutes after he arrives.

"Hey!" you beam at him. "Hope you didn't sleep too late studying or whatnot."

Jimin laughs as the two of you begin to walk to your workplace. "I actually pulled an all-nighter studying for the mid-term," he shrugs, pointing at the dark circles underneath his eyes.

"Aww, Jimin," you coo. "I'm kind of glad I never went to college. Much less try for a master's degree. After your classes, wanna meet me during my night shift?"

"Sure," Jimin agrees. His eyes glance at your petite figure, admiring the bright look on your face and your sparkling eyes before realizing what you were wearing. "Oh, Y/N!"

"What?" you giggle. "Do you like it?"

"The manager isn't going to be happy about that, Y/N," Jimin sighs.

Your work uniform was black and red—a modest black dress with a cinched-in waist and short sleeves and a red waist apron. It was a uniform that Jimin thought made you look gorgeous, but he knew how much you hated it. You'd complained several times that the outfit was too dark and gloomy and that it made you look like a sexy vampire. And you do not like sexy vampires. (Jimin thinks that's because you always rooted for Jacob the "sexy werewolf" in the hit book series, The Twilight Saga.) But what could you do about it? The black and red uniform matched the colors of the logo of the restaurant you worked in: The Black Dress.

Yet it seems like you do not give a fuck.

You're now wearing a bright green skirt with a green fanny pack around your hips, and the white pirate blouse you bought on a shopping spree sale last Halloween. Your red waist apron is tied around your neck so it flows behind you like a cape. And to top it all off, there are green clips in your hair.

"I think I look outstanding!" you chirp, twirling around. "I'm still wearing my apron so I think I'll be fine."

"Y/N... You work at The Black Dress... You can't not be wearing a black dress!" Jimin cries. "You're going to get fired!"

"Nah, I'm not," you snort. "I think the new manager has a soft spot for me. He'll really like my rather innovative work uniform!"

"What if I come over during your night shift to find out that you're no longer working there?" Jimin protests. "How are you so sure he'll be fine with you not following the dress code?"

"Oh, Jimin," you giggle, shaking your head. "Live a little! Break a few fucking rules, will you? The manager and I are good friends. I'll be fine. We're still on for tonight, right?"

"Yeah," Jimin scoffs, "if you still have your job by then."

"I will!" you protest. "Do you wanna bet?"

"What? No!"

Jimin knows when you threaten to make a bet, you're always 100% sure you're going to win. He had lost a lot of money before he’d figured that out.

"See? I'll be fine, Jimin," you say, stopping your walking when you come in front of the restaurant. "Good luck on that mid-term, all right?" You give him one of your best grins, hitting his back encouragingly as you begin to walk backward towards the entrance of the restaurant. "You're going to ace it!" you yell in the secret language.

Jimin smiles brightly. He knows that your words of encouragement will do wonders to his score like always. "Thanks!" he calls. "Bye!"

You wave your arms frantically, nearly tripping on a rock as you do so (walking backwards is not your thing). With final grins exchanged, you head into the restaurant. Jimin watches as you leave, unable to hide the fierce blush of his cheeks. It's been almost two decades and he's failed to tell you that he loves you.

Meanwhile, you sashay into the restaurant, twirling around in your modified work uniform. "Hello, everyone!" you announce in your best singing voice.

"Good morning, Y/N," your manager offers, smiling at you as he walks up to greet you.

He's a handsome man, you must admit. In his early thirties, intelligent, good with his words and rather caring.

"It's just me for now," he chuckles. "I guess the others will come later."

"Wow, I can't believe I'm the first one here, Namjoon," you laugh. "I'm literally always the last. Isn't this the first?"

Your manager laughs as well. "This is a special day then, isn't it?"

"Every day is a special day. Is it not?"

"That's very true," Namjoon agrees. "Is that why you decided to ditch your work uniform, Y/N?" he teases. "I must say the modified version looks quite nice. Someone has a penchant for the color green doesn't she?"

"You caught me!" you exclaim, raising your hands up in mock guilt. "My best friend thought I'd get fired or something. He's such a plain Jane," you giggle. "But I love him though. He's coming over later during my night shift. Is that okay?"

"Of course that's okay," Namjoon smiles. "I thought he was your boyfriend. Doesn't he walk you here every day?"

You laugh so hard you snort. "Boyfriend? Boyfriend?! God, no! We've been friends for nearly two decades, Namjoon! I think one time we even showered together. We're literally best friends."

"Good," Namjoon grins. "Because I've been wanting to ask you out for a while."

Your eyes widen. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. When are you free?" he asks.

"Hmm..." you think. "Well, I'm supposed to have a movie night with Jimin on Friday. On Saturday, Jimin and I are supposed to watch the water fountain show we bought tickets for like seven months ago... On Sunday I'm supposed to sleep over at his place so we can wake up on Monday at the same place, you know, so it'll be easier for Jimin to walk me here... I think I'm okay Sunday. As long as I get to Jimin's home by 8!"

Namjoon laughs at your long explanation, looking at you fondly. "I'll take you out on a cafe date. Then we can watch a movie and have an early dinner. How does that sound?"

"I like it!" you giggle. "I haven't been on a date in... damn, I've never been on a date."

"Really?" Namjoon asks, slightly bewildered. "No one's taken you out on a date? You?"

"Yeah!" you blush. "Why? Am I date-worthy?"

"You're very date-worthy, Y/N," Namjoon laughs. "Maybe everyone thought you were already taken. You know, you spend a lot of time with your best friend."

You snort. "Jimin and I hang out all the time but I never once thought of anything as a date. He probably thinks of me like I'm his sister!"

"Good, good," Namjoon grins. "So he won't be mad that I'll have to steal you away for a day."

You giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Jimin never gets mad. The last time he got slightly irritated with me was in senior year of high school."

"Great!" Namjoon says. "I'll see you at the cafe next door at 2?"

"Sure!" you exclaim.

"Everything's planned, then," Namjoon smiles. "Well, we have fifteen minutes left until the restaurant opens. Why don't you get dressed in your actual uniform? We have extras in the back, okay? Maybe I'll see you around today! I'm going to go check up on our chefs."

"Okay!" you nod. "Bye!" When he's out of view, you have to duck your head to hide your blushing red cheeks. When was the last time a man was interested in you? Never. You're not going to mess up on a perfect chance to date Kim Namjoon who's tall, handsome, intelligent and diligent. You don't think you can wait to meet Jimin during your night shift to tell him such good news. You might just accidentally text him right now! But you can't. Jimin's taking a test and you would be evil to distract him like that.

You've awaited your fairytale romance for 24 fucking years. Maybe you've finally found the Gilbert to your granny. Something about Kim Namjoon feels right.

You squeal giddily as you flee to the back counter of the restaurant, finding the extra black dress there as Namjoon said. You skip to the bathroom to get changed, folding up your modified uniform and stashing it somewhere in the back counter. Your radiance is obvious during your day shift—you get three times the amount of tips than usual. Namjoon even notices and compliments you on your diligence!

Usually, when your day shift is over by 4 p.m., you like to sit in the corner of the restaurant with a fresh magazine in hand and use Gilbert to correct all the embarrassing grammatical errors until it's time for your night shift. But today, Namjoon sits down across from you (because his work for today was over) and he asks what you're doing.

You spend the next two hours until your night shift explaining to Namjoon the intricacies of correct grammar. He seems to enjoy every minute of it. When you have to go back to work, Namjoon promises to see you tomorrow, which was Friday and wishes you the best on your night shift. You let out a dreamy sigh when he leaves.

How did you not notice such a great man like Namjoon was right in front of your face? Granted, it's only been a few weeks since he started working here, but still.

You're usually just a little bit tired (crazy, right? for such an energetic person like you) by the time you start your second shift, but you feel more energized than ever. By the time Jimin comes into the restaurant, you're serving the last customers and cleaning up the tables and pushing in the chairs.

"Hey!" you cry, rushing in to hug your friend. "How was the mid-term?"

"It was great!" Jimin beams. "You've been in a really good mood today, haven't you? The sun was out the whole day. Huh, and you're not fired, I see. Someone made you put on the uniform?"

"Yeah, Namjoon," you say dreamily. When Jimin makes a blank face, you clarify, "my manager."

"Oh? He wasn't mad?"

"No! He wasn't!" you giggle. "He asked me out on a date, Jimin! And then he told me to change into my uniform, but that's beside the point! We're supposed to meet on Sunday at the cafe next door at 2! This is my first date! You have to help me with what to wear!"

Jimin plasters on a giant grin for you, though his insides crumble. "That's great, Y/N! Maybe I can come over later and help you choose what to wear. Are you thinking of making it official? It sounds like you really like him..."

"I don't know yet," you hum. "But I know he's a great guy! You know how well I read people, right? He really likes Gilbert too! God, I think he's already gonna be my prince!"

Jimin nods. "Wow," he mumbles. "Do you know him very well?"

"Well, I know that his name is Kim Namjoon. And he's the day-time manager for The Black Dress," you say, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to think. "He has blonde hair... uh, he's tall and he likes to wear all black!"

"You don't know him very well, do you?" Jimin accuses, crossing his arms over his chest. "Y/N, how do you like him so much if you barely know him? Is it because he expressed interest in you? You can't just go liking people back just because they like you... You need to make judgments for yourself."

You pout, shaking your head. "It's not like that," you say. "And I made my judgment already! I like Kim Namjoon, Jimin. Besides, I will get to know him. Now, I'm gonna go close up the restaurant so sit tight, all right?"

Jimin nods, grumbling under his breath about how quickly you were moving on to like someone you barely gave a second look at. He does admit that he's a bit jealous... Who was this Kim Namjoon who just decided to waltz into your life and steal you away from him? Who was he to ask you out just based on physical attraction? Jimin can't believe you were falling for a guy you basically just met. But he does admit that you've always wanted some sort of fairytale romance. Is it too late for him to confess now?

"Why are you thinking so hard?" you giggle, making Jimin jump away from you from the suddenness. "I closed up the restaurant. Shall we go home?" You hold out your hand for Jimin to take, which he does after just a bit of hesitance.

"I was not thinking very hard," Jimin says.

"Oh, really?" you snort, swinging your intertwined hands back and forth. "You were thinking so hard, a vein popped out in your forehead! A penny for your thoughts?"

When you hold out an actual penny for him to take, Jimin laughs, shaking his head. You huff, putting the penny back in your pocket. "It was nothing, Y/N."

"Wow, I didn't know nothing made you think so hard you looked angry," you tease. "You can tell me anything, you know."

"Yeah, of course," Jimin sighs, squeezing your hand and struggling to hide his actual feelings.

Damn. If he could control the weather with his emotions, it would be raining right now.

Jimin knew you would never be one to put your dates over your friends. That fact was confirmed for him when even though you got Namjoon's phone number, you never texted him when you were hanging out with Jimin—which was practically all the time.

Your Friday movie night was a blast, as usual. The two of you cuddled up on the couch and completely lost it over a hysterical comedy. And the Saturday hangout was even better with the majestic water fountain show. When the two of you separated that night, you ended up FaceTiming in each of your houses. Like Jimin had promised, he helped you pick out a cute but modest outfit for tomorrow—something that enhanced your best features (which Jimin thought is everything) and something that would make it very obvious that green is your color. You went to bed smiling because you were excited about your date with Namjoon tomorrow. Jimin went to bed smiling because you were the last person he saw before going to bed.

On Sunday morning, Jimin woke up, texted you to have fun on your date and began to study for his advanced thermodynamics class, which was a whole fucking pain in the ass. He skipped lunch, got a snack around early evening and waited for you to come over while he watched some kitten Youtube videos.

You were supposed to be back from your date by 8 p.m. It is promptly 8:07 and Jimin begins to get a bit nervous. Should he text? Call? 8:07 is such an ambiguous time. If he calls now, he'll sound clingy, like he's trying to interrupt your date with Namjoon. Well, Jimin wouldn't mind doing that, but he doesn't want to hurt your feelings and burst your idealistic bubble. Perhaps he should wait.

You're always late to everything, anyways. If Jimin wasn't in your life, you would've been late to every single day of school from kindergarten to high school. Hell, if he hadn't banged on your door for you to come out on graduation day, you might've never graduated high school. Maybe Gilbert fell out of your flimsy dress pocket and you're looking for it? (It's happened before so it could surely happen again.)

Alas, the door of Jimin's small apartment swings open and you practically skip through, giggling and twirling around. "Sorry I'm late!" you say, rushing over to where Jimin was slouched on the couch and cuddling up next to him.

You smell faintly masculine. Jimin struggles not to make an unflattering face—that was no doubt Namjoon's cologne. He wonders what base Namjoon took you to tonight. Did you kiss him? Did you make out with him? Have... sex?

He shudders thinking about it.

No. That couldn't have happened. They were in public places the whole time. Unless...

He glances over at you who's stripping off your jewelry, socks and jacket. You're too busy tying up your hair into a messy bun to notice Jimin staring at your lips. Had Namjoon kissed you goodbye?

Jimin shames himself for having these thoughts. He should be happy for you. Besides, you weren't even that late. It's only 8:10.

"You wouldn't believe why I was like, ten minutes late," you giggle, stretching out your legs and sitting in an unflattering position that hikes your dress up to your mid-thigh. Jimin struggles not to look down.

"Really?" he asks. "What happened?"

You snort. "Okay, so—wait do you have my makeup remover wipes here? And can I borrow some sweats? I totally forgot to bring a change of clothes. Sorry!" you say.

Jimin nods. "Yeah, the wipes are in my bedroom where you last left them and um, you can find some of my t-shirts in the first drawer of the cabinet next to my bed."

"Okay, thanks, Jimin!" you giggle, quickly bouncing up from your spot. When you see that Jimin's still glued to his seat, you laugh. "I can't tell you the story when you're that far away from me! Get up! I'll tell you the story while I change."

Jimin flushes at the thought. "Y-Yeah, okay," he stutters. You tug him into his own bedroom, snatching the makeup wipes from the nightstand and beginning to wipe off your light makeup. Jimin sits down on his bed, cross-legged, attentively waiting for you to start your story.

"Okay, anyways, Joon—"

"Joon?"

"Yeah, it's like my little nickname for Namjoon, isn't it adorable? Where was I? Right!" you mutter to yourself as you furiously scrub off the remnants of your mascara. "We were coming out of the movie theater, right? I found out Gilbert wasn't in my pocket! And I was just about to turn around to tell Joon my misfortune but he was already facing me and yelling, 'I FORGOT MY PHONE!' "

You take a moment to skillfully aim the wipe into Jimin's trash bin, squealing when it goes in completely clean. Jimin claps politely for you.

"Thank you," you bow dramatically. "Oh yeah, where was I?" You begin to make your way towards Jimin's bedroom cabinet, pulling out the first drawer and inspecting your choices of nightwear and sticking your hand in the neatly folded clothes to rummage through and pick your poison. "So, naturally, Joon and I went back into the theater and—ooh, Jimin you have a few condoms in here! Are you getting it on these days?"

"Y/N!" Jimin shrieks, scrambling over and snatching the condom you were teasingly holding out before chucking it into his closet and slamming the door shut. "T-That's private."

"Oh, really?" you ask, wiggling your eyebrows. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"Come on, Y/N. I'm a virgin, you know that."

You raise your eyebrows. "It looks like you're tired of being one though," you tease.

Jimin can't look you in the eyes. His face burns with humiliation. He can't possibly explain why he had bought those condoms. Back when he was an undergraduate, he had been desperate to get over his feelings for you—so desperate, in fact, that he had purchased his first batch of contraceptives to have sex with other women and completely forget about you. But he never had the guts to try. How could he? When he was so hopefully in love with you that he couldn't imagine himself being sexually active with someone else. Er, not that he sees himself being sexually active with you. But—

I need to stop thinking about this.

"Aw, Jiminie," you coo. "It's okay to be a virgin," you say in your secret language as you sit down on the bed with one of Jimin's favorite black t-shirts in hand. Jimin believes you must've thought he was pissed off at you for teasing him about being inexperienced. "I'm a virgin too, right?" you say. "I'm waiting for my prince!"

Jimin breathes a sigh of relief. So you hadn't had sex with Namjoon tonight. For some reason, he feels much better after hearing that. "You know what, Y/N?" he smiles. "I'm waiting for my princess."

You smile so bright it lights up the room. "Good," you say. "Let's get married on the same day, then. A double wedding in a castle far, far away!" you place a dramatic hand over your forehead. "Now! Where was I for the hundredth time? Oh, yeah! Joon and I went back to the theater," you say, starting to unzip your dress.

Jimin's eyes turn wide and he quickly turns his back towards you, making you laugh.

"I'm not putting on a strip show," you giggle. "You don't have to be so embarrassed about it!"

"I-I, uh, I'll just give you some privacy. Tell me when you're done," Jimin manages to choke out.

"So gentlemanly. How do you not have a girlfriend yet?" you chuckle to yourself, sliding the sleeves of the dress of your shoulders and dragging the fabric off of your body. "Okay, okay, okay. I need to focus. Anyways, Joon and I went back into the movie theater and the first thing we did was to go back into the room where we watched the movie—great film, by the way—and we literally scrounged around everywhere for my poor Gilbert and Joon's phone! But to no avail! It was as if both of them disappeared!"

You toss your dress on the floor, unclip your bra and tug Jimin's shirt on in smooth motions.

"Jimin, you can look now," you say.

He turns around, ears slightly pink and eyes averted. Quickly, Jimin sits down on his bed, across from you. "You can continue your story," he offers.

You grin. "So, Joon was panicking at this point because he lost his phone. And I was about to burst into tears because I lost Gilbert, you know?"

Jimin nods in response.

"Yeah, so I figured I'd have to be late coming to your apartment because I can't just leave without Gilbert! When I reached into my purse to get my phone to tell you of my misfortune, guess what happened. Guess! Guess!"

Jimin pouts. "Can't you just tell me?"

You roll your eyes. "I was building the story up just so you could literally guess what happened with no problem," you huff. "Fine, then. I reached into my purse to get my phone and I pulled out Namjoon's instead! Turns out, before the movie, Joon was holding all the snacks and he dropped his phone. So, you know, I picked it up and couldn't give it back to him so I just put it in my purse!"

Jimin smiles. "And you forgot you put it in your purse?"

"Well, yeah!" you giggle. "I was so worried about Gilbert!"

"Did you find him?" Jimin asks.

You snort. "Is that even a question, Jimin? I wouldn't be this happy right now if I hadn't. You'd never guess where Gilbert was, Jimin."

"So there's no point in me trying, right?" he responds, teasingly. But when he sees your death glare, he sighs. "Fine. Was Gilbert in Namjoon's purse?"

"HA!" you exclaim. "Good one! But no, it was in my right pocket."

"Oh, Y/N," Jimin says, leaning back on his bed. "You only checked your left pocket before you declared Gilbert missing, huh?"

"Yessir!" you laugh. "Joon and I got a good laugh out of it. He told me I'm really silly! And, get this, he said I'm a natural!"

"Really?" Jimin says. "A natural at what?"

"Dating!" you squeal. "He told me I'm naturally cuddly and adorable and kissable and—god, my heart exploded in my chest!!!"

Kissable???

"But I told him I don't kiss on first dates—not that I've never been on another one... You know? Like you need to give them something to long for!" you laugh, spreading out on Jimin's bed while looking up at his ceiling. "I read that from a romance novel somewhere. And it worked! He asked me out on our second date during our first date! Am I amazing or what?"

"Oh, Y/N," Jimin sighs.

"Oh, Jimin," you mock right back. "Anyways, shall we go to bed early? My princess beauty sleep is waiting!" you sing, making your way to Jimin's bathroom. "I'm gonna wash up, okay?"

"All right," Jimin answers, getting up to turn off the lights of his room. He crawls back into his bed, waiting for you to join him. A few minutes later, you do, tucking yourself in on the left side of the bed and snuggling Jimin's blankets as you sigh out.

No matter how many times he's slept beside you, Jimin feels like his heart will beat out of his chest every time. It feels wrong, to sleep in the same bed as adults when you're in nothing but a platonic relationship with him. Yet something about it feels so right... And you've been doing it since you were kids and upholding tradition is pretty important to both of you.

Jimin double-checks to make sure he isn't pulling the blanket covers too hard. He doesn't want you left with anything to stay warm through the night.

"Goodnight, Jimin," you whisper.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispers back.

And he drifts off to sleep. Only in his dreams can his longing to be with you come true.

Jimin is always your priority. You have a lot of friends, but when it comes to who you're willing to spend the most time with, it's Jimin. And it's always been like that—since that one fateful day in kindergarten to now. Er, kind of.

These days, your priorities may have shifted just a tiny bit.

It's been like that ever since Namjoon took you out on that stupid fifth date, which was the date that marked the official start of your romantic relationship with him. Jimin had sulked in his bed that whole day when you'd first texted him the news. But later, he forced himself to get up and have a cup of coffee with you in the cafe next to your workplace. He feigned a smile for you and told you that Namjoon was one lucky man.

And he was.

Now that Namjoon is officially your boyfriend, Jimin had to share you with him. It's unfair. Jimin's known you for nearly two decades, but Kim Namjoon decided to waltz into your life one day and win you over in less than a month. What did Namjoon have that Jimin didn't??

But no matter how bitter your relationship with Namjoon made Jimin feel, he hid it away from you. Besides, you are practically glowing these days. Whatever Namjoon tells you makes you absolutely radiant. And Namjoon must be a good man because you come over to Jimin's apartment after every date happy and bubbly like it was your first. So he's definitely treating you right.

You don't get to spend as much time with Jimin anymore, too. Sometimes, Jimin asks if you're available for lunch or dinner but half the time you've already made reservations with your boyfriend. Yet you always make sure you see Jimin at least five days a week (two days less than what was before, but it's a small price Jimin's willing to pay for your heightened happiness).

Since your birthday is coming up, Jimin's been putting the finishing touches on your present—the one he's been preparing since the day after your last birthday. This year, you've already made him a short little flipbook (that you drew yourself) about the first time the two of you had first met for Jimin's birthday. The gift was rather nostalgic and it had almost made him cry. Jimin hopes the present he makes for you this year will make you cry. In a good way, of course.

You and Jimin share every single one of your birthdays. It's been an ongoing tradition since Jimin turned six before you did. This year is no different. You had to tell a very bummed Namjoon that you already made dinner reservations with your best friend so he'd had to give you your present when you ate lunch with him earlier that day.

Jimin doesn't really think Namjoon likes him that much. He always eyes Jimin with some sort of suspect as if Jimin was going to steal you away from him. Hmph. The feeling is reciprocal.

When you came to your favorite restaurant wearing your favorite green dress, Jimin had already ordered the food and was patiently waiting with his hand-made present.

"Hey!" you cry as you slide into the seat.

"Happy birthday, Y/N!" Jimin smiles. "You look great!"

"Right?" you giggle, tossing your perfectly curled hair over your shoulder. "I felt like for my 25th birthday, I'd have to wear something cute. I'm halfway to the fucking 50 years old, Jimin. I'm aging too quickly," you huff, crossing your arms over your shoulder. "Did you order already?"

"O-Oh, yeah," Jimin says. "Why? Did you want something different?"

"No, I just wanted to check if the menus had any grammatical errors," you laugh, shrugging. "Oh well, when we get dessert menus, I'll check out RM."

"RM?"

"Oh! It's part of the gift Joon gave me," you exclaim, pulling out a—

"Red marker?" Jimin scrunches his eyebrows. "For your birthday?"

You nod, placing the marker on your desk and rolling it towards Jimin so he can pick it up and examine it. Jimin does, scrutinizing the marker that was most definitely not as great as Gilbert.

"Well, Joon always saw that I was correcting grammatical errors with Gilbert and he thought that something red would be more emphatic, you know?" you explain, taking out Gilbert from your left pocket. "Of course I love Gilbert more, but I thought I'd give RM a try. Besides, Joon said red serves as the better color for correcting. He said the color itself brings alert to the problem and that green is too passive. I guess I can see that."

Jimin frowns. "But you like green because it's 'passive,' " Jimin sighs as he makes air quotes with his hands. "And it doesn't make the corrections seem as rude and aggressive."

"I know, Jimin," you smile. "I'll try RM out once and keep it on a shelf somewhere. Gilbert's not going anywhere. You know that. Besides, Joon was really insistent that I tried it out, you know? He was so thoughtful too! I think it's a great gift! And I think it's endearing that he named it RM for me. Did you know RM used to be his nickname when he was back in college and in an acapella group? The man can sing! What can he not do?" you gush.

"He named the marker after himself?" Jimin snorts. Typical.

"Well, yeah, I guess he did!" you laugh. "It's like I'm always carrying around a mini him!"

Bleh.

"Yeah," Jimin agrees without much heart. "Oh, wanna see what I got you for your birthday?" he asks, hoping to steer the conversation away from your boyfriend.

"OH MY GOD, YES!" you exclaim. "I've been waiting for this moment since my last birthday."

"Good," Jimin grins as he whips out a box with pretty, green wrapping. "Here."

You take it from him, shaking the box wildly and with wide, happy eyes. "It's kinda heavy!" you comment, beginning to rip the wrapping off. You skillfully force the box open with the butt of your fork. When you finally see your present, you gasp. "Oh, Jimin, you fucking didn't."

"I fucking did," Jimin smiles proudly. "Open it."

You carefully take a photo book out of the box, your eyes glued on the beautiful front cover. "God. I'm tearing up just looking at the front," you laugh. "Where'd you even get these photos?"

He shrugs, smiling. "Here and there, you know?"

Jimin had made sure the cover of the photo book would be littered with childhood photos he and you had taken when you were younger. The rest of the book is filled with little memories the two of you shared growing up with captions and comments underneath. There are a total of 392 photos in the book. And Jimin had spent seven months accumulating them—mostly from his father's old camera and Jimin's old Nokia phone he dug out from his garage. You'd always wanted a photo book, so Jimin thought it was time to gift you with one.

You're excitedly flipping through the pages, spending more time to stare at the more sentimental photos. Even when the food arrives, you can't put the book away. You're so distracted with Jimin's present that you don't even try to correct the grammar errors on the dessert menus. So Jimin grabs Gilbert and makes corrections himself. He puts the correct accents on crème brûlée and corrects a rather obvious spelling error. Then, he proceeds to order two strawberry cheesecakes. Surprisingly, even when the dessert arrives, you don't put the book down.

It's rare when something entrances you so much that you don't speak for long periods of time. You haven't spoken a single word to Jimin ever since you'd started flipping through the photo book, and Jimin finds that he doesn't mind at all. He loves watching how your face relaxes and contorts again as the memories of your childhood flood through you. The last photo in the book is the one your granny took of you and Jimin fighting over the last glazed donut when the two of you were in first grade. Spoiler alert: you'd won. But you had also felt bad after watching Jimin sulk so you'd broken the donut in half and handed a piece to your best friend.

When you finally catch sight of the last photo, you gasp, putting a hand over your lips.

"Granny," you whisper. "She took this photo. I remember..."

You're practically clouded with nostalgia and Jimin swears he sees tears welling up in your eyes. But you won't cry over something as simple as this. It's the fact that you loved his gift so much that you almost cried that counts.

"Gosh... Jimin," you breathe, fanning your eyes. "I'm not crying, by the way. Something's in my eye, I don't know," you mumble.

Jimin grins.

"I don't even know what to say, Jimin. I love it. I'll cherish it forever. Thank you. God, it's perfect," you say. "Wow. You're leaving me speechless, Jimin. And it's very hard to shut me up. You're something special."

Jimin practically beams. All the time and effort he'd spent on your birthday gift had really paid off. He loves seeing you so happy that you can't even describe what you're feeling in words.

You carefully shut the photo book, setting it off to the side before staring right into Jimin's eyes. "I would totally fucking say I love you right now but I don't think Joon would appreciate it."

"What?" Jimin breathes as his heart flutters in his chest. "But he's not here right now."

"He doesn't like it when I do 'romantic' things with you," you sigh as you lean back. "We had a long discussion about it a few days ago."

"Romantic things?" Jimin makes a face. "What the hell is he talking about?"

"Oh, it's not a big deal!" you exclaim, waving your hands. "He just thinks, well, he thinks that some of the stuff that I do with you... um, is not really, uh, platonic."

Ah. Jimin sees where you're going with this. And now it's obvious why Joon always looks at him so suspiciously—Namjoon feels threatened by Jimin.

"How so?" Jimin asks but he already knows the answer.

"Like um, he doesn't like it when I sleep over at your place, you know?" you say, fidgeting in your seat. "And he really put his foot down when I told him we sometimes share a bed. He said I shouldn't really do that with you anymore."

Jimin understands where Namjoon is coming from. But at the same time, he feels as if Namjoon had violated his rights. His rights to be with you.

"I can't hold hands with you either," you say, looking down at your uneaten strawberry cheesecake. "I'm so sorry, Jimin. I know we've been doing it for so long and I swear, I didn't know it was strictly a relationship thing. But apparently it is, and it made Joon uncomfortable that we were holding hands when I'm really dating him and just—" you stop yourself from rambling, sighing as you take a sip of your ice water. "And I really love him, Jimin," you whisper. "I don't want to lose him."

"You love him already?" Jimin says with a slight tremor in his voice that you completely look over. "It's only been a month, Y/N."

"Love has nothing to do with time," you smile wistfully. "He's my prince, Jimin. If I let him go, he'll find someone else."

Jimin's silent, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn't hurt your feelings.

You take his silence as a bad sign. "Jimin, I didn't want to break all of this to you on a celebration night but I felt like you deserved to know earlier," you say in your secret language. "I'm sorry. It was all part of our tradition too."

"It's fine," Jimin sighs. But it's really not. Yet Jimin hides his pain by shoving a forkful of cake into his mouth. He chews slowly, swallows. "What Joon's suggesting is pretty justified. Don't worry about it."

The rest of your birthday dinner is somewhat awkward. Of course, you try to save the mood by cracking a few jokes here and there, but Jimin finds it hard to laugh. It's the worst birthday he's ever celebrated with you.

You and Joon have only started dating for a month, but so much as changed already. Jimin doesn't even want to think of the drastic changes that might follow as your relationship with your 'prince' deepens and blossoms into something even more serious.

When Jimin arrives at your home to walk you to work on a Monday morning, he does a double-take because he finds you already waiting outside, shivering from the chilly air in nothing but your plain work uniform. Never in the twenty years that he's known you have you ever been on your doorstep before him.

"Y/N?" Jimin asks, bewildered. "What happened?"

"Hey!" you exclaim, waving at your best friend enthusiastically. "Nothing happened. I'm just trying to get into the habit of being early. It's not a good habit to be late all the time."

"Your face is red, Y/N!" Jimin says, shrugging his thick coat off and handing it to you and you take it gratefully. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Eh, just a few minutes," you say, sniffling your runny nose and grinning. "I'm as red as RM! Besides, the sun's shining. You know what that means? I'm fine."

Jimin shakes his head. "You should've waited inside. I'm okay with waiting. I've done it for twenty years so I wouldn't mind doing it for more."

"Joon told me I should get into the habit of being early," you giggle. "I've been late to every single one of our dates so far, you know?"

"Well, you've been late to every single one of our hangouts but I never said anything," Jimin scoffs.

"It's different with you," you say, smiling.

How? Jimin so desperately wants to ask. But he's afraid of your answer.

You wrap Jimin's black coat tighter around yourself as you skip down the porch steps. "C'mon! I wanna get to work super early!"

It takes only a week later for Jimin to realize you like going to work early because your boyfriend's already there, waiting for you.

You've been with Namjoon for about three months now, and the effects are starting to impact Jimin's life rather largely. For starters, you're spending way less time with him than before. The daily routines you had established with him for years are broken as you mold your lifestyle in the way that Namjoon wants you to. Jimin hates change more than anything. You should know that.

And you do. You apologize profusely—any chance you get—about the little changes in his lifestyle because of you; Jimin never blames you, though.

When you missed his grad school graduation because Namjoon bought you expensive vacation tickets to an acclaimed resort in Hawaii, Jimin didn't blame you.

It was Namjoon who had bought the tickets and it was Namjoon who told you the trip wasn't refundable. It was Namjoon who wanted to take you away from Jimin for a week. You promised you would FaceTime him.

And you're the best promise-keeper in the world.

"How is it there?" Jimin asks in the secret language as he lounges on his couch. "Is the weather nice?"

"It's beautiful!" you exclaim, moving out of the screen to show Jimin the sparkling blue-green oceans behind you. "We went snorkeling a few hours ago and we just had lunch so we're waiting to digest our food before we dive in again! I wish you were here," you pout. "I'm sorry I missed your graduation, by the way. Was your father there?"

"Yeah, he was. Don't worry about that," Jimin says. "I'm glad you're having fun."

"Aw, thanks!" you giggle. "Joon really outdid himself with all of this. Oh, how's your job status, by the way?"

"I got the job," Jimin smiles. "I didn't go through with those extra few years of school for nothing."

"HA!" you snort. "If I actually went to college, I would've been kicked out for literally failing every class. Remember when I got a 32% on that physics test? God, I hated Mr. Chung. Look at that! After all of these years, I still remember his goddamn name!"

Jimin shakes from laughter. "Of course I remember! Mr. Chung told me to tutor you or something."

"And then you told Mr. Chung that—"

"Baby?" Namjoon calls off-screen, interrupting you mid-sentence.

You turn around to look at him. "Yeah, babe? Oh, wait, sorry. I mean, yeah, babe?"

Jimin can hear Namjoon sighing. "Baby, can you please, refrain from using that secret language of yours in public?" he whispers. "I'm so sorry, but it sounds a bit like a chicken is being repeatedly run over by a car and people are starting to stare."

Jimin's about to give Namjoon a piece of his mind when you cut in before him.

"Aw, I'm sorry Joon," you giggle. "I made the language when I was really young. Explains a lot, doesn't it? Sorry, Jimin," you tell the camera. "I guess we'll have to stop our encrypted conversation."

"And baby?" Namjoon calls. "We're on vacation! Technology should be off when we have such beautiful scenery around us."

Jimin grits his teeth.

"Right!" you laugh. "Silly me. Sorry, Jimin," you say again, not even looking into the camera this time. "I have to go! I'll talk to you later, okay? Bye!"

Before Jimin can even answer, you end the call. Jimin's left staring right back at his own frustrated face. He chucks his phone across his couch and covers his face with his hands.

At first, Jimin didn't like Namjoon because he was jealous. But now, it's come to more than that. Namjoon's been trying to change the little quirks and habits that made you, you; he's trying to mold you into the same society you rebelled against for all of your life. He's trying to take you away from Jimin. He's trying to strip you of everything you were before you met him.

But what can Jimin do about it?

You're too head over heels in love with this Kim Namjoon. That man is the self-proclaimed prince to your princess. Jimin can't help but think he's the ogre. A handsome, successful ogre who strikes slowly, so slowly that the damage cannot be detected until it's too late.

If Jimin tries to warn you about Namjoon and his dubious intentions, you might not believe him and hate Jimin for life. If Jimin says nothing, he might not be able to recognize you in a few years' time at the rate the changes are happening now.

Jimin doesn't know what to do. He hates confrontations—that had always been your job, not his. So he does what he always does: nothing.

Being with you every day is a mystery. You have something new up your sleeve every single day without fail. Whether it be a new fashion style or a new gadget you made, you're always flaunting something that others wouldn't dare flaunt. And that's what made you so special.

But the crazy color schemes that had once been in your closet have been reduced to dark, muted colors. The Halloween costumes you kept every year to wear as everyday clothes were sitting on a rack in some Goodwill store. You dressed... plainly now.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with that. It's just not you. It is Namjoon though. Besides from Jimin, Namjoon is the plainest man he knows. And so far, switching out your wardrobe was definitely not your idea, though you seem to believe it is. That Kim Namjoon. He's planting these stupid ideas in your head and you're absorbing them like a sponge, too kind and docile and a bit too naive to disagree with your boyfriend.

Jimin's heard the way you talk about him. Your eyes gloss over with complete adoration and you giggle at everything Namjoon does. You're madly in love with him, and Jimin can't do anything about it except watch.

But no matter how many of your habits and physical lifestyle Namjoon can change, he can't touch your personality. You're the same girl Jimin's known and loved for years and years of his life. And he's not going to let you go anytime soon.

"JIMIN!!!" you yell, almost knocking your friend over by hugging him the moment you open your apartment door to see his face. "You're two minutes late!" you pout as you drag him over in front of your television. "I already picked a movie!"

Jimin can't deny Friday movie nights with you is the only thing he looks forward to these days. Though you don't cuddle with him on the couch anymore, you like to lean against his shoulder. And that's enough contact for Jimin to be satisfied.

"Really?" Jimin grins. "What movie?"

"Interstellar!" you say, collapsing on your couch as you aggressively pat the empty seat next to you. "Hurry up! Hurry up! I'm excited!"

"Y/N? Are you sure?" Jimin asks as he sits down next to you with a confused look on his face. Usually, when you choose a movie, you always end up reverting back to your classic favorite Disney princess films. "I know you don't really like sci-fi..."

"Yeah, but I told Namjoon I already watched that movie, but I haven't. So now I need to watch it," you explain quickly. "You like sci-fi, though, so you can explain all the things I don't get! Which would be half of the movie."

There Namjoon goes again. Making you watch movies that literally lull you to sleep.

"Okay," Jimin sighs. He doesn't have the guts to tell you that he's watched this movie hundreds of times.

By the time the roll credits are playing on the screen, you're completely knocked out. Well, you've been knocked out since the first twenty minutes of the film. Jimin's been watching you sleep for the rest of the two hours and thirty minutes of the film. (Not in a creepy way—an endearing way.) He had to stop himself multiple times from reaching out and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and away from your face.

God. Jimin needs a drink of water. Is it just him or is the room getting hotter?

He stands up slowly and quietly, making sure he wouldn't disturb your peaceful beauty sleep. Jimin's known your home since he was five; he could walk blindfolded to the kitchen if someone made him. He finds refuge near your water dispenser, fanning his face and taking his own cup from the cupboard. Your granny had bought that blue cup for him years ago, gifting you with a separate green cup. It's the only cup you use at home.

Jimin fills his cup with water, downing all of it in one large gulp. The water helps him cool off just a tad bit. He moves to place his used cup in the sink, his eyes habitually glancing over at your trash can.

You never remember to put a plastic bag inside it, which makes the gross remnants of your waste stick to your trash can. And Jimin can definitely say that that stench is horrendous. Jimin sighs as he finds an empty Walmart plastic bag rolling around your kitchen. He approaches the trash can, holding his breath just in case. But when he checks inside, there is nothing in it except for—

"GILBERT?" Jimin gasps loudly.

"JIMIN?!" you shriek. There's a resounding thud in the living room and a small "oof," from you as you lay sprawled on the floor.

"Y/N!" Jimin yells.

You dash over to your kitchen, rubbing your eyes and trying to adjust to the bright kitchen lights. "Jimin?" you say, your brows furrowed as you approach your friend who's pointing aggressively at your trash can with wide, angry eyes. "Oh," you say softly when you realize what he's talking about. "Right..."

"Why is Gilbert in the trash, Y/N?" Jimin asks, running his fingers through his hair as he grips the kitchen counter for stability. "Was it Namjoon? Did he do this?"

"No!" you shout. "I did it, Jimin. I tossed Gilbert in the trash."

"Why?" Jimin whispers, taking a step away from you. "That marker's everything to you."

"I know, Jimin, I know," you groan. "It dried out. It's ages old, you know?"

"But you take such good care of it, Y/N." Jimin shakes his head. "And you're just tossing it away like that because it dried out? What about your grandfather? What about your granny?"

"Jimin, it's fine. I'm fine," you say, shrugging. "It's time I let go, you know?

"Let go of what, Y/N? The only family you've known?" Jimin sighs. "What happened to saving the world by correcting their grammatical errors?"

"Its," you reply.

"What?" Jimin says exasperatedly.

"Saving the world by correcting its grammatical errors," you say, a slow smile emerging on your face as Jimin shakes his head to hide his own grin beginning to manifest on his face. "I'm sorry, Jimin. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking," you say. "Well, I wasn't. Joon and I had our first fight today."

"Oh..."

"No, don't you 'oh' me, Park Jimin!" you laugh. "It's really not that bad! He told me I had a premature taste in films and an immature outlook on life, but I mean, he's not wrong, you know? I tried to stay awake watching Interstellar. I really did. But Joon's right. I can't like anything that's advanced. And I realized that it's a crime to vandalize, too..."

"So you threw Gilbert away because of that?"

"Well, yeah," you say. "It's a crime, Jimin. I didn't even know until Joon told me! He's so wise!"

"Oh, god," Jimin groans, burying his face in his hands.

"Ah, c'mon, Jiminie," you say, grabbing his wrists and trying to pry his hands away from his face. "He's helping me move on, you know? He's helping me become a better person!"

A better person.

The words sting. If your definition of a 'better person' is losing the spark, the color of your life, then fine. You were already a better person than before. But all Jimin can see is the monochrome you. The you without color. Which doesn't really seem like you at all.

But it hasn't rained in a while, so maybe you were truly fine with losing your color. Either that or you had also lost the ability to control the weather with your emotions. Jimin wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

Jimin is a patient man. Not only has he waited twenty years for you to love him back (which you never did), but also he never outwardly expressed his frustrations with your change in lifestyle to you.

Besides, if Namjoon's making you that happy, then there really was no problem, right?

Wrong.

You call Jimin on Sunday with the worst news ever imaginable.

"I'm moving!" you squeal and Jimin can hear you jumping up and down on your bed from the other line. "Joon asked me to move in with him!!"

You've only dated him for four months.

"H-He did?" Jimin stutters, cursing himself for sounding so pathetically off-guard. "What about your home? Your granny's home?"

You've lived in that house ever since you were born until now.

"I can't live in that house, forever, Jimin. I want to move on!" you say. "Plus, I think Joon and I are ready to take our relationship to the next level!"

"That's ridiculous," Jimin mutters, raking his fingers through his hair in pure frustration.

"Sorry?" you say.

Shit. Jimin had forgotten you were still on the phone.

"Nevermind," he sighs.

"Jiminie," you say with that characteristic lilt in your voice. "You can tell me what you're thinking you know! I haven't been your ride or die best friend for twenty years to not know what's going on with you."

"I know," Jimin says. But he can't tell you that he absolutely despises your boyfriend. It'll break your heart. And Jimin doesn't want to be the reason for your unhappiness. "Congratulations, Y/N," he says. "I hope you like your new place, then."

"I love it, Jimin!" you squeal. "Joon remodeled his bedroom recently and damn it's just so beautiful! I'll finally be living in a castle with my prince!"

"That's great, Y/N!"

"I know, right?" you exclaim in such a voice that Jimin can tell you're absolutely beaming on the other line. "You have to come over when the move's finished! You know what? Come over this Friday for movie night! I wanna give you a tour of my new home!"

"Namjoon won't mind?" Jimin asks.

"He's going out with friends that night," you giggle. "We'll have the whole place to ourselves! Did you know Joon has a flat-screen TV?? It's humongous!"

The offer sounds very tempting. Watching a movie on a high-end television with you on a Friday night? Hell yes. It almost makes up for the fact that you're moving out of the house you and Jimin had practically grown up in.

God, Jimin can't wait for Friday to come.

It's Jimin's turn to choose the movie when Friday night finally rolls around. Since he knows you nearly idolize Rapunzel, he suggests the two of you rewatch Tangled for probably the millionth time. But before the movie had to come the house tour, of course.

Namjoon's home is rather spacious for a guy who was single for a long time. You parade around the home as you've already lived in it your whole life. Jimin silently tags along. He has to admit that Namjoon's home is, indeed, better than your granny's old house. But he nearly bursts with jealousy when you show him around the big bedroom that you supposedly share with Namjoon.

"Isn't it great?!" you say, twirling around the commodious room with a bright grin on your face. "Joon even bought new sheets for us! I wanted green and he wanted white, so we went with light gray," you giggle. "Compromise of the century, huh?"

"Still looks white to me," Jimin mutters under his breath. But you're so hyped about showing your best friend around your boyfriend's home that you don't hear him.

"C'mon, let's go watch Tangled, now!" you say, dragging Jimin back to Namjoon's expensive leather couch and switching on the flat-screen TV.

Both of you collapse on the couch, leaning against each other by habit as the movie begins to play on the screen. Jimin's watched the film with you so many times that he's basically memorized the whole script.

You like to silently mouth Rapunzel's lines and Jimin mouths Eugene Fitzherbert's lines. You also like to sing when Rapunzel does, and you've been trying to convince Jimin for years to sing with you. But Jimin does not sing. And that was that.

No matter how many times you've watched Tangled, you cry when Eugene Fitzherbert 'dies.' Before you were dating Namjoon, you'd always bury yourself in Jimin's arms, waiting until the climax of the scene is over. Nowadays, you limit yourself to placing your head on Jimin's shoulder, burying your face in Namjoon's couch pillows. Jimin doesn't mind. He likes that you take comfort in his presence.

Just as the tension of the scene is about to lift, the front door of the house opens and Namjoon walks in. But you're so engrossed in the movie that you barely notice, instead, digging your face harder into the pillow.

Jimin's head jerks towards Namjoon and their eyes meet. Namjoon doesn't look very happy. For just a split second, Jimin fears his life. He takes the time to scoot a bit away from you so Namjoon doesn't come for his neck. You whine when Jimin pulls away, trying to tug him back as your eyes are glued to the TV.

"Y/N..." Jimin whispers. "Your boyfriend's here."

"Oh, what?!" you say, breaking from the trance that the movie had put on you and finally turning your head to see a frowning Namjoon. "Joon! You came back so early!"

"Why is he here?" Namjoon asks, ignoring your enthusiasm. He doesn't look at you when he speaks, his eyes trained on Jimin, instead. Jimin gulps.

"It's Friday movie night!" you laugh. "We're watching Tangled! Oh, Jimin can you pause the movie? Damn, we'll have to rewind it. Wanna watch with us?"

"No, Jimin," Namjoon says through gritted teeth. "Turn the TV off. Y/N, this is not your home. It is ours. You're to tell me if you are to have guests over." He glares at Jimin again. "Then we can talk if they are welcome here or not."

"I-I, uh, I have to go," Jimin stutters, desperately, standing up from the couch.

"But we didn't even finish the movie!" you protest, grabbing Jimin's wrist and looking at him with puppy dog eyes. "We always finish the movie."

"Y/N, we need to talk. Let him go," Namjoon says, crossing his arms.

"I—" you sigh, letting go of Jimin's wrist. "Okay..."

It hurts to watch you look down at your feet like Namjoon was scolding you. You look so small, powerless up against him that just for one, small second, Jimin contemplates staying. Maybe give Kim Namjoon a piece of his mind.

But who is he kidding? Jimin could never compare himself to a man like Namjoon.

"I'll uh, talk to you later," Jimin quickly says. He doesn't look back when he leaves and you watch him go with a certain emptiness in your heart.

The moment Jimin's out the door, he runs. He runs from your boyfriend, your obvious pain... He runs away from himself. But he should know. No one can outrun cowardliness.

You're really the only significant figure in his life; the only person he's loved for twenty consecutive years. Yet he can't do anything to save you from the obvious monster that is your boyfriend. Jimin hates himself for that.

He crash-lands on his bed, burying himself in his pillows and drowning in self-hatred. He lays still for what seems like hours in the darkness, the silence. He tries to numb his thoughts. But when his vision is nothing but a black screen, he cannot do anything but think.

He thinks of the fight you might be having with Namjoon. He thinks of how sad you must be inside. He wonders if you genuinely like being with Namjoon. He wonders if you're genuinely happy. But most of all, he wants to know if you miss your old self.

Jimin groans when he hears his phone ring next to him. He doesn't want to get up nor move, but something inside tells him that it's important. That it might be you.

And it is.

Hurriedly, Jimin answers the call. "Y/N?"

"H-Hey, J-Jimin," you wheeze.

Jimin freezes. You're crying. And everyone knows you don't cry.

"Y/N?!" Jimin panics, sitting up. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Of course I'm okay!" you yell, making Jimin wince at the harshness of your voice in his ear. "Joon and I just fought! I'm fine!" you sniffle. "You said to talk to you later so I'm calling you!" you try to laugh but it comes out like a broken sob. "I'm not crying, I swear!"

Bullshit.

This is the third time Jimin's heard you cry. The first two times had been because of your granny. This time? It was because of that bastard, Namjoon.

"Did he do anything to you?" Jimin says, his hands slightly shaking as he waits for an answer.

"No! Joon would never," you say. "We just talked. You don't have to worry, Jimin."

"He looked angry when I left..."

"He was..." you sigh. "Listen, Jimin... this is going to sound bad, but um... Joon... He, well, he doesn't want you coming over anymore."

"What?!" Jimin blurts out. "At all?"

"It's okay! It's okay!" you say, though you sound far from it. "I can always come over to your house!" You sigh deeply. "It's just that I don't think Joon's very comfortable around you."

No, he's just not comfortable when I'm around you.

"This is ridiculous," Jimin mutters.

"Sorry, Jimin, what did you say?" you ask. "I didn't hear."

Jimin closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He tries to stay calm, tries to keep from bursting out and yelling, but he can't help himself. It had to be said. "It's fucking ridiculous!" he shouts suddenly, standing up and starting to pace back and forth in his room with a crazed look on his face. "He's being fucking ridiculous!" he yells.

"Him? You mean Joon?" you say.

"Yeah!" Jimin throws up his hand in frustration. "He's acting like he fucking owns you!" Jimin snaps.

God. He's done it now. There's no going back.

"He's not, though!" you protest. "Don't get mad, Jimin. He's only voicing his rightful opinion. There's nothing wrong with that."

"He's trying to separate us!" Jimin yells. "Don't you get it?"

"No!" you say, starting to raise your voice. "Joon wouldn't do that!"

"Like he wouldn't fucking convince you to throw away Gilbert? Like he wouldn't convince you to clean out your closet and replace it with clothes that he finds sensible? Like he wouldn't fucking convince you to keep your distance from me?? He wouldn't fucking do any of these, huh?" Jimin shouts, his voice interlaced with anger and sorrow. His throat feels raw in his neck, but he continues on with the thoughts he's held in for months. "You're blind, Y/N! He's ruining your fucking life can't you see? Where's the Y/N who used to talk to me for hours before going to sleep in our secret language? When's the last time you've spoken that, huh? And when's the last time you pretended to control the weather with your emotions? Where's the real Y/N? What happened to her?"

"Joon doesn't like her!" you yell at the top of your lungs. Your voice rings in Jimin's ear.

"Why do you want Joon to like you? What are you trying to prove to him?" Jimin cries, his voice quivering.

"I'm following my path to love!" you shout. "It's something you'd never understand. You don't even know what that is! I've never, ever seen you pine for anyone in the fucking twenty years I've known you! You can't be talking about love if you've never fucking felt it!"

Jimin collapses on his bed, his head numb and hands cold.

You take his silence as defeat. "I fucking thought so," you say. "Joon says you're too dependent on me. You need to go out and make another friend other than me. The world changes, Jimin. People come and go. Stop being just so—just so fucking stuck in the past. Goodbye."

You don't wait for a response, ending the call right away.

Jimin's phone slips from his ear, falling face down on his bed. He's frozen into shock. If only you knew why he had never chased after love for twenty fucking years. He didn't need to. Because his love was right in front of his face the whole time.

Aside from the occasional bickering as kids, you and Jimin had never fought. This is the first time both of you had exchanged nasty words with each other.

You had used to call Jimin a peaceful soul because of his extreme hate for confrontations, unnecessary drama and fighting. Not once in his life had Jimin ever said something that he knew could damage something significant to him. Not once in his life had Jimin ever initiated an argument. Not once in his life had Jimin ever really argued, in fact. It had always been you yelling and Jimin nodding if anything.

But when things had stacked up, Jimin couldn't take it anymore. He'd cracked. He'd yelled. And he'd finally fought with his words.

Yet the fight doesn't symbolize anything except a double loss for Jimin because you had ultimately chosen Namjoon over him. Then, you'd proceeded to completely crush his heart by failing to recognize his love for you.

Jimin never had to worry about heartbreak. He and you had always been best friends, nothing more. No matter how much he loved you, he never acted upon it, which meant you never rejected him. So, yeah, no heartbreak.

But this... that fight... When you'd accused him of not knowing love... when he had loved you for years. That was heartbreak. And it is still heartbreak.

Jimin found it extremely hard to get out of bed every morning after the fight. Sometimes, throughout the day, when something even the slightest bit amusing happens, he whips out his phone to inform you of it. Then, he realizes he and you are not quite on speaking terms at the moment. Jimin also realizes if he can't text you, he has no one else to text.

Maybe you were right. Jimin needs more friends.

It's almost been a week since the fight on the phone; it has also been almost a week of constant rain. It pours down hard and steady, only slowing down for light drizzles in the afternoons. It's the only reassurance that Jimin can get. That you're just as sad as him. That some part of you misses him as much as he misses you.

The weather forecast said the rain was supposed to clear by tonight. But Jimin waits by his window, where the thunder clouds boom over the roof of his lonely house and the rain pounds against the concrete. It's a storm.

He worries about you.

Maybe he should text you? Call you? What if you're all alone in your room, crying profusely and that bastard of a boyfriend, Namjoon's giving you the silent treatment? It's like Jimin can feel your pain through the weather.

A lightning bolt flashes through the sky and four seconds later, Jimin hears the booming thunderclap. It wasn't supposed to rain today. You must be crying all alone. You must be missing your granny. You must be missing him.

Another sharp thunderbolt pierces through the dark rain clouds in the sky and the thunderclap rings louder than the last. That's it. Jimin picks up his phone.

It's sad that you're still the only person in his favorites contact 'list.' He taps on your icon and presses the phone against his ear, looking out the window as if you were out in the rain all by yourself. The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Usually, by then, you pick up the phone. But it occurs to Jimin now, that this is not going to be a usual conversation. His phone is heavy in his hands and he rests his cheek against the cold window, wondering if you're ever going to pick up.

Maybe you're crying so hard that you can't hear your phone ring.

Jimin lets out a shaky sigh, just about to disconnect the call to avoid hearing the all-too painful dial tone when you finally pick up.

"J-Jimin?" you breathe, groaning. "God, Jimin."

"Y/N?" Jimin exclaims. "Thank god, Y/N!" he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Mmm," you groan again.

"That's right, princess. You're mine all right?" a hushed, masculine voice whispers.

"Joon," you whine, urgently. "Please..."

Jimin can hear the soft slapping of skin in the background, Namjoon's heavy grunts and your whimpering. Immediately, the hairs on the back of Jimin's neck stand up straight. It's then when he realizes that you're moaning from pleasure. That Kim Namjoon's fucking you right now. And that you had still decided to pick up Jimin's call.

Tears blur Jimin's sight as he fumbles to end the call, chucking his phone halfway across the room afterward. He crumbles up in a ball, digging his face into his arms and sobbing.

Did you disrespect him that much? To pick up the call so he could hear you having sex?

It's the first time Jimin's ever questioned why he's in love with you.

Maybe, in the beginning, he had good reasons, but that had been because you had good intentions. You had been boisterous, unafraid to go against the current, wild, rebellious and had this my-way-or-the-high-way kind of character. That's the person Jimin had fallen in love with. The girl who carried around a green marker in her pockets to correct others' grammatical errors. The girl who invented a secret language when she was young just because she felt like it one day. The girl who convinced herself and others that she could control the weather with her emotions. The girl who didn't give two shits about what anyone thought of her. The girl who wore whatever the fuck she wanted because she could. The girl who never showed him when she was sad because she wanted to be strong, resilient. That's the person Jimin had fallen in love with.

But who the fuck are you?

Jimin had used to think it was Namjoon's fault you were so different. But you'd let him change you. You'd become docile, tedious, plain. All the things Jimin was and is. It's your fault. You could've stopped everything if you wanted. You could've broken up with Namjoon. But you didn't. Because you wanted to change.

Jimin can't love the new you. He doesn't even know if he can see you again.

His body shakes hard with fear and rage.

He's definitely not going to see you again.

He was never your prince; you'd ultimately chosen Namjoon. And you were never his princess; he had been delusional to think so.

He's going to walk out of your life. He needs to leave. For himself.

Jimin had already spent a week without your company and that had been enough. Now he wants to cut off all contact with you. He's already blocked your number, switched apartments and stashed away everything that reminded him of you—which was fairly a lot of things. He was so determined to be independent, to forget what it felt like to be dependent on you.

But without your presence, his bland life was even blander than before.

Waking up every day and not walking you to work felt foreign to him. Friday nights felt lonely without you. Weekends were dull. Weekdays were even worse.

He missed having to hear your bright, cheery voice. He missed talking about the craziest things with you. He missed waking up in the morning and wondering what you would be wearing today. He missed Gilbert. He missed your granny, too. Most of all, he missed you.

But you'd hurt him. Whittled away his heart little by little over the many years just by never loving him back. You'd humiliated him by choosing the man you knew for four months over the man you'd been best friends with for two decades.

Jimin figures he'll miss you for a long time. You'd been a large part of his life, after all. He'd already broken off contact with you, and that was already a giant leap. The next step would be to stop thinking about you, and the step after that to stop missing you. And when that's all over, he can stop loving you.

Looking back, Jimin realizes he struggled to get his life back on track for nearly eleven, long months. He'd seen winter come, spring pass and summer leave. But just as winter was making its presence on the weather again, frosting the leaves of plants and chilling the morning air, he'd finally come to his senses.

The past eleven months had been mournful. But as the days passed, he'd allowed himself to think about his current life more than his past. It had occurred to him that now, he was living a life of no-nonsense. Of no silly, childish imaginations. He was living in reality. Where he should've been in for all of his life.

Sure, he spent his birthday alone and without you for the first time since he was five years old. But it was something he could get used to. Celebrating the day he turned one year older just didn't seem like such a big deal anymore.

Maturity suits Park Jimin well.

He'd always preferred things that were tangible, anyway. Things that could be proven. Things that made sense. It was time to say goodbye to the foolish things of his past: secret languages, weather-controlling, naming markers...

It took him eleven months, no, 25 years, but Jimin finally became an adult.  

He's 27, now.

He likes to drink black coffee in the morning like his co-workers. He likes vanilla ice cream the best just because it's the most simple. He likes to tell women that he's a civil engineer to impress them on first dates. He has an adequate number of friends. He goes to work five days a week, eight hours per day. He drinks on Friday nights, watches the news and goes to bed early. On the weekends, he spends his mornings reading articles in the science section of the paper and he hangs around bars at night with his friends.

It's a humble, normal, plain life. But Jimin likes it. It suits him.

He has thoughts about you from time to time; he would never forget what it felt like to love you. But he never again gets the urge to call you. You're a figment of his past, and Jimin's moved on.

The early spring breeze caresses Jimin's cheek as he walks steadily, staring at Google Maps on his phone and glancing up every once in a while so he doesn't run into a pole like last time. He was supposed to have a Sunday brunch with Jeon Jungkook but that silly bastard had canceled last minute on him to take his own girlfriend out on a date. Typical. But Jimin actually appreciates the alone time.

Jungkook had promised to take Jimin to a great cafe that was walking distance from Jimin's place. Since Jimin had nothing better to do, he decided to have his brunch there alone.

"You've arrived at your destination," the monotone voice named Karen drolls.

When Jimin looks up, he sees a small cafe sitting at the corner of the block, surrounded by towering trees shading the area and lots and lots of verdant green bushes. Something about the place seems homely. Familiar, even.

Deja vu, maybe? Jimin thinks.

He doesn't think much more and walks in. The inside of the cafe is decorated mainly with wood, green yarn and healthy vines twisting around the furniture. Jimin's hit by a cordial, oaky smell that instantly calms his nerves and clears his mind. The place is completely empty, too. His footsteps pad against the wooden floor as he admires the little cafe. The ordering counter stands in the corner, fairy lights and green paper lanterns dangling from it to illuminate its surroundings. Jimin walks towards the lights as if he were in a trance.

Something about this place seems so damn familiar.

Jimin hasn't felt this connected with nature, with this much creative liberty since—

"Jimin."

He whirls around, eyes widening and mouth dropping open when he recognizes the owner of that voice. Sure enough, he sees you, wiping your hands on a bright green waist apron. You're wearing a white pirate blouse that could've passed for a Halloween costume and a skirt with layers and layers of different shades of green fabrics—it looks like you'd made it yourself.

"Y/N," your name leaves his lips in a breathless whisper.

"Hey," you smile, waving awkwardly. "It's been a while, huh?"

A while? Two whole fucking years, in actuality. "Yeah, I guess," Jimin nods. He glances at the door, contemplating just leaving, but some instinct inside of him urges him to stay. "You work at this place?" he asks as he walks up to the counter where you're getting ready to take his order.

"Yeah," you giggle. God, Jimin had missed that smile of yours, but of course, he doesn't want to admit it. "Well, I own this place."

"Really?" Jimin asks. "It's beautiful."

"Thanks!" you say. "I decorated it myself. What can I get for you? Do you want me to recommend our best dishes? Look, we have a separate menu just for brunches!" you say excitedly, showing Jimin a neatly laminated menu laced with green yarn. "I recommend the Gilbert Special. Eggs, toast, bacon and hash browns. But, the Jimin Special is our house favorite!"

"The what?"

"100% off for the person it was inspired by," you smile. "That's you, by the way."

"W-Wow, Y/N, I'm—"

"No! You have to take the offer!" you say. "You can't even say you won't like it because it's literally all your favorite breakfast foods combined!"

Jimin smiles, shaking his head. "It's really the house favorite?"

"You bet it is," you laugh.

"Then I guess I'll have a Jimin Special," Jimin says. "Any chance it comes with a glazed donut?"

You shoot him a knowing look, a grin spreading across your lips. "It wouldn't be a Jimin Special without one."

Jimin ends up having brunch with you.

The icy, awkward barriers in the beginning slowly melt away into the friendship Jimin had known for more than half of his life. He dines on the best breakfast he could have ever asked for while getting to talk to you again after nearly two years. He can't imagine a better way to spend his Sunday.

Small talk with you is fun because you spice everything up with loud gasps, wide eyes and extroverted reactions that make even the dullest stories exhilarating. But it's suffocating to speak of such shallow things with a person he'd been best friends with for twenty years. Jimin's dying to know how you've really been, not what you found hilariously funny last week.

"So," he asks, "how are things with Namjoon?"

You snort, shaking your head. "God, that was fucking ages ago," you say. "We broke up a while back."

"Sorry," Jimin says. But he's not really.

"You're not that sorry, aren't you?" you laugh as Jimin's face morphs in shock when you call him out. "It's okay. I know how you feel about him. And I agree with you now. That idiot had the audacity to tell me to grow up. And he called you a good-for-nothing-awkward-ass-wimpy-child." You roll your eyes. "I knew it had to end when he said that. Besides, there's a certain highly endearing thing about innocence, don't you think? We should all be a little more childish."

"Wow," Jimin breathes.

"Wow, indeed," you smile wistfully. "That bastard could've said anything he wanted to me, but he shouldn't have dared to bring you up like that. I can't fucking believe I thought he was going to be my prince! I was so scared I'd lose him so I did everything he said, you know? God, in retrospect, I was just a really, really, oblivious and desperate idiot."

"You were just in love, Y/N," Jimin says. "Love makes you blind."

Your face twists for just a split second before you smile, shaking your head and sighing. "Jimin, I feel like I have to get this out before we become life-long best friends for fucking ever again."

"Hm?"

"I never apologized for what I told you like, two years ago," you say. "That fight we had on the phone? I told you that you didn't know love. And god, I've regretted saying that for every day, every hour, every fucking minute and second of my life. It was wrong." You shake your head, looking extremely disappointed in yourself. "At least what you told me was right. God, I was so angry, so terrified of losing my first love that I spit out words without thinking. How could I say you didn't know love, Jimin?" you say. "Of course you did—of course you do. You wouldn't have stuck by my side for years if you didn't. And Jimin, fuck. I love you too. I never said it enough. But I'm saying it now. I love you and I missed you. And I'm sorry I picked up the phone when I was having sex."

Jimin laughs. Around two years ago, that day had definitely not been a laughing matter. But only time can tell if the most depressing matters can morph into rather laughable memories. "I love you too, Y/N," he says. "And you shouldn't be sorry. I think we're all past that now."

"C'mon, I wanna show you how I redecorated my granny's home!" you say, bolting up and taking Jimin's cleared plates in your hands. "Meet me at the front of the cafe in two minutes!" you holler as you dash to the kitchen.

Jimin can't get rid of the smile on his face. He adjusts his jacket and stands up, taking another look around the cafe before he exits with a light skip to his step. He'll have to buy Jungkook dinner sometime for recommending this cafe to him. What was the name of this place, anyway?

Jimin steps back and squints at the big, capital letters placed on a banner in front of the cafe. He can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him.

"Nothing a Lil Green Can't Fix!" you exclaim as you come bounding down the steps of the cafe to stand next to Jimin. "Isn't that true? Green fixes like, everything."

"Lil's not a word, Y/N. I thought you knew better," Jimin jokes.

"Oh, spare me," you say, placing a dramatic hand on your forehead. "It had to be done. The stupid company had a character limit for the logo. It was either Nothing a Lil Green Can't Fix or Nothing Green Can't Fix," you huff. "And the latter is completely disgusting."

"I agree," Jimin snorts. "Then, in that case, I believe you made the right decision."

You smile. "I sure did. So, shall we go now?"

"Definitely."

Your granny's apartment looks exactly the same on the outside, but on the inside is an abundance of green. From plants to paintings to posters to silverware, everything is green.

"Nothing a lil green can't fix, indeed," Jimin breathes as you drag him around the whole place.

"Right?" you giggle. "Look! I even made a separate cabinet with all the birthday presents I've ever received from you!!"

The tour nearly takes five hours because the two of you get distracted every other minute, indulging yourselves in past childhood memories. And when Jimin's been tired out, the two of you lay side by side on your dark green sheets, silent but comfortable.

"Hey, Jimin?" you whisper, breaking the silence momentarily.

"Hm?"

"Remember our senior year in high school?"

"Of course I do," Jimin says. That year was the hardest (arguably) in your life. It was the year where you learned of the fatalities of death. It was the year you had lost your granny.

"We had the conversation about our true fears that year," you say with so much nostalgia in your voice that when Jimin closes his eyes, he can see the events of that day unfold before him. "Turns out, I didn't have just one fear. I had two. One was losing Granny. The other was losing you. And you know? For two years, I thought I lost you both. It hurt to think that my best friend hated me so much he had to dissociate himself from my life."

"I didn't hate you," Jimin says, opening his eyes as he turns to his side to look at you. "I swear. I just figured it was a good time for me to self-improve. You know, become independent for once. And maybe I didn't like who you had become, but I never hated you."

"Really?" you say, turning to face your best friend. "I was so scared that you'd shit talk me if I ran after you when you left that I didn't do anything. I thought it would've been better if I let you go. But I mean, I think the time apart was needed. We've self-improved."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees.

"So..." you say, a silly grin appearing on your face, "are we reunited now? Best fucking friends forever?"

"Of course we are," Jimin says.

"Okay, good," you say. "And before you say anything else, I have to ask you something, Jimin."

"What is it, Y/N?" Jimin asks, sitting up as you start to rummage in the pockets of your skirt.

"I just—" you're unable to finish your sentence, smiling. "Will you color me green, please?" you politely ask as you hold out a green marker in your hands.

"Oh my god," Jimin breathes. "Is that—"

"I pulled him out of the trash, Jimin," you say, eyes watering with emotion. "As soon as you left that night, I pulled him out. And then I kept him with me for years. I even recently got the ink replaced so it works fine, now." You let your tears fall down your face and you blink rapidly to see your best friend's softened face. "Did you really think for a second that I'd throw him away?" you ask in your secret language.

Jimin almost sobs right then and there. He'd never thought he'd hear that language again, and even after two years, he's able to understand you fluently. He hopes he doesn't sound too awkward when he replies, "I mean, you did have him in the trash can," he laughs, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. "You really want me to color you green again?"

"It's the bestest color in the world. What did you expect?"

Jimin's never been happier in his life. Tears streak your cheeks but you are unbothered by them, holding out Gilbert for Jimin to take. He takes note that you do not try to hide your tears anymore. In a way, you've become more beautifully confident. He realizes that you want to take him back to the start—the very beginning of when your friendship had commenced. With those simple words, "Will you color me green?" you've transported the two of you back to a place of innocence, of childishness, of thoughts of staying young forever, of avoiding maturity at all costs.

Outside, there's a slow drizzle of rain, indicating another spring shower. But above the soft gray rain clouds is a double rainbow. The colors are so vibrant, they wash away the monotonous hues of the clouds heavy with rain.

Romantic love makes people suffer. Jimin should know. He's been in love with you romantically for nearly two decades. He's felt feelings such as pain, experienced experiences such as heartbreak and dealt with the understanding of the wretched concept of unrequited love. But now? Two years later?

He realizes that you may never love him the way he had loved you. But that's okay. Because maturity is when you accept the way things are. Being childish is refusing to let go, which is what Jimin is too—he refuses to let go of you. But that goes the same for you, for you refuse to let go of Jimin.

You still love him. And for once in his whole fucking life, Jimin loves you in the same exact way that you love him.

a/n: find my behind the scenes thoughts and original endings here!

masterlist

[seimeinotaka]

Sweet problems

For TwstOC week. Day 1. School Days

Rumor has it that NRC is full of crows, all of them mean and dangerous. One day Grim and Ann have a small incident with them over a delicious treat, cupcakes.

Ann Hawthorne is my MC OC, and the main character in my VilAnnthology series.

Thanks to polyphenols@AO3 for beta-reading this!

-

Living in the forgotten rundown building had its perks, as Ann Hawthorne eventually found out. While cleaning it had taken a long time, the young girl had managed to make it a somewhat hospitable and almost comfortable place. Even more, she had been slowly adding flowers and shrubs from the seeds she got at Sam's shop and the botanical garden. She was able to do whatever she wanted without caring what others said. Such as taking care of the unexpected wildlife around the dorm.

Every other day, on the makeshift table made out of stone she brought together, Ann would leave some food. Chips, bread crumbs, French fries, even cookies or whatever leftovers from the Heartslabyul parties or when Ace and Deuce visited, the list was endless.

As soon as she went inside, the crows living in the trees around the building flocked to the stones and happily ate the simple feast. Ann didn't have pets, but she liked watching the crows eating from her window. Eventually she began waving at them whenever she left for school, even though Grim would laugh at her.

"Wouldn't you want to be waved at if you were a bird?"

"Are those dumb birds going to call me Grim-sama?"

"No."

"Funa! Then I don't care! But I'll show them and later they'll be begging me to listen to them!" The monster cat hollered as Ann rolled her eyes.

But she liked doing that and her dumb younger-sibling-like cat pet monster wouldn't stop her.

"Grim," Ann said as she arched an eyebrow. "You should probably wait until we reach the dorm."  Grim was happily unwrapping one of the cupcakes they had baked with Trey not long ago, barely paying attention to his surroundings. They had just left the Hall of Mirrors, on their way home. Ann was holding a box of cupcakes meant for them except that the impatient monster had sneaked one out from who knew where.

"I'm hungry! And you're too slow!" Grim said as he was licking his lips, but before he could take a bite, a nearby crow dove straight and stole the pastry.

"Funaaaaa! My cupcake!” he yelled, chasing the bird fruitlessly as it rested on the a top branch of a nearby tree.

"Give it back, dumb bird!" Grim yelled, staring as the bird cocked its head.

"Give up, Grim," Ann replied with a sigh, having caught up as she didn't want to ruin the ones in the box.  "We still have 6 and you stole that one anyway."

"Give it ba-Eek!"

Grim could only watch in horror as the crow chomped the cupcake and swallowed it all, uncaring of the critter's cries and jumps.

"Let's go, Grim. Look, it already ate it. You don't want crow barf or poo so give it a rest," Ann replied dryly.

However, Grim's eyes narrowed dangerously. "My cupcake!" he yelled, throwing a flame at the crow, which narrowly missed, slightly burning its feathers.

"Grim, bad idea!" Ann said as the crow dove down to peck on Grim's head. The bird flew high and cawed loudly, summoning in an instant a cloud of 10 or more birds.

Without a second thought, Ann grabbed Grim by the waist and ran in the direction of Ramshackle dorm, a trail of crows following close. Their croaks were similar to the sounds of hell, reaching closer and closer.

Ann didn't dare to look back, eyes locked on the  familiar gate, coming closer and closer into view. She opened it with a shove, accidentally hitting Grim on the head with one of the metal bars. Her arm would hurt the next day, but it was better than being murdered by crows in her book. The squawks were so loud now and she felt some of the hellish fiends flying closer to her sides. The building was so close, even if her lungs were beginning to ache and her legs were giving out...

Suddenly, 11 flashes of black from the opposite direction flew towards the pressing crows, the noise becoming unbearable, as black feathers scattered everywhere like rain. Ann wouldn't look at the scene, focusing on opening the door and hiding inside with Grim.

Only after they were inside, she peeked through the window and found more a massive war of crows, their cries filling the air. She recognized some of them, the crows of Ramshackle dorm were attacking their pursuers. The cries didn't stop for several minutes until the invaders flew away as the defenders cawed in what could only be a warning message.

Seeing that the cupcakes on her box were a total mess, not surviving the pursuit, Ann took the remnants and left them on the stone. She figured they deserved a reward, as their unexpected saviors.

-

The next time Ann and Grim came back from the Hall of Mirrors, Ann was carrying a couple of boxes. Ignoring the warning caws of the defeated crows, all eyes on her and Grim, Ann walked by the tree where the fight had started. At the top the crow with the burnt feathers was sitting, squawking dangerously at them.

Ann cleared her throat, "Grim."

"Huh, I don't have to."

Ann shot a dangerous look at him, and the cat groaned. "I'm sorry," he grumbled. "But you-"

"Fine now," she quickly interjected before Grim could get a fired up again and start a fight. "We brought these as an offer of peace," Ann said and opened one of the boxes, showing a dozen cupcakes. "They are safe to eat," she added as she took a small part of one and ate it in front of the dozens of eyes staring at her.

Carefully, she put the box on the ground and slowly rose up, walking away, never showing her back. Only when she felt she was far away, she turned her back and the crows flocked at the baked offering.

The crows at Ramshackle dorm also received another tasty reward as Ann warned Grim that next time, she would leave him there if he attacked the crows.

-

"Hey Ann, when did you get so good at Animal Languages?" Jack asked the young girl as she was leaving the table to get some dessert.

"What?" Ann arched an eyebrow.

"Ah, Trickster Ann-kun," Rook said, suddenly appearing behind her, causing her to jump and hide behind Jack. "Rumor has it that you commanded an army of crows to save Monsieur Fuzzball the other day."

"I what?"

"Ruggie-senpai saw you two being attacked by crows, then another group saved you. When he walked by Ramshackle dorm, they chased him away. Said it was your turf."

"Crows are fickle creatures, even those most skilled at Animal Language have difficulty agreeing with them," Rook said, looking at her intensely. "What trick did you use to bewitch them?"

Ann frowned as she said flatly, "Contrary to what you all believe, kindness, gratitude and selflessness come a long way. Also, I don't have a gang of crows."

"You do. That's what they said, " both replied in unison.

Quickly realizing she wouldn’t change their minds, she gave up and went to her dorm. As she looked outside on the window of her room, a small sparkling glimpse caught her eye. On the stool of the window, there laid a small beautiful star-shaped crystal. She lifted it up, looked at the crows on the tree and smiled.

-

Crows are incredibly smart, they can remember people's faces and are capable of holding grudges. In fact, crows can tell other crows about people who hurt them. They also remember people being nice to them as well. I think there's a reason why crows are mean to the students in NRC lol

Some crows even bring gifts to the people who are nice to them. It ranges from rocks to even uhhh dead animals, anything that is small enough to fit in their beaks.

Thank you for reading!

[ka-za-ri]

Demon Brothers and Mid-Autumn Festival

Happy early 中秋節 !This spawned from me crying over pretty mooncake packaging. And then I fell into a hole of matching the boys to boxes and this Mildy AU stuff happened. Uh... so I know this isn’t the only way to celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival, but it’s mostly based on my experiences and nostalgia. So excuse the super self-indulgence and have fun~ I tried to include links to things that might need some more explaining.

It’s my first time writing headcanons so pls be gentle on me .･ﾟﾟ･(／ω＼)･ﾟﾟ･.

Lucifer

“Mid-autumn festival? I may have heard of this before in passing.” 

“What is this? A Jewelry box?” 

Don’t tell him how long you went looking for the perfect packaging and flavor. 

Doesn’t celebrate the whole week, but will at least sit down with you for a night to share mooncakes

Prefers them without the yolk, but he’s not going to complain if they’re there.

Neatly cuts the mooncake into quarters and has to have it with tea 

Likes the wintermelon filled kind the best. The chewy texture goes better with tea. 

He’ll make an exception for black sesame lotus paste though

Unfortunately too busy to do any sort of moon viewing with you since he’s swamped with paperwork. 

At least he’ll share mooncake and tea with you while he does it 

Keeps the box and actually uses it as a lamp from time to time

You find out he’s using the tins to store wax seals and stamps too

He doesn’t have time for it, but appreciates the small bottle of osmanthus wine you leave at his door at the end of the festival. 

Finds you a month later on the next full moon to sit down and drink it with you. Offer him a Laopo Bing or leftover mooncake to go with it as a snack. (Of course there’s leftover mooncake) 

You share tea and cakes while sitting on a pavilion overlooking a lake. The moon’s reflected on the surface. Lotus flowers are blooming and the sounds of cicadas are in the distance. Wispy clouds float past the full moon but don’t really hinder its brightness. 

He brushes a stray strand of hair out of the way before maybe sneaking in a kiss or two. He’s much more entranced by how you look lit by the moon and not the moon itself.

Mammon

Got gifted a box of them from a designer as a gift after a photoshoot

You may or may not ogle at how pretty the packaging is. He teases you and taunts you with it. Of course they would only gift something so majestic to The Great Mammon. 

Doesn’t bother cutting into them, just eats them like a cookie 

Until he gets to the yolk 

“The heck is this? Who puts salted egg yolks into a sweet thing?” 

Looks up how much the mooncake box from a designer might sell for. 

So many gifted mooncakes

But he doesn’t eat any, unless you show interest in them. 

You find chocolate flavored ones among all the boxes 

Still doesn’t cut the mooncake up, but at least there’s enough to share. He’s less traumatized now that he’s had one that doesn’t have yolks in it. 

Spends the rest of the night sampling all of the weird ‘haute couture’ flavors of the year. 

The strangest one is the truffle and ham flavored one. 

He nearly spits that one in your face

Both of you are rushing to the kitchen to find something to wash away that taste. 

Thankfully there’s the bottle of Osmanthus wine you’ve saved for this occasion

He takes a giant gulp and nearly gags at how strong it is. 

Now you have a partially tipsy Mammon on your hands. 

Take him out on a long moonlit walk to get him sober. 

The air is crisp, the moon is bright, the leaves are just starting to turn color. There’s just a hint of dampness in the air but it’s refreshing. He takes your hand as you’re walking to make sure you don’t wander off. 

Ends the night kissing your forehead and thanking you for sharing so many memories with him this year. 

Doesn’t try to keep any of the boxes and tries to sell them all off if he can unless you find one that catches your fancy, then he’ll just give that one to you.

Leviathan

“Oh my gosh, it’s the Super Rare Limited Edition Ruri-Chan as Chang’e mooncake box?!?!?!?!?!?!” 

He doesn’t care what the flavor is. It’s Ruri-chan

Takes more care of the box than he does the actual mooncake. 

Prefers the small custard filled/lava ones 

They’re easier for snacking while he’s prepping for a raid. 

Raids don’t stop for holidays. Gaming must continue

Invites you to join him one night and gifts you the limited equipment from the current Mid-Autumn festival event in game. 

“It’ll look cuter on your character than mine.” Don’t question him on how long it took him to farm that gear. 

You end up playing games with him all night long and forget to watch the moon. 

Instead, the two of you decide to just watch the sun rise while snacking on the last of the cakes. 

Tea is in order, those things got really sweet really fast. 

The two of you are so loopy from staying up all night, you giggle at the dumbest things as you’re trying to sneak into the kitchen to get something to drink. 

“How long did you wait in line for that box?” 

Don’t tell him you just pre-ordered it like a normal person would. “Oh, maybe a few hours.” 

“Well, I guess I owe you a few hours of time as a thank you.” 

You nearly forget that tea’s done and almost wake up the house from the whistling kettle. Worth it for all the kisses you got in between that time though. 

Satan

“Oh yes, of course I’m familiar with the festival. I’ve read all about it.” 

He’s rather fascinated with how ornate the packaging can get for some sweets. “What’s so special about them?” 

Red bean paste with the yolk 

Cuts the mooncake into six 

Lets you eat on the bed as long as you make sure you don’t get crumbs anywhere. 

His room literally has the best view of the moon. It’s mandatory that you watch it from there.

Lets you gaze at the moon from his bed while he reads. 

Until you interrupt him and start reciting  Li Bai’s Quiet Night Thought. Mostly it’s to yourself out of homesickness

Moonlight before my bed/ Perhaps frost on the ground/ Lift my head and see the moon/ Lower my head and I miss my home. 

And then you start reciting “Drinking Alone Under The Moon” 

You really start drinking and living the drunken poet life. 

“You know, you’re not alone though.” 

He finally puts the book aside and joins you to watch the moon and listen to you recite poetry for hours on end. 

Asks you about Chang’e and listens as you drunkenly ramble off her story all the while nibbling on pieces of mooncake. He offers you the occasional piece so you’re not drinking so much on an empty stomach. 

Keeps the box and the tins but has no idea what to put in them so they end up gathering dust in the room until one day he needs something to put spell components in and he remembers it exists. 

Spends the week watching the moon and listening to you recite poetry or tell fairy stories. 

Often falls asleep in your lap, a half eaten piece of mooncake in hand.

Invites you over for moonviewings even after the festival.

Asmodeus

He can't tell if he should be more impressed by the packaging or by the cake designs. 

Snowskin mooncakes become his favorite

Rose and lychee flavors are preferred

He adores how pretty crystal mooncakes are as well

Absolutely no yolks please 

Refuses to watch the moon with you. Staying up late will ruin his skin care routine 

He will day drink the osmanthus wine you’ve save to go with the mooncakes while you watch operas

It sounds weird to him at first, but the makeup and the costumes draw him in. 

Cries at the end of Farewell My Concubine 

You end up spending hours telling him about the Four Beauties and China’s Four Most Handsome Men 

He’s upset that all of the stories end in tragedy

You try to cheer him up by going to a local festival and watch the lanterns and other festivities 

Gets super invested in lantern making and spends hours learning how to make one to hang up in his room.

While he’s gone, go buy him some Tanghulu Not only can he appreciate the bright red hawthorns, but they’re a delicious snack on the go while you let him explore the whole festival.

The two of you spend hours looking at cute packaging for mooncakes and buying them back for the others. He’s happiest with the one you gifted him though. 

Okay, maybe he can stay up late to look at the moon just this once. 

Take a small picnic to a grassy hill somewhere so you can admire the moon in its full glory. Most of the snacks are rice cakes and fruit and of course more moonakes. (Seriously, there’s so much mooncake)

He knows he’s supposed to be watching the moon, but he finds it easier and better to watch you instead. You’re just as ethereal as Chang’e in the silvery light of the night. 

Definitely keeps the mooncake box and uses it to hold parts of his makeup collection. It fits right into his room decor.

Beelzebub

You get him the biggest box with the most variety that you can find so he can try as many flavors as possible. 

He ends up liking the kind that tastes like Gai Zhai Beng (Sorry, I don’t know what this is in English?) with all the nuts the most since they’re the heartiest. 

Actually, he likes all of the more savory ones

If it’s sweet, it should have yolks. Four of them if they have those, if not, he’ll settle with the Cantonese style with two yolks.  

You take him to the festivals so he can try even more flavors

The best part is that you get to try them as well. He offers you at least a bite before downing the rest of the mooncake. 

Do the two of you go around eating everything until you feel like you’re about to burst? Absolutely. 

If you can’t see anything that’s going on during the performances at the festival, he’ll lift you onto his shoulder to get a better view. 

With how much time you spend at the festival and how much you’ve eaten, you don’t know if you can stay up late to watch the moon like you want to. 

He lets you piggyback on the walk home 

The sound of a pipa song from the festival echoes in your brain and you hum the song while half asleep on the way home. He gets it stuck in his head for the next month and a half. 

Worth it though, it means he’s reminded of the great time he had with you and all the food he got to try. 

Now he’s constantly asking you if you can make him mooncakes. 

Literally forgets the box and tins exist until he’s cleaning out his room for hidden snacks months later. 

Almost forgot about the osmanthus wine you gifted him as well. He hits you up on the next full moon to drink it while eating snacks and you get to tell him about all the legends behind the foods he’s eaten. 

“Next time, I’ll make you Crossing the Bridge Noodles.” 

“What’s the story behind that?” 

“I’ll tell you when I make them.” 

“Is that a promise?” 

“Of course.” 

Belphegor

Thinks a fairy must have visited him in his dreams when he rolls over and finds the box of mooncakes next to his pillow

Sleeps all day so he can watch the moon all night with you. 

Expect tons of cuddles while doing that

Find out when he’s halfway through eating the box that he prefers tang yuan over mooncakes

He covets the box you gave him regardless

Maybe you make the tang yuan with a little extra ginger to spite him

Too bad for you, he prefers it that way. 

Convinces you that the gardens is the best place for moon viewing 

He’s right since there’s an osmanthus tree there and it smells absolutely amazing this time of the year. 

His favorite dessert is pretty much impossible to transport, so he’ll have to deal with what you brought. 

Ends up quite liking sachima but not jin dui 

Beel drank the last of your celebratory osmanthus wine, it’s time to break out the baijiu

It takes only a few sip of this to have you both tipsy and slurring superlatives at the moon. 

“She’s just so beautiful. Look at her. So radiant and glowing and just the most magnificent isn’t she?” 

“I can’t tell if you’re describing the moon or if you’re describing yourself.” 

“The moon. Of course. She’s so beautiful that poems are written about her for thousands of years.” 

“I could do that for you too you know…” 

The two of you end up falling asleep in the garden under the tree. By the time you two wake up, you’re both covered in the tiny fragrant blossoms 

Take some back with you to make cakes and maybe some more wine to remind you of the lovely night you had. 

[sebayard]

Miraculous Ladybug Secret Santa Gift

I’m excited to reveal my ML Secret Santa gift for @ineedasideblogforfanart! It was such a blast to write for you. I really hope you enjoy it! 

Also, thank you so much to @mlsecretsanta for creating and hosting this event! You all rock my socks.

Memoirs of a Son

Words: 2,502

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Adrinette, Ladynoir

Characters: Adrien, Mama Agreste, Gabriel Agreste, Marinette, Plagg

Tags: Angst with a Happy/Hopeful Ending, Family Drama, Character Study, Future Fic

Read on AO3

For Adrien, there are moments from his childhood that he can remember with amazing clarity, like items in a time capsule, frozen and untouched, waiting to be pulled out by a familiar hand and re-lived as if no time has passed at all. These moments ground him, keep him safe from the onslaught of emotions he has difficulty controlling. Small beacons of light when his world begins to be a little too dark along the edges.

Adrien draws upon these moments often, but he started accessing them even more when he became Chat Noir four years ago. It’s stressful, having the safety of Paris resting on his shoulders even though he’s not alone. He knows that Ladybug feels it too, and Plagg, although the kwami doesn’t show it. He wonders how they cope, how they keep the dark edges at bay. He remembers talking to Marinette about it, soon after they revealed their identities and started dating. Her answer had been simple, then. “The people around me ground me.” He wonders if her answer is the same now, two years later. Perhaps, one day, he’ll ask. But not now, because right now Chat Noir is yet again busy fighting off the influence of an akuma. This particular villain is called Colére, and he is Anger and Fury in full force, feeding off and spreading rage like a virus. Chat feels it creeping at the corners of his mind, feasting on him, waiting for him to crack but he won’t, he won’t, he-

He’s five years old and it’s his first snowfall.

It’s the day after Christmas. There is still wrapping paper scattered along the floor, discarded toys laying in all corners of the room, gingerbread crumbs waiting to be vacuumed by the maid. It is a quiet evening in the Agreste household, save for the soft pit-pat of Adrien’s own feet as he zooms across the floor. He races to each window in the house, trying to peek through the fogged up glass, and pouts when he realizes he’s too short to see anything significant. But before he can make a fuss, someone whisks him up into the air and deposits him lightly near the front door where his parents wait patiently. His mother gently places red mittens over his fingers, his father pulls a fluffy white hat over his ears, a matching scarf is wrapped carefully around his neck, and his puffy black jacket is zipped up tight. He feels like he is being hugged all over, warm, comforted, safe, like nothing can touch him, not even winter’s fierce, biting chill.

Invincibile.

He reaches out his hands for his parents to take, and suddenly he’s being lifted up onto the tall shoulders of his father. Adrien giggles and wiggles on his shoulders as his mother, now shorter than him, looks up and smiles. He giggles some more and points, delighted at this new development. What a wonder it is, to be above it all, to see and experience the world like this. It’s almost magical.

Then they step out into the open air and Adrien’s eyes go wide.

The snow is falling gently, muting the landscape into hues of white and grey, and it’s the most beautiful thing Adrien has ever seen. The ground is covered in patches of white with just the smallest flecks of brown grass still peeking through the surface. The air is chilly and the snowflakes landing on Adrien’s nose make him shiver, but the absolute miracle of it all helps him ignore the cold.

Adrien’s father takes a few more steps into the yard before lifting Adrien once again and placing his feet in the thin, soft snow. He looks back up at the man and smiles wide when he sees a quick grin flash across his face.

“Come, Adrien. Let me teach you how to make a proper snowball.” His father grabs his hand and begins to lead Adrien away towards a larger patch of snow, but before they reach it his father is pelted in the side, snow exploding in a small puff.

“Oh, you mean like this?” Adrien’s mother smirks, lightly tossing a small snowball in her left hand before throwing it near his father’s head.

The man stops and stares, looking affronted, and for a brief moment Adrien is afraid they’re going to fight. But to his shock, his father drops his hand and chuckles. He gathers up some snow, shapes it, and hands the newly formed ball to Adrien. “Throw this as hard as you can at your mother, okay?”

Adrien nods, and he does the best throw he can. It barely goes four feet before falling pitifully to the ground, eliciting more laughs from both his father and mother, and Adrien feels with stunning clarity that this is the happiest he has ever been.

Without warning, the memory shifts, and Adrien’s gut lurches.

He’s still standing in the snow, his parents are still there, but it’s...different. Everything’s shifted, skewed, tinted with a thin veil of an angry red...

Then everything changes.

He’s twelve years old, again, standing in the snow, being told his mother is never coming home.

He’s twelve years old, watching them lower a coffin that he knows is empty but it’s all they have.

He’s twelve years old, and his father stands over him like a statue, cold, unmoving.

He’s twelve years old, his family is gone, and Adrien screams.

He screams at the little five year old boy, giggling in the snow. He screams at the man with the red cheeks and crinkled eyes, who hasn’t looked that happy in years. He screams at the woman who should be alive, who should be there to hug him and give him advice and keep their family whole but she’s gone, she left him alone alone alone and why why why would she do that why would she leave? How could she? How dare she? She had no right, none at all. It’s all her fault it’s all her fault it’s all her fault he hates her he-

                                                                                                                 (“Chat?”)

Stop.

...

This isn’t right.

                                                                           (“Chat Noir? Can you hear me?”)

Adrien stops screaming, his voice feeling raw and spent. He looks at the environment around him, this scene frozen in time, and anguish replaces his rage.

When did this memory become replaced by the bitterness of the present? By this anger? It’s supposed to be safe from all this, to be full of hope and joy and love from when his family was whole and safe and happy. Not like...this. Anything but this. Adrien can’t have this moment wrenched from his grip too.

He clenches his eyes, demanding his mind to cooperate.

The lilting laugh of his mother, the warmth of his father’s hands, the steadiness in their gaze-

                                                                                                                  (“Chat!”)

-sitting together by the fire, Mother tucking him in, Father kissing him goodnight-

                                                                                                      (“Chat, please!”)

The darkness, miraculously, ebbs.

Adrien emerges from the deep recesses of his mind, gasping, feeling like a bucket of ice water was dumped over his head.

“...Chat?”

Ladybug’s voice is soft and tentative, so distant from her usual tone of assuredness and confidence. She looks...scared? No, worried.

Uh oh.

Chat feels his face warm up, embarrassed by whatever it was that she had to witness. “I’m sorry about that, m’lady. I’m okay now.”

Ladybug frowns, unconvinced, and cups his cheek lightly, wiping a tear he didn’t notice with her thumb. “Are you sure?”

Chat leans into her touch before nodding. “Yeah. I’m fine now, promise.”

She frowns again, but seems to accept his answer. “Okay. The akuma is in the top of Colére’s staff. I’ll distract him with this,” she holds up her yoyo and a small fan that was given as her lucky charm, “while you break the staff.”

Chat nods, trying to get his head back into the right mindset. “You got it, Buginette.”

The rest of the battle goes smoothly, after that. Of course Ladybug’s plan works flawlessly, which never ceases to leave Chat in awe, and he’s able to break Colére’s staff with a quick swipe of a hand. Ladybug throws her lucky charm in the air, and once again all is right with the world.

But even as he and Ladybug run off to de-transform somewhere private, Adrien can’t shake the cloud of negativity that’s shoved it’s way into his mind, unwelcomed. Ever since Colére held Adrien in his grip, he couldn’t shake this feeling of heaviness.

It seems that Ladybug noticed, because the moment they’ve both transformed, she’s enveloping him into a strong, warm hug,

“I’m okay, Marinette.” He tries to reassure her, but even now he isn’t sure his words are true.

“You keep saying that, but I saw you, Chaton. You were screaming. Whatever it was that Colére made you see, it wasn’t okay.”

“I just saw my family, Buginette. Really, it’s fine.”

Marinette gives him a stern look and Adrien already feels guilty for trying to brush it off. “Adrien, we’ve known each other for four years and have been dating for two of them. I know when you’re lying. Tell me what happened.”

Adrien sighs, leans against the alley wall, and sinks to the ground. “It was just...he invaded one of the few good memories of when my family was whole. I feel like he ruined something important.”

Marinette places a gently hand on his knee as she sits down next to him. “I’m so sorry, Adrien. That’s awful.”

He places a hand over hers and squeezes. “Thanks, Marinette. It just, it wouldn’t be so awful if I could actually talk to my father. He’s... he’s the only family I have, the only real connection I have to my mother and the way things used to be. But he’s... never around and I don’t know if he would even want to talk if he had the opportunity.” Adrien scoffs and rubs has temples. “We’re not exactly close, in case you couldn’t tell.”

Marinette sighs, then suddenly his green eyes are staring into deep blue ones, cheeks squished between her hands. “First all, I’ve told you this before, but I’ll say it every day until you remember it, if I have to. He’s not your only family, Adrien. You’ve got me, and Nino, and Alya, and Plagg, heck, even Chloe. You are never, ever alone. Okay?”

Adrien nods, cheeks still squished and warm from her touch. “Okay.”

God, he loves this woman.

“Good.” Marinette smiles and let’s go of his face, but she never breaks her gaze away. “That being said, I know how much you love Gabriel, and I know how much he loves you, even if he doesn’t always show it. It’s not too late, you know, for you to work things out with him. You said he’s in town for the rest of the week, right? What if you tried talking to him? I’m not saying it has to be about this, or anything groundbreaking, but just, something, to remind yourself that he’s there? To open the door to communication between the both of you? Who knows, maybe you’ll be surprised.”

Adrien bites his lip. “Maybe.”

Marinette pulls his head in for a kiss. “I have to go now, Chaton, but if you decide to talk to him, let me know how it goes, okay?”

“Of course.”

She smiles as she heads out of the alley and around the corner. “I love you, Chaton.”

“I love you too, Buginette.”

Adrien sits on his bed as Plagg zips around the room, chattering on about something that Adrien isn’t paying attention to, and apparently the kwami notices because suddenly a piece of camembert is being thrown at his head.

“Hey!”

“Maybe if you were paying attention you could have avoided having cheese flung at you.”

“Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“About your dad, I presume?” Plagg asks as he zooms over to hover next to him.

“Yeah…”

“Are you going to talk to him? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has, but...I don’t know…” And it really has been a while. For two people that live in the same house, they barely saw each other, let alone said hello. The distance between father and son has been building up for years and years, and Adrien knows that if something doesn’t change soon, the damage could be permanent. But that doesn’t make him any less reluctant.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you should.”

The sincerity in Plagg’s voice intrigues him. “And why’s that?”

Plagg shrugs. “Because I know you, and I know that, in spite of how angry you are, you don’t hate him, and if you let him go now it’ll be one of your biggest regrets.” He takes another bite of cheese. “And I don’t want to be the one you complain about your daddy issues to in ten years.”

Adrien rolls his eyes at that last comment, but he can’t help but admit that Plagg’s right. “Okay.”

“So you’ll talk to him?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll talk to him.”

“Good. Now go before you change your mind. Oh, and kid?”

Adrien turns from his spot at the doorway. “Yeah?”

“Marinette’s right. I’ll always be here, as long as you’ll have me. And... I’m proud of you, even if your deadbeat dad isn’t. I hope that counts for something.”

“Thanks Plagg.” He smiles. “It does.”

Adrien stands at the door to his father’s office, hand raised to knock. The feeling of heaviness hasn’t left. Does he expect it to? Adrien doesn’t know, but he does know that he needs to to do this, not matter how it goes. Taking a deep breath, he raps on the door three times.

“Come in.” A faint voice filters through the walls, and Adrien walks through, his heart racing with each step.

His father doesn’t notice him at first. He continues to stare at his computer, engrossed in whatever work that is before him.

“Hello, Father.”

Mr. Agreste freezes. He slowly lifts his head up to meet Adrien’s gaze.

Then Adrien sees it.

(He’s five, and his father is smiling down at him as he puts another snowball in his hand.)

(He’s six, and his father laughs as Adrien sticks out his tongue during his first photoshoot.)

(He’s eight, and his father says “I love you” before Adrien falls to sleep against his shoulder.)

He’s seventeen, and his father gazes up at him from his deck, and emotions flit across his face like a movie screen. Disbelief, excitement, a touch of fear, but there’s one expression that Adrien will always recognize in his father’s face.

Love.

It’s in his lips upturned into the faintest of smiles and the slight crinkle of his eyes. It’s small, but it’s there. It’s familiar. It’s genuine. And Adrien knows what it means.

He feels the gap between them begin to shrink. He feels grounded, safe. A new memory falls in place beside the old.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

The darkness lifts.

[writingismyhappytime]

Bucky Barnes (Part 3)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (eventually)

Warnings:  Language, chinese food, awkwardness, gossip

"I told you you could trust her."

Steve looks over at Bucky, frowning as he looks away from his window of contemplation; it helps him think to look out the window at the city, what's left of it anyway.

Bucky had seen you stop the spear, he'd seen you save Steve for once.

"Yeah, you did," Steve mutters, looking back out the glass. His arms are crossed, and he's troubled. Why had Hydra been there, had they gotten whatever was in that cave first? If so, what had it been? Had it just been a ruse to try to take them out?

If it hadn't been for you, they would have very nearly succeeded.

And yet... something didn't sit right.

You'd become separated from the group, fallen behind, and then captured in a net? You have an extremely helpful power, and you couldn't get out of a few bits of rope? Hydra had intercepted him and Bucky in the jungle, and Stark had been the only one able to get out of the scuffle to find you.

Something just... it didn't make sense.

Are you one of them? he wonders.

Had he walking into your bakery somehow been set up, is he being tricked? Is he letting you into the Avengers but are you really a Hydra agent?

Lord knows it happens.

You could be out to destroy everyone ---.

"Steve."

"Huh?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Steve mumbles, turning away from the window. He paces over to the kitchen area, grabbing himself a glass of water. Oddly, Bucky is very supportive of you, and Steve doesn't want to voice his concerns without evidence to back him up; he hopes he's wrong and being suspicious for no reason. "Just going over the mission in my head, about how much it doesn't make sense."

"What's not to make sense?" Bucky sighs. "We got dooped. They lured us out there to try to kill us."

"Did they?" Steve shakes his head, turning off the tap. "It just doesn't feel right."

"Nothing does with you. You overthink everything."

"How else can I keep everyone alive?"

"When they're so hellbent on getting themselves killed? Your guess is as good as mine."

Bucky tilts his head back as he hears a knock at his door, and his feet drop from their propped position on the coffee table. He gets up reluctantly, ambling over to the door and opening it.

He blinks.

He leans out into the hallway, but he doesn't see anyone.

Odd.

Why did someone knock on his door and then leave?

He glances down, hesitating as he sees a small package, Barnes scrawled across it in sharpie. He squats, glancing behind him at where Steve is still preoccupied with mulling over his tap water.

Bucky nudges the package, and when it doesn't spontaneously combust, he opens it.

Oh.

He blinks, staring down at the strawberry shortcake looking back up at him. He stares down at it for a moment, taken off guard.

You'd baked him a cake?

Why would you do that?

He stares at it for a few more moments, as if waiting for it to disappear or change into something else. When it stays the same, he quickly replaces the lid, gingerly lifting it up into the safety of his arms.

"Steve, I'm leaving."

Before his friend can respond, Bucky steps out of the apartment.

He can't eat this cake alone, and he knows exactly who he wants to share it with.

~~~~~

"I made that for you, not me."

"I know." Barnes stands at the door of your apartment, the box of cake held in his large hands. You stare up at him rather curiously, your hand still on the door.

That's... awful nice of him.

To want to share with you.

You're not one to turn down free cake, even if it is one you gifted to someone else. You're not sure why you gave it to him, why you even went through the trouble of baking it. You just... couldn't sleep last night, so of course you'd made your way down to the kitchen, somewhere you enjoy being.

And, somehow, you'd ended up making strawberry shortcake.

You take a step back, allowing Bucky to enter your apartment. He heads for the kitchen area, as all the apartments are built the same. He sits the cake on the table identical to his own, lifting the lid off. Admittedly, his mouth is watering, and he's incredibly excited to try the cake. It's been all he can do not to run his finger along the edge of it.

"I'll grab some plates," you step by him, heading for the cabinets. Bucky looks over at you, watching how your t shirt rises to reveal your lower back as you reach up, grabbing two small plates. He can't help but notice this is the first time he's ever seen your legs, that you're wearing those little pajama shorts women wear these days. You turn, grabbing some forks out of the dish drain before setting everything on the table.

You nab a knife from a drawer, and present it to Barnes. "You have the honor, it's your cake."

He nods his head, quickly turning. Of course, he knows he's going to make a mess out of your cake, that it won't be pretty by the time he's done cutting it. However, he supposes, cake is for eating, not decoration.

You sit down, watching as Bucky cuts the cake, looking as excited at a child. You prop your chin on your hand, absently tugging on a loose strand of your hair. You always keep it up and out of your way, you don't even know why you leave it so long, it's never down. You suppose it must just be a habit from cooking, you always try to keep it out of the way.

Barnes clumsily puts the cake on the plates, and then sits down, reaching quickly for his fork. You smile to yourself, trying not to be obvious. Your fork hovers above your plate, your eyes on him as he takes his first bite.

He actually groans.

You blink.

Is that good?

It certainly makes you want to squirm in your chair, that's for sure.

"Is that a good sign or are you dying?" you ask lightly, liking the flush on his cheeks.

"It's, uh, pretty good. I haven't had one of these since my birthday back in," he hesitates. "1941."

"What?" you stare at him, your fork halfway to your mouth.

"My mom made it for me just before I left for the war," Bucky shrugs his shoulders. "It was the last one I ever had."

"Remind me to make them pretty often for you then." you say, a little off guard. There he went, reminding you he was really an old guy in a hot guys body. "No one should be deprived of cake."

Bucky grins, his eyes flicking to your face before away. He can't help it, there's something about you that makes him relax. Maybe it's the look in your eye, so similar to his. You hide behind a prickly exterior, snarky and condescending all the time.

But, you're easy for him to read.

You're scared, your life has not been kind, and therefore you've built hardy walls around yourself. You might not have been through the same kind of abhorrence's as Bucky, but the sad look in your eyes mirrors his own.

Kindred spirits.

You've suffered your own way in your life.

So, Bucky is glad you didn't let Steve die. He'd been hoping some kind of opportunity would present itself, for the mission to show you both that you had nothing to fear from the other. Bucky's hopeful Steve would trust you now, that he wouldn't keep you at such a distance.

Bucky is obviously still waiting for the moment Steve wins you over as well.

It'll happen eventually.

"I'm not much of a cook, so I hope you're not expecting a grand meal from me any time soon," you say after a moment, halfway through with your cake. "I mean, baking is basically my only talent."

"I don't see why I would expect a meal from you," he shakes his head. "This is more then I expected."

"Well, you mentioned you liked it. So I figured I could make it for you."

"When did you even bake this? We just got here last night."

"I couldn't sleep, I made a midnight kitchen raid at the last minute. Eventually the chef is going to realize something's up."

"I doubt he cares. You left him cupcakes last time we were there."

"True, and he didn't die of poisoning, so either he didn't eat them or I didn't put enough arsenic in them."

Bucky chuckles, relaxing as he props his elbows on the table, finished before you are.

"Don't be shy. Eat as much as you like," you urge, pleased he enjoyed it so much. You've not made very many shortcakes, so you'd been the tiniest bit worried.

"No, I figure I'll save it, make it last."

"It's cake, it's impossible to make it last longer then a few days," you shake your head. "It'll disappear quicker the more you try to savor it. Besides, I can always make another one."

"Why are you so interested in baking me sweets?"

"I'm not. Technically this is the only thing I've ever made you."

"And why did you make it for me?" Bucky's curious, he can't help the question slipping from his lips. You're nicer to him then any of the rest of the team, and he wonders if it's because you just don't know his history. Everyone else did have to face him in battle, both under Hydra's control and when he was on the lam. They worry he'll turn on them one day, and honestly he worries the same thing.

You're the only person who treats him normal.

Even Steve treats him more like a wounded animal sometimes then his friend.

"Because you said you liked it." You say simply, poking at some crumbs on your plate. "And I didn't have anything else to do."

You like baking, and you like people being happy when they taste what you've created. It's one of your favorite things, seeing people enjoy your pastries and your cakes, for their faces to light up at the delicious taste.

It's what makes you happy.

And damned aliens aren't going to take that away from you!

Your shop might be ruined, but you'll find a way to bake!

"Fair enough." He'll take that answer.

He glances at your hands, seeing they were still bruised, but not nearly as bad. They almost look their normal coloring now, although you seem to be favoring your left one.

"How are you feeling, anyway?" he asks after a moment, looking at the table.

"I'm fine, why?"

"The mission the other day. You getting trapped."

"Oh, that." You frown. You've been trying not to think about it honestly. "It's not a big deal, I just messed up. Trust me, one of you is going to have to carry me the next time, I'm not lagging behind." you roll your eyes. "Stark's never going to let me live in down."

"Probably not, he's good for that."

"So I've noticed. Are you sure you're done?"

"Yes."

You stand, gathering the plates and utensils and taking them to your sink. You sit them down, running water over the plates to wash the crumbs away.

You appreciate Bucky coming by, actually.

Er, you mean Barnes.

You don't like thinking of anyone by their first name, it meant you were becoming friends with them, or thought more of them then you should. Speaking with just their last names made it less personable, and it's how you prefer it.

So, Barnes.

You just had to remind yourself of that.

"Wanda is having this thing in the lounge later, were you going to go?" you ask lightly, turning from the sink to look at Barnes where he sits at your table. "Some small get together or something, I don't know what it's about."

"No. I don't... usually go."

"Why not? Do they get too drunk and show their asses?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not usually invited."

"Well, do they say you're not invited, or do you just not show up? I doubt she'd care. If it makes you feel better, she didn't formally invite me either. Natasha told me about it."

"I heard Steve mention it, but no thanks."

Huh.

"So what are you going to do tonight then?" you question, pushing the button on the Keurig. After something sweet, you'd love some coffee. "Do you have a long night of brooding ahead of you or something?"

"Something like that. Lots of menacing scowls, some dramatic monologues."

Your lips twitch.

Someone is getting quippy.

"You've already got the scowl down pat, don't worry. Do you take sugar or cream?"

"Just black."

Figures.

You slip the coffee cup in front of him, then make your own. You add some sugar and cream to it before returning to your seat. It's nice, having someone normal to chat with, just drinking coffee and talking about every day things. You talk a little about the others, but not much, you're not really interested in them.

You don't question him about his past, or anything to do with being part of the Avengers now. Instead, you talk about baking, about pastimes. You ask him what he enjoys, but he can't really answer you. He doesn't know what makes him content anymore.

"How about you bake with me sometime then?" you ask lightly, smiling at him. "It could be fun, and you could learn to make your own cake. You might realize you like it."

"Uh, that's okay. I'm not --- no thanks." he shakes his head quickly. It might be ridiculous, but he sees baking as more of a female thing. He's never even cooked, his mother always took care of that. He can make coffee, and that's the extent of his knowledge.

Well, unlike Steve, he can also use a microwave.

"You say that now, but it's relaxing." you cup your hands around your cup, lifting it to your lips as you gaze at him, your eyes wide and calculating. "We might find a pastime for you yet."

He doesn't quite like the way you say that.

~~~~~~~

"Sounds ominous."

"You don't even know what that word means, Wanda."

"Uh, yeah, I do. It's like, potentially creepy."

"Well, that's close enough." Natasha sounds amused as she looks at the younger girl sitting beside her. It's late in the afternoon, but they're both sitting at the bar in the lounge, relaxing after the long day. They're waiting for the chef to bring out their food so they can retire to the movie lounge, marathon a few shows.

Just relax.

"So, have you noticed anything about the new girl since she's been staying here?" Wanda asks after a moment, twisting her straw in her drink.

"What do you mean?"

"I saw Bucky leaving her room earlier today."

"Bucky?"Natasha is surprised.

"Yes. And he never even leaves his own room. What was he doing in hers?"

"I have no idea --- it's also none of our business."

"Do you think they have a thing?" Wanda continues, pretending she didn't hear Natasha at all. "I mean, what else could it mean?"

"Perhaps they're just friends."

"Yeah, a guy isn't going to leave a girls room in the middle of the day with a package. Either he's carrying a severed head from a ex boyfriend of hers she took out, or he's smuggling something suspicious!" Wanda decides, leaning back on her stool. "Or, they're having her affair and that was her underwear."

"Wanda!"

"What? Maybe he's one of those weird guys who likes trophies."

"I seriously don't want to be having this discussion right now," Natasha says in exasperation, although she does file the information away from later. Why would Bucky be leaving your room with a package?

She doubts he dropped by to borrow sugar.

"Come on, let's go watch some movies," she says as the food arrives. "Melt our brains for a few hours."

"That sounds like an awesome idea."

~~~~~

"Wanda said she saw Bucky leaving (Y/N)'s room."

"What?" Steve looks at the red headed assassin in surprise. One moment he's enjoying his meal, the next she's sitting down in front of him.

"You heard me. Is there something going on the rest of us should know about?" Natasha casually asks, sipping from her own drink. Considering the movie was having a mild intercession, she figured she could ask old cap what was going on.

"I'm not aware of anything." Steve picks at his meal. "If they're becoming friends, what does it matter?"

"It doesn't. I'm just surprised."

"Why?"

"Because both of them are as approachable as a porcupine." She leans back in her chair. "He's barely said four words to anyone and yet he's leaving her room with packages? Something is up."

Steve stares at her.

A package?

"What kind of package?"

"I don't know, just a small box from what Wanda said. Why? What do you think is going on?" Natasha hesitates, seeing the look of worry on Steves face.

He glances around, and then tells her of his concerns. He replays the last mission with Hydra, how you disappeared, and now with Bucky suddenly advocating for you.

Natasha frowns, listening intently. It's not that they're gossiping, but as clever as Hydra is, Steve doesn't want to take any risks. He doesn't want to admit he's worried about Bucky --- but one word, and his friend could turn on them in battle.

He doesn't want to take any chances and risk losing Bucky again.

"You brought her onto this team, Steve." Natasha is frowning, leaning back, a serious look on her face. "You told Coulson, and you know how they research."

"Doesn't matter. They still had someone infiltrate his very team. No matter how much research they do, Hydra will always have someone on the inside. I want to trust everyone I fight with, but I can't her."

"Then don't fight with her, don't take her on any missions. Leave her here at Stark Tower, she can't do any damage. I'll keep an eye on her."

"That won't help." Steve sighs, running his hands down his face. "I just don't know what to do. I never should have went into that bakery."

"No, you should have never told anyone about who you found there." Natasha corrected, voice firm. "That was your mistake, Steve. She doesn't want this life, do why can't she just go? Let her become a civilian again, talk to Coulson, to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I couldn't tell them of my suspicions without proof, they'd take her immediately. I'm not sure if she'd fight them or not, and that would make it worse."

Natasha agrees. The situation is delicate, she'll admit. However, as long as you're loyal to the team, like you have been, she's going to give you the benefit of the doubt.

Honestly, it's naive of her. She knows she should immediately be suspicious and keep a thorough tab on you. Being in Stark Tower, you're under constant surveillance whether you know it or not. She's not worried as long as you're there.

But elsewhere?

That's the problem.

~~~~~

Bucky sits at his table, vacantly looking at the heated food in front of him. Leftovers, just warm enough to eat, but nothing grand.

He's assuming you went to Wandas gathering tonight, that you would be spending time with the other Avengers.

He doesn't like going to anything like that, it makes him feel like even more of an outcast. The way everyone looks at him --- the way he looks at himself --- they won't start trusting him until he's no longer a threat to them, and that's not going to happen.

He wants to make up for all the horrible things he's done in the past, even if he wasn't in control of himself. He rarely sleeps because now all the memories --- they just come rushing back to haunt him.

He can't talk about them, he won't. Speaking of them reminds him that they're real, and he finds no solace in that. He wants his nightmares to remain just that!

So he avoids the rest of the Avengers, he stays off to himself at all costs. He's thought many times of leaving, of going somewhere else again, but somehow someone always finds him ---- there's nowhere he can hide from his demons.

So he's not going to try again.

Fighting Hydra last week, battling them again, it had reminded him of what he could be. Hearing your shriek from somewhere in the jungle, knowing you were frightened --- his heart almost pumped out of his chest!

He doesn't like that feeling.

That's what getting attached does, it makes you think about others, it makes you feel pain when something bad happens to them.

Bucky knows, one day, he would inevitably betray them, whether by choice or not. When that does happen, he doesn't want to be so attached to any of them that he feels overwhelming pain or guilt --- Steve is enough.

Bucky doesn't want anymore friends.

He couldn't stand the thought of it.

~~~~~~~

Okay, game plan.

You hesitate as you stand outside Bucky's apartment, your hand poised to knock against his door. You have a tray in your other arm, some Chinese food you'd ordered beneath the lid. You'd thought you could do something nice for Barnes , you don't like the idea of him being by himself all the time while his friends are partying.

You figure even if he doesn't want you to hang out with him you could give him some food.

You don't know why you're so nervous.

You lean back on your heels, glancing around to make sure the hall is still empty. You feel ridiculous, standing out there with a tray in the crook of your arm. You kind of feel like you're pushing your company on Barnes , but you're not really fond of anyone else but Wanda , who is closer with the rest of the avengers and therefore not someone you can really trust.

So, you'll just drop some food off with Barnes and go on your merry way.

You finally just knock, nervously rapping your knuckles against his apartment door. You much prefer leaving them at his door and disappearing, but considering he'd tracked you down last time, you figure there isn't a point.

It takes a moment, but then the door is easing open.

"Hey," you say brightly, putting a smile on your lips.

"Uh, hey." He looks surprised to see you.

"I brought you some Chinese," you shuffle, offering him the small tray. "Figured you might like it, I guessed for you so I don't know if you'll... like it or not."

Are you rambling?

Oh jeez.

"Oh, thank you." Barnes takes the tray rather gratefully. "Do I ---?"

"Owe me? Nah."

He nods. "I'll pay you back sometime then. Are you going to Wanda s gathering tonight?"

"I didn't really plan on it." You lean back on your heels. "I don't like big crowds. Especially when Tin Man is there with his haughty attitude."

"Stark? Oh. I thought you'd intended on going." Barnes looks down at the hot tray in his hands. "You just going to spend the night by yourself then?"

"More then likely. Oh, tomorrow I'm going down to my bakery to do some cleaning, do you want to come with? I could use an extra set of muscles." You tease, liking his flush.

"I, uh --- I --- I mean," Barnes stammers a moment, starting to become embarrassed. For some great assassin, he's certainly at a loss for words. "Do you really...want me too? I kind of stick out in a crowd."

His metal hand moves pointedly.

"Wear a coat. Meet me downstairs at noon, how about that?" You nearly roll your eyes, starting to turn away. "You wouldn't want me to strain myself with hard work, would you? There's a cake in it for you!"

Bribery, eh?

"I doubt you'll strain yourself," he vaguely looks amused. "But I'll help, if I can."

"Great!" You smile at him, your soft eyes crinkling in the corners. You don't need his help, honestly you're not sure why you'd just invited him, it had just slipped out.

Maybe it's because you're not getting the amount of social interaction even you're used too. You run a bakery, you talk to people all day, but here... well, you mostly keep to yourself.

And it wouldn't hurt Barnes to get out a little either.

"Well, I'll let you eat before it gets cold." You say, taking a step back; again, you don't want to push your company, you've never been that kind of person. You'd invited him out tomorrow so that's going to be your limit.

Barnes waits a beat, then speaks. "You know we can eat together, don't you? I stopped worrying you'd poison me days ago, you're very bad at it."

You blink a moment at him, and grin when you realize he's joking. "You don't mind?"

You're so relieved.

"No." He takes a step back, metal hand holding the door open so you can walk inside.  "I don't like eating alone either."

~~~~~~~

"You haven't been back here, have you?" Bucky asks as you both walk I to the remains of your bakery.

Oh great, now the upstairs is falling through the ceiling!

"No," you sigh, purveying all the damage. "I haven't had time."

"How much is it going to cost you to rebuild?" He leans down, lifting the two halves of a table up. You'd swept a lot of the worst of the debris onto the street, but now there's even more to be dealt with.

You're not quite sure how structurally sound the building even is, or if it's safe to be inside now! The entire second floor could collapse any second!

Good thing you don't have to go up there.

You chew your lower lip.

"Around eighty thousand dollars."

"What?" Bucky stares at you in surprise, but you merely shrug.

"That's just my guesstimate. It would be cheaper for me to just move to a new location since the building is what's going to need all the work, but I'm partial to this one." You're a little sentimental. Plus, you own the building --- no one's going to want to buy it in this condition.

You're basically bankrupt at this point.

Honestly the cost is going to be more then that, but you don't know how bad the building is. You feel absolutely lost as you look around, wondering of there's even a point in cleaning up.

The building might as well be condemned, bulldozed down and then rebuilt. Considering half the city is in shambles, you know you're not going to be able to get a loan, either.

People are flooding homeless shelters, and a majority of community centers are full as well --- people have nowhere to go with their homes gone. Traffic is a mess on all the highways, getting in and out is nearly impossible --- you're just relieved that, admittedly thanks to the Avengers, there's enough food where people aren't starving.

Stark had planes flying in and out all hours of the day and night carrying in supplies from all over the world, forking out his own money to do so.

So you give him points for that.

"Why don't you move then?" Barnes asks, lifting some busted concrete pieces up and tossing them out onto the sidewalk like he's tossing apples.

"Because I like this building, it's mine. I bought it because the location, and it's pretty here." You say, stepping behind the counter. "So I'm going to fix it."

"It will be simpler to tear it down."

"Maybe. We'll see." You might be able to salvage it.

You hope so, anyway.

Bucky doesn't say another word, he just begins helping you clean. You start working in the kitchen area, which with the exception of a broken oven and busted lights, is mostly intact. Sure, the steel beam through the oven probably means the ceiling above will collapse at any moment, but that's totally fine.

Maybe you'll live.

Killed in your own bakery seems appropriate anyway.

You'll die in your favorite place!

You know none of the ingredients in the fridge will be salvageable, but you start gathering the rest of your tools and supplies before they ruin or get stolen.

You have at least four large boxes piled by the time you have the island done, taking all your pots and pans as well.

They're expensive, you're not leaving them behind!

"Hey, (Y/L/N), what do you want done with these tables?"

"Just toss the broken ones into the street," you call, dusting some of your pans off; you're glad Barnes had a car and you can pack this stuff in it! You couldn't imagine having to carry everything, and you know some people might freak out if they see boxes floating down the street. "There's no point in keeping them."

"Fine."

You sigh, straightening after another hour, your lower back aching. You're covered in dust and ash again, the knees of your jeans blackened. You have quite a few boxes packed up now, and you hope they fit in the car, you don't want to leave them behind.

"How's it going in there?" You call, stepping to the swinging doors. You push one open, and blink.

Oh nice!

Barnes has managed to move all the broken furniture out into the street, and he's picked up all the glass and anything else sharp and placed in the corner. Your display cases are empty, and he'd knocked what pieces of glass had been in them out.

So, although the front looks like it's been abandoned and Crack heads have lived in it for ten years, it doesn't look as bad as it had with all the destruction.

"Oh it looks so nice in here!" You gasp, pleased as you clasp your hands. You walk forward, the counter door swinging against your hips. "You got everything up!"

"Well, I did what I could." Barnes shrugs his shoulders, dusting off his hands.

"You did much more then I could, even with super powers." You say, almost earning a smile. "Thank you!"

"I said I would help. Besides, now it's easier to imagine what it looked like before." His eyes scan the chalkboard menu against the far wall, the billboard you have beside it with people's notes on it saying wonderful things and photos.

Your shop must have been popular.

"Well, it was definitely nicer then this." Your hands go to your hips, following his gaze. "There was never a dull day."

"You enjoyed it though?"

"Oh yes. Baking is my thing, it's what I'm good at. I loved opening the shop and people coming in, sampling my cakes --- I especially love decorating the holiday cakes." You smile at the memory. "People order the craziest things, like I had a severed head for a Halloween party once. It took me three ruined cakes and a lot of cussing, but I made it!"

"Sounds like you like a challenge." Barnes looks amused, but you shrug your shoulders.

"I just know what I love. I like making people happy with little treats." You admit, turning away. "It makes people smile."

It's the only way you make people smile.

Bucky doesn't say a word, just watches you return to the back. There it is again, that haunted look in your eye.

Whatever happened to you in the past, it still has a hold of you. Bucky understands that, his own demons still haunt him. He almost wants to ask, for you to tell him what makes you so sad, why you can't sleep at night, why you so adamantly cling to your baking.

It's your escape, you bake so you don't think, he recognizes it for what it is.

He just wishes he knew what he could do to help.

He'd told himself earlier that he wasn't going to be friends with you, that he wouldn't get close to you.

Yet here he is, doing that exactly. He just can't help himself, he's drawn to you for some reason.

What's he getting himself into?

Tags:  @riegan, @miss-evil-one, @theonlyprincessoftheworld, @1voice-behind-the-silnce, @lilmissmoony, @lizandbooks, @sophia-wyszkowski, @isaxhorror, @shayx5, @theonlyprincessoftheworld, @iamwarrenspeace      @bigdaddyfairywinkle @itstrashleydude.  @davros2004. @vidiasnow.  @scarlet-witch-baby.   @samijolles.   @soaringren.  @sophs-the-name.  @naturalistamisslyn

[avengerdragoness]

Birthday = Saved [Damian Wayne x Sibling!Reader]

Requested by anon: “Damian x reader (sibling relationship) where the batfam forgets about Damian’s birthday except the reader"

A/N: Hope you love it anon <3

_______

Slowly you woke up, yawning while running a hand through your hair. In attempt to tame the rat’s nest. Still half asleep and groaning when sitting up. Like it was the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Your blankets were so warm and cozy, maybe five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Though when you glanced at the clock, your eyes widened in horror. IT WAS PAST NOON! “Shit!” quickly throwing off the blankets and running into the bathroom adjoining your room.

Panicking while taking your shower. How could you sleep so late on Damian’s birthday? Why didn’t anyone get you?

Getting out of the shower and changing into some day clothes, brushing your teeth and hair.

Running down the manor steps and walking into the kitchen. “Sorry guys I didn’t realize I —” But you were cut off to find the kitchen empty. But seeing a note on the counter. Picking it up, it read:

Out on mission. It’s just you and Damian in the manor. Jason, Dick, & Tim are with me. Alfred had personal business and is out of town. Be home later tonight

-Bruce

Wait hold on! They just left on his birthday? His biological son’s birthday? You love Bruce but sometimes he’s an ass.

“TT, [L/n] I thought you had left as well” Turning to see Damian with his hands in his pockets. Looking pretty down in the dumps.

“Hey what’s with the frown birthday boy? Who needs ‘em, right?” You smiled at the young man. His face seemed to brighten at the words ‘birthday boy’

“You remembered” Shock laced in his voice. You chuckled, “Of course I remembered! How could I forget?” staring at him in disbelief.

“I was just surprised because father..” His sentence trailed off. “Bruce? Oh yeah he’s on a mis- wait hold on a sec! They didn’t remember it was your birthday?” Your voice raising in the process. Now you’re pissed, it’s one thing to leave but to forget! Nu-uh not okay!

He simply shook his head. “Assholes” mumbling to yourself. “You know what! We’re going to have the best birthday just the both of us. We can go anywhere you want and get cake and after that I’ll give you my gift.” smiling at him.

“You’d do that?” Was this kid serious?

“Of course I am Dami! We’re family remember? Now go grab your shoes, who needs them” Reaching for your keys. He did as told and went to get some shoes as you did the same.

The both of you climbed in your car. “So where to?” turning to him.

“I don’t know” he held his chin between his index finger and thumb.

“Well, is there anywhere you’ve never been but always wanted to go?”

He sat up like he had an idea. “It may seem childish but I’ve never been to a zoo”

A grin grew on your face, “Hey that’s not childish, I’m older than you and I like the zoo still. Zoo it is” before putting the car in drive.

During the drive you listened to Damian talk about his birthdays back with the league. They didn’t really celebrate but they always remembered. He especially talked about his grandfather and mother. Honestly you’d never had a conversation like this with him.

It was nice.

Once parking and making your way into the park you walked around the whole place. Seeing every exhibit, but ending  with the lions.

Damian was captivated by all of the animals but the Lions were amazing. The large male was so elegant and graceful.

“It’s so magnificent” he muttered eyes glued to the creature. “King of the animal kingdom.” you said back, watching the lioness’ graceful movements to be beside it’s mate.

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘Rise and rise again, until lambs become lions’?” turning your eyes to him.

He shook his head. “Well it’s about being someone who was once vulnerable and weak, but over time and obstacles they become powerful and strong like a lion. Growing as a human being.”

“What is the point of telling me that?” he asked in confusion. Shrugging your shoulders, “I don’t know it’s just a quote I like to live by, kind of applies to me ya know? And you too”

“I’m not vulnerable” crossing his arms and turning back to the habitat. “I’m not saying you are, but in order for someone to be as strong as you are kid. They had to be vulnerable at some point. Don’t dwell on it, just remember it for me okay?” Sending a smile his way.

“I suppose it’s the least I could do” he uncrossed his arms.

“Are you hungry? Cause I am.. What do you say we go grab some lunch?” as your stomach growled. You chuckled and could’ve sworn you saw a grin pull at his lips. “I could eat”

Deciding to go to his favorite place for lunch. The both of you just talked like you had in the car ride. Though this time you explained some people and things that were in your life before becoming a bat.

He seemed grateful for your opening up to him.

After lunch you took him to a bakery where he picked out a treat to sever as his birthday cake. Going to a nearby park, but you stopped at the car to get his gift.

Sitting by a pond he began to eat the treat. “You’re not going to let me sing ‘happy birthday’ to you” mock hurt plastered on your face. He smiled… HE SMILED! It’s possible!

Staring in disbelief at his curved upwards lips. “What?” he asked wiping his mouth like he had crumbs there.

“Oh, nothing. How about you open this now” handing him the rectangular box wrapped in green paper.

Taking the gift he tore off the paper, revealing a long white box. Carefully taking off the lid. He stared at the object within.

His sword had broke on his last mission. So you got him a custom replacement. “The blade is two times stronger than your old one, but half the weight. The grip of the hilt is specially made so it won’t slip in your grip. And finally there’s an engraving” Pointing to the hilt. On it was a small engraving of a robin.

“I don’t know what to say” mesmerized by the piece of weaponry.

“Your face says it all, I’m glad you like it” Smiling at the young boy. “Thank you [F/n], this is very special. I will treasure it” He said, your grin widening at the sound of your first name.

“Come on, lets get back to the manor and set up some pranks for the guys to get back for forgetting your birthday” Mischief sparked in his eyes. A evil grin spreading on his face. Putting the sword in the box.

“They won’t know what hit them”

Bonus:

Entering the batcave the guys all looked exhausted. Well except Bruce. You and Damian were hiding out of view, but had full access to seeing your prank at work.

Looking at Damian you gave a devious smirk before nodding for him to hit the trigger he set up on his phone.

Tapping the screen, alarms blared through the cave. Then the fire sprinklers turned on soaking the four. “What the hell?!” Bruce yelled as you and Damian held in your laughter the best you could. Dick was hiding under a table to keep from getting wetter. Jason was letting a string of expletives run from his mouth. Tim was trying to save his laptop. And Bruce was trying to shut it all down.

Once he did you and Damian couldn’t hold it in any longer. Wiping away a fake tear you and Damian showed yourself.

“You.. You.. hahaha! You should’ve seen your faces. Oh god I should’ve recorded that, Alfred would die” Sentence being broken up with your laughter.

“TT, no need to worry [F/n] I’ve got us covered” Pointing to a camera in the corner. “You smart little devil” ruffling his hair.

“What the fuck [F/n]!!” Jason yelled, looking like a drenched bat. Something they had in common. “What was this all about, I want an explanation now!” Bruce raised his voice.

Though unaffected and sharing a look with Damian. “Something called sweet revenge” a sickeningly sweet tone in your voice.

“Revenge for what?” Dick was next as Tim was fretting over his laptop.

“Think about it. Today’s date, a certain brother of yours. That all of you abandoned by the way” Crossing your arms, sounding protective now.

They all stood thinking for a moment, but you saw Bruce hit realization first. “Oh! Oh god! I’m so sorry Damian” turning to the boy. The rest of their light bulbs lit up.

“We forgot your birthday” Dick said in disbelief with yourself. “We’re sorry Damian, we probably ruined the day”

They all wore regretful looks and were obviously beating themselves up. “It was actually my favorite birthday yet. [F/n] and I had a nice time together”

“You know we did! Get on my sibling level suckers” before turning and exiting the room with Damian. Leaving the drenched bats to dry off.

“Best birthday ever” Damian mumbled entering the manor. A smile growing on your face, you were indeed sibling #1 right now.

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (an SWTOR story)- Chapter Fourteen: Past Perfect

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

Comments are always appreciated! If you prefer, you can also visit:

Archive of Our Own

Fanfiction Dot Net

Chapter Fourteen: Past Perfect

“I’m not sure I understand.” She glances down at Lana, at her anxious face and the tension lines at the corners of her eyes. “Not that kind of… you did want to, correct? Finding a new fleet captain will be tedious, but if I need to go kill Koth for you-”

“What? Stars, no, that wasn’t what I meant at all.” Though she hasn’t even moved Lana’s hand reaches up, wraps around her wrist as if holding her in place. “No killing. Not Koth, at least.”

“Spoilsport. But then I suppose I still don’t quite follow.”

With a sigh, she lets go, opening her eyes again. “If I knew how to explain, Nine, it wouldn’t have been such a problem. I knew he trusted me after that, and I think that was what I’d been missing. I missed-” she gestures helplessly, her expression softening- “I missed something like this, I suppose. I wanted a friend, not a bed partner.”

(She smiles at that. They are friends, when it comes down to it, not something she ever thought she’d say about a Sith Lord who used to be her boss, the outsider who was handed the gutted corpse of Imperial Intelligence and told to resurrect it as a puppet of the Council. She was used to treating Sith in the same way one would treat a serpent- kept safely at arm’s length, a knife behind your back to take the head off quickly when, inevitably, the fangs came out.

Lana, to put it mildly, had been a surprise.)

“Did you tell him that?”  

“Yes and no.” She sits up, reaching for one of the biscuits still sitting on the forgotten tray. “The next morning I told him it wasn’t going to happen again. He asked if he’d done something wrong, which was ridiculous- it was perfectly nice, honestly, but-”

Nine stops short, her own hand halfway to the plate- they may as well both eat; she’s still starving- and winces. “You didn’t actually use the word ‘nice,’ I hope.”

Shrugging, Lana mumbles around a mouthful of crumbs. “I might have. What’s wrong with nice?”

She oughtn’t laugh- it isn’t funny, except she can picture the face Koth must have made- so she shoves half a sandwich into her mouth and turns away, nominally chewing but mostly composing herself. After a moment, her expression settled back into neutrality, she rotates back to face her. “Let’s put it this way. Imagine you’ve given me a gift, then asked me if I liked it. If I told you I thought it was nice…”

“I’d think you hated it, but you were being polite to spare my- oh.” Lana pales. “Oh, hell.”

“Myself, I used to default to ‘lovely.’ I generally save ‘nice’ for when I still have to be diplomatic but the sex was egregiously bad.”

“I should have said something else.” She flops backward, settling back onto the pillow, covering her eyes with her hands. “I should have said anything else. But it was- I don’t know. It wasn’t him. I-”

In that moment, she thinks she finally understands.

She leans over, smooths a stray piece of hair down over Lana’s forehead. “That just isn’t your kind of lonely at all, is it?”

“No. Not really.” Lana rubs at the bridge of her nose, lets her hands fall to her chest with fingers interlaced. “On Korriban it was an advantage, if anything. I saw too many other acolytes die at lovers’ hands to have any interest in romance, and frankly I preferred the library.”

“I can imagine. I had a few bad breakups in my own school days, and unlike you we weren’t being actively encouraged to kill each other.”

Lana laughs, a little, at that. “Yes, well, there was that. But then, even later-” she shrugs again. “I’m really quite fond of Koth, despite his obstinacy, and in the moment I thought perhaps… but nothing. Always nothing. And I couldn’t make him understand. He still thought it was him.”

If there’s a right way to respond to that she’s not sure what it is. I’m sorry seems wrong, somehow, placating the wrong part of the problem assuming it was ever really a problem at all, which isn’t for her to say. Instead, she lets the quiet settle around them, the only noises their breath and the occasional shout from the corridor beyond her closed door.

“You weren’t even in the records,” Lana says after a few minutes of silence. “It didn’t even matter, in the end, everything we’d done on Arron Prime. You weren’t in prison. We still had no idea where you were, whether you were alive or dead, and Koth started second-guessing the whole thing once he’d realized you were the woman who’d allegedly killed the Immortal Emperor.”

“I wish I had. Shot him clean through the heart, not that he has one-”

(Now, now, he says inside her head, and her temples throb with pressure like a tightening vise, that’s a terrible thing to say.)

She hisses- ah, that hurts; Lana tenses and sits up again, one hand on her shoulder. “Was that him? I could feel it, I think.”

“Yes.” She thinks of walls, solid walls made of stone and steel and wound around with thorns as long as her hand, until she feels his presence retreat from her conscious mind. “He tends to like to interject his opinion when he’s the topic of conversation.”

“Senya, Sana-Rae and I are still looking at possible solutions. There was a Dark Council member who might have been of help- Darth Nox was her name, and by all accounts she was a master at spirit binding, but the war took her. I haven’t heard from her in years.” A pause, then, a finger brushing above her upper lip. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“That’s the usual outcome. Beats a lightsaber through the gut, I suppose.” She vaults over the back of the couch, crossing  the room to the ‘fresher and grabbing a clean cloth off the towel bar, presses it to her nose and pinches, hard, across the bridge. “It’ll stop in a minute or two.”

Lana rises, too, reaching out. “Here. May I?“

“Thought you weren’t a healer.” She leans in anyway, toward her outstretched hands, and a faint warmth blossoms across her face as Lana concentrates.

“I’m diversifying. Someone’s got to keep the rest of you alive,” she says, “and the techniques are fascinating, actually. The different applications of energy-”  

Her eyes glaze over about ten seconds in; Lana could go on for ages about the Force, and it probably is really interesting stuff except that she doesn’t understand a single word of it, like listening to Watcher Two discuss algorithms or Doctor Lokin break down chemical formulae. She can feel the flow of blood slowing, though, so she’ll take the lecture.

“-but the Zakuulan philosophy suggests that- I’m talking too much and you’re going cross-eyed. Sorry.” She pulls her hands away. “That ought to do it.”

“Thank you.” Wadding up the cloth after wiping away a few stray drops of blood, she throws it back through the open door to the refresher. “It’s a shame Koth didn’t see this. It might finally convince him that the Emperor isn’t what he believes.”

“I doubt very much that it would be enough.”

Something in Lana’s voice makes her turn around; when she does, Lana’s still standing on the far side of the couch, her hands clenched tight.

“We fought constantly in the weeks after Arron Prime- about you, about Arcann, about what our next steps should be, about everything except what we were actually fighting about. Vitiate, especially. Always Vitiate, Valkorion, however you want to call him. Even when we thought he was gone for good, damn him, he still ruined everything.”

She comes back around beside her, rummages under the little table for the bottle she’s pretty sure ended up there last night (she knows they didn’t finish the whole thing, she and Theron, before their attention turned elsewhere) until her fingers close around its neck.

“That was my second mistake. I thought if I showed him,” Lana looks at her, grabs the bottle from her hand, pulls the cork and takes a long sip before she can reach for a glass- she never does that, not ever- “if I showed Koth the terrible things Vitiate had done, I could make him see.”

“Lana.” She knows in her gut what the answer’s going to be. Of all the terrible things the Emperor did there is one that they cannot forget, one place where they stood and watched a world die, but she needs to hear her say it. “Lana, what did you do?”

It’s almost a laugh, but for the way it pitches upward at the end. “I took him to Ziost.”

“And-”

“Have you been back to the surface? Since it happened?”

“Yes. Once. Never again.”

Lana takes another long sip from the bottle, then hands it back to her. “You know, then, what it’s like.”

“Yes.” She needs a drink, too, to wash out the memory. Thankfully, it’s only half-gone. “Koth didn’t take it well, I assume.”

“He refused to speak to me for three days. We were halfway back to Asylum before he’d even look at me. As I said, I’m not sure he’s quite forgiven me even now, and on some level… you’ve hear him. He still doesn’t quite believe it was real.”

“But he stayed. Koth’s deserted once already-” Lana raises a hand to object that that, but she waves her down- “not that it wasn’t warranted, but the point stands. If he hadn’t believed in what you were doing, Emperor or no, he’d be gone by now.”

“I suppose, but-”

Her holotransmitter, set up on the table in the far corner, starts to ring, and she turns to check the display; she hasn’t got any meetings tonight, as far as she can remember, but in their ever-growing Alliance there are always a hundred fires to put out and some burn hot, even in the middle of the night.

Incoming call: Theron Shan.

Lana peeks over her shoulder at the call display. “I’ve taken enough of your time, Commander. I’ll just-”

“Oh, sit down, would you? Unless it’s an emergency he can wait- transmitter, answer call- and if you call me Commander again I will give you the longest title that I can think of and insist that every single person on this base use it in its entirety every time they so much as mention your name.”

The holo flickers to life. Theron’s sitting in what looks to be the pilot’s chair of his shuttle, feet propped up on the instrument panel and arms folded across his chest, and to judge by the wrinkles across his forehead he’s desperately trying not to laugh. “Hey, you. And Lana, I’m guessing. No one else hates titles that much.”

“Hello, Theron.” Sinking back into the corner of the couch, surrounded by a pile of pillows, Lana waves backward over her shoulder at the transmitter camera.

He quirks an eyebrow; she passes the bottle into her left hand, raising her right index finger to her lips, and he nods, spelling out a question. Koth?

She inclines her head to the right- later. “Hey, yourself. Is something the matter, or did you just miss me?”

“Mostly the latter.” He grins. “And much as I like Tee-Seven, I can only listen to binary for so long. Nothing wrong, just a few contact updates a little too sensitive to write down. But those can wait if I’m interrupting.”

“I’ve got the hour set aside as designated ‘drink and discuss the many ways in which men are inferior’ time, sorry. No boys allowed.”

At that, Lana reaches across to steal the bottle back.

“Really, though,” she says, “are you on your way to bed? I can ring back later, or in the morning-”

“Oh, I’ll be awake.” Theron stretches, arms over his head, as the astromech wheels by in the background with a cheerful chirrup of greeting. “I never sleep well shipboard. If I’m not paying attention just keep calling until I pick up.”

Should’ve taken me with you, she signs where Lana can’t see. Your fault for traveling alone.  

He smirks.

“I will. Talk to you soon, then.” Careful, neutral words, for others’ ears. Always careful.

“Yup.” The channel clicks off.

Lana chuckles. “I really should learn smugglers’ cant. I always feel as though you’re talking about me.”

“We weren’t.” It’s mostly not a lie, and she won’t tell Theron everything in any case- some things aren’t meant to be shared. “Just teasing him a bit, is all.”

“It’s funny, really. The first time you two met, on Manaan, I was sure you loathed each other.”

“Oh, we did.” She sits back down beside her, laughing. “We actually talked about that once. I believe the consensus was that he thought I was entirely amoral and completely incapable of being serious and I thought he was a humorless prude. Cute, but humorless: standard SIS field operative. They’re fun to play with, until one gets bored.”

With a toss of her head, Lana runs her fingers through her hair, working out the last few plaits. “It did rather remind me of a cat toying with a mouse. What happened in between, though? By Yavin he hated me for what happened on Rishi, but as you’ll recall-” her cheeks flush, ever so slightly- “I know more than I care to of what happened between the two of you. You can’t expect me to believe all of that was play.”

“Serves you right for reading my mind. But no, it wasn’t- only at first, and even then not all of it.” She grins at the memory. “Honestly? I flirted with Theron because I thought it’d piss you off.”

***

15 ATC. Manaan.

This was a stupid idea, she thinks to herself. This was a really stupid idea.  

When Lana called her the last time, she should have said no. This isn’t Intelligence, not anymore, where she had to jump every time some self-important Sith Lord snapped her fingers, but she hates being made a fool of and she has to admit it’s looking more and more like Darok and Arkous played them all like a Void-damned orchestra. She still can’t figure out why, either. She’s got no idea what their end game is and it’s driving her crazy.

So when Lana called, she answered, following her all the way to Manaan. Apparently they’ve got an ally now; she won’t tell her who it is, which is both annoying and worrisome. With no name she couldn’t pull a dossier before arriving. It could be anyone. It could be a Jedi.

It had better not be a Jedi.

Not that it matters now. She let Jakarro kill the scientist- all the files they need will be on the lab terminal anyway, and hopefully it’ll keep the Wookiee from ripping her arms off before they can make it back to the surface- but that kept them occupied just long enough to let her quarry escape. As she watches, their submersible pulls away from the docking tube, taking off toward the surface and-

“Um, boss?” Kaliyo points toward the door they came through, now sealed shut behind them, as a half-dozen explosions rock the station and freezing water pours in through a crack in one of the viewports. “I can’t swim. Thought now might be a good time to mention that.”

Shit.

There must be escape pods, but she doesn’t have a map of the facility either. “Lana?” She opens the channel as they run toward the far passage. “I need an exit, and you need to pull as much intel off the network here as fast as you can. They bugged out and blew the seals.”

“I’m sending a shuttle down your way.” A voice in her ear, definitely not Lana. Definitely male, Coruscanti accent. Not Imperial. “Keep heading down that hallway toward the cargo bay. It’s about ten minutes out, but you should have time.”

“This is a private channel,” she says, ducking back around a corner as two of Gorima’s engineered soldiers launch a volley of rifle fire in her direction. “If you’re there with Lana, put her on. Otherwise, get the fuck off my line.”

“She’s here. But she’s meditating, trying to track Darok and Arkous. I’m working on that data-” the accent’s not entirely Coruscanti, now that she’s heard a little more; there’s a softness to the consonants, less emphasis on the hard k. Whoever he is, she’d guess he was raised elsewhere- “but I’ll try to talk you through at the same time.“

The water here’s already up to her ankles, freezing cold even through boots and thick socks, and as they run she catches a whiff of wet fur as Jakarro charges past her into the next room. “You must be the mysterious ally, then. Do you have a name, mysterious ally?”  

“We’ll do names topside. Too many potential ears.”

“We do know how to secure a channel, you know.”

He snorts. “Maybe, maybe not. Once you cross this room there’s one more hallway before the cargo bay. I’ll- um. Hang on. There’s something-” the channel cuts out for a second.

Kaliyo looks at her. “That doesn’t sound good.”

She hands her an extra stim, an extra kolto syringe, and her last two grenades. “Let the Wookiee take point. If it gets that bad, run for the docking tube.”

Before Kaliyo answers, Mysterious Ally’s in her ear again. “Gorima had a pet project- a cyborg prototype. Shielded. It’s loose in the cargo bay.”

“Can we bypass? Dock the shuttle somewhere else.”

“There isn’t anywhere else.”

She sighs, ducking as a dead Selkath goes flying overhead. “I’m not equipped for cyborgs. I was expecting a Sith and a meat shield.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, “Lana said you were tough.”

(now that is disappointing, hunter says.

she’s curled up on the floor of the nar shaddaa safehouse, hunter called her back after hoth- she thought it was just to get her away from temple, to threaten her again, but that wasn’t it. she doesn’t know what was in the syringe; it could have been glitterstim or etching acid and she would have had to stick it in her arm anyway when hunter told her to. her nerve endings burn and it hurts it hurts it hurts and-

one finger up the back of her neck. it feels like her skin’s splitting. i thought you were tough.)

“You-” the doors to Cargo slide open and it’s standing in the center of the room, easily ten feet tall and studded with metal where it isn’t armored which is almost everywhere; that is the biggest Selkath she’s ever seen- “have no fucking idea.”

Five minutes until compression failure. The synthesized voice rings through the overhead speakers. Five minutes until compression failure. Please proceed to the nearest escape pod for immediate evacuation.

She kills the creature in three.

The decontamination jets helped, to be fair, but dead’s dead and dead and on fire’s better. She lets Kaliyo patch up Jakarro as she activates the console beside the docking chamber. “Alright, Mysterious. Where’s my shuttle?”

“Docking now. Hold on.”

The projector activates, and- oh. He’s cute.

“Well. Hello, ‘pub.” Not a Jedi, but there’s no mistaking it, looking at him- dark hair and eyes, tanned skin above a leather jacket that definitely isn’t standard-issue and cranial implants that definitely are - SIS. She’d bet good credits he’s SIS. She licks her lips. “Now I see why Lana’s been keeping you all to herself.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I’m with the Republic. I’m also saving you. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Oh, no. I can play nice.”

“Good. Door should be opening-” as he says it, the seals hiss and the panels slide open, revealing a little shuttle beyond- “now.”

“Looks cozy.” She signals, waving her team onward. “And here I was just thinking it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to ride anything Republic-issue.”

Oh, he’s a blusher. This is going to be delightful. “Oh, for-”

She hangs up on him. Time to go.

(Was that really what you said? Lana buries her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with laughter. He did look flustered when I came out of meditation.

She tries, unsuccessfully, to look innocent.)

By the time they get back to the meeting room she’s gotten the water out of her boots and most of the blood off her face, and rearranged her hair to cover the scorched bits.

“Everyone, this is Jakarro, our new friend and import/export specialist, and his colleague C2-D4, formerly of Onderon. Jakarro, Cee-Two, this is Lana Beniko-” Lana, polite, nods her head- “and Mysterious Ally who won’t tell me his name except in person.”

He’s got his nose buried in a datapad, but at least he looks up when she speaks. “Theron Shan, Republic SIS. Hi.”

She knew it . “Hello, Theron Shan. Lana, have you introduced me?”

“I thought I’d let you do the honors.”  

“I see.” She turns toward him with a mocking little bow as he looks her up and down, tracks his eyes as they flick toward her weapons, her armor, lingering on her face. “Cipher Nine, formerly of Imperial Intelligence. I do hope my reputation precedes me.”

To his credit, he only goes a little pale. Good. “I hear Imperial Intelligence isn’t much to speak of these days.”

“We got tired of winning all the time, so we figured we’d let you see what it feels like for once.” She shrugs, her smile wide. “It was getting boring, really.”

“And we will all,” Lana sighs irritably, “be working together for the near future, so if you would please keep the sniping to a minimum-”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” She winks at him. “We’re only playing, aren’t we, Theron?”

He looks back down at his datapad as Lana, eyes narrowed, mouths a single word in her direction- Behave.

(I seem to recall hearing that a lot, that year, she says.

Well, you did deserve it. She curls into the cushions as Lana ruffles her hair. I suppose I did.)

***

Up next- Legacies, in which Rakata Prime is a learning experience, going to ground is less fun than it used to be, and Nine gets a taste of her own medicine as our flashback continues.